by Колин Глисон
Did he already know that Voss had sneaked into her chamber? Was that why he’d ventured to their floor? Should she tell him?
The earl seemed stiffer than usual, and for a moment, he didn’t speak. Then said, “My apologies, Miss Woodmore. Angelica,” he said. “I had just arrived home when I heard voices. I came to investigate.”
“Now that you’ve determined all is well, perhaps you would allow us to return to our conversation,” Maia said stiffly.
“Indeed,” Corvindale said, and then, just as he began to turn, he stilled. Raising a peremptory hand, as if to forestall any further comments from Maia, he tilted his head, and then turned back to them. Now his expression was intense and serious. “Someone is below. Stay here.”
And then he was gone, closing the door behind him.
Angelica bolted off the bed and went to the door, opened it and put her ear to the crack. Was Voss still about? Had she been wrong and he hadn’t left?
“Angelica,” Maia admonished in a low voice. “What are you doing?” But then there she was, crowding behind her. Perhaps the reprimand was meant to get Angelica to move and to give Maia the better spot, but she wasn’t about to do that, so her sister was forced to crouch and duck beneath her arm to listen. She was shorter than Angelica anyway, so it was only fair.
As they listened to hear if anything was happening below, Angelica whispered, “Did you really like it, in your dream? When he bit you?”
Maia stilled, her shoulder pressed into Angelica’s side. “I don’t want to talk about it,” she snapped back. “I wish I’d kept my mouth closed.”
They were silent for a moment as a single, soft thud from below reached their ears, then nothing.
“I cannot imagine finding it anything but horrifying,” Angelica said, her belly tightening at the memory. She’d tried to forget about that moment of soft, sensual kissing and Voss’s hands sliding over her breasts in a reckless but delightful way. She’d been flooded with pleasure and heat, and then suddenly…the pain. The surprise and the pain.
Never one to allow another to have the last word, Maia replied, “Even those stories Granny used to tell us, about the vampires. Even then there were some people who didn’t find it…horrible. And it was just a dream, Angelica.”
Angelica opened her mouth to reply, but clamped it shut when she heard footsteps on the stairs. Without another word, the two of them spun away from the door and fairly leaped back onto the mattress—just as they had done when they were younger and weren’t supposed to be out of bed.
As expected, the footsteps came to their chamber and, since it hadn’t been shut completely in their haste, the door swung open. But it wasn’t Corvindale who stood there.
“Chas!” exclaimed Angelica as she and Maia bounded off the bed.
“Hush,” he said, gathering each of them in with one strong arm. “No one can know I’m here.”
Angelica looked up at him, the obvious question forming on her lips, but before she could speak, he added, “Come down to the study with me so we can converse privately.”
Quickly Angelica returned to her room to don a robe and slippers. The window was open wider than it had been, the curtains fluttering in the soft breeze. That was how Voss had left, of course.
She paused and found herself sniffing the air. Did she fancy it, or did his scent linger? A tightening in her belly reminded her how much she hated him now, how, despite the way he smelled and held her and had kissed her, how handsome and charming he was…how he had listened to her, as if he cared what she thought…despite all of the things that had attracted her to him, she could no longer care for him.
The monster that he was had destroyed any affection she might have had.
The robe skimmed her bare feet, and she decided to disdain slippers. But as she turned to leave the chamber, she noticed the two black velvet pouches on her dressing table—Voss’s “apology” as he called it.
She paused, then tucked her curiosity beneath her loathing for the man and her desire to talk with Chas, and she hurried from the room.
Down one flight of stairs to the first floor, Angelica followed the spill of light from beneath the door of Corvindale’s study. The murmur of voices was so low that she wouldn’t have heard it if she hadn’t known they were there.
When she walked in, she saw that there was a fifth person in the chamber. A tall, gaunt-faced man in a wide-brimmed hat stood near the fireplace. A small fire burned therein, giving off unnecessary warmth on this summer night. Its illumination, however, was welcome in the dark room.
