Winterly (Dark Creatures Book 1), стр. 66
Emma took a deep breath. “It is…rather low cut.”
Milli clucked her tongue. “It’s perfectly à la mode, I assure you.”
“And the mask I bought won’t suit at all.”
They were interrupted just at that moment by the rap of knuckles at the door. Without waiting for an invitation to enter, Victoria sailed in, gowned in a stunning emerald costume of layered silk that clung sensuously to every curve. The sheer fabric draped low over her opaline shoulders, secured by bejeweled brooches, so that she appeared every inch the Greek goddess in folds of finery. Truly, the woman’s beauty was unearthly.
She stopped short at seeing Emma, upon her face a look that bespoke admiration and, to Emma’s consternation, surprise. She recovered almost instantly. “You both look ravishing, my dears.” Then, turning to Milli, she said, “Would you like me to arrange your hair?”
Victoria’s own beautiful arrangement was very elegant and, knowing that Emma was hopeless at styling hair, Milli replied in the affirmative.
“I shall attend you in my room then,” said Victoria.
The two women then repaired to Victoria’s apartments, the susurrations of emerald and sapphire skirts like glistering waves against the floor. Their laughter roused Boudicca who glared after them, her dander ruffled. Apart from the vexed cat, Emma was finally left to finish her claret in contemplative seclusion.
Although she too had been invited to join them in Victoria’s suite, she had declined, for she required a moment to gather her courage. Tonight was the night she faced her beautiful nemesis again. But dared she leave her sister with Victoria too long? The sibilance of the quickening dusk warned her against relaxing her guard even a little.
Just as she’d resolved to join her sister and Victoria, another tap was heard at the door. What a busy chamber she occupied this night, all and sundry seemed eager to preclude her precious solitude. This time, whoever was without awaited leave to enter. When permission was accordingly granted, Mrs. Skinner appeared with an epistle and a small parcel in her skeletal hand.
“From the master,” was all she said ere she bobbed a stoic curtsy and disappeared, leaving the small consignment on Emma’s bed. At least her stay had been blessedly brief.
Left to herself again, Emma broke the wafer with unsteady hands and seated herself on the bed, careful of not wrinkling her gown. It was indeed from the master, the bold masculine scrawl declared that much.
Emma,—Meet me in the library at dusk. I shall be awaiting your pleasure beside the wall of cannibals. Wear the mask.
M.
She read the note again with a cross mutter, the imperial tone of his words grated. Why was he so determined to use her first name? And to what purpose was he summoning her to his lair? Nothing good, surely. Even so, she knew she would comply, despite the defiance her spirit demanded of her. One did not—not for all the holy water in the Vatican—defy a vampyre in his own castle.
Casting a furtive glance towards the window, Emma perceived the sun to be half sunk on the horizon already. She drank off the rest of her claret, her liquid courage, and donned her black, satin slippers and matching gloves. They were long and snug, terminating elegantly just above her elbows.
Now what had he sent in the parcel, she wondered? More pins? The mystery was soon fathomed when she opened it to find a red, velvet mask banded with black lace. It had clearly been made to match the gown.
Emma tied her mask securely about her head, careful of her coiffure, and took one last bolstering peek at the looking glass. “Will I do?” she asked her reflection.
The Venetian mask stared coolly back at her with an unfamiliar leonine intelligence. This creature before her was nothing like the Emma of yore. And yet…that was all for the better, she decided. For she was no longer the naïve, bespectacled little novitiate from Little Snoring. She seemed a world away from that girl now. She was ready. The dress and the grimalkin mask somehow put her on her mettle.
What is it you desire, Emma? An indwelling voice purred huskily in her breast—the shadow of her darker self.
“I desire….to know…” Her eyes dipped to her décolletage, the heaviness of the gown almost sensual where it clung and molded to her figure.
To know what? There was a knowing feline quality implied in the question.
“Everything,” she said. Then she turned on her heel and swept from the room with a strange, secret smile dancing on her lips that was not all her own. Boudicca looked up from her perch by the fire with a plaintive meow as the door shut.
“I shall be careful, don’t worry,” she promised the cat.
It was time to meet destiny headlong. And with the boldness that the claret and the dress and the red mask had instilled in her, she felt somewhat armed and ready. Tonight she would let that shadow, that darker half stirring within, speak for her; darkness knew best how to face darkness. And one ought never go into battle with the devil unmasked.
Chapter Thirty-Two
The Watchers
Mina could feel his presence before she heard his footsteps on the polished flags. His blood flowed in her veins after all.
Tanith was coiled in her favorite spot, her eyes closed. But Mina knew she listened, could feel just as well as Mina could how the air stirred with energy—his energy. As the door opened, Tanith’s eyes fluttered open and her red lips curled sensually. She uncoiled herself from the sofa. “Darling,” said she, lifting pale arms to welcome him.
His own red gaze dropped to her throat and down the length of her to where the sheer fabric clung to her long limbs. “Ah, Medusa, my love.” He bent