The Vampire Dimitri

16 Of Apologies And Recompense And Inflated Dowries

No sooner did the blaze of pleasure and fulfillment begin to fade than a cold, hard stone settled in Dimitri’s middle.

By Fate, what have I done?

A chill washed over him and he drew in a deep breath, his mind shooting off in many different directions.

He halted it with cold control. No. There’d be time for recriminations and regrets later. Now he must keep his thoughts clear and extricate himself—literally and figuratively—from…this.

This…moment of quiet fulfillment, of delight, of something that had shaken him deep in his core. Something that made his insides move, like a heated flower opening and sending its warmth through him. But that quickly turned bleak.

He forced himself to open his eyes, pulling up gently from her shoulder. He’d already retracted his fangs, but the essence of blood still lingered on his tongue, filtering into his nostrils. Beautiful. Her eyes were closed, her face slack with satiation. He’d never seen anything that made his heart ache like this. Though he must, he couldn’t look away.

Her lips, full and moist, rosy and inviting, were half-parted. The damp braid that had confined all of the strands of blond, bronze, copper, auburn and walnut was a distant memory, and her long, thick hair clung in places to her skin, and his, as well. Bare throat and shoulders, with an uncovered breast that couldn’t have been more perfect. The mere sight of it, the memory of its smooth, sweet texture, the hard, sensitive nipple beneath his tongue and lips, made his body begin to tighten all over again.

What have I done to you? To me?

Even as he pulled away, Dimitri struggled with how to undo what could not be undone. He pulled down the cold wall behind which he could be safe, and watched as Maia— Miss Woodmore, she must be Miss Woodmore again—opened her eyes with a flutter.

So wrong.

He wanted to poke at her, to cut with his words and send her reeling away. If he did that, then she could continue to loathe the Earl of Corvindale. She could wed Bradington with perhaps a twinge of conscience, but at least she would still wed him.

Instead of demanding that Dimitri come up to snuff. Tempting him.

That would…could…never happen.

“Corvindale.”

Even the way she said his name, still used his title in all formality, sounded husky and intimate.

He’d sat up and was putting himself to rights, rebuttoning his trousers and then locating his shirt in a crumpled wad on the floor. Your shirt, Corvindale. Make it go away.

You won’t hurt me.

Please.

He closed his eyes. Lucifer’s bloody hell.

She was sitting up now, and he dared not look at her and see those wide, questioning eyes. Hurt. Or perhaps they would be filled with anger and recrimination—as they rightly should be.

“Corvindale,” she said again, more firmly. “Look at me.”

He hesitated, then did as she asked. Thank the Fates she’d pulled up her bodice and righted the rest of her clothing. The only sign of their activities was the new bite on her shoulder. He slid his gaze up to her face. What he saw there was not question nor confusion, neither was it anger or recrimination. There was a hint of softness, the heavy-liddedness of pleasure, and something else. Acceptance?

“I suppose this wasn’t what Chas had in mind when he named you guardian,” she said, pulling all of that thick bundle of hair forward over one shoulder. She began to plait it in a fat braid.

He swallowed a derisive sound. “You do realize, Miss Woodmore, that, while I cannot begin to make things right in regards to this, nothing will change.”

She lifted an eyebrow, her green-brown eyes fastened on him with a bland expression. She was silent for a moment before replying, “What precisely do you mean that nothing will change?”

He noticed that her busy fingers were either very quick, or they were trembling a bit. Sorrow pitted his insides. “I mean that we need never speak of or acknowledge this…er…event to anyone. No one need ever know, and you will go on to wed Bradington without even a whiff of scandal.”

Maia—blast it, Miss Woodmore—continued to watch him steadily. She’d finished with the braid and now her fingers settled in her lap, within the folds of her gown so that he couldn’t tell if they were shaking.

“The way you put it, it’s really rather simple then, isn’t it, my lord? We both go on as if nothing has happened. But in fact, Corvindale, you clearly realize that a great deal has happened.” Her voice became more strident, rising a bit at the end. She wasn’t shouting, or even furious. But simply strong. Knowing.

“I realize that you can never—nor should you—forgive me for my behavior today. It was beyond inexcusable. I shall settle an additional dowry on you for a wedding gift as an apology and a clumsy attempt to comfort you. I’m quite certain, as well, that your brother will remove you from my guardianship immediately.”

