by Колин Глисон
And…warm. Suddenly very, very warm. She needed to swallow, to lick her dry lips. That kiss had been…well, she’d tried not to think about it. Because of Alexander.
Because if she was going to marry a man, she shouldn’t be thinking about the kisses of another one—especially a bad-tempered, vampiric earl. She shouldn’t even have been having kisses from another man.
Something awful churned inside her. Guilt and shame, and yet…the tug of memory, of need, overrode it.
She raised her eyes and looked at Corvindale directly. He must know it had been she, even if he hadn’t at the time—for after their interlude, when he’d accosted her and thrown her onto the balcony, he would have recognized her from her costume.
Never one to shirk responsibility, nor to ignore the elephant in the room, Maia said, “Did you know it was me, my lord knave of diamonds?”
His eyes widened just a bit, then quickly shuttered. There was a beat of silence, then, “I meant to prevent you from doing damage to your reputation by dancing twice with a man not your fiancé. I am, after all, your guardian.” Even though his words were flat, she sensed an underlying defensiveness there. She looked at him more closely.
Good heavens. Maia realized, suddenly, that she’d kissed a vampire.
Her lips parted in renewed shock, but at the same time, a rush of heat billowed up inside her, fluttering in her belly and disrupting her breath.
He turned his face away, suddenly and sharply, and she was reminded of him doing precisely the same thing as he ended their masked kiss that night.
Oh, yes. Every detail of that interlude had been burned upon her memory.
Corvindale’s fingers curled tightly now, and his wrists no longer rested loosely on the top of the seat. He’d pulled them closer to his body, as if to arm himself.
She became aware of the sound of roughened breathing, and noticed the way his lips had pressed flat and hard. And deep inside Maia, her heart pounded madly. Her hands were clammy. Something was churning inside her.
“My lord,” she said. She needed his attention, she needed him to look at her. But he didn’t move. “Corvindale,” she said more sharply.
At last he turned. She didn’t know what she’d expected—burning red eyes, bared fangs, hissing and furious—but he appeared the same as he always did. Ah, except for the eyes.
There was, still, a faint glow there, as if he hadn’t quite been able to subdue it.
And as their eyes met, she felt a little shimmy of warmth wriggling through, expanding and filling her.
“I have been thinking about the kiss,” she said, once again addressing the elephant in the room.
“The kiss?” Corvindale replied. “An interesting choice of article.” His voice had changed; the timbre was richer.
Deeper. And there was something in his eyes. Something…different.
“I can’t help but wonder,” she continued, “if it was so memorable simply because of the environment. The mysteriousness of anonymity.” Maia heard her voice, but her attention was focused on the man across from her. The tug, the connection between them was as real as if a string—no, a rope—bound them together. “A bit of freedom allowed due to the masks. One can only assume you felt the same way, my lord.”
“One could assume,” he replied mildly. But his eyes burned a bit brighter. He’d become so very still. This, even as his regard remained steady and strong.
“I suspect there is a way to find out.” She swallowed hard, and felt even warmer and more filled with expectancy.
Something twisting and fluttering moved in her. Her heart banged in her chest.
“Are you suggesting that you wish to be kissed?” His voice was emotionless.
Maia licked her lips, suddenly nervous. Yet, determined.
Surely the experience had been overblown in her mind and would turn out to be little more than an awkward experience. “Yes.”
“In order to determine whether the previous kiss was…memorable? Is that it?”
“Yes.”
“I suppose it won’t matter on the morrow anyway,” he murmured, his eyes still on her. “And at least it will stop you from talking, Miss Woodmore.”
One moment she was sitting, hardly daring to breathe, on her side of the carriage…and the next, those strong hands that she’d admired closed over her arms. He loomed over her, his eyes glinting white and normal in the low light, his body settling on the seat next to her. Warm and solid against her side.
Maia turned toward him, lifting her face, her heart beating so strongly she thought she might faint. When their mouths met, it was as if a blaze of fire exploded in her, suddenly released from some pent-up place.
