The enfolding darkness of night held them close until dawn pushed it back, bringing awakening with it.

Victoria blinked her eyes open. What a new state of being she found herself in. She should be alarmed, perhaps, she should be ashamed, but instead there was only warmth and contentment.

'How are you feeling?' asked a familiar voice. She turned her head to look up into the perfect face of her lover.

She was not entirely sure how she was feeling and so she stretched, then winced, then smiled. 'A little tender.'

He smirked. 'You have me to blame for that, I am afraid.'

'And for that, Lord M, I am most grateful.'

He bent to kiss her softly and she wondered if it was possible to melt into someone. But when he drew back his face was serious.

'My love, I must ask you this. When did you last bleed?'

'I bled considerably last night, Lord M, but I believe you dealt with it all,' she grinned.

He returned her smile briefly before growing serious again. 'I mean your monthly bleeding. I must ask.'

She frowned in consideration. 'It is due again in around five days.'

Melbourne exhaled and sank back on the pillows in apparent relief. 'Good.'

'Why?'

He looked at her. 'Consequences. I would not wish to get a child on you.'

She smiled gently and turned, running a finger over his chest. Had they been rash? They must have been, but he seemed reassured by the timing. 'No … It seems I am quite willing to become a vampire, but the thought of motherhood does not yet appeal, I will admit.'

He laughed again and moved over her, kissing her deeply. When he broke away, his fingers moved to the wounds at her neck and he furrowed his brows to inspect them. 'They are clean and dry, but you must be careful not to expose them. I cannot always bite in the same place – the marks will increase although they will heal given the chance.'

She brought up a hand to feel for them – little wounds but, as he said, dry and clean. 'They barely hurt,' she observed.

'Good.'

'But I like the pain when you bite. Why is that? Why can my body crave and tolerate and enjoy that pain so much?'

He smiled. 'It is a mystery, I confess, but one that is tied to our connection, our need and our desire.'

'How much did you drink from me last night?'

He smiled softly. 'Enough to make the sensations beyond imagining, but not as much as the first time. When I make love to you, although the desire to feed is strong, the need for so much blood is diminished as my body's craving is satisfied in other ways.'

'Was it … was I …?' She grew bashful, unsure what to say.

'What, my darling?'

'Was I adequate?'

He nearly laughed aloud. 'Do not ask me that. It is ridiculous to even contemplate an answer.'

'So … I was then?'

'I told you … you are my angel, you are my everything. It was the most wonderful thing I have ever had or experienced. Know that.'

He kissed her again before saying, 'But if you ask, then I will also … was it too much? Did I hurt you?'

It was Victoria's turn to realise the ridiculousness of the query. 'Only to start with. Just as when you bite me … I liked the feeling. But it was … you were … big.' She tried to stifle the bubbling giggle.

He quirked an eyebrow. 'Well, there it is.'

'You filled me. You stretched me. I liked that very much.'

'That was rather the intention.'

She writhed under him, her body immediately craving more. 'I want it again.'

'You will be sore.'

'I do not care, Lord M. I want you again now.'

He bent to kiss her and her lust overrode all else, as did his. Melbourne shifted atop her and she wrapped her legs about him. As gently as he could (which, admittedly, was not as gentle as he possibly should) he pushed into her again.

Victoria felt it sting but that soon passed and she started to move under him, adoring the thrust and stretch of him.

She gripped onto him and rolled her body in time with his strokes. His eyes shut and his Adam's apple lurched along his neck, moaning out, 'You! You are … superb.'

She smiled at the compliment. She had worked out quickly how to please him … and how to please herself. She found that if she lifted her hips his strokes not only built up her pleasure from a place deep inside, but also nudged that place which triggered her ecstasy.

She guided him up a little so as to make it perfect. 'There,' she said. 'Do it like that.' He paused briefly and looked down in surprise.

'What?' she asked. 'Don't stop.'

He grinned. 'Carry on, tell me. You should, but … it's not always usual.'

'Why not? Why should I not?'

'You should and you must, but some women are more passive, as society has regrettably conditioned them to be. They should not be. Be yourself, and tell me what you want. I will do it.'

She returned his grin and coiled her arms seductively about him. 'Oh, Lord M, you know that I am anything but passive.'

And at that a strange urge came over her and with a twist and a roll she found she had reversed their positions, and she was now atop him, straddling him. He laughed in shock but did nothing to prevent it. Instinctively, she sat up with him inside her, and she found that this way he filled her profoundly. Her eyes widened and she sank down fully on him to feel it all.

