But by the time the earl had spoken, and then taken his leave, Maia had realized her error. There were a multitude of reasons the knave couldn’t have been Corvindale—the most compelling of which was the masked man had not only conversed and flirted with her, but kissed her as well. All without one insulting comment.
For Corvindale to have done something so out of character was an impossibility. Especially since it was clear he despised Maia as much as she despised him.
Although “I do hope you aren’t about to cast up your accounts on my waistcoat” might qualify as an insult…
“Angelica,” Maia whispered, when she saw her sister with her ear pressed to the crack of the door. “What are you doing?” But it was obvious: she was listening to whatever Corvindale had gone to investigate.
Curious and willing to have a distraction, Maia joined her taller sibling, forced to half crouch next to her at the open door. They listened for a moment and heard nothing but the faint creaks and groans of the house.
“Did you really like it, in your dream? When he bit you?” Angelica whispered.
Maia froze. “I don’t want to talk about it,” she snapped softly.Iwish I’d kept my mouth closed.She heard a dull thud below, then silence.
“I cannot imagine finding it anything but horrifying,” Angelica whispered back.
Maia had to close her eyes as a warm shiver of remembrance trickled through her. “Even those stories Granny used to tell us, about the vampires…even then there were some people who didn’t find it…horrible.” Apparently she was one of them. Of course, perhaps if it happened in reality she might change her mind… “And it was just adream,Angelica.”
They both heard the footsteps ascending the stairs at the same time. They whipped around simultaneously, silently dashing back to the bed. They’d just tumbled onto it in a heap of nightgowns and pillows when someone rapped on the bedchamber door.
“At least he knocked this time,” Maia muttered as the door eased open.
But then she saw who it was, and she was right behind Angelica as she flew off the bed. “Chas!” she and Angelica cried at the same time.
“Hush—no one can know I’m here,” he said, embracing them both. “Come down to the study with me so we can converse privately.”
Relief and annoyance rushed through Maia. She had plenty of questions for her brother, as well as a demand: to get her away from the Earl of Corvindale.
She was more than delighted to pull on a robe and follow him down to the parlor.
So these areChas’s sisters.
Narcise Moldavi watched as the two young women entered the parlor at Blackmont Hall. Wearing a wide-brimmed hatand men’s clothing, Narcise leaned against the fireplace and waited, knowing they wouldn’t realize she was a woman. The brim shaded her face, and the faint brush of soot she’d applied beneath her cheekbones to give her not only the impression of gauntness but also a bit of stubble, made her look like a skinny old man.
The sisters were very different in appearance, as well as in demeanor. One of them was dark and Romany-looking like Chas, with lush brown hair, dusky-rose skin and exotic eyes. She took a seat and scanned the room, clearly observing and taking it all in. She was taller than the other, lighter-haired one, who strode in and immediately began to make adjustments: the lamp wicks, the pillows on the sofa, even Dimitri’s stacks of books.
That one must be Maia, and the dark one was Angelica.
Both women were striking, but the elder one was a classic English beauty with her fair complexion. Petite and delicate, unlike Narcise, Maia had hair that defied description: it was neither blond nor chestnut nor auburn, but a mixture of the three shades, and then some. She had a heart-shaped face and a rosebud mouth that seemed to be pursed with annoyance. Her sharp green-brown eyes shot daggers at Chas when he was standing next to Dimitri, talking in a low voice as they sipped whiskey.
Chas had best keep her from Cezar’s sight.Narcise shivered, thinking of what her brother would do to such a beautiful young woman as Maia Woodmore. Considering what he’d done to Narcise, his own sister…
Of course, the fact that she was Dracule and must live forever was added incentive for Cezar to do what he would. Or to have his friends do what they would, which was more to his taste anyway. Incest, at least, was not one of Cezar’s many sins.
After all, no matter what sort of torment and pleasure they put her through, Narcise couldn’t die without a wooden stake tothe heart or ten minutes in the sun. Which was why Cezar had made certain all of the furnishings in her windowless chamber had been made of metal. He was taking no chances of losing his favorite bargaining chip.
At the thought, Narcise couldn’t quite suppress the flutter of panic that swirled in her belly. Chas had helped her escape from that horror, but that didn’t mean she’d never return to it. Cezar wouldn’t stop searching for her until he was dead.
Or until she was.
Narcise remembered her fantasies of finding feathers and wrapping herself in them, then falling out of a window to lie in the sun. Eventually she’d have to die, weakened by the feathers and burned by the sun’s rays. Some days, even now, she considered it. At least then Cezar couldn’t get to her.
And Chas would be safe.
Her glance flickered to him as he greeted his sisters, who were both loose-haired and dressed in nightclothes, and they settled in their seats. At this moment, he looked more like an English gentleman—albeit an exotic one, with his Romanian coloring—than she was used to seeing him: in a white shirt done up to the throat, covered by a dark coat, along with pantaloons. He was holding a glass, his hair fairly tamed and pomaded smooth. Clean-shaven. All this in deference to his proper sisters, who, according to him, had no idea that he spent his days and nights huntingvampirs.
The irony that he was an enemy of her race only fueled Narcise’s fascination with him. A Dracule involved with a vampire hunter. How absurd and dangerous.
And how surprising that could actually find pleasure with a man, actuallytrustone, after all she’d been through.
