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dark eyes to Swift’s emerald ones. She must convince them to help her—without revealing exactly what she wanted. “I discovered there are journals kept here—kept in a hidden library beneath the brothel. The writings of vampires—writings that detail everything about their existence. And I am not leaving without searching for it.”
    Sommersby frowned. “You should have told the Society about this discovery.”
    “And have them take all those books and lock them away from me? The precious Society will not allow a mere woman to read their most important works.”
    “You want to know who killed your parents.”
    “Of course! Wouldn’t you, if you were in my shoes?” Serena’s heart thundered. She had to ensure his lordship and Mr. Swift continued to believe Lord Ashcroft’s lie about her parents’ death.
    “The gossip is that you still search for the vampire who killed your fiancée, my lord. That you are driven by vengeance.”
    “Don’t listen to gossip,” he snapped.
    “Guilt, my dear.” Drake Swift laughed. “Guilt keeps him in his laboratory all day and hunting all night.”
    “Vengeance is a waste of a life.” Lord Sommersby grasped her elbow. His fingers wrapped firmly around her arm, promising power.
    “I am not leaving without finding the library,” she repeated.
    Drake Swift gave a wild grin. “You want moldy old books, I want to destroy vampires.” He winked. “You do want to return to the brothel, don’t you, my dear?”

    His hand cupping Miss Lark’s delicate elbow, Jonathon Lyon, Earl of Sommersby, shot a glare at his partner. “We cannot just walk through a brothel to chase vampires. And we cannot bring her.”
    “I hate to let a demon get away clean. Spoils the record,” Swift complained as he sauntered toward the fallen vampires by the billiard table.
    Swift’s perfect kill record. Tonight would be the first night in years that a vampire escaped him. Of course they’d had the distraction of a very naked, very lovely damsel in distress—
    “The library,” Miss Lark insisted as she tried once again to tear free of his grip. “I am not leaving without trying to find it.”

    Blood Rose ©Sharon Page 2007 Email: [email protected] 17

    Jonathon’s patience was at its end, but he let her elbow go. He was squeezing too hard; he’d left faint bruises. Goddamn his unwieldy hands. “We aren’t searching every room of a bawdyhouse to find a library that may not exist.”
    “It does exist. After all, I am skilled at research . I pieced together a plan of this brothel—”
    The word brothel on Serena Lark’s full lips shot a bolt of forbidden desire through Jonathon.
    The memory of her curvaceous naked body on the billiard table made him hard. He wasn’t a gentleman who sought perverted diversions, but that sudden forbidden image had him aching.
    He moved to stand between her and her view of Drake Swift, who was dealing with the fallen vampires.
    Gritting his teeth, he snapped, “Forget the books, Miss Lark. I intend to get you to safety.” But he couldn’t stop himself from lifting Miss Lark’s bare hand. He touched his mouth to the red mark on her wrist, to the bruising there. A trace of rose scent from her silken skin fought with the smell of vampires’ drugs.
    He released her hand. The taste of her skin made him yearn to taste more—her lips, her throat, and lower…to the sweet curves of her breasts, belly, and her hot, honey-drenched quim.
    Hell, Jonathon knew exactly why he desired her so much. Why his need for her bordered on madness. He wanted her because Serena Lark was a vampire’s child, destined to transform into a vampiress on her twenty-fifth birthday—on All Hallow’s Eve. She already possessed a succubus’
    magic allure that drew men to her—and she had no idea what she was.
    Damn Ashcroft for assigning him to this mission.
    Her beseechingly innocent eyes widened with desperation. “I can’t forget the books. I need to see them. You should