She heard a deep sigh that shifted the solid torso beneath her hands, a low groan vibrating from him as his fingers tightened on her arms. But Maia was hardly aware of the pressure, for his mouth was hot and hard and demanded her full attention.
His lips molded to hers, soft and warm, yet insistent, opening against hers as he moved to cup the back of her head. He held her as his tongue slipped along her parted lips, sleek and warm, then thrust inside in a sudden, strong sweep.
Maia closed her eyes, overwhelmed by the rush of pleasure bursting inside her. Their tongues tangled and slipped together, lips sucked and nibbled, his mouth crushing down on hers as if he couldn’t get enough. She bit back, slipped her tongue deeply into the warmth of his mouth and he gave a little shudder against her.
Her body had blossomed awake, now swollen and ready, hot and loose, and she found herself pressing wantonly against him, needing to feel all of his strength and heat. One of her knees somehow nudged against his leg, and the entire side of his torso and hip pressed into her curves. Beneath the smooth linen of his shirt, she felt the rise and fall of his chest. Its image, already burned in her memory, rose in her mind to match the swell of muscle that she felt beneath each palm. She wanted to feel the skin, the hair, the solid slabs of muscle she already knew were there.
Corvindale shifted away, and she opened her eyes to catch a glimpse of his face before he slid his arms around her, pulling her up against a solid chest. His wicked lips closed over the soft lobe of her ear, where hours earlier a ruby had hung, and Maia gasped at the shivery sensation of heat and slick, his breath warm against her skin, burning into her ear. She arched and shuddered, unable to keep a soft moan quiet as tickly pleasure rushed down to her belly, and lower.
When his hands moved, one to cup the side of her jaw as he buried his face into her neck, kissing, nuzzling, and the other to curl behind her hips and pull her close, Maia felt herself slide into a puddle of bonelessness. Pleasure made her weak and hot and she sagged to the side, leaning into the corner of the bench seat, dragging him with her.
Finding her lips again, he made her gasp into his breath when he roughed her mouth open with a demanding kiss. She took him, hot and long, sweeping deep and meeting him with her own nibbling teeth and molding lips. The heat of his body, the smell of him, close and male, she couldn’t remember how to breathe…
His body eased her down along the length of the seat, their legs mixed in with skirts, her head jammed against the side of the carriage and shoulder against the back of the seat. He lifted away just enough for her to see a faint red glow in his eyes, and the flash of too-long teeth—fangs—and to yank off his coat and thrust it sharply across the vehicle.
And then he was back, and she pulled him close, down on top of her, one of his legs sliding between hers, hooking into her skirts. When his thigh came up between hers, pressing into her, Maia found herself agonizingly aware of the heat and swelling there at that juncture. She felt as if she were going to explode, that she couldn’t catch her breath, and she shifted, moving closer, trying to find a way to ease the pressure there.
“My…oh…” she breathed, and then nearly arched up off the seat when he closed his hand over her breast, strong and sure. Through the layers of silk and her corset and shift, he located the sharp rise of nipple, giving a little sigh o
f discovery as he stroked over it with his thumb. The fabric shifted and sensitized her flesh, and Maia’s whole focus went to that place where all of the pleasure gathered and spread, radiating down and through her, hot and sharp.
He pulled at the neckline of her bodice, drawing it down to expose the top of her breast. The fabric cut into her flesh at the back as the swell was revealed, and Maia saw her skin shuddering and heaving from her uncontrolled breaths, her breast a lovely ivory dome highlighted in the moonlight just before he lowered his dark head.
She nearly shrieked when his lips molded over her up-thrust nipple. It was so hard and tight that the barest touch set her to gasping and trembling, but he gave no mercy. His mouth was hot and wet, and his tongue strong as it swirled around the peak of her breast. He drew her deeply into his mouth, sucking and licking in a hard, fast rhythm, then slowing and teasing as if he wanted to explore every little wrinkle. Maia’s world became dark and red and liquid, and she clutched at him, her hands curling into his hair and wide shoulders, pressing herself against his thigh.
