“If you had simply explained—”
“There was no time for explanations, even if I had believed you might have heeded them, Miss Woodmore. You would have ignored them just as you have everything else since arriving here, including keeping the windows in this house shrouded, my library in order and my preference not to be bothered.”
Maia held her ground, despite the fact that his voice had risen enough that a nearby vase rattled on its glass tray. So he had noticed she’d been looking through his library…and doing a bit of organizing. Had he seen that she’d arranged his many copies of the Faustian legend by language and date?
“If you had simply explained that we were in danger and there was no time for discussion, I would have heeded your warning.” She drew in a breath and managed to count to three before continuing. “In addition to an apology, I believe it isn’t asking overly much to request an explanation for what happened last evening. I understand now that Angelica and I were in danger, but I would like to know why and from whom or what. And how it happened that you arrived in time to prevent whatever the outcome might have been…regardless of the clumsy manner in which you executed it.”
“Clumsy manner?” he repeated.
She pinned him with her eyes and made an impatient gesture. Why would he not give her a straight answer? “You pushed me out onto the balcony, wrapped up in curtains. Can you not give me the courtesy of telling me why?”
“Because there were some very bad men who want to take you away and I needed to ensure that you didn’t reveal yourself to them. That is why your blasted brother snared me into being your guardian. Because he knew there was no one else who could keep you safe.”
Very bad men? It was all she could do not to roll her eyes in frustration. “Please, my lord, you sound like a character in one of those Gothic novels by Mrs. Radcliffe, making all sorts of Byzantine comments and cryptic warnings. If you would cease these ambiguous statements and simply tell me what is happening—”
“What then? You would accept my explanations and my orders without question?”
Was the man mad? “Certainly not. But at least you wouldn’t feel the necessity to wrap me up and throw me onto the balcony.”
Corvindale crossed his arms over his sagging, stained waistcoat and glared down at her. “The truth is, Miss Woodmore, your brother has gotten himself into serious danger with a society of ruthless men. By disappearing with the sister of one of them, he has not only put himself in a most injurious position, but also you and your sisters—for they would like nothing better than to use one or any of you to get to Chas.”
Oh, Chas! Maia swallowed, trying to keep the panic away. “Then they are after us as hostages? Ransom?” So the men weren’t vampirs. Or were they? She shook her head. She was mad to even consider the possibility that vampirs could actually exist.
She spoke aloud, working through her thoughts as if he weren’t even there. “But then that must mean Chas is still alive and hidden somewhere if they are trying to abduct us. He must still be alive. And safe.” Relief bounded through her.
“Your brother is very cunning and able, and you are likely correct. I’m confident he can take care of himself. But you and your sister must not leave this house or see anyone with out my permission. You are completely safe whilst in my custody, but Cezar Moldavi is not only ruthless but also reasonably intelligent. And your brother has betrayed him in a most egregious manner. He will not give up easily.”
“Cezar Moldavi?” Maia froze. She’d heard that name. She was certain of it. But where? Perhaps Chas…
“You recognize that name, then?”
“I’m familiar with it but I have never met the man, like yourself. I mean to say, now that I’ve met you—”
Dimitri shifted, his impatience clear. “Yes, yes, Miss Wood more. Please refrain from stating the obvious. Now, I am expecting Mr. Cale any moment now. What other items must you drag forth and force me to ponder?”
“You still have not tendered an apology,” she said clearly, not about to be brushed off. Really. The man had some sort of nerve. “I have never been handled so—”
“Miss Woodmore,” the blasted man interrupted again, “do you mean to say that should a man push you from the path of an oncoming carriage he should bow and scrape at your feet in apology for mussing your skirts? Or should he ask permission first, before doing so?”
It was all she could do to keep from stamping her foot. Was the man that obtuse? “Well, I do believe—” She stopped herself this time. He was not worth the effort of getting riled up. One attracts more bees with honey than vinegar. Although she didn’t think either would appease the dratted individual in front of her. He simply disliked everyone.
Nevertheless, taking a deep breath, she spoke again, keeping her tones dulcet with effort, speaking to him as if he were a young child. “I did not realize we were in some sort of danger. You made no effort to impress that fact upon me—a fact which you obviously well knew. Perhaps in the future, Lord Corvindale, you might be a bit more forthcoming. Particularly about things that apply to me and my sisters.”
“Perhaps.”
