Free Accursed by Amber Benson Page A

wasn’t looking, he gave her body a lingering stare that made Tamara shudder. Tonight, though, he seemed much more interested in John Haversham’s company.
    As if he had read her thoughts, Haversham extricated himself from Reginald’s bossy baritone with a wry smile cast in Tamara’s direction.
    “Excuse me, Reginald, but it appears Miss Swift is in danger of drifting off into boredom, and I feel it’s my duty to rescue her. The treacle tart does not seem to be keeping her as occupied as Marjorie had promised.”
    Before Reginald could protest, Tamara interjected. “Mr. Haversham, your selfless devotion to duty is an admirable trait.”
    He gave her another grateful wink—it seemed to be his trademark—and swiveled in his chair to face her. Reginald Winterton simply turned to find another unfortunate victim.
    “Tamara Swift, where have you been hidden these seven-and-twenty years of mine?” Haversham’s eyes sparkled with interest. She imagined that she could see herself reflected there, the candlelight suffusing her honey hair with a rich, warm glow. What a silly thought, she mused, but she continued to look.
    “I’ve been at Ludlow House, waiting to be rescued from my boring existence,” she said.
    It was a lie, of course. Tamara could hardly call her life boring. But there was a kernel of truth in what she had said. It could be terribly dreary in Ludlow House, no matter how interesting things had become of late. The flutter in her heart when she sat so close to this intriguing stranger was a pointed reminder of precisely what had been missing from her life.
    Yet how might he react if he knew what her life was truly like? If she were to tell him of her life as a magical Protector of Albion—instead of pretending to be the typical wilting English Rose—would he believe her? And if so, would he still find her as fascinating as he seemed to this evening, when she was simply a pretty young society woman? Or would the truth repel him?
    “Boring? I find that difficult to believe, Miss Swift. You seem like a clever girl. I can’t imagine you as being incapable of keeping both your mind and body . . . well, shall we say, occupied. ” As he spoke, his eyes flitted onto the swell of her breasts as they rose and fell with each breath. She felt herself starting to blush.
    He quickly drew his eyes away and seemed to gaze upon the smooth hollow of her throat, then at last returned to her face. Was it her imagination, or were his eyes dark with desire?
    She had only experienced the intimate attentions of a man once before, and that had been a very fleeting—though exciting—experience. After her grandfather’s death, Tamara and William had enlisted the help of Ludlow Swift’s old friend Nigel Townsend in battling the demon that had murdered the old man.
    During that dark time, Tamara had found herself Nigel’s quarry, despite the vast difference in their ages. His flirtations grew bold, and though Tamara was flattered by them, even aroused, she was not prepared to respond. The situation became such that William had been forced to intercede on behalf of her virtue . . . for Nigel was more than a family friend; he was also a vampire who had walked the Earth the better part of three centuries.
    Not evil. No, not that. But he carried a hunger that could overwhelm him the way passion might take control of any man.
    Now, as Tamara remembered the sensation of Nigel’s lips on her own, she looked away from John Haversham, embarrassed that her own desire might show in her eyes.
    Haversham cleared his throat and took a sip of red wine from the fine cut-crystal flute in front of him. He was a rogue, certainly, but at least enough of the gentleman remained for him to give her time to collect herself.
    She stared at the glass of Bordeaux he held in his hand, thinking how much it looked like blood. And she shuddered at the thought.
    “You’ve not caught a chill, have you, Miss Swift?” Reginald asked.
    Tamara flinched as she