“Shh!” Maia looked toward the ajar door. “You’ll wake Mirabella! No, I didn’t dream about Dewhurst.” She looked at her sister, scrutinizing her closely. What would Angelica think of her if she knew she’d liked the bite of a vampir?
But perhaps…perhaps it would make her sister feel a little better, knowing that there was a different perspective. After all, even in Granny Grapes’s stories, there had been vampirs who didn’t mean to hurt people. And there were people who’d found the creatures fascinating. “It’s going to sound horrible to you, Angelica. You’ll think me mad.”
“Not any more than I already do,” Angelica replied with a small smile. “Tell me.”
Maia realized her fingers were plucking energetically at the lace on the pillow in her lap. “I dreamed that a vampir visited me in my chamber. But it wasn’t frightening. It was…like embracing Alexander, and kissing him…but it was different. Better. And when the vampire bit me—”
Angelica gasped. “What?”
“In my dream, he bit me. Right…here. It didn’t hurt, in my dream. In fact, it was…it made me…” She clamped her lips shut, realizing her voice had become a little breathy. That was just too much information. The next thing she knew, Maia would be confessing the kiss she’d shared with the Knave of Diamonds. Something real that had happened…and that she’d forced herself to try and forget.
Perhaps that was why she’d been focusing on the dreams so much—they weren’t real. They couldn’t happen.
She couldn’t feel guilty about them. Especially now that Alexander was coming back. “You liked it?” Angelica exclaimed, causing Maia to glance toward the door for fear someone would hear them.
Her whole body froze, her belly dropping low and her heart stopping when she met a pair of glittering dark eyes in the dark corridor. Corvindale. Maia felt ill and hot and faint all at once and she clutched the pillow to her chest. “My lord.”
How long had he been standing there? What had he heard? Oh, heavens… What if he’d heard her talking about her dream? Thank God she hadn’t told Angelica about the Knave of Diamonds, too!
His face seemed stonier, even more tight and angry than usual and she had to swallow hard to keep her heart from surging up into her throat. She couldn’t remember a time she’d ever been so mortified.
“My apologies. I was just arriving home and heard voices,” the earl said—or something like that. Maia couldn’t hear a thing over the rushing sound in her ears and the pounding of her heart.
Of all people to hear her confess such a thing…it had to be Corvindale.
She wanted to crawl under the bed and hide. But she didn’t. She managed to speak calmly, she supposed; but she couldn’t remember exactly what she said. And soon he was gone to investigate some noises he’d heard below, leaving her and Angelica alone again.
With the door closed tightly behind him.
Her sister didn’t seem to realize what had happened, and for that Maia was grateful. But her cheeks were still hot and it took a long time for her heart to stop pounding so erratically.
Part of the reason was that, for a moment there, she’d only seen part of the earl’s face. The lower part, exposed by the wavering light from her lamp. And for a stunning, heart-stopping second, she’d focused on his mouth.
And she recognized it.
The Knave of Diamonds.
It was a good thing she was curled up on her bed, for her knees turned to water and she was literally unable to breathe.
But by the time the earl had spoken, and then taken his leave, Maia had realized her error. There were a multitude of reasons that the knave couldn’t have been Corvindale—the most compelling of which was the fact that the masked man had not only conversed and flirted with her, but kissed her, as well. All without one insulting comment.
For Corvindale to have done something so out of character was an impossibility. Especially since it was clear that he despised Maia as much as she despised him.
Although “I do hope you aren’t about to cast up your accounts on my waistcoat” might qualify as an insult….
“Angelica,” Maia whispered, when she saw her sister with her ear pressed to the crack of the door. “What are you doing?” But it was obvious: she was listening to whatever Corvindale had gone to investigate.
Curious and willing to have a distraction, she joined her taller sibling, forced to half crouch next to her at the open door. They listened for a moment and heard nothing but the faint creaks and groans of the house.
“Did you really like it, in your dream? When he bit you?”
Angelica whispered.
Maia froze. “I don’t want to talk about it,” she snapped softly. I wish I’d kept my mouth closed. She heard a dull thud below, then silence.
“I cannot imagine finding it anything but horrifying,”
Angelica whispered back.
Maia had to close her eyes as a warm shiver of remembrance trickled through her. “Even those stories Granny used to tell us, about the vampires…even then there were some people who didn’t find it…horrible.” Apparently she was one of them. Of course, perhaps if it happened in reality she might change her mind…. “And it was just a dream, Angelica.”
