CHAPTER SIXTY-EIGHT
The drizzle had turned to a subtle mist, in no way deterring Polidori and Hamilton from walking the distance from Mayfair back to Great Pulteney Street. A brief time of shared company on the damp, empty streets of London. “We cannot force her to break an oath. Personal integrity is of a higher value than either life or death itself. And in this case, no one has actually died,” Polidori said.
“Yet,” Hamilton replied. “I’m confused. Do you suspect Miss Griffith was the waif in the royal bedchambers, the one who sucked upon Augustus Frederick’s flesh?”
“I do.”
“So, she is a vampyre?”
Polidori hesitated. “I do not believe so. At least not yet. I have no doubt she was enamored by the one who lead the attack and who actually drew upon the royal blood of both Augusta Emma