Maia must have thought the same, for as Angelica walked in, she saw that her sister was in the process of turning up the gas lamp on the other side of the chamber.
Corvindale sat in an armchair, not behind his desk, but in a shadowed corner near a tall window. He was dressed in only his white shirtsleeves and trousers, the shirt unadorned by a neckcloth, but fastened at the throat nevertheless. His long legs were crossed and one scuffed boot was highlighted by a shaft of moonlight. He held a short glass of something that looked like whiskey, reminding Angelica of her unfortunate experience with that liquor.
Maia, having finished adjusting the light of the room to her preference, selected a seat near the lamp. The soft yellow light made her unbound chestnut hair gleam in a variety of shades of bronze, mahogany and honey. The fact that she hadn’t pinned it up surprised Angelica, for her sister was so particular about propriety. Being in the room with two men other than their brother, dressed only in a night rail, robe and slippers was hardly permissible…but to have her hair down, as well?
Chas leaned against the desk littered with papers, a pile of pens and a haphazard stack of books. He looked weary and yet, powerful. Angelica hadn’t ever thought of her brother as a particularly strong, virile man…but at that moment, she saw him with new eyes, saw him as being formidable. This was a man who, according to Voss, had somehow outsmarted a very strong, evil vampire to kidnap—or elope with—his sister.
At that moment, he looked every bit as capable as that.
She looked at the other man, standing near the fireplace, and realized that it wasn’t a man at all. Simply a woman dressed as a man.
“You must be Narcise Moldavi,” she said, looking at her. “The vampire.”
The woman swept away the wide-brimmed hat that had shadowed her face, and Angelica saw at once that she had been a fool to believe this woman was a man. She was beautiful— the most beautiful woman Angelica had ever seen.
What she’d originally perceived as gauntness in the harsh shadows was instead a lovely face with high cheekbones and sculpted lips. Her hair, pinned up and yet sagging now with the removal of the hat, was coal-black. Her skin… Angelica had never seen such porcelain skin—smooth and white and delicate. The gaze that swept to fasten on her was startlingly blue.
“I am,” Narcise replied in a voice nearly as low as a man’s. Now without her hat, and her gender acknowledged, it was obvious that the white shirtwaist and loose coat were meant to hide her shape.
“Are you here so that we can welcome you to the family?” Angelica responded. She didn’t try to hide her disdain and disapproval, and the woman noticed. Her eyes flared hot and red for a moment, then subsided to blue.
“I’m here, in fact, endangering my person, only because of you,” replied the vampire in an even voice.
Chas shot Angelica a warning look that did nothing to quell the horror that her brother could possibly have fallen in love with a bloodthirsty, violent vampire woman. Seeing Narcise, Angelica couldn’t imagine any man not falling in love with her. Yet…how could he? She was…unnatural.
At that point, Chas would likely have spoken, but Narcise stepped away from the fireplace and walked over to help herself to a glass of Corvindale’s whiskey. As she did so, she spoke. “Your brother learned that Voss had abducted you and he insisted on coming to London, despite the danger to me.”
“You know very well you didn’t have to come to London with him,” came
a new voice from the doorway. “Don’t blame your own cowardice on the girl, Narcise.”
Angelica whirled to see another, vaguely familiar man striding into the study. He was shedding his own hat, which exposed a head of thick, curling dark hair and a handsome, strong-jawed face. The flaps and hem of his coat fluttered behind him as he stalked over to stand near Maia. His expression was blank, but she fancied she saw a fire in his eyes.
Narcise shot the newcomer a violent look, complete with what Angelica was certain was a flash of fangs, then walked over to stand next to Chas. The air in the room tightened and no one spoke. The silence stretched for what seemed like a long time.
“Miss Woodmore, Angelica, meet my friend Mr. Giordan Cale.” It was Corvindale who spoke abruptly, at last, from his seat in the corner.
“Chas, what in heaven’s name is going on here?” Maia demanded. Angelica could almost hear what she didn’t say: And who are all these people? And why didn’t you warn me so I could dress properly?