“I thought,” she said from between unmoving lips, “you just said no one need ever know. I presumed Chas was included in that statement. Or,” she continued, a new flash of fire in her eyes, “was this all a great ruse to entice him to remove me and my sisters from your custody?”

“Certainly not,” he snapped. “I had no intention of ever coming near you, Miss Woodmore. Let alone—this.”

She nodded. “That is what I thought. I’m relieved to know that my impressions were correct.” Standing, she continued, “So I am to understand that, firstly, you are apologetic for today’s events. Secondly, you wish for no one to know what has transpired. And third, that you intend to bestow a great deal of money upon my nuptial union in order to assuage yourself from any lingering guilt you might have. Do I have that right?”

Dimitri managed to nod. This was so…odd.

“A great deal of money,” she repeated, spearing him with her eyes. “Correct?”

He nodded again.

“Because of your behavior.”

He nodded a bit more slowly this time. Was this some sort of snare?

“Then I have one further question for you, Corvindale.” Again, those syllables took on a bit of a note of intimacy merely because they came from her mouth.

“And what is that?” He glanced toward the door of the parlor, for he’d heard the sounds of someone approaching. Or, more likely, Rubey listening at the door.

“What sort of recompense do you expect me to offer for my behavior?”

He stilled, staring at her. “Er…”

“After all,” she continued even as the parlor door rattled, “I was a fully participatory member in what occurred here. In fact,” she added, spearing him with her eyes, “I do believe I was rather instrumental in them. I did say please, did I not?”

The door opened and Rubey stood there. “Dimitri, your carriage has arrived.”

What the hell had taken so long?

Dimitri didn’t join Miss Woodmore in the carriage. He wasn’t that much of a fool.

Instead he sent her back to Blackmont Hall with a relieved Tren handling the reins. Then he glared at the far-too-fascinated Rubey and induced her to loan him her vehicle.

He had a particular visit to make.

The fact that it was yet another gray, foggy day in London only added to the ease with which he alighted from the carriage in front of Lenning’s Tannery and ducked under the wooden awning that stretched in front of the antiquarian bookstore.

For a moment he hesitated, peering through the window, aware of the sun’s rays filtering through the fog and teasing the back of his neck between hat and collar. The shop seemed dark and empty, and he was suddenly terrified that Wayren had gone.

But when he pushed on the door, it opened and he stepped in.

Drawing in a deep breath of peaceful, musty air, Dimitri closed the door behind him. The place was silent and the only illumination came from a distant corner of the shop. It was a soft, orange-yellow glow that displayed the dust motes he’d just stirred with his entrance.

For some reason, he felt odd about disturbing the silence and calling for the shopkeeper. Or perhaps he feared that she wasn’t there, and that he would have to continue to face his confusion and frustration on his own.

When he heard the soft scuff of a foot on the floor, followed by the whisper of fabric over the ground, Dimitri’s heart leaped and he turned.

Wayren appeared from around a corner. Interestingly enough, she didn’t emerge from the area with the light, but from one of the more shadowy ones. Today, she was empty-handed and without her spectacles.

“And so here you are,” she said, eyeing him steadily.

Dimitri nodded. His mouth didn’t seem able to move, nor his brain to form the words he needed to speak. He didn’t know what to say—how to ask.

She waited. Peace and serenity emanated from her, along with the indefinable scent of something warm and comforting.

“You were there,” he said at last. “You…stopped me.”

She continued to watch him with those peaceful eyes. “You stopped yourself, Dimitri of Corvindale.”

He shook his head, the black bubble of uncertainty spreading like tar inside him. “If you hadn’t appeared in my mind…I would have killed her. I would have taken and taken, I would have drained her to death.” It had been the flash of a vision, clear as if she’d been standing in front of him, that had erupted in his mind as he fed on Maia. That peaceful face with the serene blue-gray eyes had broken through the red-tinged world of need and pleasure, easing the desperation. Giving him a reprieve.

“As I said, you stopped yourself. I did nothing.”

“But you did show yourself to me.”

She raised her brows with a noncommittal expression, and he realized that he would get no confirmation from her. She seemed to know whereof he spoke, but that was the most she would give. I can do nothing for you, she’d said once.

She had done something.

But it hadn’t been enough. Where had she been when he was first faced with the choice from Lucifer? Why hadn’t she stopped him then?

