The Vampire Dimitri (22 page)

Maia couldn't remember ever feeling so…alone. Angelica was clearly deeply in love with her viscount and didn't have time for sisterly talks—although it appeared that they might have much to talk about, if the position of Dewhurst's hands on her last night was any indication.

Even the thought of where they'd been made Maia blush.

She sat down with another batch of invitations and calling cards, determined to remind herself where she'd seen the hairpin. Only partway through her first piece of toast and cup of tea, the dining room door opened to reveal Betty.

“I've got some news for you, miss,” she said. Betty was a plump, cheery woman old enough to be Maia's mother—or at least a much older sister. Her eyes were glinting with pleasure as she approached. “Tracy Mayes, who works for the
Gallingways—easy way to remember with a bit of rhyme—says that Rosie over to the Yarmouths' knows she's seen that same type of hairpin before. It didn't have no rubies, but sapphires, though.”

Maia felt a spark of excitement. “It was the same, just different gems? It must be made by the same jeweler. Who had the hairpin?”

“That's what I thought, too, miss. I could send over to one of the servants at her house. It was a Mrs. Rina Throckmullins, and Rosie said as she met her and her maid at the milliner's last week. She remembered it because it was such a rainy day, and they shared an umbrella when they left the shop, so she had a good look at the pins in her hair, huddled as they were under it. Mrs. Throckmullins is a…well, miss, I'm not one to speak out of line. But she's a single woman who ain't looking for a husband, if you know what I mean.”

Which meant she was a woman who interacted with men outside of wedlock. Likely of the demimonde, or perhaps even a widow who didn't move about in the
ton.
Which would have made it fairly impossible for Maia to have met her at a Society function. So she must have caught a glimpse of it somewhere else, as she'd previously surmised.

Giving a mental shrug, Maia finished her toast, contemplating this new information. Perhaps Mrs. Throckmullins wasn't the owner of the ruby hairpin, but at least knew the designer. It was the best lead she had so far, and Maia decided it was worth investigating. She'd have to wait until the afternoon when social calls were made.

Thus, later in the day after a brief practice session in the special, empty room (this time without Iliana) and a bit of lunch, Maia called for Tren and the carriage. Angelica was otherwise engaged with a dress fitting for her wedding, and
Mirabella wanted to look for some new lace and so they declined to go with her.

Mindful of Dewhurst's warning not to go anywhere by herself, she advised Crewston, who arranged for two other footmen to accompany them. Her plan was to call on Mrs. Throckmullins under the guise of returning the hairpin, which would allow her to find out whether it belonged to the woman or whether she merely had one similar. If the latter were true, then she could find out where it had come from and follow on that lead.

And she'd be home in time to get ready for tonight's dinner party at the Werthingtons'.

 

Maia opened her eyes.

Where am I?

Confusion and a dark, unfamiliar room made her mind groggy. She tried to sit up and realized her limbs wouldn't move. An ominous clink indicated the reason why.

What in the world?

Panic trammeled through her and she drew in a deep breath, closing her eyes, ordering herself into calmness. What had happened?

She flipped back in her mind…she remembered riding in the carriage to Mrs. Throckmullins's home, a room she'd let in a boardinghouse in a respectable area of the City, not far from Bond.

Mrs. Throckmullins was pleased to meet her in the parlor of the house, and Maia introduced herself and explained the purpose of her visit. She remembered giving her the hairpin, and Mrs. Throckmullins pressing her to stay for tea so they could talk about the jewelry. The next thing she knew, the room was wavering and spinning…

And now she was here.

Wherever “here” was.

Maia tried again to move and realized that her wrists were bound to some object and that she was lying on a bed or sofa.

It was difficult to tell, for the room was dim. Whatever was beneath her was soft, however, and the object to which she was tied moved beneath her when she pulled on it. Curtains covered the windows, and a faint gray outline told her that it was late in the evening, but not yet dark. So she'd been here for several hours.

