He halted it with cold control.No.There’d be time for recriminations and regrets later. Now he must keep his thoughts clear and extricate himself—literally and figuratively—from…this.
This…moment of quiet fulfillment, of delight, of something that had shaken him deep in his core. Something that made his insides move, like a heated flower opening and sending its warmth through him. But that quickly turned bleak.
He forced himself to open his eyes, pulling up gently from her shoulder. He’d already retracted his fangs, but the essence of blood still lingered on his tongue, filtering into his nostrils.Beautiful.Her eyes were closed, her face slack with satiation. He’d never seen anything that made his heart ache like this. Though he must, he couldn’t look away.
Her lips, full and moist, rosy and inviting, were half parted. The damp braid that had confined all of the strands of blond, bronze, copper, auburn and walnut was a distant memory, and her long, thick hair clung to her skin in places, and his as well. Bare throat and shoulders, with an uncovered breast that couldn’t have been more perfect. The mere sight of it, the memory of its smooth, sweet texture, the hard, sensitive nipple beneath his tongue and lips, made his body begin to tighten all over again.
What have I done to you? To me?
Even as he pulled away, Dimitri struggled with how to undo what could not be undone. He pulled down the cold wall behind which he could be safe, and watched as Maia—Miss Woodmore, she must be Miss Woodmore again—opened her eyes with a flutter.
So wrong.
He wanted to poke at her, to cut with his words and send her reeling away. If he did that, then she could continue to loathe the Earl of Corvindale. She could wed Bradington with perhaps a twinge of conscience, but at least she would still wed him.
Instead of demanding that Dimitri come up to snuff. Tempting him.
That would…could…never happen.
“Corvindale.”
Even the way she said his name, still used his title in all formality, sounded husky and intimate.
He’d sat up and was putting himself to rights, re-buttoning his trousers and then locating his shirt in a crumpled wad on the floor.Your shirt, Corvindale. Make it go away.
You won’t hurt me.
Please.
He closed his eyes.Lucifer’s bloody Hell.
She was sitting up now, and he dared not look at her and see those wide, questioning eyes. Hurt. Or perhaps they would be filled with anger and recrimination—as they rightly should be.
“Corvindale,” she said again, more firmly. “Look at me.”
He hesitated, then did as she asked. Thank the Fates she’d pulled up her bodice and righted the rest of her clothing. The only sign of their activities was the new bite on her shoulder. He slid his gaze up to her face. What he saw there was not question nor confusion, neither was it anger or recrimination. There was a hint of softness, the heavy-liddedness of pleasure, and something else. Acceptance?
“I suppose this wasn’t what Chas had in mind when he named you guardian,” she said, pulling all of that thick bundle of hair forward over one shoulder. She began to plait it in a fat braid.
He swallowed a derisive sound. “You do realize, Miss Woodmore, that, while I cannot begin to make things right in regards to this, nothing will change.”
She lifted an eyebrow, her green-brown eyes fastened on him with a bland expression. She was silent for a moment before replying, “What precisely do you mean, that nothing will change?”
He noticed her busy fingers were either very quick, or they were trembling a bit. Sorrow pitted his insides. “I mean we need never speak of or acknowledge this…er…event to anyone. No one need ever know, and you will go on to wed Bradington without even a whiff of scandal.”
Maia—blast it, Miss Woodmore—continued to watch him steadily. She’d finished with the braid and now her fingers settled in her lap, within the folds of her gown so he couldn’t tell whether they were shaking.
“The way you put it, it’s really rather simple then, isn’t it, my lord? We both go on as if nothing has happened. But in fact,Corvindale, you clearly realize a great deal has happened.” Her voice became more strident, rising a bit at the end. She wasn’t shouting, or even furious. But simply strong. Knowing.
“I realize you can never—nor should you—forgive me for my behavior today. It was beyond inexcusable. I shall settle an additional dowry on you for a wedding gift as an apology and a clumsy attempt to comfort you. Naturally, your brother will remove you from my guardianship immediately.”
“I thought,” she said from between unmoving lips, “you just said no one need ever know. I presumed Chas was included in that statement. Or,” she continued, a new flash of fire in her eyes, “was this all a great ruse to entice him to remove me and my sisters from your custody?”
“Certainlynot,”he snapped. “I had no intention of ever coming near you, Miss Woodmore. Let alone—this.”
She nodded. “That is what I thought. I’m relieved to know my impressions were correct.” Standing, she continued, “So I am to understand that, first, you are apologetic for today’s events. Secondly, you wish for no one to know what has transpired. And third, you intend to bestow a great deal of money upon my nuptial union in order to assuage yourself from any lingering guilt you might have. Do I have that right?”
Dimitri managed to nod. This was so…odd.
