As it happened, the moon or a streetlamp chose that moment to shine directly on it, and Maia found her attention attracted to the shape of that wide, dark appendage. Long, sturdy fingers, the ridges of slightly flexed tendons, the curve of a broad thumb and neat fingernails. It wasn’t often she’d seen a man’s hand uncovered—certainly Chas’s, and her father’s when she was young, and of course Alexander’s—but Lord Corvindale’s hand seemed particularly wide and well-shaped. Even there, settled, fingers bowed gently, a latent power seemed to emanate from it.
They reminded her…Maia caught her breath, her belly suddenly fluttering, and her mouth dry…they reminded her of the smooth, dark hands from her dreams. She could imagine them, sliding over her pale skin, large and strong—
“Well?”
Maia’s eyes bolted back to Corvindale and she swallowed, frantically trying to catch up to the conversation. Then she remembered. She had a variety of questions for him.
But she would start with the most pressing one. “Do you truly think that Lord Dewhurst will be able to save Angelica?” She wasn’t fully able to keep the pitch of concern from rising in her voice.
He seemed to relax a bit, his fingers shifting into a looser curve. “Voss—er, Dewhurst—isn’t one of my favorite people,” he said, clearly understating the facts, “but his arguments were sound and I believe that he’ll succeed, if only because the man is very manipulative and sneaky. And, one must confess it, intelligent and resourceful, too. If not burdened with a lack of responsibility. Aside of that, Moldavi has no reason to suspect Dewhurst of any threat, so if he doesn’t find them before they get to Paris, he certainly has the best chance of gaining access to Moldavi. And further, your brother is close on Dewhurst’s heels. In the event he fails, Chas wouldn’t hesitate to do whatever it takes to retrieve Angelica.”
Maia blinked. She could hardly believe it, but not only had he given her information that she’d actually requested, he’d spoken in normal tones. “Your opinion means a good deal to me,” she managed to say.
He didn’t respond except to lift his brows and look down his straight nose at her.
So she continued. “Chas seems to think that Angelica isn’t in any danger of being hurt, at least until that vampire delivers her to Moldavi. Do you agree?”
“I do.”
Maia couldn’t hold back a smile, partly borne of relief. “I can scarcely believe we are having a normal conversation, my lord.” She realized that her own gloveless hands had ceased adjusting the folds of the cloak and gown in her lap.
“That,” he said, shifting in his seat, moving his long legs so that they brushed briefly against her skirt, “is because you are asking reasonable questions. In a reasonable tone. Although, I might point out that if you had stayed home like any reasonable woman would have done, we wouldn’t even be having this conversation. Civil or not.”
She bristled a bit, then recalled that she wanted more information from him—and now that she was as assured as she could be that Angelica would soon be safe, she thought it prudent not to annoy him. Although whatever she’d done to annoy him in the past, she couldn’t know, and therefore how could she keep from irritating him now?
“And so you are a vampire, and my brother is a vampire hunter? And you are friends? He works for you?”
“A rather irregular circumstance indeed, but true, nonetheless.”
“But how can that be? Aren’t you—well, mortal enemies?”
The corners of his eyes crinkled a bit, which Maia took to mean that he’d had a flash of humor. Astounding. Twice in one night; in less than one hour?
“Now who is sounding sensational, like one of Mrs. Radcliffe’s Gothic novels, Miss Woodmore?” he asked, almost lazily.
Something fluttered inside her, for his voice had dropped low. She could barely hear it, mixing as it did with the constant rumble of carriage wheels. There were no other sounds outside, and she realized with a jolt that it must be very late. Near dawn.
“Well?” she prodded tartly. And then realized that, for all of her irritation with the situation, he was still an earl, a peer of the realm. And a vampiric—was that even a word? She dared not ask him, but he would certainly have an opinion—one at that. And her manner had become quite familiar with him.
He shifted, adjusting his coat lapels and running a hand briefly through his hair in a surprisingly endearing gesture. “I shall make a very complicated situation as simple as I can, Miss Woodmore,” he said.
“Oh, you need not condescend to me, Lord Corvindale.” The kitten had unsheathed her little claws again. “I’m quite capable of comprehending any situation you might describe. It was I who had to tutor Chas in geometry and Greek.” And what a task that had been, especially since Greek was just as difficult for her. But she would never have admitted that to Chas.
“Indeed? Very well, then,” the earl said. And his eyes crinkled a bit more, and perhaps even the corners of his lips shifted. “I have a variety of business interests throughout the Continent, the Far East and even some limited ones in the New World. As the wealthy and powerful often do, I have more than my share of enemies—”
“I can scarcely imagine that,” Maia murmured.
“—who would take any chance to see my investments fail, or to damage them, or any variety of things,” he continued as if she hadn’t spoken. But his eyes had sharpened a bit and she knew he’d heard her. “Many of those are members of the Draculia, and there are some who are mortals, as well. Your brother acts as my agent and, if necessary, will—er—remove any problematic individuals from—er—causing any further disruptions. He also assists me in managing some of my other associates, who are also of the Draculian race.”
“What you mean to say is that my brother is your paid assassin?” Maia said, her eyes wide. “He kills people?” She thought she might faint. Her heart was pounding in her chest in an ugly beat, thrumming through her stomach, which had suddenly become queasy.
Mama and Father…what would you think if you knew? Oh, Chas, what are you doing?
“Not people, Miss Woodmore. Your brother has never, to my knowledge, ended the life of a mortal person. But he has removed or otherwise dissuaded more than a few vampires—and he was doing so for quite some time before I met him. Which, by the way, was when he attempted to do the same to me.” Corvindale fixed her with his eyes, and Maia felt a little wavering tug deep inside her. “You see, Miss Woodmore, the simple way to look at it is that there are good vampires, and there are bad vampires. Your brother kills the bad vampires.”
“And presumably you don’t count yourself among the ‘bad’ vampires?”
Maia didn’t know how or why she had the courage to say such a thing—for once again, it dawned on her that not only was she in a carriage with an earl, one of the most powerful men of the ton and in England, but that he was a vampire. A bloodthirsty vampire.
And, ward or not, she was alone with him.
He made a deep sound that at first she didn’t recognize as laughter, but when the light fell on his face, outlining harsh cheekbones and the straight line of his nose, she saw that his lips were curved. His laughter was brief and as sharp as he was, and then it subsided. “As I highly doubt that Attila the Hun or Judas Iscariot or even Oliver Cromwell considered themselves ‘bad’ or ‘evil,’ I suggest that your question is moot.”
But then he fixed her with his eyes again. “Naturally, you could pose the question to your brother if you aren’t certain which side of the battle lines I’m on, Miss Woodmore. But I suspect you already know what his answer would be.”