Wayren was looking at him, almost as if she could read what was in his mind. “You had the choice then, Dimitri. You made the decision of your own free will.”

“I was weak. He took advantage of my weakness,” Dimitri replied. But even to him, the words sounded hollow. Even then, he’d known there was something wrong. Something evil. He’d hesitated, yes, but then he’d allowed himself to be tricked, manipulated in a moment of desperation. For all he knew, Meg might have lived anyway. For all he knew, Luce had known it then, as well.

“Aye, Dimitri. He did. That is what the Fiend does.” Despite her words, Wayren watched him with a calm, peaceful expression. “He makes it easy to see his way. He takes advantage.”

Just as I did.

The image of Maia’s face, slack with pleasure, filled with her own sort of peace, slid into Dimitri’s mind. He shoved it away.

It was too late. He’d lied when he told Maia nothing had changed.

Everything had changed.

“And so now all of my years of self-denial are for naught,” he said. “It’s over.”

She looked at him searchingly. “Is that so?”

“Of course it’s so,” he replied, more angrily than he’d ever spoken to her. “How can I expect to break the covenant, to distance myself from the devil, if I act like the demon he turned me into? If I take from people, feed on them, pull their very life from them, how can I ever become human again?”

“So you’ve fed on a mortal, for the first time in decades, and you believe that action has destroyed your chance to be released from the Fiend? Oh, yes, I can see that a century of self-denial has already gotten you so very close to your desire.”

He glared at her mutely. She was looking at him with a sort of arch expression that he’d never seen before. “You don’t understand,” he said tightly. “I fed from a person. I drank her blood. I…” His voice trailed off as saliva filled his mouth. Even now, he could hardly control the physical reaction of his long-denied body. He could still taste it. Feel the energy, the life flowing through him. “It’s a violation. A sin.”

“But has denying yourself done anything but make you a cold, hard, empty shell? Hardly a person at all.”

To his shock and eternal mortification, Dimitri felt a stinging in his eyes. He pinched the bridge of his nose fiercely before any tears could form. “My…dislike of social engagement has nothing to do with the problem at hand.

I’ve never been…particularly social.”

“Have you read the story I gave you?” Wayren asked.

Dimitri frowned, blinking hard. “The fairy tale about the beast? A bit of it. I found nothing of relevance.”

“Indeed?”

Impatience flooded him, and he made a sharp, frustrated gesture with his hand. “I’m sorry to have bothered you.

I thought…” He shook his head sharply, pressing his lips together.

“Dimitri of Corvindale,” Wayren said. Her voice had gentled. “If you want to become truly human again—no longer bound to the Fiend—first you must allow yourself to live again. To feel again.”

“I feel,” he snarled.

“Do you? Or do you snarl and growl—as you’ve done here, today—and then run in the opposite direction when ever something begins to soften your heart?”

“Earls don’t run,” he snapped, but something shifted deep inside him.

She smiled at him. “No, not this one. Instead you lock yourself away within a barricade of stone walls so that none can touch you, so that you can keep yourself from feeling anything.”

It was safer that way. Easier. Less complicated. “I lock myself away so I can study,” he said. But even to him, the words sounded false. “I don’t like to be bothered.”

Wayren gave him a sad, soft smile. “But that’s why men are here. To be bothered. To feel. To live. To love. And…to be loved. That is what makes you different from every other creature. And that is what makes man ultimately more powerful than the Fiend. Do you not see? He’s taken your soul, and with it, he’s taken your very humanity. The very part that could save you.”

His belly twisted tightly and his head throbbed. Maia’s face filtered into his memory, then was supplanted by Meg. And Lerina. He shook his head, but at the same time, something small and warm moved in his chest. Something he hadn’t felt in a long time.

Wayren was watching him. “Very well, then. Dimitri of Corvindale, I wish you all of the best.”

During the ride back to Corvindale’s residence from that of the sharp-eyed Rubey, Maia tried to keep her mind blank. She had so much to think about, so many emotions to sift through and to determine which ones to focus on, that she dared not begin it until she was in the privacy of her own chamber.

Preferably during another bath, where she might wash away the remnants of the interlude in Rubey’s parlor.

She shivered, a little flutter of heat streaking through her. That episode alone was enough to send her thoughts spiraling into confusion. But she dared not let herself think about it now. About: Nothing need change. We need tell no one.

