A child that would be passed off as Alexander’s.
Nothing need change.
How dare he say such a thing? Perhaps for him nothing had changed, but for her? Everything. Everything had changed.
She’d done something outside of foolish, but…she’d do it again. There’d been no way she could have stopped, pulled back. She wanted him, needed him in that way.
What they’d shared had been… She shivered, heat unfurling in her again. It had been like her dreams. But better.
Real.
Maia’s thoughts sharpened, settled, stopped. Her heart paused, her breathing stilled. Her dreams. Of making love to a vampire.
It had been him. Corvindale.
In her dreams, all along, it had been Corvindale.
She’d been dreaming about him, ever since she moved into his house. And that last dream, the one that had frightened her, that had been filled with darkness and pain and red…that had been while he’d been captured by Lerina.
Was she somehow connected to him? Through their dreams? Had she dreamed what he experienced? Or what he…dreamed?
She shook her head, shivering. The Sight works in mysterious ways.
Maia wished suddenly that Granny Grapes was still here, so she could ask her about dreams and connections. She closed her eyes and pursed her lips. There were other problems at hand.
Like what she’d done today, with Corvindale, was foolish. She could ruin herself, ruin her family. Hurt Alexander.
But…despite the way he’d handled it, the abhorrent, cold, earlish way…she would have done it again. She would do it again. It had been right despite the fact that everything about it seemed wrong.
The water had turned cold, and her hands and feet wrinkled like a silk gown left on the ground. And still Maia didn’t know what to do.
Logic, propriety, everything she’d ever learned told her she must marry Alexander. There was truly no good reason not to, and every reason to do so.
A broken engagement would cause a great scandal, particularly so close to the wedding. One of them must take the blame for it, and it would either be Maia—who would be ruined—or Alexander, who would be made a fool. She didn’t wish either consequence, but certainly she didn’t wish to make Alexander a cuckold nor a scapegoat, for that would be the result if she broke the engagement.
And if he made the announcement, which would be his right in this instance, Maia would be branded a loose woman. Her reputation would be ruined and she would never marry, and quite likely never be admitted into polite society again.
If she were with child, it would be even worse.
Nausea flooded her. How could something that had been so beautiful, that had felt so deeply right have such dreadful consequences?
She shook her head. Marrying Alexander wouldn’t be so bad.
It would be good, in fact. It would be nice and it would be the right thing to do.
She rose from the tub. It was time to go down and see him.
Dimitri opened his eyes to find the point of a stake resting upon his chest.
“Do it,” he said, looking up into the dark, furious face of Chas Woodmore. He closed his eyes against the dimly lit, spinning room and waited. Hoped. Put me out of this misery.
The pressure moved away from his torso. “Open your bloody eyes, Dimitri. I want to hear it from you.”
He forced his eyes open again, and the room tilted violently. He closed them, tasting the blood whiskey still clinging to his lips and tongue, smelling it on his hands and from the empty bottle on the desk in front of him. A bleary glance told him dawn threatened, but that the world was still silent with night. He was in his study, which was good, because that was the last thing he remembered. Settling into place with two—perhaps three—bottles of the stuff. Just as the sun went down. Tuning out the sounds, the scents, the memories, the darkness.
It was two days after the Incident at Rubey’s.
Two days after everything had changed.
“What did you do to my sister?” Chas said. His voice was slick with anger and dark with loathing. He stood across the desk from Dimitri, a mere arm’s length away. “I trusted you.”
“There is no explanation for what occurred. You have every right to finish things now.” Dimitri pulled his waistcoat helpfully away from his shirt. “I won’t fight you, Chas. I won’t even ask you to make it quick. Just bloody well do it. It’s a long time coming.”
“Devil take it, have you had the whole bottle tonight?” There was a clink as Woodmore picked it up as if to check its contents.
“No,” Dimitri drawled. “Two.” His eyes sank closed. Oblivion was lovely.
More clinking and the rustle of books and papers. “What in the devil are you doing, Corvindale?” Chas demanded.
“Waiting. What the damned hell is taking you so long? You’re never this slow.” His eyes remained closed.
“What did you do to Maia?”
Dimitri purposely picked the most vulgar of words. “I fucked her. I violated her. I bloody fed on her.” He tried to focus. “But she’s going to marry Bradington. No one will know. And you’re going to stake me. Anytime now.”
