Claire Delacroix by The Moonstone

censure from these strangely attired people after his damning announcement of Viviane’s occupation.
    Last but not least, was the witch’s own response.
    “You’re here and safe!” Viviane cried and flung herself into his arms. Niall could do naught but catch her, though he stared dumbfoundedly down at her delighted smile. Indeed, he could not seem to shake the last vestige of moonlight from his thoughts.
    She was glad he pursued her? What madness was this? Had she not heard what he had just said?
    But then, he recalled she had been anxious to meet her fate before.
    And she had insisted upon her innocence then. Niall stared into her marvelous eyes, and once again acknowledged an unwelcome seed of doubt. There was something in this woman’s clear gaze, in her delight, in her very presence that made him question anew all he knew of her.
    Nay, she was guilty, as the archbishop decreed. He had seen the truth with his own eyes. Niall frowned, but the lady did not seem affected by his manner.
    “I have been thinking of you ever since that day,” Viviane confided with that smile that could warm him right to his toes. “Though I never imagined that I would see you again, and certainly not here!”
    Ah, she did not expect a God-fearing mortal to be able to visit her dark domain. That was telling!
    Yet instead of feeling triumphant at this hint of proof, Niall was disconcertingly aware of the fullness of Viviane’s breasts pressed against him. Her auburn hair was loose, obviously designed to ensnare a man in unruly desire within its tangles, yet her gaze was as clear and golden as he recalled.
    And as trusting. Niall’s heart clenched.
    “I knew you were a gallant man,” she breathed, “a true knight if ever there was!”
    Viviane stretched to her toes and granted Niall his second kiss in quick succession. This one was markedly more pleasant, though her lips barely brushed across his own. He told himself sternly that it should not be welcome in the least.
    ’Twas only that ’twas from a woman that reassured him that matters were as they should be. Aye, that was the way of it.
    And he must remain vigilant against temptation, lest he fail to complete his task once again. Niall thrust the witch a discreet distance from his side and resolved to keep his thoughts firmly fixed upon his responsibilities.
    Sadly, his gaze strayed over the witch’s alluring legs, which he could not help but note were bare to mid-thigh and beguilingly curved. Her kirtle was craftily constructed to display her charms - which were copious - and indeed, there was markedly little of that garment. She wore some flimsy manner of footwear which left her feet nigh fully exposed to view, and her toenails were crimson.
    Blood red.
    Niall swallowed, certain he had never seen any feminine frippery as alluring as those crimson-tipped nails. He stubbornly lifted his gaze, only to note the wisp of naught that flowed around her hips. Her kirtle was not only short, but ’twas uncommonly thin. A man could tear that garment off with his teeth, of that Niall had no doubt, and he felt an unruly desire to volunteer.
    Of course, that was not why he had come, regardless of how delightful the legs of his prey might be.
    This time, he must keep his mind upon his task.
    With an effort, Niall forced himself to consider the remainder of the company.
    A man there was, besides the one who had kissed him so fully, and another small woman. Niall scanned his surroundings hastily - though he did not intend to linger long, he was curious as to where Viviane had fled.
    But Niall could not name this place. Indeed, ’twas so perfectly wrought that it could not be real. It certainly was unlike any corner of England he had ever seen.
    Niall’s eyes narrowed. The archbishop was right - Viviane had fled beyond the beyond. And this place could not be all that it pretended to be. Nay, this was but an alluring guise cast over a the darkness of the netherworld. ’Twas intended to deceive