Emma flipped it over this way and that, but there was no name that she could see. Only the Winterly crest stamped into the seal. “Are you sure it’s for me?”
“It was lying outside your door.” Milli gazed, intent, as Emma snapped the seal.
Inside, Emma found a little collection of ladies hair pins. The sight was so underwhelming to Milli’s sense of adventure that she rose with a snort and left the room.
Emma, however, was much affected. Her face glowed with chagrin and, dare she admit it, some secret thrill. By returning her hair pins, Winterly had sought to remind her of their illicit kiss in the ancient graveyard. As if she could forget.
Chapter Thirty-One
The Woman In The Red Dress
“Happy birthday, sister,” said Milli. “You don’t look a day over twenty-six.”
“That’s because I’m not a day over twenty-six, you minx!” Emma kissed her sister’s pale cheek and thanked her for the book of sonnets.
“I ought to have been a little more creative, it seems. You have more than enough books.” Milli reached over to read the title of the book lying unread on Emma’s bedside table. “Memoirs of a Woman of Pleasure, eh?” Milli eagerly flipped it open to scan the first page. “What’s this about?”
Emma snatched it back. “It’s utter nonsense.”
“Oh, do let me have a look!”
“It isn’t for the likes of sensible, genteel young ladies.”
“Only for hussies like you, eh?”
Thankfully, the row was interrupted by a knock at the door. “Let go at once! That’s the maid with my gown, would you have the servants see you acting the savage?” Emma had sent her ball gown off to be pressed this morning and she was relieved to have an excuse to shoo Milli from her room. The maid was admitted directly. However, it was not the pressed gown she delivered but a large white box fastened with a bright red bow.
“Another birthday gift!” cried Milli, the book momentarily forgotten.
Emma thanked the maid and carried the box to the bed. “But it isn’t my birthday just yet.”
“One might argue that you have every right to celebrate two birthdays this year, Emma.”
“True.” Midsummer did not, after all, fall annually on the same day.
Without further ado, Emma pulled the riband free and lifted the top half of the box away from its partner. With a worshipful gasp she ran her fingers gently over the dark satin and deep carmine velvet within. “A gown!” And what looked to be an exquisite one. She pulled it out and held it against her bosom.
Milli was grinning like a simpleton. “From your lover, I shouldn’t wonder.”
“There’s no card, it might just as well be from—”
“It’s from him,” said Milli, emphatic.
“But I have a gown.”
“Nothing to rival that one. I defy you shall wear anything else tonight, Emma, it’s perfect! You will be the loveliest woman at the ball tonight.” Milli then glanced at her watch and declared that it was high time they got themselves ready.
Emma was much mistook if she thought she would have a leisurely nap before the ball. Milli was of the opinion that there was not enough time between now and dusk to do all that she wished to do to improve her sister’s toilette. And she was entrusting none of it to Emma, who preferred simplicity and elegance to ostentatious headdresses and colorful confections.
“I hope you won’t turn me into some or other feathered beast?” said Emma, shuddering at the thought of wild plumage, heavy frills, and fruity headdresses.
“Horsefeathers!”
“None of those either,” said Emma.
“No, you goosecap, you’re to be a sleek beauty tonight. I wouldn’t dream of having my sister looking like an exotic mess of feathers and fruit. I want you to be the belle of the ball.”
“This is not a deuced fairytale, Milli.” But she was pleased that her sister would adhere to her partialities, bland as she likely found them. And the dress did look elegant, if a bit more sumptuous than what ordinarily suited Emma’s simple palate.
“Ah, but it could very well be a fairytale ending,” Milli persisted, ignoring Emma’s demurrals. The chit would have her way, and would not be overruled. “And I have declared myself your fairy godmother.”
“Then do your worst…only don’t make me use Doctor Pinnock’s Arsenic Complexion Wafers,” said Emma. They both snickered, for their aunt had quite the collection of odd beautifiers and salves that she incorporated in her daily toilette, though none of them seemed to have cured the old dear of her sallow complexion. Only Boudicca, curled atop the armchair by the fire, seemed unamused and gave a sharp-toothed little yawn.
