“Enlightening your guest with the darkest secrets of my race, are you, Rubey?” His words might have been light if it weren’t for the way his eyes bored into the titian-haired woman.
She didn’t seem to mind. “She was just telling me how it all happened. Quite a story.”
“I’m certain she was,” he replied without glancing at Maia. “But it was beyond foolish of her to become involved in the matter. Things would have worked out much better if she’d simply stayed home.”
Maia went rigid. “If it weren’t for me, Lord Corvindale,” she said in her iciest voice, “no one would have known about the ruby hairpin. Which is what led me to investigate Mrs. Throckmullins.”
“And there’s where you went wrong, Miss Woodmore. You should never have been investigating anyone. Dewhurst and Cale had things well in hand. They would have found me soon enough.”
Maia could not hold back an improper snort. “I merely went for an afternoon call—”
“Nor should you have gone alone.”
“I didn’t go alone, you dratted man. Do you think I have feathers for brains? I had three footmen with me. How was I to know that Mrs. Throckmullins was your former mistress, and that she would have invited me into tea and then poisoned me? I certainly couldn’t have brought three footmen into her parlor, now, could I?”
He raised the whiskey. “Very well. I stand corrected. You could have done nothing to prevent Lerina from drugging and abducting you.”
Maia drew herself up even more, ignoring the avid interest on Rubey’s face. “Just as you could have done nothing to prevent her from abducting you. Because of course, being the Earl of Corvindale, you know all and see all and could clearly foresee every possible circumstance. Which is precisely why you ended up in the condition in which I found you.”
Rubey drew in a sharp intake of breath that sounded suspiciously like a stifled laugh.
“Furthermore,” Maia continued, unable to stop herself, “if I hadn’t managed not only to free myself from being chained to a chaise lounge and then gone in search of you, you would probably be dead by now from loss of blood.”
“Dracule don’t die from loss of blood,” he sneered.
“Even when tied up by ruby necklaces?”
“You were tied up by rubies, Dimitri?” Their hostess looked much too intrigued by such a concept, her eyes narrowing contemplatively. “Now there’s a fascinating idea.”
“Is my carriage here yet?” Corvindale snarled at her. “Perhaps you ought to go check.”
“Oh, but I find this conversation very stimulating.”
“Go.” He didn’t roar, but the room vibrated as if he had. Rubey rose reluctantly and started toward the door, not at all cowed.
But Maia wasn’t finished; no indeed. She had so much to say to the arrogant, impossible, infuriating man in front of her, she didn’t know if she’d be done in a week. “And then you throw a stake at me—”
“I threw it at the vampire who was holding you—”
“You could have stabbed me!”
“Of course I wouldn’t have, you addled woman. Do you think I’m completely incompetent? I knew precisely what I was doing, as is evident by the fact that you are here, intact, and so am I.”
“And then you jump through a second-story window,” Maia continued, her mind blazing with fury, the words tumbling out, “and take me with you! We could have been killed!”
“Dracule don’t die from a fall—”
“But people like me do!” she shrieked, leaping to her feet. Maia drew in a deep breath and realized she’d truly gone mad. Perhaps he was right. Perhaps she was addled. She reached down for her glass, taking the last swallow of her whiskey while managing not to cough or choke. She heard the faint click of the door closing behind Rubey.
Corvindale didn’t seem to notice; for he was watching Maia from over the rim of his own glass, his eyes dark and steady. Wary. “The fact is,” he said in his chilly voice, “that you were perfectly safe once the rubies were out of my proximity.”
“And how,” she said sweetly, but with a steely edge, “did it happen that those blasted rubies got out of your proximity?” Her hands planted on her hips, she glowered up at him.
“Speaking of rubies,” he said, setting his glass on the table with a definite clunk, “why in the goddamned bloody hell did you not use them?”
She closed her mouth, for she truly had no idea what he meant. “I—”
“I could have killed you, Maia,” he said, his face terrible. Darker and more frightening than she’d ever seen. “I nearly killed you.”
She was shaking her head, anger dissolving into confusion. “You didn’t hurt me, Corvindale,” she said, at last understanding. “You needed to feed. It was the only way.”
He made a disgusted sound and reached for her. “Look at this,” he said, yanking her arm out to display the bite marks there. “And here,” he said, shoving her braid away from her shoulder. “You would have let me go on and on until there was nothing left.”
“But—”
“I’ve done it before,” he said, his voice dropping into an awful pitch. It made her nauseated, the loathing and malevolence therein. His dark eyes glittered, holding hers like magnets. “I’ve torn a woman to shreds, left nothing but mutilated flesh behind. I could have done that to you.” His voice had dropped to an agonized whisper.
“But you didn’t. You stopped. I didn’t realize—”
He gave a bitter laugh, still holding on to her wrist. “Only by the grace of—something, some miracle—did I stop. It had been one hundred thirteen years, Maia.” He drew in an unsteady breath, his thumb sliding over her skin. “And even now…”
He dropped her arm abruptly and turned away. “Where the bloody hell is my carriage?”
“Corvindale,” she said, her voice quiet. She stepped toward him, reaching for his arm. It was in her nature to comfort, to set all right, to take care of things, and for the first time, she sensed the deep pain rolling off him like fog from the sea. It had been hidden beneath that brittle, dark exterior all this time.
When she touched him, he froze, the muscles of his forearm tightening like bowstrings. “Miss Woodmore,” he said coldly. “You are out of line.”