Married To The Mad Vampire Lord

She counted the raindrops as they splashed against the glass of the window, sliding down one after another until they met and merged together. A faint smile lingered on her soft pink lips as she distracted herself with the simple act of counting the drops of rain, rather than listening directly to the conversation happening outside the room. She was so happy that she could hardly contain the joy swelling inside her.

"...Yes, of course, the marriage should be set as soon as possible, my lady. Our Isabelle, I am sure, will be pleased to hear that the man she fancies has asked for her hand." Came the muffled words of her mother, words that slipped through the gap Isabelle had purposely left open in the door so she could overhear what was being discussed between her parents and the parents of the man she secretly loved. The more she heard, the happier she became, her heart fluttering like a bird eager to take flight.

"Oh, that is good to hear, Lady Dawson. At first, when Deven told me he liked your daughter, I was skeptical, because the girl is known to be a shy little princess who has been pampered by her parents and would not be given away for marriage against her will. But I am delighted to know she likes my son." Came Lady Marchant's voice.

Liked? Isabelle thought with a shy smile. That word was an understatement. She loved him to death! It was all she could do not to jump up and down in joy at the fact that she would soon marry the respectable son of Lord Marchant, Deven Marchant, a man every woman would give her right arm to have.

"If you wouldn't mind my request," Lady Marchant continued, "Deven asked me to let you know that he would like to have a few private moments with your dear Isabelle, so they could get reacquainted again. It has been two years since they last met. And as there are no objections on either side regarding this marriage, I think we should arrange for them to meet, with a chaperone, of course."

"Of course, I was thinking about that too," her mother replied warmly. "They can meet and get reacquainted again."

Isabelle jumped out of her seat at those words. She would be meeting Deven? Her hazel eyes widened, and she clutched her nervous fingers against the side of her dress as she bit down hard on her bottom lip, heat rushing to her cheeks. The last time she had seen him, he had held her hand, kissed her knuckles at the ball, and even danced with her. She remembered those beautiful blue eyes that had stared at her as he waltzed her around the hall two years ago.

He had promised they would meet again, but they never did, until yesterday, when she was riding in the carriage through the park and their wheel broke down. Coincidentally, he had been passing by that same park at that very moment.

He had given them a ride in his carriage and then instructed his coachman to return for him after dropping her, her maidservant, and her mother back home. But who would have thought that today he would send his family to ask for her hand in marriage, and then personally request a private meeting with her!

"Oh, Lord. I will be marrying Deven, and he wants to meet me," she mused breathlessly as she hid her face between her palms.

"...then it is set. They can meet at Greenland Park, where there are people around," Lady Marchant said with a smile in her voice. "We can announce their marriage tomorrow first thing in the morning. It is going to be a very strong connection, the Duke's family and the Marquis. We are so delighted to be connected by marriage."

Isabelle listened to the exchange between their parents, but she did not care in the slightest about what political connections the marriage would bring. What she cared about was far simpler, what she would wear tomorrow to meet Deven at the park.

Throughout the entire night, while her parents formally informed her about the marriage and her meeting with Deven tomorrow, she held in her excitement, forcing herself to act as though she hadn't eavesdropped on the earlier conversation from her chamber.

"You should be on your best behavior, dear. Though their family rank is below ours, the Marchants are a respectable family, and Deven is a calm soul with the bearing of an angel. Every woman would die to be in your place. So when you meet him tomorrow, make sure you are on your best behavior," her mother chided affectionately as she combed Isabelle's hair in front of the mirror, braiding it gently for the night, while Isabelle herself could barely contain her radiant beams of joy.

"Yes, Mama. I will be on my very best behavior, just as you taught me," she assured, smiling brightly at her mother, who smiled back and patted her hair fondly.

"That's my girl. I have set aside the dress you will be wearing tomorrow. Deven's carriage will come to pick you up."

Deven. Just the very name made her toes curl and her stomach flutter as though a thousand butterflies were taking flight inside her. She couldn't wait to meet him.

Isabelle could barely sleep that night. She woke at dawn and immediately called on her maid, instructing her to prepare a beauty bath with scented oils and soaps.

By the time she was done, her smooth, flawless skin, dusted faintly with freckles, glowed like a baby's, and her face shone with brightness and youthful charm. She was dressed in a blue gown and adorned with beautiful accessories.

"Do you think he will like me, Clara?" she asked her maidservant, doubt flickering in her hazel eyes.

"He wouldn't have asked for your hand if he didn't already like you, milady. You are the loveliest lady in all of Aragonia! Now put a smile on your face and go meet your husband-to-be."

Husband-to-be. She smiled as her heart skipped a beat.

"Deven..." she muttered the name with love.

"Deven..." she muttered the name with hate now. From being excited to meet the man she believed she would marry, to being curled up in a dark chamber where the doors were locked to keep her in, lest she escape and lash out at everyone again. The room was so dark she could barely see herself, but the despair and resentment festering in her heart needed no light to be felt.

"Deven. I will kill you if it's the last thing I do in this life. I will make you suffer the pain you made me endure," she swore, her trembling voice shaking along with her entire body from the sheer force of her hate. She had never hated anyone before, and she had never even thought herself capable of hating this much. But this feeling devouring her soul would never go away, not until either she died or he died. One of them had to go.

"...They should send her to the madhouse at this rate. The lady has not only gone mad but also wayward," came a voice from outside the chamber.

"She once used to be such a good girl. Now look at what she has become, a crazy woman. What a pity for the Dawsons..."

How dare they call her crazy? Couldn't they see what had been done to her—how deeply she had been hurt? How dare they, all of them! She would kill them, every one of them, and burn everything they loved to the ground.

She pushed herself up from the cold bed and hurled her body against the door with reckless force.

The impact of hitting her shoulder against the door startled Belle awake with a sharp gasp. She stared unblinking at the carriage ceiling, her mind still tangled between dream and reality, until she became aware of the hand gripping her shoulder, shaking her lightly. Only then did she notice the familiar rigid, worry-filled face of her husband. His lips were moving, but she couldn't hear the words at first, until she blinked, forced her mind to return, and focused on the present.

"...Are you all right?" he asked her, repeating the question for the fifth time.

Rohan looked at her with concern, noticing the confusion in her eyes. Slowly, she nodded her head, and then almost hesitantly, she leaned forward, resting her head against his chest and wrapping her arms tightly around his waist.