“I’ve been attempting to tell you,” Chas replied mildly. “And I will…if we aren’t going to have any further interruptions?” He glanced at Narcise, but it wasn’t a look of reproach as much as it was one of affection. Angelica pressed her lips together.
“You’re taking us home,” Maia said. “Tomorrow?”
Narcise shifted, and so did Chas. “I’m afraid that’s impossible right now,” he said.
“What do you mean? You’re back. There’s no reason for us to stay here any longer,” Maia said. The emphasis on the word here was not lost on Angelica, and she couldn’t help but glance at Corvindale—who was clearly the cause of that tone.
“Don’t disappoint the girl, Chas,” the earl said. “Take her home.” Then he glanced at Cale. “Or perhaps Giordan would take on governess duties?”
Cale snorted and Angelica saw humor flare in his face. “I wouldn’t dream of depriving you, Dimitri.” His smile was both feral and filled with humor.
“Gentlemen,” Chas said, holding up his hands. Improperly gloveless, which Angelica was certain Maia would notice. He looked at his sisters, a softness in his eyes that hadn’t been there earlier. “I’m sorry, but I cannot take you back home. I cannot even be seen in London, and there can’t be any hint or rumor that I’ve come back. For Narcise’s sake. I’m taking a great risk by being here.”
“I don’t understand,” Maia said. “Then why did you come?”
“To get Angelica away from Voss—although that has already occurred—and to kill the bastard.”
Maia gasped at the use of profanity, and it was all Angelica could do not to roll her eyes. They were in a chamber, dressed in their nightclothes, with a vampire and two strange men. An off-color word was the least of their worries.
“That’s what I do,” Chas said, stepping away from where he’d been leaning on the desk. “I might as well tell you now, so you understand.”
Angelica frowned, but before she could speak, her brother continued. “I kill vampires. Some of them, at any rate,” he added with a sidewise glance at Narcise and then Corvindale. “Only the ones who endanger humans.”
“What are you talking about?” Maia said. Her voice was faint and Angelica felt a little sorry for her. Between the profanity and their casual state of undress, her very proper sister seemed out of her element. No surprise: she wasn’t in control. And Maia, for all she might desire it, hadn’t been bit by a vampire—or even come in close proximity to one.
Chas gestured toward Angelica. “You were blessed, or cursed, with Granny Grapes’s Sight. And so is Sonia. I’ve discovered my own ability, courtesy of that same Romanian heritage. I can do something vampires can’t even do. I can sense the presence of one…identify them, even if I don’t know them.”
“Oh,” was all Angelica could say. And then she realized what he’d said. “You do this all the time? You kill vampires? Isn’t it—” she glanced at Narcise, who was looking at her as if she were a toad “—dangerous?”
“Of course it’s dangerous,” Maia put in. “Don’t you recall the stories Granny used to tell us? About the vampires, and the men who hunted… Oh.” She looked at Chas. “That’s how you knew? What to do?”
He nodded. “All my gratitude goes to Granny Grapes. And as soon as I learned from Cale that Voss had abducted Angelica, I came back. Corvindale is your guardian for the foreseeable future,” he said, looking at Maia, “but I wasn’t going to stand aside and let Voss compromise my sister.”
“I’m not compromised,” Angelica said.
“We know he was here tonight, Angelica. Whether you invited him or welcomed him or—”
“I certainly didn’t invite him,” Angelica shot back in horror, her heart pounding. “I wouldn’t invite a terrifying creature like him anywhere!” How had they even known he was there?
“It doesn’t matter,” Chas continued. “Corvindale and Cale are going to help me find him. And then I’m going to kill him.”
12
Lord Dewhurst Receives A Message
The public house known as the Gray Stag was raucous and crowded, with more than one shadowy corner in which one could hide oneself. Ale and whiskey flowed freely, and although the particular libation that Voss preferred wasn’t served here, he didn’t mind a decent ale on occasion. Not that the Stag offered that, but there were times when one must adapt.
