The Vampire Dimitri

without a bloody damned hint of scandal. If you have to force Bradington down the aisle, if you have to enthrall all of the ton, you make certain it happens. That it’s the happiest day of her life, damn you. You owe me, Corvindale. You broke my trust, you put your damned vampire hands on my sister when she was under your care. And your fangs. You’re worse than Voss. You damned well owe me. If we didn’t have a history, if I didn’t owe you, you would be dead by now.”

No one had ever spoken to Dimitri in that way and lived to tell about it. But this time, he allowed it. Because Chas had the right.

“I’ll see to it. Gladly,” he added. He couldn’t wait to wash his hands of Maia Woodmore. 

17 The Lion Is Bearded In His Den

Maia sat up, suddenly wide-awake.

She’d been dreaming. Or perhaps she hadn’t.

The world was dark, for there was a new moon tonight and the stars were cloaked in clouds and fog. She could barely discern the shapes of her dressing table and the chair in the corner.

Lingering in her mind was a memory…a dream or reality, she wasn’t certain… She was in a chamber furnished with great luxury. There were men there, and a woman who was tall and broad and sported a bit of a mustache. Although the place was richly appointed, Maia felt wrong. It was wrong.

Horrible and evil.

She shook her head, trying to clear her mind, trying to focus. Hands grabbing at her, lascivious smiles, the clink of glasses as drinks were poured…Mr. Virgil was there. Smiling. Laughing heartily.

Her heart stopped. Mr. Virgil.

Maia got out of bed as if to escape the images, her heart pounding. She didn’t like this. She didn’t like this at all, the feelings crawling over her. The ugliness, dark memories that began to pour into her mind.

And then something changed in the memory…there was a burst of energy, something dark and fast. Glowing red eyes. Lashing out, violence, and suddenly she was caught up in it…

And then she was safe. Away from it. In a carriage.

With Corvindale.

Maia stood there in her dark chamber, breathing hard. Her stomach hurt, her hair plastered to her neck and throat. Her face was stark, and as white as her night rail, reflecting back from the mirror in the dim light.

She needed answers.

“My lord, there is an individual without who wishes to speak with you.”

Dimitri looked up from the bloody damned book Wayren had foisted upon him. Anything for an excuse to leave off reading about the beauty and her beastly host in a conveniently Gothic castle.

The fact that it was past midnight and someone had come calling bothered him not one bit, nor would it be a surprise to his butler Crewston. There was just as much activity at Blackmont Hall once the sun set as there was during the daylight hours.

Such was the lifestyle of a Dracule.

“Who is it?” he asked, rising from his desk.

“It is a female individual,” Crewston explained. “She waits in a carriage. She asked that I give you this.” He offered a handkerchief.

But Dimitri didn’t need to take the scrap of fabric; he could scent her the moment his butler waved it. Lerina.

His flash of rage was instantly banked. She wouldn’t trick him again, and he had no desire to waste any thought or energy on her. Yet, he was curious as to why she would chance encountering him again.

Instead of responding to Crewston, he pulled on his coat and slipped a slender wooden stake into the pocket. He suspected she was here on a peacemaking visit, but naturally there was no trusting the woman.

Outside in the late-summer heat, Dimitri sniffed the air as he walked down the three steps. Her carriage had been drawn up in the half-circle drive, only a few paces from the stairs. The air was humid and heavy with the perfume of mature roses and lilies, underscored by London’s constant tinge of waste and garbage. The vehicle’s door opened as he stepped down to the ground, but he went no farther.

“It’s safe, my dear Dimitri,” she said, peering out from the opening. “Not a ruby in sight.”

“Pardon me if I don’t trust your word on that,” Dimitri replied. “I cannot imagine what you think you might have to talk to me about, but you must come out if you wish to do so.”

“It was a misunderstanding, Dimitri darling,” Lerina said as she emerged gracefully from the carriage, her hair and skirts tumbling prettily about her.

He paused, waiting to see if he sensed the proximity of a ruby or two. Or a dozen. He didn’t, and he hadn’t expected to. Nor did he scent anyone else in the area, other than her driver.

Lerina might not be the brightest of people, but she apparently had a great sense of self-preservation. And she knew him well—that, unless provoked, he wouldn’t harm her.

“If that episode was a misunderstanding, I cannot imagine what you think the incident in Vienna was. A picnic? Let’s not play games, Lerina. You tried to abduct me, you failed and now you are here…for what reason, precisely? You must know you won’t have the advantage of tricking me again.”

She pouted. “But I’m still in love with you, Dimitri.”

“You have a unique way of showing it.”

“I was a fool. I always have been.”

“How gratifying to know that nothing has changed.”

Her face tightened, losing that flirtatious expression for the first time since she’d arrived. “I had to take the chance to see you alone. The others who were with me are Cezar’s makes. If they realized I was here…”

Dimitri was shaking his head. “No. Try again.”

“Damn you, Dimitri.”

He shrugged. “I’m afraid you’re a bit late on that, too.

Now what do you wa—”

A noise behind him had him turning. Bloody damned Lucifer’s soul.

“Miss Woodmore,” he said, with what he deemed great control. Great, immense, precise control.

She ducked her head and shoulders back inside the open window, where she quite probably had been eavesdropping, and seconds later the front door opened. There she stood, the proper Miss Woodmore, wearing nothing but a flimsy night rail. Her thick hair poured over her shoulders in dark waves, glinting gold in the weak circle of illumination from the streetlamp.

Dimitri paused for a moment to thank the Fates there was no moonlight tonight to shine through the fabric as he struggled to keep his expression blank. “What are you doing?”

She’d stepped onto the top step and he noticed a slender implement in her hand, half hidden behind her and by the folds of her skirt. A stake? Did she mean to protect him? A wave of annoyance and fury battled with some other emotion that he dared not define. Addled woman.

“Mrs. Throckmullins,” Miss Woodmore said as easily as if she’d just arrived for tea. “I should not have expected a social call from you, after our last meeting.”

“Get back into the house, Miss Woodmore,” Dimitri told her, glancing at Lerina. To his dismay, her face was rapt with attention.

“I was just leaving,” Lerina said to the new arrival. Her eyes narrowed and her smile seemed forced. It was a cunning expression that didn’t bode well, along with a spark of something dark. “I have everything that I came for.”

Dimitri turned back toward Miss Woodmore, turning his furious glare on her. She ignored him and he stepped onto the lower stair in an effort to draw her attention to him, and away from Lerina. If the chit would see how angry he was, she’d listen and go back inside. “Miss Woodmore, you will catch your death of cold out here. Dressed in that,” he added flatly, studiously ignoring the way one side of her bodice had slipped,