She couldn’t know for certain, but it made sense, in its own strange way.
And Lerina was dead, thanks to Lord Eddersley, who’d taken it upon himself to skewer the horrible woman when he arrived on the scene. Alexander Bradington had scuttled off into the night like the snake he was—athough Maia hadn’t said that aloud, for surely Gavril would remind her that snakes didn’t scuttle. They slithered.
Nevertheless, he’d assured her that Alexander was long gone to the Continent, and probably beyond, where he was safe from Chas’s vengeful stake (at least for the time being) and Gavril’s own fury.
“Are you truly free of Lucifer, even though you called him to you and offered yourself?” she asked, blinking hard.
Gavril nodded and took the book from her hand. “I am. I’m free and mortal and my soul is my own again. Thanks to you, my dear Miss Woodmore. For nagging me into loving you.”
She looked at him archly, heaving up the heavy stack of books. “I didn’t nag you into loving me. You already did. I merely nagged you into admitting it.”
He chuckled, a low, deep sound that sent a delicious little tingle deep in her belly. “That might be the case. But,” he continued, taking the books firmly from her hands, “I think it’s your turn for an admission. That you shouldn’t be carrying such a heavy burden.” He gestured with the stack of books.
Maia looked up at him, her cheeks warming a bit. “Whatever do you mean, Lord Corvindale?”
“I mean,” he said, “that you’ve got another burden to carry, and a much more important one, being a future earl.”
The blush went full-blown and she smiled. “Well, it’s possible,” she said. “We have been a bit busy since you sold your soul for me.”
The light that came into his face was like nothing she’d ever seen before: a bit of wonder, a bit of surprise, a lot of love and a twinge of chagrin. “I do love you, Miss Woodmore,” he said, his voice rough. “And I couldn’t be happier that I got my soul back to share it with you. So please don’t lift anything heavy for the next nine months, my darling. Promise me that.”
“I shall endeavor to do my best,” she said, not meaning a word of it. “Particularly since you used the very unearlish word please.”
Then, as was his way, even now, the softness in his face ebbed a bit. “And now that we have that settled, I find that I am overdue in a trip to my favorite antiquarian bookstore.”
Maia knew the one he spoke of, of course. “No more trips to buy Faustian legend, I presume?”
“No indeed,” he said, a little bit of a smile twitching his mouth again. “But I find I am missing several volumes of Shakespeare. In fact, I’m particularly interested in one comedy in particular.” His eyes danced.
“And which one is that?” she asked, although she was already laughing, for she knew the answer.
“The Taming of the Shrew.”
The little antiquarian bookshop was gone.
Gavril wasn’t surprised.
In the place where Wayren’s narrow little establishment had once been was a window that showed nothing but the interior of the tannery.
After a moment of wry contemplation, and peering into the dusty window to see the tanner stropping a piece of leather, Gavril turned away. Instead of climbing back into his carriage, ducking under the fanlike awning, he walked down the street in the sun.
Smiling.