He chose the dark corner nearest the rear entrance, and sat with his back to the intersection of two smoke-blackened, stained wooden walls. One benefit to facing away from them—aside of the obvious—was that he wouldn’t find himself contemplating what had caused said stains. Some of them were blood, which, of course didn’t offend his sensibilities in the least—but there were others that, based on the underlying stench in the area, he suspected were caused by more unpleasant casualties.
The whole place, in fact, smelled like any other public house Voss had ever entered: stale, close, smoky and of unwashed humans with a tinge of animal.
He hailed a harried serving girl by showing her a handful of shillings, and was treated to the sight of her long, slender neck from behind as she hurried away. He smiled to himself in admiration, but made no other move.
He wouldn’t leave until after the appointed time had come and gone by an hour. After that, well…who knew what sort of pleasure might await the woman with the long neck?
Voss arranged two tankards on his table so that he would be recognized by the messenger he awaited: one upside down and the other next to it, handles touching. A third he reserved for himself, although he doubted he would actually ingest the ale.
Not that he was certain Angelica would even follow through on her agreement. She’d said she’d send word through Rubey, but Voss knew it wasn’t safe for him to wait at her establishment anymore. Corvindale and Woodmore were certainly looking for him, so staying out of sight was the safest way to avoid the inconvenience of a stake in the heart, or any other disruption. Rubey had agreed that if she got word from Angelica, she would send a messenger to meet him at the Gray Stag by midnight.
An uncomfortable twinge tightened his belly as it did whenever he realized he would never see Angelica again. It was for the best, of course, but…it made him feel hollow. Unaccountably empty.
Turning his thoughts away from that unhappy thought, Voss scanned the establishment, watching for any sign that all might not be as it seemed. Waiting for someone to approach him. There was a woman in one of the corners who attracted his attention—not because she looked as if she might want to slip into the dark shadows with a man who’d bite her neck, but because she didn’t look as if she belonged in a dingy place like this. She sat alone and no one seemed to give her any notice. She had long blond hair and was dressed in a shapeless gown. There was something…different…about her. And familiar, perhaps. Or perhaps it was simply her appearance that attracted his attention.
Once, Voss turned quickly and caught her watching him. She had a faint smile on an otherwise serene face…but she made no move to appro
ach him.
He kept half an eye on her, simply because she seemed so out of place. He wondered if she were some make of Moldavi’s who’d managed to track him…or just an odd whore looking for a trick. Or some servant of Angelica’s? When she rose from her seat and approached his table, Voss watched in surprise and hope. Was she from Angelica? Could he be that fortunate?
The woman made her way around and between the servants and patrons as if they didn’t exist. None of them seemed to acknowledge her, even when she passed close by.
For some reason, his heart beat faster as she came to stand in front of him. It certainly wasn’t because he found her attractive. She was lovely to look at in a serene, peaceful sort of motherly way, but not in the way he was accustomed to thinking of women who approached him in a public house. He looked up at her, wondering if she would be amenable to his particular sort of sport.
“Been a while since you’ve seen a seamstress, hmm, m’dear?” he said, lifting a brow as he scanned her figure. “You really ought to remedy that if you expect to do well in this city.” She looked as if she had emerged from some Saxon or Welsh legend, with a pale, shapeless tunic that dragged upon the floor. Her sleeves were long and she showed not a hint of bosom or even the shape of her figure. His Mark twitched and burned, and he looked with interest at the line of her neck, half obstructed by long blond hair. It was a lovely, long neck.
The faint curve of a smile shaped her lips, and he slightly revised his opinion that she wasn’t attractive. He could sink into that.
“Aye, Voss. That’s what’s come to be expected of you. Always the superficial. Always planning your next conquest. Always the game. ’Tis why he chose you, you know.”
His mouth went dry as his old wig powder and Voss suddenly felt as if his brain was about to shatter. Pain and light warred in his mind, and he tried to focus, to make sense of what she was saying. That’s why he chose you. Something dark and heavy settled in his gut.
“Who are you?” he managed to choke out.