More wine was ordered directly, and Milli’s gown was promptly fetched in from her chamber so that the business of beautifying Emma became a social affair.
“Victoria said that there was to be waltzing tonight!” said Milli. “And no uncle to forbid my waltzing with Nicholas.”
Emma hemmed and shot her sister a stern look. “Not that you ever minded his wishes before. And don’t you mean, Mr. Valko?”
Milli ignored the scold. “Oh, how all the ladies in Little Snoring shall envy me when I tell them, especially Poppy!”
Emma hadn’t even thought about dancing the waltz, could not even begin to imagine how the deuced thing was executed. Well, she’d just have to sit it out and beguile the night by spectating instead.
Meanwhile, Milli was speculating avidly on whether or not Nicholas—she perversely insisted on using his Christian name—would fill her dance card. Emma listened without comment, mixing a few drops of Devil’s Bane into her lotions before proceeding to lather her skin. That done, she donned her silk stockings. Over her chemise went her corset, which Milli was obliging enough to lace for her.
“Good Gracious,” said her sister, eyeing Emma’s waist, “but you needn’t even wear the blasted thing. When last did you eat?”
“I had a tiffin earlier,” Emma replied, feeling the effect of the wine loosening her muscles and warming her blood. “Do stop mothering me.”
“Humph, ’tis the prerogative of a fairy godmother to mother.”
“Besides,” said Emma, “one might ask you the same thing, pot—you’re as pale as a sheet.”
“That is because you can’t see properly without your spectacles. I am perfectly well.”
When Emma’s stays were secured, she slipped into the shimmering length of the satin under-dress before the heavy velvet of the pièce de résistance followed.
Milli fluffed the overdress a bit and made all the approving noises of a mother hen, although she still did not allow Emma to peek into the looking glass. “Not till I have dressed your hair,” she said, taking far more pleasure in Emma’s impatience than she ought. Finally, however, once Milli had piled Emma’s weighty locks atop her head, and sprinkled her fairy dust (which turned out to be borrowed jewels from Victoria), she skipped excitedly to the mirror and waited eagerly for Emma to join her there with Aunt Sophie’s quizzing glass. “What do you think? Simple yet elegant, just as you like it.”
Emma hardly recognized the lady in the mirror. Her hair looked like dark chestnut silk in the flame light, the cascade of curls woven assiduously through a circlet of black pearls that matched the earrings. The dark colors contrasted vividly with that of her beautiful crimson gown. It was an open dress, the thick velvet parting mid thigh, designed to show off the cascade of gleaming black petticoats and lace beneath. The two-part oversleeves, like the skirt, were also split down the middle, and folded over like delicate petals floating over rippling satin. The bodice gathered into a daring neckline, plunging as low in the back as it did in the front. The dress had very little embellishment, it needed none, save a large brooch of clustered black jewels to ornament the swell of her breasts.
Emma took a deep breath. “It is…rather low cut.”
Milli clucked her tongue. “It’s perfectly à la mode, I assure you.”
“And the mask I bought won�
��t suit at all.”
They were interrupted just at that moment by the rap of knuckles at the door. Without waiting for an invitation to enter, Victoria sailed in, gowned in a stunning emerald costume of layered silk that clung sensuously to every curve. The sheer fabric draped low over her opaline shoulders, secured by bejeweled brooches, so that she appeared every inch the Greek goddess in folds of finery. Truly, the woman’s beauty was unearthly.
She stopped short at seeing Emma, upon her face a look that bespoke admiration and, to Emma’s consternation, surprise. She recovered almost instantly. “You both look ravishing, my dears.” Then, turning to Milli, she said, “Would you like me to arrange your hair?”
Victoria’s own beautiful arrangement was very elegant and, knowing that Emma was hopeless at styling hair, Milli replied in the affirmative.
“I shall attend you in my room then,” said Victoria.