Her lips tightened. Corvindale was addled if he thought nothing had changed.

When the carriage pulled up in front of Blackmont Hall, the first thing Maia noticed was another familiar vehicle parked there. Her stomach became a mass of fluttering bird wings.

Alexander.

As if she didn’t have enough to contend with. Biting her lip, she opened the little door behind the driver and asked him to take her around to the servants’ entrance.

It simply wasn’t done, of course, for a lady of the peerage to come through the rear entrance. But that would be preferable to trying to explain to Alexander why her hair was a mess and why there were four delicate marks on her neck. And shoulder. And on her gloveless wrist.

Thus, she slipped into the rear entrance and through the warm kitchen, down into the hallways that weren’t quite as gloomy as they had been when she and Angelica had arrived here. At least some of the windows were unsheathed from drapes now, so many weeks after their arrival.

Maia sent a message down to Alexander that she’d arrived and was safe, asking him to come back later in the afternoon, for she needed time to rest.

No sooner had she sent off her maid with that task, and to order a bath, than the door to her chamber was assaulted by an insistent knock. Before Maia had the chance to bolt the door—for she well knew her sister—said sister burst into the room.

“Maia! Oh, thank heavens you’re back!” She threw herself into Maia’s arms, and nearly bowled her over onto the bed, for not only was she enthusiastic, but Angelica was also a bit taller and heavier than her elder sister. “Are you hurt? What happened?”

“I’m not hurt at all,” Maia replied, “except for the fact that you are squeezing the life out of me.”

Her sister released her and stepped back. “Is that better?” she asked. And then her face froze with shock. “Is that what I think it is? On your neck?”

Maia touched the bite marks, which were what had caught her sister’s eye. “If you think they are vampire bites,” she said in a much lower volume than Angelica, “you would be correct.”

“One of Moldavi’s vampires?” Angelica asked, sitting next to her on the bed. “Were you terrified? Did they kidnap you? All I heard from Corvindale’s message was that you’d been found safely.”

“Yes, I’m safe, and uninjured. Have you heard anything from Chas?” she asked in an effort to avoid Angelica’s question about the bites.

“Chas has not been in contact, but we’ve sent a message. He’ll be here soon. Alexander is below.”

“I know that, but I sent word that I would see him this afternoon. I need…to freshen up.”

“He’s refused to leave. He says he’ll wait here until you’re ready to come down.”

Maia closed her eyes. Noble. So noble. “It will be some time before I come down. Perhaps you can tell him for me, that I am well, but I must freshen up.”

“I shall do my best, but he’s as stubborn as you.” Angelica looked at her sharply. “What happened to you, Maia? Where did you get the bites?”

“I don’t wish to discuss it,” she replied firmly. “But I do wish for a bath.”

Despite Angelica’s protests and questions, Maia managed to send her from the room with direction to talk to Alexander. Then she indulged in her second bath of the day, along with her second bout of confused tears.

Whatever was she going to do about Alexander? How could she marry him after what had happened with Corvindale? How could she marry him when she was in love with another man?

In love with another man.

Those words jumped up out of her mental whirlwind of thoughts, freezing in her mind. Maia paused, water and tears mingling and dripping from her face.

In love with another man who happened to be a vampire.

How could she be in love with him? The thought was absurd. He was rude and arrogant and he raised his voice to her and he argued about everything. He condescended. He insulted.

He kissed her. Oh, how he kissed her.

He argued with her, but for all that, he didn’t ignore her. For all his annoyed comments, he nevertheless seemed to listen to her. He was honorable. Intelligent.

He could never picnic with her, under the sun. He could never ride or accompany her anywhere during the day.

But the way he looked at her…with something in his eyes. Something…needy. Something lost. Something lurked there.

She let her hands fall into the warm, vanilla-and-lily-scented water, causing it to splash over the rim.

What a fanciful notion. That she was in love with a vampire. With the earl. With a man who could hardly stand her presence.

And if she were in love with him—truly in love, although how could she be, truly?—what difference did it make? He certainly couldn’t love her. And…

She was to wed Alexander. A good man. Who possibly loved her, and who at least held her in high regard. Even if his kisses were boring and his conversation not nearly as interesting, if not as explosive, as Corvindale’s.

The wedding was to have been…dear heaven…tomorrow!