The panic that could have spiraled out of control settled again. If she'd been missing for that long, someone would be looking for her. Angelica and Dewhurst and perhaps even her wayward brother.

Tren and the other footmen would have returned to Blackmont Hall when she didn't come out of Mrs. Throckmullins's boardinghouse…if they hadn't besieged it in the first place, looking for her. And if not, they knew where to search for her.

But Maia became aware of the pungent scent of fish filtering through the air; something she hadn't noticed in the parlor. So either Mrs. Throckmullins—who was clearly the villain or at least in cahoots with the villain, as Mrs. Radcliffe would describe it—had moved her to a new location, or someone else had.

Either way, that would make it even more difficult for the others to find her.

But on the bright side, perhaps Corvindale was here, as well.

Maia lay there, waiting for her vision to become used to the dim light, listening to every sound around her that might give her more information. She'd read enough Gothic novels to know what a heroine who was in a dangerous situation
shouldn't
do, and she was determined to be intelligent about her predicament.

After listening for quite some time—she heard a clock tolling the quarter hour in the distance, and then a second toll—Maia concluded that she was either alone in the house, or whoever was there was either sleeping or very quiet. She also took stock of the room she was in, half pulling herself up on her side with her elbows. Sheets covered chairs and tables, making the chamber appear ghostly.

Her wrists were bound with a chain of large links that were looped around the leg of the chaise on which she reclined. Her bonds were loose and shifted up and down her arm, and Maia tried for some time to slip them over her hands. But her thumbs were in the way, and try as she might, she couldn't curl them flat enough into her palm to slide free.

Her next effort was to carefully climb off the chaise, taking care to make as little noise as possible in case she was wrong and the building wasn't deserted, to see if there was a way to unhook the chain.

Excitement bolted through her when she saw that it might be possible. The way the chains were looped and if she could lift the chaise and pull them free…

It took countless efforts, most of them aborted when the chains slid the wrong way as she struggled to lift the chaise with bound wrists and a short length with which to work…but finally, she worked it loose and at last pulled away from the chaise.

Her wrists were still bound, but she was free.

Moments later, she had figured out how to unravel herself and left the chains in a heap on the floor. Maia's first instinct was to start out of the chamber, but she forced herself to wait and listen for another quarter of an hour.

Her patience was rewarded when the house remained quiet and the gray outline around the windows had disappeared into black. The last thing she did before leaving the chamber was to take up the poker from the fireplace, and also to search for something that could be used as a wooden stake. The only possible article was an umbrella in a corner stand, and she used her foot to break its handle.

Thus armed, she tiptoed to the door and eased it open.

 

Through the glaze of pain, Dimitri saw the door in front of him ease open.

He closed his eyes, his head tilting back against the chair.
Again? So bloody soon?

She'd visited him more than three times in however many hours and days he'd been here. His only measurement had been the light filtering through the curtains, and even that was inaccurate as he went in and out of consciousness. Lerina had opened one of the sets of drapes so that a slice of sun cut over the headrest of his chair close enough to sizzle his hair.

And as a parting gift, she'd taken off her last ruby necklace and hung it around his neck so that it settled against his bare torso.

The pain…

It had finally dulled to something merely excruciating.

How long had he been like this?

He dared not move during the day for fear the sun would fry his skin, keeping his head at an impossible angle, hardly able to breathe in the wake of pain and paralysis. All the while, he was left with only his thoughts, his fears. Dark and ugly, swirling over and over in his mind.

It was because of that mad vortex of fear and anger that he didn't just allow the sun to burn him. He remained intact,
fueled by the desperate knowledge that he must, somehow, escape. He must get to Maia before Moldavi did.

A figure that was not Lerina had moved through the door way and into the chamber. Dimitri's labored breath caught. This was new. This was—

Maia.

Was he dreaming it? Hallucinating now, his brain turned to mush? He was too weak to even discern her scent.

But no, the glance of moonlight over that amazing bronze-gold hair and elegant nose confirmed his worst fears.