The two women then repaired to Victoria’s apartments, the susurrations of emerald and sapphire skirts like glistering waves against the floor. Their laughter roused Boudicca who glared after them, her dander ruffled. Apart from the vexed cat, Emma was finally left to finish her claret in contemplative seclusion.
Although she too had been invited to join them in Victoria’s suite, she had declined, for she required a moment to gather her courage. Tonight was the night she faced her beautiful nemesis again. But dared she leave her sister with Victoria too long? The sibilance of the quickening dusk warned her against relaxing her guard even a little.
Just as she’d resolved to join her sister and Victoria, another tap was heard at the door. What a busy chamber she occupied this night, all and sundry seemed eager to preclude her precious solitude. This time, whoever was without awaited leave to enter. When permission was accordingly granted, Mrs. Skinner appeared with an epistle and a small parcel in her skeletal hand.
“From the master,” was all she said ere she bobbed a stoic curtsy and disappeared, leaving the small consignment on Emma’s bed. At least her stay had been blessedly brief.
Left to herself again, Emma broke the wafer with unsteady hands and seated herself on the bed, careful of not wrinkling her gown. It was indeed from the master, the bold masculine scrawl declared that much.
Emma,—Meet me in the library at dusk. I shall be awaiting your pleasure beside the wall of cannibals. Wear the mask.
M.
She read the note again with a cross mutter, the imperial tone of his words grated. Why was he so determined to use her first name? And to what purpose was he summoning her to his lair? Nothing good, surely. Even so, she knew she would comply, despite the defiance her spirit demanded of her. One did not—not for all the holy water in the Vatican—defy a vampyre in his own castle.
Casting a furtive glance towards the window, Emma perceived the sun to be half sunk on the horizon already. She drank off the rest of her claret, her liquid courage, and donned her black, satin slippers and matching gloves. They were long and snug, terminating elegantly just above her elbows.
Now what had he sent in the parcel, she wondered? More pins? The mystery was soon fathomed when she opened it to find a red, velvet mask banded with black lace. It had clearly been made to match the gown.
Emma tied her mask securely about her head, careful of her coiffure, and took one last bolstering peek at the looking glass. “Will I do?” she asked her reflection.
The Venetian mask stared coolly back at her with an unfamiliar leonine intelligence. This creature before her was nothing like the Emma of yore. And yet…that was all for the better, she decided. For she was no longer the naïve, bespectacled little novitiate from Little Snoring. She seemed a world away from that girl now. She was ready. The dress and the grimalkin mask somehow put her on her mettle.
What is it you desire, Emma? An indwelling voice purred huskily in her breast—the shadow of her darker self.
“I desire….to know…” Her eyes dipped to her décolletage, the heaviness of the gown almost sensual where it clung and molded to her figure.
To know what? There was a knowing feline quality implied in the question.
“Everything,” she said. Then she turned on her heel and swept from the room with a strange, secret smile dancing on her lips that was not all her own. Boudicca looked up from her perch by the fire with a plaintive meow as the door shut.
“I shall be careful, don’t worry,” she promised the cat.
It was time to meet destiny headlong. And with the boldness that the claret and the dress and the red mask had instilled in her, she felt somewhat armed and ready. Tonight she would let that shadow, that darker half stirring within, speak for her; darkness knew best how to face darkness. And one ought never go into battle with the devil unmasked.
Chapter Thirty-Two
The Watchers
Mina could feel his presence before she heard his footsteps on the polished flags. His blood flowed in her veins after all.
Tanith was coiled in her favorite spot, her eyes closed. But Mina knew she listened, could feel just as well as Mina could how the air stirred with energy—his energy. As the door opened, Tanith’s eyes fluttered open and her red lips curled sensually. She uncoiled herself from the sofa. “Darling,” said she, lifting pale arms to welcome him.