In the blur of Corvindale’s disappearance and Maia’s own abduction and return…she’d lost track of time. She was supposed to have wed Alexander tomorrow. No wonder he wouldn’t leave.

Maia bit her lip again, noticing that it was tender from all of the worried gnawing she’d done on it…and perhaps from the rough kisses of earlier today. She closed her eyes, a flush of memory warming her. Pleasure stabbed her belly.

What was she going to do? She’d already postponed the wedding when Corvindale disappeared, but now that he was back and so was she…they must decide on another date.

What am I going to do?

Cold truth settled over her. She had to marry Alexander.

She was ruined now, thanks to the earl. She could even be carrying his child.

That thought turned her alternately hot and then cold again. It was followed by rage that Corvindale meant to pay her off by settling a dowry on her for her wedding, after he’d ruined her. To pay for the child, if there was one.

A child that would be passed off as Alexander’s.

Nothing need change.

How dare he say such a thing? Perhaps for him nothing had changed, but for her? Everything. Everything had changed.

She’d done something outside of foolish, but…she’d do it again. There’d been no way she could have stopped, pulled back. She wanted him, needed him in that way.

What they’d shared had been… She shivered, heat unfurling in her again. It had been like her dreams. But better.

Real.

Maia’s thoughts sharpened, settled, stopped. Her heart paused, her breathing stilled. Her dreams. Of making love to a vampire.

It had been him. Corvindale.

In her dreams, all along, it had been Corvindale.

She’d been dreaming about him, ever since she moved into his house. And that last dream, the one that had frightened her, that had been filled with darkness and pain and red…that had been while he’d been captured by Lerina.

Was she somehow connected to him? Through their dreams? Had she dreamed what he experienced? Or what he…dreamed?

She shook her head, shivering. The Sight works in mysterious ways.

Maia wished suddenly that Granny Grapes was still here, so she could ask her about dreams and connections. She closed her eyes and pursed her lips. There were other problems at hand.

Like what she’d done today, with Corvindale, was foolish. She could ruin herself, ruin her family. Hurt Alexander.

But…despite the way he’d handled it, the abhorrent, cold, earlish way…she would have done it again. She would do it again. It had been right despite the fact that everything about it seemed wrong.

The water had turned cold, and her hands and feet wrinkled like a silk gown left on the ground. And still Maia didn’t know what to do.

Logic, propriety, everything she’d ever learned told her she must marry Alexander. There was truly no good reason not to, and every reason to do so.

A broken engagement would cause a great scandal, particularly so close to the wedding. One of them must take the blame for it, and it would either be Maia—who would be ruined—or Alexander, who would be made a fool. She didn’t wish either consequence, but certainly she didn’t wish to make Alexander a cuckold nor a scapegoat, for that would be the result if she broke the engagement.

And if he made the announcement, which would be his right in this instance, Maia would be branded a loose woman. Her reputation would be ruined and she would never marry, and quite likely never be admitted into polite society again.

If she were with child, it would be even worse.

Nausea flooded her. How could something that had been so beautiful, that had felt so deeply right have such dreadful consequences?

She shook her head. Marrying Alexander wouldn’t be so bad.

It would be good, in fact. It would be nice and it would be the right thing to do.

She rose from the tub. It was time to go down and see him.

Dimitri opened his eyes to find the point of a stake resting upon his chest.

“Do it,” he said, looking up into the dark, furious face of Chas Woodmore. He closed his eyes against the dimly lit, spinning room and waited. Hoped. Put me out of this misery.

The pressure moved away from his torso. “Open your bloody eyes, Dimitri. I want to hear it from you.”

He forced his eyes open again, and the room tilted violently. He closed them, tasting the blood whiskey still clinging to his lips and tongue, smelling it on his hands and from the empty bottle on the desk in front of him. A bleary glance told him dawn threatened, but that the world was still silent with night. He was in his study, which was good, because that was the last thing he remembered. Settling into place with two—perhaps three—bottles of the stuff. Just as the sun went down. Tuning out the sounds, the scents, the memories, the darkness.

It was two days after the Incident at Rubey’s.

Two days after everything had changed.

“What did you do to my sister?” Chas said. His voice was slick with anger and dark with loathing. He stood across the desk from Dimitri, a mere arm’s length away. “I trusted you.”

