However, she hadneveranticipated the world’s reaction to her article. After all, the liveliest reactions to any of her previous scholarly works had arrived only in theletters sections of following issues. But when one enterprising London journalist drew a connection between the Lady Riven who’d published an obscure scholarly piece on the physical aspects of vampiric intimacy and the same Lady Riven whose aunt and uncle stood accused of defrauding one of the oldest supernatural aristocrats in Britain, Margaret had found her article unexpectedly republished in multiple major newspapers...in a shockingly slapdash amended version that left out every one of her careful footnotes and caused a veritable earthquake in high society across the continent.
Even Margaret had to admit that her newfound notoriety heldsomeadvantages; once she and her husband had finally reclaimed her dowry and arrived in Paris, the first step of their long-delayed wedding journey, they’d discovered that under orders of Emperor Napoleon IV, access to the treasure hoard of supernatural archives in the catacombs had been closed to all foreign scholars. With political tensions simmering across the continent and rival nations rattling metaphorical sabers on all sides, the only route Margaret had found to access the records she needed had come by wielding the force of her newfound reputation with an influential French comtesse.
The clues that she’d found in those archives were invaluable, but they had been accompanied by a steep social cost.
“My poor darling,” Lord Riven murmurednow, his breath ruffling her unbound hair. “We all know how deeply your popularity pains you.”
“You know perfectly well it isn’tmine,” Margaret grumbled. Still, she couldn’t resist nestling even closer to him.
Shewashere to work—she’d already been distracted far too long—but surely it couldn’t hurt to take a moment to enjoy this intimacy first, after all she’d endured along their journey. She’d spent so much of her life alone before their marriage, braced to take on every challenge by herself; even now, so many months after their wedding, the sensation of finding a haven in another person’s arms still felt like a life-shifting revelation. So, she pressed her cheek against his silk waistcoat to breathe in his cloves-and-cinnamon scent as she continued, “Those absurd courtiers were all hoping for scandal and titillation.Iwas only documenting scientific facts, with accurate historical documents and explanations!”
“Of course. No more than scientific facts, exact descriptions, and thorough historical context...around the intoxicating pleasures experienced with a vampiric lover’s bite. What could possibly be more high-minded and academic?” Lord Riven’s voice deepened; he shifted his grip downwards to rub both of his thumbs in maddeningly soft caresses against the soft hollows of her neck, and she arched like a cat in instinctive response, barely holding back a purr. “Believe me, I willneverforget the process of assisting you in your research.”
Heat flared withintrulyunmentionable parts of Margaret’s figure; despite herself, her voice took on a breathless note. “But that isn’t the point! It wasnota sensationalist or salacious piece of literature, no matter what any of those dreadful journalists may claim—orsociety hostesses hope.”
She tipped her head back to catch his gaze, all the better to make her point...but her breath caught at the sight of tell-tale amber sheening her husband’s hazel eyes. Her tongue darted out to moisten her upper lip as she continued, her pulse speeding uncontrollably, “It was a very...a very serious...veryimportant...”
Her husband smiled wickedly down at her, and her mind blurred in a way that would have shocked any of her former tutors or colleagues. Blinking rapidly, she sought for her lost train of thought...
And Lord Riven leaned closer yet. “Veryserious and important. I agree.” His voice lowered to a murmur as his body curved around her, and his breath swept, hot and close, across her tingling neck. Biting back a moan, she tipped her head in invitation, and he pulled her lower body close in a firm yank that made a helpless whimper escape her guard.
“Then again,” her husband breathed against her skin, “can research ever be said to be fully done?”
It had been weeks since Margaret had achieved anything of substance in her life’s work. She’d been waiting for days to sink into it the moment they arrived here...but surely she deservedsomecomfort first for the horrors she’d enduredalong the way? Besides, her far-too-attractive husband certainly deserved tofeelthe depths of her appreciation for the perfect sanctuary he had found them.
So...
“I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to confirm my findings one more time,” Margaret agreed, and abandoned herself, for once, to scandalously carefree decadence. She only pulled free of his arms a moment later to shove the heavy wooden bolt into place across the door.
Her own meal could wait after all. As she’d pointed out to their host, dawn wouldbe arriving far too soon...
And she had far more pressing issues than food to address beforehand.
By the timeshe finally reopened her bedroom door, the contents of the tray in the corridor outside their room looked remarkably unappetizing. Fortunately, Margaret was feeling far too well-pleasured and full of revived energy to be thrown off course by the tasteless, dried sludge—perhaps some indeterminate form of stew? Or a startlingly meaty porridge?—that filled the bowl. Even the cold and bitter tea could not dissuade her.
With her husband now fixed in a rigid state of sleep that would last until tonight’s sundown, no remaining distractions could compare to the appeal ofsupernatural secrets waiting to be solved, and here in the heart of the Black Forest lurked some of the most tantalizing that she had ever studied. From amidst the large pile of luggage that had been stacked in the corridor by the tray, she seized upon the heavy, leatherbound carrier bag full of her most essential needs and left all the rest to be dealt with later.
There was no useful work-desk in this room, unfortunately, but there was a dainty wooden vanity table complete with a spindly chair and a tall and dusty mirror, so she ruthlessly co-opted its narrow surface area for her tea, stew, and academic necessities. Taking a seat, she placed her open bag on her lap and began to mechanically spoon down bites of food while she rummaged through its delightful contents.
These weren’t, of course, all of the resources she’d packed for her marital tour of the continent; the rest filled another three pieces of luggage, two of them remaining in the traveling carriage until the next stage of their journey. However, she’d carefully sorted out the contents of this bag back in Paris, nearly a week ago, as the most useful for her Black Forest quest. They included three of her late parents’ carefully preserved commonplace books, recording their own various Germanic explorations, along with a mix of Margaret’s own recent notes from the Parisian catacombs’ archives and earlier notes from the Morningford College library during her student years; various letters from other scholars across the continent; detailed German and Frenchdictionaries; and a tattered old, wine-stained pamphlet that had been her most prized discovery in a Paris antiquary shop full of priceless treasures.
It was as she was lifting out that fascinating pamphlet with one hand, while placing her half-full teacup on the table with the other, that she abruptly caught a glimpse in the corner of her eye of the reflected bed in the vanity’s tall mirror...
And her pulse gave a sudden, panicked jolt.
Clearly reflected in the mirror, the ragged duvet was curved in the shape of her husband’s form—but his pillow was empty.
What foolishness! Breathing in and out with slow control, Margaret set her teeth together and forced herself not to follow the instinctive urge to twist around and urgently assure herself that her life’s partner was safe.
The windows were fully shuttered with multiple layers of thick wooden slats. No sunlight could possibly reach inside this chamber, and she was no weak-nerved ingénue to be taken aback by a perfectly well-known side-effect of vampirism. She had been studying the supernatural foryears.
Still, she’d never anticipated quite how unnerving it might feel when applied to the single person in the world who was undeniablyhers.
Margaret had never particularly cared for mirrors even before she’d wed a vampire. Since then, she’d been horrified to find herselfdeveloping a true aversion.
Now, her fingers tightened convulsively around the tattered pamphlet as she fought against the frantic impulse of her nerves—and then she let out a resigned gust of breath and tucked that treasure back into her bag.
Rational or not, she would simply have to find another place to work this morning. It was either that or give upalldignity and cover up the mirror with a sheet...and her pride would never allow that option.
