A sudden pricking behind my eyes was the only indication I required that the conversation had gone too far. “Do not be absurd. This difficulty is of the moment. Not even worth speaking of, I assure you. Now I am off to bed. I must be well rested if I am to act as your protector tomorrow.”
He did not laugh, but his smile deepened. “Tell me, shall you be armed?”
“I always am.”
CHAPTER
14
By the time I reached my room, I had come to a decision. If even Tiberius had noticed the strain between Stoker and myself, the moment to act was at hand. Our division had gone on quite long enough, and it was time to seize the nettle, as it were. With a rising sense of anticipation, I made my preparations. First, I bathed, taking full advantage of the late Lord Templeton-Vane’s passion for the latest in plumbing advancements. After refreshing my person I changed into a particularly flattering ensemble du nuit. I had purchased it in Paris with Stoker in mind. I had discovered an establishment specialising in confections of artfully wrought satin and lace during a stop the previous spring when we were returning from a visit to the Alpenwald. I had commissioned several garments from the place, and so successful had they been that even the mention of the name of the atelier was enough to bring a blush to Stoker’s cheek. He had not seen this particular costume. It was fashioned of exquisite black lace and dotted strategically with silken butterflies the exact violet of my eyes. The whole affair was laced together with narrow satin ribbons in the same shade, finishing artfully in tiny bows that simply begged to be untied. I smoothed the stockings into place,slipped my feet into a charming pair of velvet mules, and covered the whole with a long, concealing dressing gown of dark Turkey red paisley. I did not anticipate encountering any visitors as I crept through the darkened corridors of Cherboys—the other ladies were attached and accompanied by their husbands, after all—but I thought it best to err on the side of decorum. I tucked a particular book of verse into one of the capacious pockets and sprayed myself strategically with Stoker’s favourite perfume.
I tiptoed from my room on slippered feet, moving down the corridor and behind the discreet door to the back stairs. The servants would make use of this staircase to gain access to their rooms, but they would have retired some time ago, the whole of Cherboys settling into a midnight silence. Remembering what Lily had told me about the arrangement of rooms during our tour, I knew that Stoker’s chamber was directly above mine. In order to reach it, I had to pass first the principal guest suite—assigned to the Salviatis—and then the linen room.
As I passed the door of the Salviatis’ suite, I heard movement and low voices. They were probably far too engrossed in one another to notice the odd noise in the corridor, but I took no chances. I held my breath and tiptoed noiselessly past.
The door of the linen room was slightly ajar, and I hoped Lily was not the poor maid responsible for such slackness. I had heard Mrs.Brackendale when her ire was roused, and I did not envy the girl if she found herself on the receiving end of it.
On silent feet, I crept up the back stairs, emerging on the floor above. A gentle snore rumbled from behind the door of the suite assigned to the MacIvers, and I took even greater care as I eased beyond it to Stoker’s room. A narrow band of light shone beneath his door, and I surmised he was still awake. He had with certainty availed himself of his brother’s extensive library and was most likely propped up in bed with a glass of whisky and the latest French romantic novel. I hadoften seen him thus, the bedclothes resting carelessly on his bare hipbones, iliac furrows sharply delineated with such grace and finely developed musculature...
I shook myself firmly and scratched at the door, a soft noise, scarcely audible, but I had no wish to rouse the rest of the wing. After a moment, I heard the squeak of mattress springs and then the door opened a crack. As expected, Stoker was stripped to the waist, the candlelight playing over the planes of his muscles. “Yes?” he asked politely.
“You do not seem surprised to see me,” I observed.
“Your methods are as predictable as your libido,” he said dryly. His gaze stayed fixed upon my face, but his nostrils flared slightly and his breathing seemed to come a little faster. He was holding himself in check, but not without difficulty.
I opened the dressing gown and let it slide from my shoulders without a word.
It was a long moment before he spoke. “My god,” he rasped. Stoker was no stranger to blasphemy, but this was uttered in the worshipful tones of prayer and I smiled.
“May I come in?” I stepped forward, but he blocked the way with his body. I plucked at one of the tiny bows and it burst open, spilling pale, curving flesh.
“I think not,” he said, dragging his eyes upwards again.
I blinked. “But—” I took a slow, deep breath and his gaze fell. His jaw went slack, and something entirely feral kindled in his eyes. He clapped his hands over them.
I tugged his hands from his face. “Look at me, Stoker. Why can we not put our brangling behind us? We are entirely and utterly free,” I reminded him. “And we have both been exceedingly stubborn.”
“Veronica, that is not the point.”
I pressed myself against him, putting my hand to a particularlyvulnerable and receptive part of his anatomy. “I believethisis the point,” I remarked, pitching my voice to seductive tones. “You are not entirely unhappy to see me and heaven knows I am very happy to see you.” I edged closer and touched my lips to his neck. I felt his knees tremble a little, but suddenly, with a smothered roar, he drew back, setting me gently away from him.
“No,” he said with a sternness I found both maddening and adorable. “I will not be manhandled. Orwomanhandled, as the case may be. I was giving you an opportunity to make a grand gesture,” he said, folding his arms over the breadth of his chest. I moved closer still, my perfume wafting as it rose from my heated flesh. He put out his hands as if to ward me off. “Get thee away, succubus.”
I paused. “Are you entirely and completely serious? Do you really mean to refuse me? I am trying towooyou.” I lifted the small book of poetry from my pocket. “I even brought Mr.Keats to assist me. Let me quote something.” I flicked through the little volume to a particularly apt passage. “ ‘Now, a soft kiss—aye, by that kiss I vow an endless bliss.’ ” I stretched forwards on tiptoe, puckering my lips into a rosebud of invitation.
He kept his hands firmly in front of his body, shielding himself from me. “Do not make me hang garlic at the window or summon Merryweather to perform an exorcism to get rid of you. He frightens easily.”
“You are being thoroughly ridiculous,” I began.
He peeped through his fingers, and I saw the merest gleam of mischief in his eyes. He was still angry, but he was also amusing himself, I realised suddenly. He wasenjoyingthis. He meant to make me dance to whichever tune he meant to play, to establish himself as the one with the whip hand in our relationship, and I would have none of it.
“Very well,” I said, wrapping the dressing gown tightly about my body and tying it neatly into a bow.
He dropped his hands in surprise. “You surrender?”
“Not now,” I replied tartly. “If you wish to play games, you may play themalone, Revelstoke.”
I turned on the tiny heel, preparing to stomp down the corridor. I do not know if it was my reply or Stoker’s burst of laughter that roused Merry, but suddenly his door was flung open. The young vicar stood in his nightshirt, feet bare and nightcap askew. He gaped, speechless.