His own red gaze dropped to her throat and down the length of her to where the sheer fabric clung to her long limbs. “Ah, Medusa, my love.” He bent down to press his lips to hers, the kiss long and hard. And then he uncoiled her arms from his neck and proceeded to where Ana stood over her scrolls. She too was the recipient of a long, deep kiss. When their lips parted, Ana’s face was glowing with unspent desire. But now his attention shifted to Mina, his smile broadening.
Mina felt her belly clench with both fear and desire as his scent enveloped her, his silver hair cloaking them as his mouth descended. His tongue was soft against her bottom lip, demanding with deceptive gentleness that she let him in. At last she parted her lips, at once hating herself, yet thrilled by the heat of his kiss. The kiss was deep and languid, and when he lifted his head, his nose brushed gently over hers.
She knew she was his favorite and that both disgusted and pleased her. They three were his treasures, as he called them. The only blue blooded watchers in his vast coven, and the only three beings on earth in whom his trust and love and confidence was heart-whole.
He ran his fingers into Mina’s hair, marveling, it seemed, at the autumn reds and browns limned by the lamplight. “How fares my sweet kitten?”
She drew back, her head bowed. “I have news, Malach.” The name held no terror for her, not like his true name (that name held power and there were few permitted to use it).
Malach’s eyes narrowed as he watched her. “Good news, I expect.”
Her throat constricted with dread and it was all she could do to keep her smile in place, for she knew the intelligence she must impart in due course would anger him. “Will you have some wine?”
“We shall all have something to drink,” said he, retrieving the bag he had brought with him. From within he lifted his meed, wrapped all in butchers paper. “And a light repast.”
Tanith laughed and joined him at the scarred table where she was wont to cut her herbs and mix her potions. She peered around him to watch as he unwrapped his parcel and then passed the butcher’s knife to him when he held out his hand to her. “It’s still beating,” she said, delighted.
“Only the freshest for you, my love.” He leaned over and touched her nose fondly with a bloody finger. Then he ran that finger down to her mouth and pressed it between her lips.
Tanith obliged him with a sultry moan and sucked delicately, which he rewarded with another hot kiss.
“And you, Medusa,” said he. “Do you have news for me?”
“I do.” Tanith turned, hiding the wrath that had suddenly darkened her brow. But Mina saw it.
“We all do,” said Ana. She was the only one whose tidings would not incite Malach’s rage. “A letter from our dear Emma.”
“Indeed?” He prowled towards Ana and placed a cube of quivering heart between her lips.
Ana wrapped her lips around his fingers and took the flesh between her teeth. Once she’d swallowed it, she said, “Emma writes to say she is ready to know more. I think our Miss Rose finally sees the dragon for what he is.”
Malach kissed the blood rills from her mouth. “Yes, and it was rather clever of you, Diana, to plant that little impulse; well done. If she hadn’t taken the book she might not have come to that realization as quickly as she did.”
Ana preened under his adoring looks and licked her lips.
“Now, Medusa, my love,” said he, “what morsel have you to share?”
Mina girded herself against the rage she knew would be ignited by Tanith’s news; and it would flare up again when it was Mina’s turn to divulge what she had discovered.
“What has my snake found out?” He went back to cutting the heart, but his red eyes were fixed upon Tanith.
“The eldest Rose seems to have gotten herself infatuated with the beast, even suspecting what he is.” Tanith paused, wary, when he turned to give her his full attention. “I saw her give herself to him in the abbey.”
His voice was deceptively gentle. “Give herself? Not…”
“It was a kiss.”
Some of the murder left his gaze. “Ah, just a kiss.”
“Not just any kiss,” said Tanith. “A kiss of promise. I think it will not be long before she spreads her thighs for him.”
The butcher’s knife came down with force and a little more of the heart was cleaved. “An abbey of all places. A fitting scene for a seduction, I’ll give him that, the clever bastard.” He was thoughtful a moment. “But she remains intact?”
“For now.” Both Tanith and Malach looked to Mina for confirmation.
Mina smoothed her brow and nodded. “Yes, she has kept mostly to her room since then.”
Winterly (Dark Creatures Book 1) Page 22