The sharp rise of pleasure pulsed through her body, centering there between her legs, filling and throbbing as she tried to find the top, the end. Something.
His skin was so hot, his hair brushing her chin, his hands grasping her shoulders as if holding on for dear life. She felt a sharp edge, something on her skin, and then the flush of release roared through her. Maia lost control of her thoughts as she trembled and exploded inside, and then slid into the warm pleasure of after.
He lifted his face, and when their eyes met, Maia felt her whole world still. It was too dark to read his expression, but the heat there, and the dark need, made her mouth go dry. The tips of his fangs showed just beneath his upper lip, changing the shape of his mouth, making it full and soft and she wanted to kiss it. Again.
She became aware, as the pleasure sifted away and reality sneaked back in, that he hadn’t moved. That his hands gripped her with a death grip, and then he turned away, his eyes closing. His breathing was harsh and deep, as if he’d been running or struggling.
Maia reached up to touch his face, something she’d never thought to do before now. Touch the Earl of Corvindale?
Still harsh and dark and taut as stone, nevertheless his skin was warm and rough with stubble. He flinched when she brushed against him, her fingers light on his cheekbone.
His eyes opened and now they blazed fiery red, suddenly and openly, and the fangs seemed to show even longer. Maia swallowed, a zing of fear shooting through her, but she didn’t remove her hand right away. She let it slide into his hair and brushed it over an ear. Soft, warm, thick.
He looked down, his nostrils widening, his breathing changing and she felt his muscles stiffen suddenly. She realized he saw her bare breast, and suddenly aware of her dishabille, looked down to see what he did.
There was a dark streak, a slender line across the mound of white flesh. As if she’d been scraped. Blood.
Maia’s gaze jerked back up to him, and she saw the struggle in his face. His eyes, blank and focused somewhere distant, his mouth flat and compressed, his jaw so tight that his cheeks were hollow.
Blood.
She scarcely dared breathe, waiting. Would he bite her?
Would it be just as it was in her dreams…or would it be terrifying, as Angelica described?
Why wasn’t she frightened?
His face was a mask of darkness, of concentration and control. All at once, he shoved her away—or perhaps himself—and the next thing Maia knew, the heavy weight and heat of him was gone, and there she lay, sprawled in the carriage, one breast bare and her body still vibrating from…whatever had happened.
And she realized, too, that the rumbling of the carriage wheels below them had ceased.
The space was quiet and still, but for the distant sounds of voices calling and the low rasp of his breathing.
Maia jerked herself upright, shoving her breast back into place, tugging up her bodice, wondering precisely what this all meant, and why he’d pulled away and was looking at her as if…as if he loathed her.
“What is it, my lord?” she asked, hiding her trembling fingers in the vast wrinkles of her skirt. “Is something wrong?”
Oh, God, everything is wrong.
“My lord?” he gave a short, bitter laugh. “Always the proper miss. Or at least, nearly always.” The inflection in his tones made it sound like an insult.
She looked at him sharply. “Certainly you can’t blame me for this,” she said, gesturing to encompass the carriage and all that had occurred there that evening.
Instead of responding, he merely looked at her. Watched her. His eyes glowed faintly still, but there was no sign of the tips of his fangs. His mouth seemed more full than usual, lush and soft.
“Blast it,” he muttered, still looking at her. “Miss Woodmore.”
She glanced back up at his gaze and felt a little tug of connection between them, his eyes luring and compelling her. And then suddenly, she gasped, realized what was happening.
“Am I enthralled?” she demanded. “Have you enthralled me with your vampire gaze?”
A rush of anger followed by confusion came over her, and then ebbed, leaving her to realize that if that was the case then she’d had no control over anything that had occurred. It wasn’t her fault for kissing another man, and allowing him to…well, whatever. She closed her eyes and felt the memory tingle through her. Her lips curved softly as a little flutter of pleasure tickled the inside of her belly. It wasn’t so bad after all.
It was even better than her dreams.