“And if she’s with child?”
“I pray she is not. It’s highly unlikely.” But, oh, the Fates, it was possible.
“But if she is…then Lucifer could claim him.”
A wave of nausea surged and Dimitri swallowed hard. As if the thought hadn’t been swirling around and around in his whiskey-fogged brain, sloshing along in his upset belly. Threatening him for days, threading through his dreams. Silence.
Dimitri opened his eyes and found Chas looking at him. Pity seemed to have replaced pure loathing, although the hard, dark fury was still there. What the hell was he waiting for? Dimitri wouldn’t have waited. He’d have driven the stake home long before now. “It was Rubey who told me,” Woodmore said, answering a question Dimitri hadn’t cared to ask. “Not Maia. She’s said nothing. To anyone.”
Dimitri adjusted his position in the chair and blinked. Apparently they were going to have a civil conversation before the man killed him. “There isn’t a damned thing I can do to change it,” he said. “It’s done. I’ve settled a dowry on her—”
“She doesn’t need a bloody damned dowry from you,”
Chas said. “And there certainly isn’t anything you can do.
If you were a mortal, I’d have you at the altar tomorrow because I know at least you’d never hurt her. At any rate, I don’t want you to touch her again.”
Dimitri gave a bitter laugh. “There is no chance of that.”
“Very well. The sad thing is, I believe you, Dimitri.” Chas shoved the stake back into his inside pocket. “I came for another reason, besides to kill you.”
“But you haven’t killed me,” Dimitri said flatly. “Damn you.”
“No, and I don’t think I will. It’s clear killing’s too easy a way out for you, Corvindale. Aside of that, I might be in need of you in the future. You’ll owe me.”
“Why are you here?”
“I’m going to visit Sonia, in Scotland. I’m going to see if she’ll use her Sight to tell me about Moldavi so we can stop him for good. Narcise won’t be free until he’s dead.”
Dimitri felt a stirring of interest. “Sonia has a different skill than Angelica. She might do it. She might be of help.”
“But she won’t use it,” Chas said. “I’m hoping to convince her that it’s worthwhile.”
Dimitri sat up, gave his head a little shake to rid himself of the fogginess. “Narcise is going with you?”
“Yes.” Woodmore looked at him, seemed ready to say something, then stopped. “We leave in the morning. I might not be back for Maia’s wedding.”
Maia’s wedding. He’d been afraid, initially, that something would have happened to cancel it altogether, but Dimitri knew it had been rescheduled for two weeks from now. Not soon enough. But at least it was going forward. At least soon she would be out of his hands. Out of his reach.
“Does she know this?”
“No. That’s part of what you owe me, Corvindale. You can deliver the news…and take my place, walking her down the aisle. Giving her away.”
“I’ll go to blasted Scotland, you stay here,” Dimitri suggested.
Chas’s response was a laugh as bitter as Dimitri’s. “No, you’ll stay here and make certain my sister is wed without a bloody damned hint of scandal. If you have to force Bradington down the aisle, if you have to enthrall all of the ton, you make certain it happens. That it’s the happiest day of her life, damn you. You owe me, Corvindale. You broke my trust, you put your damned vampire hands on my sister when she was under your care. And your fangs. You’re worse than Voss. You damned well owe me. If we didn’t have a history, if I didn’t owe you, you would be dead by now.”
No one had ever spoken to Dimitri in that way and lived to tell about it. But this time, he allowed it. Because Chas had the right.
“I’ll see to it. Gladly,” he added. He couldn’t wait to wash his hands of Maia Woodmore.
17
THE LION IS BEARDED IN HIS DEN
Maia sat up, suddenly wide-awake.
She’d been dreaming. Or perhaps she hadn’t.
The world was dark, for there was a new moon tonight and the stars were cloaked in clouds and fog. She could barely discern the shapes of her dressing table and the chair in the corner.
Lingering in her mind was a memory…a dream or reality, she wasn’t certain… She was in a chamber furnished with great luxury. There were men there, and a woman who was tall and broad and sported a bit of a mustache. Although the place was richly appointed, Maia felt wrong. It was wrong.
Horrible and evil.
She shook her head, trying to clear her mind, trying to focus. Hands grabbing at her, lascivious smiles, the clink of glasses as drinks were poured…Mr. Virgil was there. Smiling. Laughing heartily.