The water had turned cold, and her hands and feet wrinkled like a silk gown left on the ground. And still Maia didn’t know what to do.
Logic, propriety, everything she’d ever learned told her she must marry Alexander. There was truly no good reason not to, and every reason to do so.
A broken engagement would cause a great scandal, particularly so close to the wedding. One of them must take the blame for it, and it would either be Maia—who would be ruined—or Alexander, who would be made a fool. She didn’t wish either consequence, but certainly she didn’t wish to make Alexander a cuckold or a scapegoat, for that would be the result if she broke the engagement.
And if he made the announcement, which would be his right in this instance, Maia would be branded a loose woman. Her reputation would be ruined and she would never marry, and quite likely never be admitted into polite society again.
If she were with child, it would be even worse.
Nausea flooded her. How could something that had been so beautiful, that had felt so deeplyright,have such dreadful consequences?
She shook her head. Marrying Alexander wouldn’t be so bad.
It would be good, in fact. It would be nice and it would be the right thing to do.
She rose from the tub. It was time to go down and see him.
Dimitri openedhis eyes to find the point of a stake resting upon his chest.
“Do it,” he said, looking up into the dark, furious face of Chas Woodmore. He closed his eyes against the dimly lit, spinning room and waited. Hoped.Put me out of this misery.
The pressure moved away from his torso. “Open your bloody eyes, Dimitri. I want to hear it from you.”
He forced his eyes open again, and the room tilted violently. He closed them, tasting the blood whisky still clinging to his lips and tongue, smelling it on his hands and from the empty bottle on the desk in front of him. A bleary glance told him dawn threatened, but that the world was still silent with night. He was in his study, which was good, because that was the last thing he remembered. Settling into place with two—perhaps three—bottles of the stuff. Just as the sun went down. Tuning out the sounds, the scents, the memories, the darkness.
It was two days after the incident at Rubey’s.
Two days after everything had changed.
“What did you do to my sister?” Chas said. His voice was slick with anger and dark with loathing. He stood across the desk from Dimitri, a mere arm’s length away. “I trusted you.”
“There is no explanation for what occurred. You have every right to finish things now.” Dimitri pulled his waistcoat helpfully away from his shirt. “I won’t fight you, Chas. I won’t even ask you to make it quick. Just bloody well do it. It’s a long time coming.”
“Devil take it, have you had the whole bottle tonight?” There was a clink as Woodmore picked it up as if to check its contents.
“No,” Dimitri drawled. “Two.” His eyes sank closed. Oblivion was lovely.
More clinking and the rustle of books and papers. “What in the devil are you doing, Corvindale?” Chas demanded.
“Waiting. What the damned Hell is taking you so long? You’re never this slow.” His eyes remained closed.
“What did you do to Maia?”
Dimitri purposely picked the most vulgar of words. “I fucked her. I violated her. I bloody fed on her.” He tried to focus. “But she’s going to marry Bradington. No one will know. And you’re going to stake me. Anytime now.”
“And if she’s with child?”
“I pray she is not. It’s highly unlikely.” But, oh, the Fates, it was possible.
“But if she is…then Lucifer could claim him.”
A wave of nausea surged and Dimitri swallowed hard. As if the thought hadn’t been swirling around and around in his whisky-fogged brain, sloshing along in his upset belly. Threatening him for days, threading through his dreams.
Silence.
Dimitri opened his eyes and found Chas looking at him. Pity seemed to have replaced pure loathing, although the hard, dark fury was still there. What the hell was he waiting for? Dimitri wouldn’t have waited. He’d have driven the stake home long before now.
“It was Rubey who told me,” Woodmore said, answering a question Dimitri hadn’t cared to ask. “Not Maia. She’s said nothing. To anyone.”