“There is no explanation for what occurred. You have every right to finish things now.” Dimitri pulled his waistcoat helpfully away from his shirt. “I won’t fight you, Chas. I won’t even ask you to make it quick. Just bloody well do it. It’s a long time coming.”

“Devil take it, have you had the whole bottle tonight?” There was a clink as Woodmore picked it up as if to check its contents.

“No,” Dimitri drawled. “Two.” His eyes sank closed. Oblivion was lovely.

More clinking and the rustle of books and papers. “What in the devil are you doing, Corvindale?” Chas demanded.

“Waiting. What the damned hell is taking you so long? You’re never this slow.” His eyes remained closed.

“What did you do to Maia?”

Dimitri purposely picked the most vulgar of words. “I fucked her. I violated her. I bloody fed on her.” He tried to focus. “But she’s going to marry Bradington. No one will know. And you’re going to stake me. Anytime now.”

“And if she’s with child?”

“I pray she is not. It’s highly unlikely.” But, oh, the Fates, it was possible.

“But if she is…then Lucifer could claim him.”

A wave of nausea surged and Dimitri swallowed hard. As if the thought hadn’t been swirling around and around in his whiskey-fogged brain, sloshing along in his upset belly. Threatening him for days, threading through his dreams. Silence.

Dimitri opened his eyes and found Chas looking at him. Pity seemed to have replaced pure loathing, although the hard, dark fury was still there. What the hell was he waiting for? Dimitri wouldn’t have waited. He’d have driven the stake home long before now. “It was Rubey who told me,” Woodmore said, answering a question Dimitri hadn’t cared to ask. “Not Maia. She’s said nothing. To anyone.”

Dimitri adjusted his position in the chair and blinked. Apparently they were going to have a civil conversation before the man killed him. “There isn’t a damned thing I can do to change it,” he said. “It’s done. I’ve settled a dowry on her—”

“She doesn’t need a bloody damned dowry from you,”

Chas said. “And there certainly isn’t anything you can do.

If you were a mortal, I’d have you at the altar tomorrow because I know at least you’d never hurt her. At any rate, I don’t want you to touch her again.”

Dimitri gave a bitter laugh. “There is no chance of that.”

“Very well. The sad thing is, I believe you, Dimitri.” Chas shoved the stake back into his inside pocket. “I came for another reason, besides to kill you.”

“But you haven’t killed me,” Dimitri said flatly. “Damn you.”

“No, and I don’t think I will. It’s clear killing’s too easy a way out for you, Corvindale. Aside of that, I might be in need of you in the future. You’ll owe me.”

“Why are you here?”

“I’m going to visit Sonia, in Scotland. I’m going to see if she’ll use her Sight to tell me about Moldavi so we can stop him for good. Narcise won’t be free until he’s dead.”

Dimitri felt a stirring of interest. “Sonia has a different skill than Angelica. She might do it. She might be of help.”

“But she won’t use it,” Chas said. “I’m hoping to convince her that it’s worthwhile.”

Dimitri sat up, gave his head a little shake to rid himself of the fogginess. “Narcise is going with you?”

“Yes.” Woodmore looked at him, seemed ready to say something, then stopped. “We leave in the morning. I might not be back for Maia’s wedding.”

Maia’s wedding. He’d been afraid, initially, that something would have happened to cancel it altogether, but Dimitri knew it had been rescheduled for two weeks from now. Not soon enough. But at least it was going forward. At least soon she would be out of his hands. Out of his reach.

“Does she know this?”

“No. That’s part of what you owe me, Corvindale. You can deliver the news…and take my place, walking her down the aisle. Giving her away.”

“I’ll go to blasted Scotland, you stay here,” Dimitri suggested.

Chas’s response was a laugh as bitter as Dimitri’s. “No, you’ll stay here and make certain my sister is wed without a bloody damned hint of scandal. If you have to force Bradington down the aisle, if you have to enthrall all of the ton, you make certain it happens. That it’s the happiest day of her life, damn you. You owe me, Corvindale. You broke my trust, you put your damned vampire hands on my sister when she was under your care. And your fangs. You’re worse than Voss. You damned well owe me. If we didn’t have a history, if I didn’t owe you, you would be dead by now.”

No one had ever spoken to Dimitri in that way and lived to tell about it. But this time, he allowed it. Because Chas had the right.

“I’ll see to it. Gladly,” he added. He couldn’t wait to wash his hands of Maia Woodmore.