'Oh! Is this possible?' she asked in wonder.

He chuckled again. 'I think you have the answer to that.'

Taking hold of her hips he began to guide her up and down but soon enough his hands fell away and he left her to control it. Melbourne moaned as the squeeze of pleasure tightened. 'My God, the way you do that!'

He brought his hand between her legs and circled her nub as she rose and fell along his cock.

Oh, could there be anything more divine?

Victoria came suddenly, sooner than she had anticipated, but it was shattering to the point of devastation. 'Oh … oh!' she cried wordlessly, gutturally, the shock of orgasm robbing her of coherence.

'Christ, I can feel it, God, I feel you!' he groaned, and the grip of her orgasm prompted his own. His fingers dug so hard into her hips that he left deep scratches. His back arched up and the muscles in his neck spasmed with the strength of his climax.

Eventually, she recovered enough to look down at him. Victoria was panting hard but managed a bleary smile of triumphant delight.

'You …' was all he said.

She slumped over him and murmured in his ear, 'And not a single bite.'

He lifted his hand and studied it. 'Hmm … but I scratched you.' Melbourne put his finger in his mouth and sucked at the blood on it.

He was still nestled in her and she clamped on him to feel it. 'Can life be more glorious?'

Perhaps not, although his mind provided a vision of her feeding on him and he swallowed back a response. Oh, she would know more and he would provide it. But for now, he could only agree: life was glorious.

They made love again later that morning, and then again as the day wore on. He fed from her, not excessively as her blood was already diminished from the night before, but desire demanded it and Victoria insisted. And so, as he lay on her, deeply embedded for the fourth time since her arrival, he sank his teeth once again into the inviting skin at her throat, and drank.

It was agreed that it would not be wise for the Queen to stay at Brocket Hall for more than one night. It would be known in London that she had gone without a chaperone, and enough questions would be raised as it were.

At around the three of the afternoon, after barely rising from the bed since she had arrived there, Victoria kissed him the deepest farewell and was driven off in her carriage. Melbourne had arranged to come to the Palace first thing on Monday morning, in little over a day's time.

-xoOox-

As sexual activity had dominated the last day and had on this occasion eclipsed all else, it was only when a niggling hunger took hold that Sunday night that Melbourne realised he had not fed enough. His libido was at a high, and although it did not always demand it during intercourse, in the intervening moments this heightened his need for blood.

He had travelled back to Dover House that afternoon and asked his housekeeper to prepare a rare steak, hoping that it would assuage his need, but it did not. He would have to seek more.

And so, at nine o'clock that evening, he ventured out to his usual slaughter house, confident that the custodian would be able to provide for him. The man was, after all, used to his regular if somewhat surprising customer asking for blood at the strangest hours. Melbourne had always used the excuse that, by feeding it into the soil, it produced the most remarkable orchids.

His driver left him as close to the slaughter house in Smithfield as he could, and Melbourne walked through the darkened streets, the cobbles gleaming with the rain which fell in a light but unceasing drizzle. Melbourne pulled the collar of his greatcoat high around him and kept his head down, passing shapes which shifted away from him as he drew near, hearing whispers which turned to muffled murmurs or silences as he paced by. If anyone recognised him, their own business was so nefarious that the thought of drawing it to the attention of the most powerful man in the land did not appeal. He knew he could travel undisturbed.

But tonight he was unsettled. He turned frequently, thinking to find someone behind him, but never doing so. He shivered against the chill and, his usual confidence wavering, hurried on.

The custodian at the slaughter house was most obliging, providing a gallon of fresh bullocks' blood for a few shillings. Melbourne rewarded him twofold for his efforts and hurriedly turned into a shadowed doorway to assuage his thirst.

The blood was rich but cold and it turned his stomach in contrast to what he had last feasted on. Yet it satisfied him for now, and tomorrow he would see her again. Melbourne, sated and anticipatory, set off for his carriage, his gait determined and reinvigorated. Tonight had been necessary but tomorrow would be magnificent.

He pictured her as he walked, the sheer beauty of her, the radiance, in such contrast to the filth now strewn about him. He continued on, confused by the twists and turns of the alleyways which led him around corners and through passages. Had he come this way earlier?

