“St. Dunstan’s would be the perfect place. I shall make a generous donation and speak with the rector tomorrow. If that is what you wish, Maia.”
She swallowed, noticing the way his eyes changed. His hands closed around her arms and he drew her closer. Her heart was in her throat now, pounding. Her knees were shaky and her insides fluttered nervously. He was going to kiss her.
She was afraid of what it would tell her.
11
IN WHICH OUR HERO FACES IMPOSSIBLE QUESTIONS
Two weeks later, Dimitri stared at the door of his study, rancid bitterness burning through him. His fingers curled into two fists that he ground into the desk in front of him—it was either that or put them through the wall. Or window.
Or somewhere equally painful.
Impossible.
Impossible!
Voss had just left, and was about to walk out of Blackmont Hall. Into the blazing sunshine with no protection.
It was impossible.
Voss had broken the covenant with Lucifer.
Voss.
The most self-centered, selfish, manipulative person Dimitri had ever known aside from Cezar Moldavi had somehow released himself from the unholy contract with the Devil. A man who’d lived a life of debauchery and hedonism without a hint of remorse, without a care for anyone other than himself—even before he’d been turned Dracule.
While Dimitri still bore Lucifer’s Mark. And it burned and writhed and seared him daily as he denied himself, studied, and contemplated…and nothing.
Nothing.
He glared at the stack of books, the curling, browned manuscripts and crinkling scrolls. His notes. His drawings. His hopes.
From somewhere deep in the house he heard the sounds of feminine squeals. Giggles, and a soft shriek. He knew what it was, and the sound infuriated him even more. He snatched up his heaviest cloak and stalked out of his den, calling for a groom and his carriage.
Damn the sunshine, he must get away from them.
Angelica had returned safely two weeks ago. Voss had rescued her from Moldavi as planned. But Chas, refusing to allow a demonic vampire—particularly such a rapacious one—near his sister, had intercepted them in Paris and brought Angelica back to London, where wedding plans for her elder sister had commenced with great alacrity.
Now, as of his meeting with Voss, Dimitri knew he would be subjected to twice the excitement, for Voss had announced his intention to wed the younger Woodmore sister. Now that he was no longer bound to Lucifer, there was no real reason Chas could deny such a marriage. The viscount was wealthy and a peer. And he was a mortal.
Voss had actually removed his shirt whilst in Dimitri’s study in order to show him that the Mark was gone from the back of his shoulder.
When asked how he’d done it—how he’d shorn himself of the devil’s Mark—Voss had said simply that he’dchanged.
Changed.
Dimitri climbed quickly into the carriage, taking little care to protect himself from the sun’s rays despite the cloak he carried.The flash of a burn skimmed his face and ungloved hand and wrist, and he welcomed the pain.
The antiquarian bookshop seemed even less noticeable than usual, with the alcove entrance of Lenning’s Tannery next door fairly dwarfing the small, dark entryway.
Once inside, Dimitri paused and waited for the strains of serenity to slide over him. After he’d drawn in a steadying breath of old books and worn leather, he stepped into the dark shadows of the rows of shelves and waited.
It didn’t take long for Wayren to appear. This time, she wasn’t holding a book, although she had her spectacles on.
“Dimitri of Corvindale. I was suspecting you might return.” She looked at him closely, and all at once, he wondered what madness had brought him here. She knew nothing that could help him.
He found himself momentarily at a loss for words, anger and confusion churning like sludge in his gut.
