Blood Rose. Sharon Page

probably come back…alone.”

      Good Christ. “All right, you can come, Miss Lark,” Jonathon conceded. “But you will do everything we say.”

      “Indeed.” Swift grinned.

      Jonathon let a seething growl escape. Sexual banter had not been his intention.

      “I’ll go first,” Swift added in his irritating devil-may-care tone. “Check for trouble.”

      Jonathon had never been happier to watch his partner leave.

      Serena saw Drake Swift vanish behind the heavy crimson drapery. She was alone with the earl, and the instant the curtain stilled, Lord Sommersby grasped her arm and drew her close to his side. Within the narrow slits of his mask, surrounded by the deep violet paint, his eyes were molten, reflecting golden candlelight. “What book is it you want, Miss Lark? What exactly are you searching for?”

      The man had instincts too well honed for her good. “I don’t know,” she lied. “I wanted to search the library and see if I found any—”

      She broke off at the sound of a coarse female voice. “I want ye to fuck me from behind over the gallery rail, milord. Won’t ye please?”

      Astonished, Serena watched as the curtain opened and a blond courtesan sashayed in. The woman wore one of the black corsets, with the gold chains attached, and one of the wands was buried up her bottom. Her companion, a man who stood almost as tall as Sommersby, also wore the domino and a mask of black silk.

      Why hadn’t Mr. Swift warned them the couple was coming?

      “Oh!” The blond jade saw them and gasped in surprise.

      Before Serena could think, Lord Sommersby’s broad shoulders and wide chest filled her view. He bent, until his mouth hovered just an inch over hers. It was part of the disguise. He would not kiss her—or if he did he would not mean it.

      Had he known she had climaxed? She had foolishly cried out—and had been mortified. It had been so unexpected, so astonishing. She’d prayed both men had no idea what had happened to her.

      Lord Sommersby’s lips grazed her cheek, through the veil. How sensual his mouth was. The firm brush set her skin tingling, made her gasp. “You must know how much I desire you.”

      His hand cupped her chin and turned her lips to his. “No, my lord. I had no idea.”

      A smile. His lips quirked up in a smile. A brief one that vanished quickly.

      Out of the corner of her eye she saw the dark-haired vampire bend the blonde over the railing. His legs spread, and he thrust his hips forward. A frantic womanly squeal followed—obviously he’d penetrated. The man began to grunt, hoarse, fierce grunts. And the woman cried, “Yes! Yes!” and “Deeper! Deeper!”

      Serena swayed—Sommersby settled his hands on her hips. Held her steady. “Start moving back, my dear. We’ll slip away without them noticing.”

      “No kiss?”

      “No. Now take a step back.”

      For one mad moment, Serena wanted to press forward, push her lips to the earl’s, but she obeyed him. She let him guide her backward until the velvet drape brushed against her back. She thought of Mr. Swift, and fear began to throb around her heart. Where was he?

      Christ Jesus, his hands were shaking.

      Drake Swift looked down and dispassionately watched his fingers tremble. The signs always began this way. First, he’d slowly lose control of his limbs. Then his speech. Blackness would creep in on the edge of his vision.

      Bloody solange was killing him.

      Drake reached into the slim pocket sewn in his coat lining. One vial left. He needed more—this would be enough for tonight. A few minutes away from Miss Lark and Sommersby was all the time he needed. He’d ducked into this unused room, while Miss Lark and his partner waited on the gallery.

      Hell, hiding in a brothel’s bedroom to drink a potion that would kill him. Christ. He’d fought hard to be better than this.

      Beneath the pad of Drake’s thumb, the glass was smooth. Fragile. His thumb toyed with the stopper, easing it up.

      As much as he hated leaving Miss Lark with his partner, he didn’t think for an instant Sommersby would take advantage of his time alone. Miss Lark was a beauty, but Sommersby wouldn’t try to seduce her. Sommersby seemed to like to punish himself by denying himself sex.

      Hell. Women were like drink. Like solange. Guilt, regrets, fear, anger—all vanished when you had a woman’s heels hooked around your neck and you were pounding your cock deep in her wet, welcoming pussy. A mind-shattering climax was a good as a drunk any day.

      There was something about Miss Lark that commanded Drake to stay near her.

      All it had taken was the touch of his mouth to her satin-soft neck and she’d climaxed…he knew female ecstasy when he saw it. And she was a deliciously noisy woman when she came. Inside the studious governess there lurked a seductive woman.

      Bloody stopper was stuck. With a snap of his thumb, Drake flicked the rubber wedge so savagely he snapped off the top of the vial. It tinkled as it struck the floor.

      He knew the warnings about solange. He’d heard the other hunters speak of it. None touched the drug. All knew it destroyed faster than opium.

      Drake didn’t have a choice anymore. He tipped up the vial.

      It would make him forget. Forget Mary, the lost babe, his past—it would obliterate the memories and nightmares.

      The vile taste hit his tongue. He grimaced, his stomach rebelled, but he swallowed fast. Christ, he hated this stuff. It rushed through him, and within moments he had a cockstand as rigid as iron. One thing about solange—it made a man hunger to fuck.

      Drake tossed away the vial. The glass struck the ground, rolled beneath the fireplace fender. The faint glimmer from the moonlight touched the room with blue. Warmth spiraled through him, warmth that fought the cold in his heart, his limbs, his head. Within seconds, the shaking stopped.

      “Where is Mr. Swift?”

      Drake could hear Serena Lark’s voice. The room seemed to light up for him. Hell, he didn’t care if she and Sommersby found him in here. He soared now.

      The solange changed his face, he knew it did. He’d seen his eyes in his ex-mistress’s mirror after taking solange. The pupils became mere dots in green irises. He’d looked mad but he’d felt like a king. He’d dragged his mistress—what had her name been?—back into bed, had thrust into her for hours. Until she’d been so slick they’d lost the friction and so weak from her orgasms she’d pleaded with him to stop.

      Tonight, the mask hid his face and shadowed his eyes enough that Sommersby, or Serena Lark, wouldn’t notice the change.

      As he strolled back into the hallway, he saw Miss Lark turn at the sound of his boots on the wood floor. Behind the gauzy veil of her mask, she glowed as she saw him. Relief. Happiness. Hell, it appeared the lady cared whether he lived or died.

      She stood waiting for him. Her black hair curled over her shoulders, tendrils fell into the valley between her generous round breasts. Her cry of pleasure still rang in Drake’s head. He wanted nothing more than to sweep her into a bedroom and—

      “Where the bloody hell were you?” Sommersby growled, but Drake ignored him.

      Miss Lark glanced up and down the now-quiet hallway. “We must get to the servants’ stair at the end of the hallway—it leads down to the tunnels.”

      Sommersby took the lead, striding down the hall, but Drake waited. He caught hold of Miss Lark’s wrist to keep her at his side. The drug was hot in his blood. He wanted to fill his senses with her.

      He took her hand, and she moved to him—he knew she expected him to lead her down the hall. Instead, he cupped the neat indent of