With great effort, he kept his eyes from burning red and hungry. His fangs were extended, but still hidden.It’s been too long.
A hundred and thirteen years. Three months. Five days.
His Mark twinged sharp and hot.
It should have gotten easier. It shouldn’t be this impossible to keep fromneedingsomething he hadn’t had for so long—especially since he no longer made the mistake of starving himself. But the saliva pooled in his mouth and his heart thudded in his chest. His skin prickled and his muscles leaped beneath, as if coiling up and ready to spring.
It was her proximity. The fact that they were so close and intimate in this small vehicle. The fact that only last night at the masquerade, he’d allowed her to taunt him intokissingthose damned full, top-heavylips.
His unease was also due to the fact that moments before Voss’s messenger had arrived tonight, Dimitri had been dreaming. Slumped in a chair, in his study, dreaming he was arching over a slender, ivory body, filling his hands with feminine curves, tasting the warmth of her mouth…sinking into a virginal white neck, drinking the rich lifeblood as she moaned and writhed, pressing herself against?—
“Where are we going?”
Miss Woodmore’s question yanked Dimitri from the dark vortex of his thoughts. He swallowed hard, grateful for the redirection.Angelica. At Black Maude’s.“Billingsgate.”
Pulling the cloak back up to her shoulders, she commenced with some odd contortions he realized were her attempts to do up her dress.
Dimitri made a sharp, disgusted sound. “Turn around, Miss Woodmore,” he said. “Allow me.”
Her gaze flew to his, her eyes rising in a lowered face that made her look even more shocked. “I don’t think?—”
“It would be best if you didn’t. Think,” he added for clarification as much for himself as for her. Because when she huffed and turned around to present him with her back, his newly ungloved hands trembled.
Perhaps not the most intelligent decision he’d ever made, but this entire farce had commenced with an even more foolish decision six years ago, when he agreed to act as guardian to Chas Woodmore’s sisters. That had been before he’d ever seen or met any of them.
Not that he supposed he could have denied Chas’s request anyway. Especially if hehadseen them. For Dimitri alwaysdid what was right. He did what honor demanded, despite the searing reminder of the devil’s Mark on his back.
Miss Woodmore’s skin was warm.
He didn’t exactly touch it, not directly, but he could feel it through the thin fabric. And perhaps a fingertip brushed over its smooth silkiness when he buttoned the first button at her nape. A finger might also have brushed the curve that swept down to her shoulder. Nothing like his own, roped with the rootlike Lucifer’s Mark, scarred and dusted with erratic hair.
He was quick, his fingers nimble, his fangs thrust out so far his gums hurt, filling his mouth. Her scent, the light brush from the hair swept over the back of her neck, the heat from her skin and the confirmation that she wore no corset made his gaze tinge red.
He didn’t need to remind himself who she was: his ward, whom he was bound to protect. Amortal.A chit who infuriated him for any number of reasons. A young woman preparing for her wedding to a fine gentleman. The sister of one of his friends.
No, it wasn’t who she was, or who shewasn’t,for if Dimitri wanted her—wanted anyone—he’d have her. He’d lull her and coax her and ease her in. Simple as that, and damn whoever or whatever got in his way.
But he didn’t. Want. Anyone.
He’d given it all up decades ago. He was an island.
And he’d remain that way until he discovered a way to put himself back the way he was, or until he died.
As soon as Dimitri finished, he removed his hands and tucked himself into the deepest corner of his seat, cursing Voss anew for everything he could think of: for taking Angelica, for whatever he’d done to her in the interim, and for choosing a place to hide so far from Blackmont Hall that the ride was interminable.
“Are you going to tell me what’s happening?” Miss Woodmore demanded. Apparently, in her eyes, fully clothed was fully armed.
“I’m certain I don’t know what you mean.” Dimitri sounded bored even to himself, and was rewarded when his companion sat bolt upright in her seat and fairly quivered with indignation and fury. How her eyes snapped and snarled, and she wasn’t even Dracule.
“You certainly do, my lord. You aren’t a bit obtuse. Were those reallyvampirsat the masquerade ball last night?”
Damn and blast and Lucifer’s head on a pike.
Had the staff been talking? Of course they knew all about their master and his lifestyle, but they were well paid to keep their mouths shut—particularly around Mirabella, who had no idea about her own history with the Dracule. She’d been too young to remember anything when Dimitri took her in. Or could Iliana have slipped some information?
Dimitri waved an impatient hand. “If you must know, yes. I suppose I’d best answer your question or you’ll never leave me be.”
Miss Woodmore’s breath caught audibly and she sagged back against her seat. Apparently she hadn’t expected such immediate confirmation.
