do release him.”
“Reading?” Constantine dropped the man, who crumpled to the floor.
“Yes, reading.”
The vampire leaned over the table, inspecting her work papers. He jerked a look at her, apologetic yet tinged with a creased anger.
“I believe you owe Master Rosemont an apology.”
“Oh, not necessary,” the frazzled teacher piped up. “I am fine.”
“Forgive me,” Constantine said, and Viviane was glad for his humility.
“I think perhaps I should be off.” Master Rosemont gathered his leather satchel and shoved the paper across the table. “I completed the list for you, mademoiselle. Perhaps you should send for me next Saturday? I shouldn’t wish to intrude.”
“No, please, return at the usual time. I promise this embarrassing situation will not be repeated.” She delivered Constantine knives with a glance. “Will it?”
“Of course not. Can I ensure your ride home, Master Rosemont?”
“Oh no, no. I’m off.” He bowed hastily and made a leg for the front door.
Constantine picked up the list and inspected the words. “Hawk?”
Feeling as though he’d raped her most precious secret, Viviane marched out of the room, hands on her hips.
He followed close on her heels. “So you don’t know how to read?”
“What of it?” she spat out.
“I am surprised. I had thought your patron would have ensured a more schooled kin.”
“So I am not smart enough for you?” A vicious clarity suddenly focused her, standing off the man who would own her if he had his way. “I think you should leave.”
“I admit I was in the wrong to approach Master Rosemont so violently. But please, let’s put that behind us, Viviane.”
Yes, yes, keep the man appeased. “What did you come for?”
He bowed and kissed her cheek, and the other, and finally a brush of a kiss over her mouth. The man was like marble, only because Viviane wondered how to ever soften him, find the soul beneath the hard surface.
“Is that smile for me?” he asked.
No, it was not. “But of course. Who else?” She touched her mouth. Rhys lingered there. “Ah, Portia.”
The maid brandished a silver tray sporting goblets and a wine bottle. Viviane poured half a goblet and tossed it back while Constantine observed with wonder.
“A bit parched,” she offered. She wiped her lips with a finger. “Would you care for some?”
“No, wine tends to sit ill with me. While I was waiting I couldn’t help notice your music room is rather spare of furniture. And on the wall.” He pointed at the strange bright rectangle of English paper where a painting had once hung. “Are you having trouble, Viviane? Because you know you can ask anything of me.”
Pacing away from Constantine to the one remaining settee in the entire house, Viviane decided the truth was not going to harm her, and it would show she trusted him. By all means, she wanted to stay on good terms with him.
“I had no idea Henri was in debt,” she offered. “The creditors began appearing with bills three days after his death. All the servants have left, save for Portia and a stable boy, who am I most grateful for.”
“If you need money—”
“Not at all. I paid the servants with furniture and silver. The creditors took a few horses and one of two carriages Henri owned. I thought it a fair exchange. I don’t wish to make a fuss of it, Constantine. So if we could put the subject aside I would appreciate it.”
“I’ll not mention it again.”
He gripped her wrists and pulled her to him. Viviane knew he would kiss her, and struggled—only a little. He bruised her mouth with an urgent connection that sparkled in her belly. She had to force herself not to grab at his coat to pull him against her.
It would be so easy to let it happen. To not clasp his fingers in an attempt to stop him from tearing asunder the bows securing her corset. To expose her breasts so he might lick them as she needed them to be touched, tasted and worshipped. But she could not.
Tearing from his embrace, she stepped once before he pulled her back and she tripped on her skirts, falling against him. Constantine’s breath whispered down her neck. The prick of his teeth altered her insistent desire as if a penitent’s lash to bared flesh.
She managed to slip the side of her hand across his mouth. Skin tore and her blood oozed out. “Don’t you dare.”
He swept out his tongue and licked the faint crimson trail. Defiance glinted in his dark eyes. “Sweet. As suspected. And pure.”
“That is the only taste you will know of me if you do not honor my request to dismiss your kin.”
She held her breath, matching his defiant stare. Pure. Exactly what he required.
“You are the most exquisite taste, Viviane. To drink of you should murder me sweetly. It is a death I will wait for.”
“Constantine, please, tell me what you want from me.”
He clasped her hand and his thigh brushed hers. “I would ask you to accept my hand in marriage. To come under my patronage. To have my children.”
Hand pressed to her throat, Viviane paced to the table where the wine decanted. She traced a fingernail along the bottle’s thin neck. “Marriage.”
“It would make you mine exclusively.”
No mention of love.
“But you understand that is impossible, Constantine. I’ve needs. The hunger forces me to seek others.”
“Those men are but donors, vessels to feed your hunger. I don’t want to direct you how to go about meeting those needs. But the others, if there are others besides me, I would like you to stop seeing them.”
Other male vampires. Lovers? How ridiculous. “You say that as if I’ve a harem similar to yours.”
“Mine is a necessity.”
“A patron needs only one or two kin. Henri was an example of that.”
“Henri did not lead a tribe. I must set an example by creating progeny.”
Poor luck he was having with that.
Constantine was not cruel. Why did she insist on being so cruel to him?
She returned to the settee and sat on the edge of it, offering her hands, which he took and curled before his mouth to kiss. “I will consider it.”
“I
