Winterly (Dark Creatures Book 1), стр. 62
He grew still of a sudden. Emma felt his lips at the hollow of her neck, his kisses gentling even as the sky raged and cracked with more jagged light. With her senses still chaotic, churning, she was only vaguely aware that Winterly had hoisted her up in his arms like a bride, as though she weighed no more than a flower, and was carrying her over the escarpment. Were it not for his drugging lips, she might have regained her senses the sooner.
It was not till they reached the bottom of the stone steps that the full measure of her own wanton behavior dawned on her. She immediately implored him to put her down, utterly mortified. He complied, grinning broadly as she endeavored to straighten her skirts and fix her hair—a futile task in the pelting rain, but her hands wanted some employment. Wherever her bonnet had gone, she wished it safe travels, doubting very much she’d ever see it again. Would that she never had to look upon his knowing smirk again either.
The barouche appeared through the downpour, and Winterly quickly handed her up into the carriage and then climbed up after her. They were soon tearing down the empty road, past the row of shipbuilding warehouses and little shops.
Neither of them said aught as the wheels rolled wetly across the countryside. He only stared out of the window, his lips curled. She thought him unaware of her gaze drifting over his mouth, over the sculpted lips she still craved.
“If you continue to stare,” he said, “I shall consider it an invitation to continue what was started on that cliff, Emma.”
She nearly gasped at the suddenness of his voice, preoccupied as he’d appeared to be. He’d used her name like a wicked promise. She had not invited him to use it, but he had done so anyway, rake that he was. She ought to have felt outraged at his taking such liberties, but they both knew that she had been as willing a participant as he. And though she had promptly averted her gaze, she could now feel his as he followed the heat creeping out over neck and bosom. Her heart skipped wildly. Her chest heaved. Beneath the drenched layers of muslin, her flesh pebbled. He had made good on his promise—the second kiss was indeed unchaste.
She should hate herself for her own base reaction to him, but she could find no will to regret their impulsive kiss. She was an old maid after all, and had not so much as kissed a man before (well, only in her dreams), let alone such a man as this. If she was going to berate herself, let it be for kissing a vampyre. Let it be for craving him despite what he was. He scattered her thoughts with his next words.
“Shall I come to your room tonight, Emma?” Not even the rain thundering at the carriage roof could drown out his silky voice.
Taking a deep, bolstering breath into her lungs, she said, “No.”
He turned away, his smile deepening. No more words passed between them after that. It was the longest carriage ride of her life, and all the way home she knew, with certainty, that this would not be the last time he asked her that particular question. And, likewise, she was not sure, even knowing what he was, that she could refuse him forever.
Chapter Thirty
The Riddle
Dearest Emma,—Vanishing libraries? Supernaturalism? Howling moors? Upon my word, you do sound strange, indeed. But trust yourself, nevertheless, for I know you to be a woman of sound mind and adamantine spirit. God bless you always,
Mary.
“He asked what?!” Milli’s hands flew up to her mouth in astonishment. “Mercy!” she cried, “how shocking!” But, however, as egregious as she found Emma’s account of her private carriage ride with Winterly, Milli also appeared to be taking an abominable sort of delight in the whole affair. “How utterly romantic.”
“Well, which is it? Shocking or romantic?”
“Both!”
“Your notion of romance,” said Emma, tossing a pillow at Milli, “is decidedly primeval.”
Milli caught the pillow and curtsied, addressing the room at large as though they were at court. “May I present, the Right Honorable, the Viscountess Winterly.”
“Oh, do shut up.”
Not even the sepulchral silence of the keep preponderated over Milli’s laughter. “The man has it backwards,” she said. “Doesn’t he understand that weddings come before beddings.”
“Well, I want neither from him.”
Milli’s eyes twinkled with mischief. “Don’t tell me you refused him, Emma?”
“I wonder at your feeling the need to even ask that of me. Of course I refused the man.”
“But Lord Winterly is very handsome, I myself should have been sorely tempted.”
“Yes, thank you, Milli. I am well aware of your propensity to romanticize infelicitous behavior.” But wasn’t she, Emma, guilty of the same? Had the temptation really been so great? Had his power over her really been so indomitable that she’d thought nothing of surrendering her virtue right there on the Saxon tombstones? She’d thanked heaven afterwards that he’d stopped when he had, for whatever reason, because her own probity had utterly deserted her.
“Truly, Emma, I’d be fair in a quake for you if I wasn’t so titillated by it all.” Milli stifled her laughter into the same feather pillow that Emma had thrown. “Were you at all frightened?”
“To say the least of it,” she lied. Well, it was only half a lie. The whole truth of it was that she had been far more thrilled than she wanted to admit to herself. But he is a vampyre! Never forget that.
That inward warning, however, lacked conviction. More and more was she becoming dominated by this powerful attraction she felt for him. Each time she thought to give herself over to wicked daydreams, she would perforce remind herself of what he was. Then, somehow, he would worm a way into her heart again. And so the cycle perpetuated itself.
“But why should he even suggest such a