When she opened her eyes, he was still staring at her. But now his mouth was flatter and his eyes darker and the tension emanated from him in heavy waves.
Maia looked away, surprised that the earl had nothing to say, and noticed again that the carriage had stopped. They were returned to Blackmont Hall, and the dawn had come.
She rose, tired of waiting, awash with confusion and attempting to appear as if nothing was amiss when everything was, in fact, a frightening vortex of problems. “Good morning, Lord Corvindale,” she said when he made no move to assist.
Instead he sat there, his flat gaze fixed on her, no longer burning, but now black with loathing. The white of his shirt blazed bright against the dark velvet seat and below the swarthy skin of his neck and jaw. His eyes like black jet beads.
She flung open the carriage door with no little finesse, her knees shaking, her own mouth compressed in a worried line and her face hot and flaming, and she helped herself down from the vehicle and stalked into the house.
9
In Which Miss Woodmore Goes Shopping And Demands An Apology
“You aren’t truly going,” Narcise said, eyeing Chas from across the room. She stood near the table, trying to appear nonchalant by plucking the petals from a bouquet of daisies he’d brought for her.
He looked at her, his powerful, swarthy hands filled with stakes and a clean shirt. Normally the sight of a wooden pike in his capable grip sent a shiver of excitement mingled with fear rushing through her. But she was too upset right now to feel anything but anger and apprehension.
“Of course I’m going,” he replied sharply, shoving the items into a leather satchel. “She’s my sister, Narcise. Do you think I would leave her safety up to chance? Especially with Voss?”
She shrugged, trying to make the movement nonchalant, while at the same time, her insides turned unsettled and her body numb. “Voss is smart enough, and Cezar likes him because he always has information he wants. He won’t be suspicious of him, so Voss will have no problem getting in. And with those smoke-bomb packets you gave him, he’ll have an easy way to escape.”
Chas stopped and fixed her with a steady look. “I don’t want him anywhere near my sister. Not only do I not trust him, not only have I heard legend upon legend of him ruining women, but he is also a Dracule.”
Narcise was surprised at the pang of hurt his words produced. She’d thought she was well be
yond such sensitivities. Damn it…after all she’d been through, she should be stronger than that. “And so you can commingle with we Dracule, we damned and damaged demons…but not your sister.”
“Blast it, no, Narcise.” He jammed a hand into his shiny dark hair. His muscles shifted beneath the rolled-up sleeves of his untied shirt and she noted the sleek movement with a warm shiver of appreciation. “It’s different for her than for me. I understand what I—I understand what it’s like.”
“Well, Chas, I suggest you begin to help her understand. Because from the way she was acting that night in Dimitri’s study, I wouldn’t be surprised if Angelica was in love with Voss. And she doesn’t know what to do about it. She probably doesn’t even realize it.”
“Never,” he snapped. “And even if she fancies herself in love with him, I won’t permit it. I’ll kill him first.” Chas had shoved his weapons and shirt, along with a pouch of coins and bills, into the satchel, and now he slung it over his shoulder. He was leaving her here. Alone.
A moment of panic chilled her and she dropped the daisy she’d been torturing. Cezar could find her. Or worse, Giordan. “I’ll come with you, Chas.”
“Don’t be a fool,” he said, his tone softening. “You can’t allow yourself anywhere near Cezar. Paris might be a big city, but you know as well as I do that he has spies and makes everywhere. I won’t risk you, Narcise.”
“It was almost impossible for us to leave Paris safely last time. He still has makes and mortal soldiers watching for you everywhere…you know it. You’ll never get out of the city again, with or without Angelica. Let alone into Cezar’s place.”
“You know better than that. Last time you were with me and he was searching for you—”
“But he didn’t know I was with you—at least at first.
Chas…” Her voice trailed off. She knew she was being awful and selfish—wasn’t that part of her Dracule nature?—but if she lost Chas, she didn’t know what she’d do. He was the only one she trusted to keep her safe.
The only one, she told herself firmly when her resolve wavered.
