He frowned and ran his elegant fingers over one of the spines. “But that was purposeful, my dear. I was in no mood to read the likes of
“So instead you buried yourself with
“There never were two more foolish lovers,” he said arrogantly. “If they’d merely used a bit of sense, both of them would have been alive.”
“You weren’t so different, you know,” she said. “Selling your soul back again to the devil. Then where would we have been? You shackled to him after trying to rid yourself for over a century.”
He shrugged, his face settling into that flat, stubborn expression. “I did what I had to do to save you, Maia. I’d do it again, even if it hadn’t worked out as well as it has. And it has all worked out quite well, has it not?”
“I’m not quite clear on how it did, precisely, work out,” she said, the dratted tears hovering in the corners of her eyes again. He really was the most amazing, loving man.
But how had it happened? Was it because he’d known the hell and torture he was taking on again when he made the sacrifice for her, calling Lucifer back to him? Because he knew precisely what he was giving up this time? That had made the sacrifice all the more meaningful…giving up what he’d wanted more than anything in the world to take the burden back again. That must have been how Wayren had been able to stop him from making the covenant a second time.
She couldn’t know for certain, but it made sense, in its own strange way.
And Lerina was dead, thanks to Lord Eddersley, who’d taken it upon himself to skewer the horrible woman when he arrived on the scene. Alexander Bradington had scuttled off into the night like the snake he was—athough Maia hadn’t said that aloud, for surely Gavril would remind her that snakes didn’t scuttle. They slithered.
Nevertheless, he’d assured her that Alexander was long gone to the Continent, and probably beyond, where he was safe from Chas’s vengeful stake (at least for the time being) and Gavril’s own fury.
“Are you truly free of Lucifer, even though you called him to you and offered yourself?” she asked, blinking hard.
Gavril nodded and took the book from her hand. “I am. I’m free and mortal and my soul is my own again. Thanks to you, my dear Miss Woodmore. For nagging me into loving you.”
She looked at him archly, heaving up the heavy stack of books. “I didn’t nag you into loving me. You already did. I merely nagged you into admitting it.”
He chuckled, a low, deep sound that sent a delicious little tingle deep in her belly. “That might be the case. But,” he continued, taking the books firmly from her hands, “I think it’s your turn for an admission. That you shouldn’t be carrying such a heavy burden.” He gestured with the stack of books.
Maia looked up at him, her cheeks warming a bit. “Whatever do you mean, Lord Corvindale?”
“I mean,” he said, “that you’ve got another burden to carry, and a much more important one, being a future earl.”
The blush went full-blown and she smiled. “Well, it’s possible,” she said. “We have been a bit busy since you sold your soul for me.”
The light that came into his face was like nothing she’d ever seen before: a bit of wonder, a bit of surprise, a lot of love and a twinge of chagrin. “I do love you, Miss Woodmore,” he said, his voice rough. “And I couldn’t be happier that I got my soul back to share it with you. So please don’t lift anything heavy for the next nine months, my darling. Promise me that.”
“I shall endeavor to do my best,” she said, not meaning a word of it. “Particularly since you used the very unearlish word
Then, as was his way, even now, the softness in his face ebbed a bit. “And now that we have that settled, I find that I am overdue in a trip to my favorite antiquarian bookstore.”
Maia knew the one he spoke of, of course. “No more trips to buy Faustian legend, I presume?”
“No indeed,” he said, a little bit of a smile twitching his mouth again. “But I find I am missing several volumes of Shakespeare. In fact, I’m particularly interested in one comedy in particular.” His eyes danced.
“And which one is that?” she asked, although she was already laughing, for she knew the answer.
The little antiquarian bookshop was gone.
Gavril wasn’t surprised.
In the place where Wayren’s narrow little establishment had once been was a window that showed nothing but the interior of the tannery.
After a moment of wry contemplation, and peering into the dusty window to see the tanner stropping a piece of leather, Gavril turned away. Instead of climbing back into his carriage, ducking under the fanlike awning, he walked down the street in the sun.
Smiling.
Acknowledgments
The process of writing, publishing, promoting and distributing a book is always one that involves a multitude of people—and when the book is one of a trilogy with overlapping scenes and characters, it’s that much more difficult and intense.
Because of this, I’m especially grateful to Emily Ohanjanians, as well as the entire team at MIRA Books, for their dedication and support for the Regency Draculia books. I only hope you’re as proud of them as I am!
Thanks, too, to Holli and Tammy for reading the early versions of
I owe my firefighter brother Sean a big round of thanks for his information about fires, fighting them and what it’s like to be engulfed in flames.
Thanks to my mom for her support, always, and for her early reads of this and all of my books. Even if no one else likes it, I know I can always count on you!
I’d also like to thank all of my Italian fans for their enthusiasm and support—especially those whom I met in Ravenna and Venice. I hope to return to your beautiful country someday!
And finally, much love and affection to my husband and children, who consistently allow me to get a little frazzled near the end of a book, and who are always willing to eat carryout or pizza—and who still love me anyway! I love you all!
