Woodmore was gone? With Narcise? Bloody damned bones of Satan. Woodmore was supposed to kill Moldavi, not run off with his sister. Dimitri didn’t pause but his gut tightened. That pronouncement meant a variety of things, but by his personal estimation the worst was what it meant to Dimitri, himself.

It meant that his well-ordered, if monotonous, life was about to turn upside down. It meant that his solitude, his studies, his very existence was about to be invaded by the trio of silly, giggling, frippery-happy Woodmore sisters. Including Miss Maia Woodmore.

Why in the name of the Fates had he ever promised Chas Woodmore he’d watch over them? Why did Woodmore have to do something so blasted foolish? He should have left Cezar Moldavi to Dimitri to handle.

Damn it all to Lucifer.

Dimitri curled his lips and darkly considered his predicament. He had a few days to put things in order before the girls would invade his home. They couldn’t stay at their residence, not with Cezar Moldavi coming after their brother. But Dimitri wasn’t about to have them under the Corvindale roof until he was prepared to be overrun.

Damn and blast and burning bones.

He’d have to set some guards to watch over the girls until he was ready to have them to Blackmont Hall. Damn the Fates. What the hell was it going to be like with three young, mortal women in his house? Hell, he’d probably have to have Mirabella come in from the country. And a chaperone to keep it proper.

Grinding his teeth, Dimitri poured another glass of whiskey, then tossed it back with a big swallow. When he glanced up, Voss, the bastard, was watching him with a smirk.

He knew exactly how annoyed Dimitri was. And the man was enjoying every moment of it.

Damn it to Lucifer.

1

Wherein Miss Woodmore’s Services Are Engaged