Her hands felt clammy and her stomach unsettled.
She would not think about what she had been doing last night when Alexander was arriving home. She would not ever think about that again, now that her fiancé had returned.
“Will there be a reply, Miss Woodmore?”
“Oh,” she said. “Of course. I’ll return in one moment.” She rose from her chair and hurried out of the breakfast room and up to her chamber, where she kept her personal writing implements and stationery.
Except that she wasn’t able to find a good ink pen in her drawer, and so she had to resort to rummaging through Angelica’s desk drawer for one. While she was doing so, she pulled out a sealed letter that had been tucked away beneath a box of note cards. Obviously something Angelica had meant to keep, but for some reason, hadn’t opened.
Was there bad news in it? Something she didn’t want to know?
Maia considered for a moment, looking at the strong masculine writing on the outside. It said merely Angelica. Sensitivity prickled over her arm. All at once, she knew: this was important.
She had to read it, she reasoned. Angelica was gone. There was the chance she might not return…only for a time; for Maia wouldn’t allow herself to consider the worst, and Corvindale’s relative ease with the situation had given her confidence that Angelica would soon be safe.
She smoothed her fingers over the envelope, wishing she had more than her intuition to direct her.
Without further thought, she took the letter to a candle used for melting the wax for the seals and lit it. Holding the message just-so above the flame, she waited for it to soften just enough to be pried away, but without damaging or distorting the seal. Moments later, her steady hand rewarded her by lifting the black blob of wax so that she could read the note.
Angelica,
I am very grateful for the information you provided me, and because of that, I plan to fulfill my end of the bargain and leave London. I bid you farewell, then, and offer you a warning: do not wear the rubies in the presence of Corvindale, or even at all while you are under his care. I intended the earbobs to be a jest that only he would comprehend, but in retrospect, I’ve reconsidered. Wearing them could only cause you hurt and, whether or not you believe it, that is the last thing I should ever wish upon you.
Your servant, Voss.
Dewhurst. She’d known it. Maia stared down at the message. A variety of emotions rushed through her, ranging from anger to shock to confusion.
Where did one begin to make sense of this?
Not to mention all of the other things she had to make sense of.
What to do with the letter?
Corvindale.
The very thought of facing him after last night made her knees weak and her belly flutter. No. She absolutely could not. Her cheeks flamed.
But he should see the letter. At the very least, he should read the reference to the earbobs—which had to be the rubies that had suddenly appeared in Angelica’s chamber.
She’d told Maia a ridiculous story that they’d been part of Granny Grapes’s collection, but Maia was no fool.
She hadn’t believed that story any more than she believed Angelica when she denied wearing Maia’s crocheted pink gloves on a picnic. They’d been stained with blueberry juice and had never come clean.
According to the letter, Dewhurst—Voss—had intended to leave London. Apparently he’d changed his mind; perhaps because he learned that the vampire Belial meant to attack Angelica.
Maia shook her head, bit her lower lip and drew in a deep breath. It had to be done.
Blast it.
Slowly Maia replaced the writing implements in her sister’s drawer and then her gaze fell on the note from Alexander. She’d forgotten about it, and that someone was waiting below for her response.
Dashing off a quick reply that she would of course be pleased to see him anytime he wished to call, she started out of Angelica’s room. But then she caught a glimpse of her reflection in the mirror and paused.
Her eyes went immediately to the simple lace edging of her bodice…and the thin red scratch peeking up from behind it. Such a tiny wound; no worse than if she’d scraped herself with the edge of her fingernail. The bleeding had stopped last night and it was hardly noticeable, except when one was looking for it.
Maia bit her lip again and tried to pull up the neckline to further hide it. It wasn’t so much that it was ugly, but what it represented.
Ignoring the fluttering in her stomach, she looked away and took in the rest of her image.
Her brown hair was smooth, pulled back in a simple twist for morning. Neat, if unexceptional. The hollows under her hazel eyes were darker than usual. Her cheeks were still pink from the mortifying thoughts of moments ago. And her mouth, with its fuller upper lip. She tried to press it flatter, so that both lips seemed to match…but she couldn’t keep the top one from appearing swollen and off balance. Messy.
With a snort of disgust—for usually it was Angelica who spent time fawning in front of the mirror—Maia stalked out of the chamber. She was neat and well-groomed this morning, if a little plain in her simple coiffure and muslin day-dress. She didn’t look any different than she did any other day—which was to say, well. Rather pretty, in fact.
But it didn’t matter one whit how she looked. She simply didn’t want to appear that she was overset by what had happened last night…or, alternatively, that she was trying to—what was the word?—appeal to him.
Of course not.
Corvindale was no more than an arrogant, rude, stormy earl who thought he controlled everyone. Glowering at her from across the seat in the carriage, he’d looked at her as if it were her fault that they were in there together. But then…he’d moved.
Maia’s throat went dry as she remembered him, looming over her, gathering her up and crushing her to him. His hands, his mouth, the strength of his body against hers. Her knees felt weak, and she actually had to grip the railing of the staircase.
It was his enthralling of me. His hypnotism.
He made me want to touch him.
Maia couldn’t banish the stark image of his head bent over her bared bodice, the dark splay of his fingers against the pale color of her gown and lighter skin. And with it, even now, came the jolts of hot pleasure, panging in her belly and lower. Definitely lower.
Biting her lip, Maia shook her head in an attempt to clear her mind and to dislodge the memories. She felt no guilt.
Why should she?
She remembered when he looked at her so intently, catching her eyes and holding her gaze. He’d lured her in, just like Galtier the vampir had done to countless women in Granny Grapes’s stories. Although…Maia frowned. In the stories, the women never realized what had happened to them. They didn’t remember.