Page 33 of The Vampire's Guide to Wooing a Scholar
Marcus faced his brother. “How long have you been watching?”
Cordon narrowed his eyes. “You do me a disservice, brother. I arrived mere moments ago. Smith told me what occurred.”
Marcus was torn between relief and embarrassment. The former because he had never felt so alone and the latter because he hated Cordon knowing that his brother had lost control. At least Smith’s donation had strengthened him, although he didn’t feel nearly as powerful as he had after consuming a single drop of Winifred’s blood.
Yet another way she was different. That was a mystery he would attempt to solve after the crisis ended.
“What will you do if she runs?” Cordon asked.
“She will not.”
Cordon put a hand on Marcus’s shoulder. “You threaten our existence.”
“Did you not do the same when you told Katherine?”
Cordon scowled. “Kitty knew what I was before we married. Had she balked when I told her I was a vampire, I could have asked Seraphina to erase her memories and there would have been no record of our relationship. You cannot say the same for you and Winifred.” He ran a hand through his hair. “You are behaving recklessly, brother. It is not like you.”
“Do not test me,” Marcus said. He’d given his younger brother more chances than he would have allowed from any of his other siblings out of guilt for not joining Cordon when his brother had thought he’d been dying. But the disrespect could not continue.
Cordon tightened his grip. “You aren’t thinking clearly.”
Marcus’s patience snapped. He forced his blood through his palm until it formed a scarlet dagger, then spun around and pressed the blade against Cordon’s throat. He might regret fighting his brother later, but the turmoil raging inside him made it easy to set those concerns aside.
Cordon’s eyes turned a vibrant blue but dipped his head. “I apologize. I overstepped.”
“Allow me until sunrise to speak to her,” Marcus said as the dagger melted back into his palm. “If, after that, you still believe she is a threat, then I will summon Seraphina.”
Neither he nor his brother could erase so many of Winifred’s memories, but their eldest sister possessed that skill. Marcus had not called upon her to use her talent for decades, but he would not hesitate to do so if Winifred threatened his family.
“She will fear you,” Cordon said.
Marcus strolled past his brother and descended the steps. “I know.”
Chapter Twenty
Winifred pushed uprightand rubbed the bridge of her nose with her thumb and forefinger. She was back in her bedroom, tucked beneath her silk sheets with a damp spot on her pillow. Her dream had been awful. She’d wandered the castle in search of her husband, only to find him embracing Smith with his lips to the man’s throat. She struggled out of bed and felt a sharp twinge in her back from where she’d collapsed on the stone floor of the hall.
It hadn’t been a dream.
Marcus was in love with his valet.
And on top of everything, when she pulled herself into a sitting position, there was a red stain on her sheet. Her monthlies had arrived.
She put her hands over her face to muffle her cry. She couldn’t be angry with him. He had been extraordinarily upfront with his intentions. Now that she understood his preference, she would maintain a professional distance. There was no other choice. Her family wanted nothing to do with her. Even if she convinced Marcus to agree to an annulment on the grounds that they had not consummated the marriage, he couldn’t leave the castle and, therefore, couldn’t appear before a magistrate to provide testimony.
She was trapped.
The world seemed to shrink around her. She squeezed her eyes shut. Falling into despair would accomplish nothing. Before leaving Toronto, she had accepted her future in a marriage of convenience. What did it matter that Marcus did not love her? She’d never expectedit from him. It was her own feelings for him that were the problem.
She exhaled slowly. He never had to know. She might mourn a life she’d never known she’d wanted, but she still had the resources Marcus had promised. She had a home, a comfortable position, and the time to do anything she wished. Her uncle might have forbidden her from corresponding with her cousin, but Felicity was far too clever not to find a way around that rule. At worst, she would break free when she came of age. All was not yet lost. She wiped tears from her face, grabbed her spectacles from the table beside her bed, and moved to her dressing table to clean herself up. A few minutes later and with a napkin attached to a belt tucked beneath her skirts, she felt ready. She would not let this revelation stop her from continuing her research.
Her hands shook as she turned her doorknob, but when there was no one waiting outside, she relaxed.
“What were you expecting?” an unfamiliar voice asked.
She jerked her head around. A man in a silver-and-black striped suit and trousers leaned against a pillar. He looked so much like Marcus that she felt a jolt of panic until he stepped forward and put his hands in his pockets. Then she realized his complexion was not nearly so pale, and he was much taller and sturdier than her husband. It was Marcus’s brother Viscount Grayson.
Winifred curtseyed, even though she outranked him. “Good evening, Lord Grayson.”