They both heard the footsteps ascending the stairs at the same time. They whipped around simultaneously, silently dashing back to the bed. They’d just tumbled onto it in a heap of nightgowns and pillows when someone rapped on the bedchamber door.
“At least he knocked this time,” Maia muttered as the door eased open.
But then she saw who it was, and she was right behind Angelica as she flew off the bed. “Chas!” she and Angelica cried at the same time.
“Hush—no one can know I’m here,” he said, embracing them both. “Come down to the study with me so we can converse privately.”
Relief and annoyance rushed through Maia. She had plenty of questions for her brother, as well as a demand: to get her away from the Earl of Corvindale.
She was more than delighted to pull on a robe and follow him down to the parlor.
So these are Chas’s sisters.
Narcise Moldavi watched as the two young women entered the parlor at Blackmont Hall. Wearing a wide-brimmed hat and men’s clothing, Narcise leaned against the fireplace and waited, knowing that they wouldn’t realize she was a woman. The brim shaded her face, and the faint brush of soot she’d applied beneath her cheekbones to give her not only the impression of gauntness, but a bit of stubble, made her look like a skinny old man.
The sisters were very different in appearance, as well as in demeanor. One of them was dark and gypsyish looking like Chas, with lush brown hair, dusky-rose skin and exotic eyes. She took a seat and scanned the room, clearly observing and taking it all in. She was taller than the other, lighter-haired one, who strode in and immediately began to make adjustments: the lamp wicks, the pillows on the sofa, even Dimitri’s stacks of books.
That one must be Maia, and the dark one was Angelica.
Both women were striking, but the elder one was a classic English beauty with her fair complexion. Petite and delicate, unlike Narcise, Maia had hair that defied description: it was neither blond nor chestnut nor auburn, but a mixture of the three shades, and then some. She had a heart-shaped face and a rosebud mouth that seemed to be pursed with annoyance. Her sharp green-brown eyes shot daggers at Chas when he was standing next to Dimitri, talking in a low voice as they sipped whiskey.
Chas had best keep her from Cezar’s sight. Narcise shivered, thinking of what her brother would do to such a beautiful young woman as Maia Woodmore. Considering what he’d done to Narcise, his own sister…
Of course, the fact that she was Dracule and must live forever was added incentive for Cezar to do what he would. Or to have his friends do what they would, which was more to his taste anyway. Incest, at least, was not one of Cezar’s many sins.
After all, no matter what sort of torment and pleasure they put her through, Narcise couldn’t die without a wooden stake to the heart or ten minutes in the sun. Which was why Cezar had made certain all of the furnishings in her windowless chamber had been made of metal. He was taking no chances of losing his favorite bargaining chip.
At the thought, Narcise couldn’t quite suppress the flutter of panic that swirled in her belly. Chas had helped her escape from that horror, but that didn’t mean she’d never return to it. Cezar wouldn’t stop searching for her until he was dead.
Or until she was.
Narcise remembered her fantasies of finding feathers and wrapping herself in them, then falling out of a window to lie in the sun. Eventually she’d have to die, weakened by the feathers and burned by the sun’s rays. Some days, even now, she considered it. At least then Cezar couldn’t get to her.
And Chas would be safe.
Her glance flickered to him as he greeted his sisters, who were both loose-haired and dressed in nightclothes, and they settled in their seats. At this moment, he looked more like an English gentleman—albeit an exotic one, with his Romanian coloring—than she was used to seeing him: in a white shirt done up to the throat, covered by a dark coat, along with pantaloons. He was holding a glass, his hair fairly tamed and pomaded smooth. Clean-shaven. All this in deference to his proper sisters, who, according to him, had no idea that he spent his days and nights hunting vampirs.
The irony that he was an enemy of her race only fueled Narcise’s fascination with him. A Dracule involved with a vampire hunter. How absurd and dangerous.
And how surprising that she could actually find pleasure with a man, actually trust one, after all she’d been through.
Chas glanced over at her and she met his black gaze coolly.
She’d learned long ago not to show weakness or truth in her face or eyes. It could be used against her. And it had.
Oh, it had.
Chas’s eyes crinkled slightly at the corners as the ends of his mouth tipped slightly, and she knew he was measuring her response to meeting two of his sisters. Narcise tucked down the little unfurling of warmth in her belly. She felt safe with him. Safe and comfortable.
