Bitten by Violet Heart

 
     
    ~ Bitten ~
     
     
    Chapter One
     
    A charge of excitement in the chill air teased Amelia's nostrils. Her heart began to pound. She ran the tip of her tongue along her upper lip and inhaled deeply as her coach emerged from a break in Alpine mountain range. She approached her destiny. She'd never been surer of anything.
    On the opposite bench seat, an older man in a dignified gray houndstooth greatcoat stared at her mouth then into her eyes. A thrill of challenge raced through her, and she refused to look away. She sent him a suggestive smile and swallowed a chortle of delight when his pale face went red. Beside him, a middle-aged woman sent Amelia a scathing scowl then squeezed the man's arm.
    The chortle made a second attempt into Amelia's throat, but she kept her lips closed to keep it from escaping. Yasmine would be scandalized by my boldness.
    The coach tipped onto the mountain-pass road into the Rift River Valley. They passed through a cloudbank and came out the bottom into bright sunlight. Each minute of their steep descent saw a rise in temperature by a full degree. By the time they reached green, flowering hills outside her friend's town, Amelia was desperate to get out of her cloak. With the coach wall at one shoulder and a rotund mother of two pressed against the other, however, she couldn't move. She settled for propping open her wrap, leaving the clasp fastened at her throat.
    Still, none of her discomfort detracted from her happiness. For the first time in over a year, she wasn't bored.
    The coach wheels rumbled over the wooden arch of a creek bridge, and buildings came into view. She searched eagerly for a sign. She had no idea what awaited, but she sensed the promise of a thrill.
    Since entering Pembroke's Academy for Ladies at twelve, Amelia had suspected she was meant for more than teas, balls, embroidery, and shopping. Now she knew it. She just knew it.
    Cottages with straw-thatched roofs and pretty pastel wash brightening their walls gave way to colorful two-story townhouses and shops crammed side by side. The dirt road became a cobbled street that shimmied the coach. The older man stared at the jiggle of her breasts above the lace-trimmed neckline of her bodice.
    If his wife hadn't appeared ready to leap over and scratch her face, Amelia might've been tempted to tease him. Maybe a slight lowering of her gown, or perhaps a leisurely caress along the plump round of her cleavage. But, no. Poor man. She'd done enough to put him in a bad way with the woman.
    She turned her attention to the window in time to catch a glimpse of gleaming orange eyes in a handsome face. Her stomach leapt into her chest. She pressed fingers to the window and tried to turn, to get a second look, but the heavyset woman had her wedged too tightly.
    She closed her lids in an attempt to bring his image to mind. There was something about him… something otherworldly, yet familiar. In the split second their eyes had met, she knew…what? Only that he drew her as nothing ever had. She experienced a sense of meaning deeper than she could comprehend, and she liked it. It reeked of adventure.
    The coach came to a halt at a post station platform. Now that the wheels had stopped, the town's quiet hit her. The passengers exchanged uneasy glances.
    The door opened and the driver offered his hand. He had to give her a tug to dislodge her from her corner. She sent the older man a playful wink and tiny wave, ignoring his wife's outraged huff, and alighted to the platform.
    "It'll be just a moment to get your trunk and bag off the rack, Lady Fairforth," said the coachman, his German accent thick.
    None of the passengers stepped out to stretch, despite their three-hour ride from the last post station in the Alps. She glanced along the street. People moved from shop to shop, and some stood talking in small groups. A cursory glance might've assured her all was well. Everyone spoke in whispers, though, and none of the children ran or played. A