Melbourne passed beggars and waifs as he walked. He glanced down. They stared up at him, any vestige of hope in their hollow, blank eyes extinguished by the gnawing hunger and cold which assailed them. What had they done to deserve their fate? Nothing except be born, he surmised.

Suddenly and cripplingly, Melbourne was struck by his own failure. Here he was, Prime Minister, and yet people who had been born just like him into this world – innocent and naked and new – lived like this under his premiership. He could shrug off concerns when sitting at his leathered bureau overlooking the Thames, but here and now, the guilt hit him so hard he nearly retched. He hurried on past the wretches as quickly as he could but after a while could go no further. With a shuddering gasp, he stopped and braced himself against a wall, struggling to regain his breath.

Slowly, he composed himself, but just as he was preparing to set off again, footsteps sounded behind him. He froze and damned himself for not keeping a knife about him as so many of his colleagues advised. But then, if necessary – as he had used more frequently than he cared to recall – he did have remarkably sharp teeth.

Melbourne stood braced, guarding himself against attack. His body was tense and expectant, and his senses alert to anything that would indicate an imminent assault. But instead of the stale smell of villainy, a citric waft of bergamot drifted to his nose. It was familiar, dismayingly so. And instead of a gruff Farringdon accent demanding his purse, the refined and elegant tones of someone of effortless intelligence and education said:

'My my … if it isn't a little Lambkin.'

A sickening knot tightened in Melbourne's gut. He did not turn around, for he knew that his worst fears would be confirmed.

Instead, the person paced slowly around until he stood in front of Melbourne, who had no choice but to raise his head and look.

The same louche handsomeness, the same limpid eyes, the same mocking expression of entitled superiority.

'Byron.'

'William Lamb, what an utter pleasure … after all this time.' The derisive sneer could not be masked by the smooth vowels and rich tone.

'Why?' He could say no more.

Byron shrugged. 'Boredom, perhaps, but not only that … I sensed a change, a resurgence … in you. You've been a bad boy again, haven't you?'

Melbourne put his head down and tried to walk on past him but Byron raised his cane abruptly and stopped his path.

'You've been feeding, Lamb, I can tell all too well. And on something rather delectable I imagine. Female, no doubt, that was always your preference. I am sensing that you haven't turned her yet, however. Savouring her, are you? Well done.'

Melbourne spat out his fury. 'Leave me. We were done. I never wanted to see you again, and that still holds true, now more than ever.'

He hurried on, trying to shake him, but Byron kept pace.

'I hear you've gone up in the world. Prime Minister, no less. And Private Secretary to the Queen herself. Who would've thought it? Little Lamb, always trailing behind, always in second place … and now look at you. I am almost impressed.'

Melbourne stopped, barely managing to rein in his temper, his fists itching to strike him down. 'I said, leave me!' he spat.

Byron merely smirked and cast his eyes over Melbourne almost quizzically. 'But something's changed, hasn't it? You always did try to be good and restrained and all of that tedious mediocrity … Animal's blood? Is that how you slake your need? How could you?' He sneered. 'But not so much anymore … I can tell. Tonight must have been a mere top-up, hm? Because you've been taking something utterly delicious, haven't you? And, I suspect, something very, very willing. But what exactly, I wonder?'

Melbourne paced on, but Byron's strength and stamina were great and he kept pace with a light-footed ease which could not be shaken off.

At last the streets opened out and with the utmost relief Melbourne saw his carriage waiting for him ahead. He stopped and turned to his old nemesis. 'Get out of my life, Byron. You destroyed it before, you will not do so again. Get out and leave us alone.'

'Us?' The vampire's eyebrows rose up. 'You and … who else?'

'I warn you. If I see you again … I will rid this world of you forever.'

Byron frowned. 'Well … you may say that, but … you never really had it in you, did you? Even now … skulking around slaughterhouses ...' He tutted dismissively. 'You could never keep up, could you? No wonder your wife turned for me so easily.'

Melbourne closed his eyes against it, trying to blot it out as he had always done: the taunts, the malice. He had thought it gone and now it was back, cutting and biting as it had done before. He must escape it. He stepped into his carriage and slammed the door on Byron.

Through the closed door, the man continued. 'And who is it now, Lamb? Perhaps I'll finish what you've started and then she also will be mine … just like Caro.'

Melbourne banged on the ceiling and the driver set off, but as the carriage sped away, he heard Byron shout again, his voice echoing off the cobbles: 'Just like Caro!'