Incensed by his insouciant remark, clearly meant only to shut her up, she stepped forward and was rewarded when he actually seemed to rear back a bit. Good. The wrath of a woman is not to be underestimated. “There is one more thing, my lord. I require your assurances that my sister’s reputation will be intact when she is returned here to your custody—or that you will take the appropriate steps to correct any problems thereof.” The last thing any of them needed was a scandal attached to Angelica. That would ruin any chance she had of making a match with Harrington—or any other well-respected gentleman.
“You have my assurances that I will do my utmost to protect your sister’s reputation, Miss Woodmore,” he replied stiffly. “No one—other than perhaps yourself and Chas—is more concerned about it than I am. But you haven’t any reason to worry. She is safe from Moldavi and in unblemished company.”
Maia’s eyes narrowed. He’s not telling me something. She was certain of it. He was obfuscating, drat the man. But before she could press him further, there were footsteps and voices in the foyer.
“My lord,” said the butler as he appeared. “Mr. Giordan Cale has arrived.”
Maia hardly glanced at Mr. Cale as he strode down the hall toward the earl. She had the impression of a well-dressed, handsome man with a haggard, taut expression.
“Dimitri,” he said to the earl. And then he turned to Maia. “Miss Woodmore.” He gave a quick bow as she curtsied, getting a better look at him. He was very handsome, with strong features like a Roman god and tight, curling chestnut hair. He looked just like Michelangelo’s statue of David, except, of course, that she couldn’t accurately compare the statue to this man’s physique.
Corvindale frowned. “If you’ll excuse us,” he said dismissively to Maia. Then he looked at Cale and gestured down the corridor. “My study.”
“There was no time to give the lengthy explanation she would have required—let alone convince Miss Woodmore of its veracity. It was necessary to take matters into my own hands,” Dimitri said moments later in his study.
He found himself more than a bit annoyed that he felt compelled to explain, even to the man he considered his closest friend. Not to mention the fact that he was beyond furious that Belial’s men had caught him by surprise with the rubies. The other two had been no match for him, and Dimitri had been about to use the stake he had beneath his waistcoat when Belial himself burst into the chamber carrying that ruby necklace.
He didn’t know how they’d known of his Asthenia for rubies. No one had known except Cale—though he’d die before revealing it. Meg had known, but she was long dead by a stake to the heart. Although Voss had tried valiantly to find out that night in Vienna, he hadn’t succeeded until last night when he’d discovered Dimitri with the necklace draped across his skin.
Dimitri’s neck still burned where the gems had blazed into his skin, and although he was satisfied that he’d moved quickly enough to hide Mirabella and his ward, things had very nearly gone wrong. A fact which the latter seemed unwilling or unable to comprehend. “Miss Woodmore has been rather vocal in expressing her annoyance with my choice of tactics,” he continued.
Cale wasn’t completely successful in hiding the amusement in eyes that were nevertheless laced with tension. “She didn’t sound terribly pleased with the event,” he agreed. “I heard quite a bit of your exchange.”
Damnable vampire hearing. “Miss Woodmore would argue with the devil if he claimed he were from hell,” he said, pouring them each a healthy shot of his best brandy—this time, without blood.
His head was a bit soft from last night’s overindulgence of blood whiskey between the interlude with Hatshepsut and the attack by Cezar Moldavi’s men. Naturally he’d only interfered to keep Miss Woodmore from waltzing with that court jester because it had been his duty as her guardian, but it had led to an unnecessary detour in that shadowy alcove—not to mention a distraction that had put him off guard. And just as naturally, Dimitri hadn’t given their brief kiss more than a passing thought, but, still, that delay had caused him to be a bit too slow in realizing the vampires had arrived.
Which was another reason he was in no mood to placate Miss Woodmore.
He’d rushed through the house, looking for his wards and his sister so as to get them to safety, and had barely done so when Belial’s associates had attacked him. Fortunately their absence made it appear that Dimitri was searching for the girls as well, thereby misleading the vampires before Belial flung the ruby necklace at him.
“They gained admittance to the party?” Cale asked.
“There were five of them, all makes, including Belial,” Dimitri replied.
Makes were vampires who’d been “made” or sired by another Dracule. While enjoying the same characteristics as the original Draculia members—ones like Dimitri, Cale and Voss, who were invited into the brotherhood by Lucifer himself—these made vampires were less powerful and more susceptible to weakness.