No, no, no! What are you doing here, foolish blasted woman?

He struggled violently, but nothing moved but for the intent, deep inside.

She didn't see him at first; the room was dim and he was too weak to make a sound. But then she did, for she cried out and rushed to his side, dropping whatever she'd had in her hands.

“My God,” she whispered, suddenly there in front of him, close enough that he could smell her at last.

Such a clean, welcoming perfume after hours of his own blood and sweat mingled with the desperate essence of Lerina. His eyes hooded as he drank in the pure, fresh pleasure.

“What has she— Oh,
God.
” Her hands were everywhere, peeling away the blood-soaked shirt that hung from his shoulders, tugging at the rubies that bound him to the chair. When she lifted the necklace that had settled against him he was at last able to draw in a complete breath.

Even once he was loosened from the ruby manacles, Dimitri found he couldn't move. He sagged in the chair, at once infuriated by his weakness and focusing on gathering up strength again. Trying to lift even a finger was impossible.

She'd taken much blood from him. Much. Too much, and
the hours encapsulated in his Asthenia had drained him to little more than a loose pile of skin and bones.

Dimitri tried to speak, and managed only to say, “A…way.”

He was trying to tell her to take the rubies that she'd tossed to the floor away, far away, but Maia misunderstood. “I'm not going anywhere, you idiot man. Look at you.” There were tears in her voice, and fear, as well. “You need water. Something.”

Water was not what he needed.

No indeed.

Dimitri closed his eyes. Now that the incessant pain had ebbed a bit, his body was reawakening in a different way. Warmth stirred deep inside him, flowering into need. Soon, once he recovered his strength, it would be uncontrollable.
No. Not now.

Maia—there was no use forcing himself to think of her as Miss Woodmore any longer; that shield was gone—had moved into the shadows and he dimly heard a dull clink. The next thing he knew, she was back, holding a pitcher.

It was a wonder there was any water left in it, after Lerina had dumped it on his head or splashed it in his face numerous times in an effort to awaken him. Perhaps she'd replenished it. Regardless, the cool water had been the highlight of his experience here, and now Maia applied it in a much gentler fashion that made his skin heat and leap.

She'd torn off a piece of sheet that covered a chair and used the wet cloth to mop up the grime and blood from his face. Dimitri closed his eyes, allowing the cool rivulets to trickle down his jaw and neck, concentrating on gathering what little energy he still possessed.

The room wavered and tilted, still tinged a dull red, due to his great loss of blood as well as the proximity of the
rubies. He attempted to lift his head, but his best effort ended with him merely rolling from one side to the other.

How the hell am I going to get her out of here?

“My God,” Maia said again when she got to the top of his shoulder, where Lerina had bit. And then her breathing changed into another unsteady rhythm when she saw the other shoulder, the bite at its corner, and then down to his left biceps. Also wounded and oozing blood from Lerina's pleasure.

He tried to snatch the rag from her hands, to clean himself up, but Maia was too quick and strong and she batted his hands away as if they were gnats. And so he was reluctantly complicit, so aware of every brush from her fingers, every waft of flower and spice from her sagging hair…the warmth of her body as she bent toward him, the dark shadow down between her breasts. The sensual arch of her neck.

“Corvindale,” she said suddenly, sharply, and he opened his eyes, realizing he'd started to tumble back into the depths of darkness…but this time, the depths had been warm heat, filled with her scent and silky skin. “What do you need? What can I do?” she asked, tugging uselessly at him, obviously trying to get him up out of the chair.

He looked at her, his veins surging with hope and heat, his fangs swelling inside his gums. His breathing was ragged and he could hardly focus the words. “Ru…bies…away,” he managed to say.

She stumbled back, chagrin on her face. “Oh,” she said, anger in her voice. “I'm sorry. I didn't realize…” Her voice faded and he heard the soft sounds of the gems being gathered up. She hesitated, looking around the room as if uncertain what to do with them, but before he could gather up the strength to tell her, she rushed toward the door and went through it.