“Agreatdeal of money,” she repeated, spearing him with her eyes. “Correct?”
He nodded again.
“Because of your behavior.”
He nodded, a bit more slowly this time. Was this some sort of snare?
“Then I have one further question for you, Corvindale.” Again, those syllables took on a bit of a note of intimacy merely because they came from her mouth.
“And what is that?” He glanced toward the door of the parlor, for he’d heard the sounds of someone approaching. Or, more likely, Rubey listening at the door.
“What sort of recompense do you expect me to offer formybehavior?”
He stilled, staring at her. “Er…”
“After all,” she continued even as the parlor door rattled, “I was a fully participatory member in what occurred here. In fact,” she added, “I do believe I was rather instrumental in them. I did say please, did I not?”
The door opened and Rubey stood there. “Dimitri, your carriage has arrived.”
What the hell had taken so long?
Dimitri didn’t joinMiss Woodmore in the carriage. He wasn’t that much of a fool.
Instead he sent her back to Blackmont Hall with a relieved Tren handling the reins. Then he glared at the far-too-fascinated Rubey and induced her to loan him her vehicle.
He had a particular visit to make.
The fact that it was yet another gray, foggy day in London only added to the ease with which he alighted from the carriage in front of Lenning’s Tannery and ducked under the wooden awning that stretched in front of the antiquarian bookstore.
For a moment he hesitated, peering through the window, aware of the sun’s rays filtering through the fog and teasing the back of his neck between hat and collar. The shop seemed dark and empty, and he was suddenly terrified Wayren had gone.
But when he pushed on the door, it opened and he stepped in.
Drawing in a deep breath of peaceful, musty air, Dimitri closed the door behind him. The place was silent and the only illumination came from a distant corner of the shop. It was a soft, orange-yellow glow that displayed the dust motes he’d just stirred with his entrance.
For some reason, he felt odd about disturbing the silence and calling for the shopkeeper. Or perhaps he feared she wasn’t there, and that he would have to continue to face his confusion and frustration on his own.
When he heard the soft scuff of a foot on the floor, followed by the whisper of fabric over the ground, Dimitri’s heart leaped and he turned.
Wayren appeared from around a corner. Interestingly enough, she didn’t emerge from the area with the light, but from one of the more shadowy ones. Today, she was empty-handed and without her spectacles.
“And so here you are,” she said, eyeing him steadily.
Dimitri nodded. His mouth didn’t seem able to move, nor his brain to form the words he needed to speak. He didn’t know what to say—how to ask.
She waited. Peace and serenity emanated from her, along with the indefinable scent of something warm and comforting.
“You were there,” he said at last. “You…stopped me.”
She continued to watch him with those peaceful eyes. “You stopped yourself, Dimitri of Corvindale.”
He shook his head, the black bubble of uncertainty spreading like tar inside him. “If you hadn’t appeared in my mind…I would have killed her. I would have taken and taken. I would have drained her to death.”
It had been the flash of a vision, clear as if she’d been standing in front of him, that had erupted in his mind as he fed on Maia. That peaceful face with the serene blue-gray eyeshad broken through the red-tinged world of need and pleasure, easing the desperation. Giving him a reprieve.
“As I said, you stopped yourself. I did nothing.”
“But you did show yourself to me.”
