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Steam curled in the air from the spiced wine. The aroma of nutmeg and cloves filled the air. Charlotte held the mug in her hands, soaking up the heat in her freezing digits. When she deemed the wine cool enough to safely drink, she took a sip. She had never been a fan of spiced wine, finding it too tart. Too often people employed a heavy hand with the spices to hide subpar wine.
Not in this case.
The wine was smooth, even a touch sweet. The spices added warmth and complexity. Charlotte drained the mug. Heat bloomed within her, no doubt raising a flush in her cheeks, and she ate the meal provided.
Pleasantly warm and with hunger’s edge blunted, it was easier to ignore her nerves. Yes, she admitted it. She was nervous. Who wouldn’t be? She had two wildly different encounters with Draven. One as the overly concerned gentleman at Sweetwater Point and the next as a snarling, foul-tempered friend who did his best to scare her.
The vampire’s theatrics might have worked if he had not been so insistent that she take his coat and gloves. He had already shown her that he could be soft and considerate. Still, her nervousness persisted.
The rattle of keys signaled Lemoine’s arrival, derailing Charlotte’s thoughts before she could work herself into an anxious mess. The woman immediately homed in on the remnants of Charlotte’s meal and the empty mug.
Lemoine sniffed the mug. “Spiced wine?”
“I asked for a hot drink. I had no say in what was delivered.” Charlotte rose as she spoke and regretted it immediately. Her head felt fuzzy, and she laid a hand on the back of the chair to steady herself. Not enough in her stomach to absorb the alcohol. That was all.
Lemoine’s gaze swept over Charlotte, no doubt taking in every flaw of the dress. Charlotte felt like a student called before the school matron. With her lips pressed firmly together, Lemoine managed to appear disapproving while keeping a perfectly neutral expression on her face. Quite the talent, that. Classic school matron.
Charlotte resisted the urge to smooth the front of her dress. It was a pale lavender wool, suitable against the winter chill and a shade that complimented her complexion. A delicate shawl kept her neck warm. There was nothing wrong with her outfit. It was a good dress. Practical. Certainly not a dainty affair of satin and lace, but such gowns did not travel well. Currently, her most lavish gown was wrinkled beyond hope.
She lifted her chin, refusing to be intimidated by Lemoine’s blank stare. “I know this is not my best dress, as that one is currently in dire need of a pressing. Since Lord Draven wants the wedding today, the wool will have to do.”
“I don’t care about your dress, you silly thing. Are you drunk?”
“From one mug of spiced wine? Hardly.”
Lemoine shook her head slightly. “At least you managed not to spill anything on yourself. Imagine such a mess. I’m surprised you would be so reckless as to eat before the service.”
Reckless? Charlotte steeled herself for the inevitable comment that she could afford to skip a meal.
Thankfully, it never came. Instead, Lemoine dithered about the hypothetical inconvenience of making everyone wait while Charlotte changed. “Shockingly thoughtless of you.”
“I agree,” Charlotte said. “Shockingly inconsiderate.”
This brought Lemoine up short. She looked as if she did not know what to say. “Well, good—”
“It was shockingly thoughtless to rush me to prepare for this ceremony, skipping any sort of nourishment, and then lock me in a room, alone for hours without so much as a glass of water.”
“It hasn’t been hours—”
Charlotte ignored the woman’s protests. Now that she had spoken her mind, the words were impossible to stop. “So shockingly thoughtless to treat Lord Draven’s guest like a prisoner. Not to mention treating a perfectly capable person like a dog ordered to stay. And frankly, insulting to imply that I am a…a drunkard and incapable of drinking without dumping the contents on myself.”
Lemoine’s shoulders went back. Charlotte recognized it as the stance of a very stubborn person who refused to back down. “I didn’t wish to give you an opportunity to change your mind. I’ve seen too many women with second thoughts the morning of. I won’t let you disappoint Lord Draven.”
“That’s thoughtful.” In a controlling way. “But you did lock me in.”
“Well, I’m too old to go chasing after a runaway bride.”
She spoke with such matter-of-factness that Charlotte couldn’t formulate a reply.
“Now, the minister has arrived and the guests are waiting.” Lemoine opened the door and swept her hand in invitation for Charlotte to exit.
She moved past the woman, stumbling but catching herself on the doorframe. Lemoine steadied her with a hand on her elbow.
“You have a minister? A real minister?” she asked, shaking off Lemoine’s grip. This was supposed to be fake, for show. No real ministers involved.
“Why wouldn’t the minister be ordained?”
Charlotte wanted to reply that the vampire lord was a law unto himself and ruled this mountain like a tyrant. Why would the denizens of said mountain bother with such trivialities as being ordained? Instead, she said, “I’m surprised.”
