The Darkest Heart by Thea Devine

Author:Thea Devine
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Gallery Books

Chapter 12

Dominick hated the way Peter was looking at Senna while Lady Augustine listed reasons to accede to Lady Hartwicke’s request.

He transshaped into the smoke in the guttering candles, less than ten inches from Peter’s shadowed face and Senna’s distressed expression.

“Surely that’s not enough notice,” she protested.

“Well, I won’t be hosting high tea, that’s for certain. Just people coming in, sitting down, and the Countess calling up spirits and then everyone goes home. How much time could that take?” Lady Augustine asked reasonably, tucking away the note. “Of course I’ll say yes.”

You’re bored, and you’ll grab at anything to entertain yourself. Be wary, my lady. All is not what it seems.

“What?” Lady Augustine asked as if someone had spoken and she hadn’t heard it. “I thought you said something, Peter.”

“Time to leave maybe.”

But dear God, a séance, Senna thought, dismayed. What was Lady Augustine thinking? And what did the Countess know about mediums and spirits? She— A memory wafted by, just out of recognition, just out of reach.

“Will you want me to keep you company tonight?” Senna asked after Peter had taken his leave.

“Thank you, my dear, no. I have much to plan and very little time in which to do it.”

Tomorrow, Senna thought, I’ll talk her out of it tomorrow. But for now, she felt exhausted, both from keeping up her end of the conversation at dinner, and the draining feeling of him close to her, tugging on her earlobe, teasing her, arousing her, so all she wanted was to retreat to her room and lock the door.

If only she weren’t so corseted, encased, and boned. It took a full ten minutes for the maid to undo every hook, tie, and button, and to slip off the layers of underwear and crinoline before she was naked and free under her gauzy nightgown.

She locked the door then and slipped into bed.

Dominick seeped under the door and spread himself over her body. He let himself feel the tension, the mutual need. He waited until long after it all dissipated, and her body relaxed and she slept. Tonight he decided he wanted—no, he needed—to puncture her left earlobe and taste the delights waiting for him there.

A slight roll and her ear was bared to him. A quick nick and he took the crimson drop into his mouth and savored it. One more binding drop.

And another, the tiny, tasteful drops melting into the flesh of his mouth, his tongue, his consciousness. Craving it, needing it, wanting it. Wanting her.

She felt the tugging at her ear. Her body undulated as he lifted her hair and scraped his teeth along the nape of her neck in a mock bite.

He rubbed his lips against her nape, tasting the residue of her blood, the ache to bite more powerful, more consuming, than the coursing desire to possess.

He reined it in ruthlessly. This was more important than slaking his unholy thirst.

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