by Колин Глисон
“I don’t want to sit in the first row this time,” Angelica hissed, pulling out of Maia’s grip. Her sister always made them sit in the front at musicales.
How would you feel if no one sat in the first row or two when you were playing piano? she’d say. As if they were afraid to get too close?
Since Angelica didn’t play piano—or anything else—she wouldn’t have the foggiest notion.
Maia paused in her attempt to direct Angelica to the front row at the Stubblefields’, annoyance shining in her pretty face. But then it faded. “All right, then,” she replied. “Where do you want to sit?”
Nowhere. But Angelica replied, “The last row. In the corner. That way,” she added a bit more firmly, “none of the other young ladies will be trying to engage my fortune-telling services during the performance.” Since only a small percentage of the attendees at a musicale were actually there to listen to the daughters of whatever household it was play and sing (the rest were there by obligation and/or to catch the eye of a potential mate), this was a very real possibility.
Maia couldn’t argue with her logic, and Angelica congratulated herself on her quick thinking.
It had been two weeks since Chas had brought her back from Paris. To this day, Angelica wasn’t quite certain how he’d managed to do so without any delay or problem, especially when so many other Londoners were still detained due to the war. Her abduction and their absence at Harrington’s party had been explained as a carriage accident, in which Angelica had been slightly injured, and for the last two weeks her societal obligations had been limited.
Once back at Blackmont Hall, she’d found flowers and notes from half of the ton, wishing her good recovery, and she’d taken advantage of the chance to hide away for a bit.
Two days after their return to London, Chas had gone off again, leaving his sisters still in the care of a resigned Corvindale. He, apparently, still had things to settle with the vampir Narcise and no one seemed to know when he’d return.
Since her return, Angelica had been patently uninterested in employing her Sight at anyone’s whim, particularly in a business transaction.
She had, in fact, been patently uninterested in quite a few things, including eating, sleeping, dancing, gossiping and shopping.
Her sister had had to pester her into attending the musicale tonight, threatening to tell Chas (although she never indicated just how she would get that message to their absent brother) that Angelica was pining over a vampir if she did not attend.
And Angelica was certainly, definitely, not pining over a vampir. A man, perhaps.
But not a vampir. And why did she feel so dratted empty when she thought about that?
She didn’t even know if he was still alive. He was supposed to have died.
He probably had. “Will this do?” asked Maia, gesturing to a row of chairs near a tall, potted plant with her neatly gloved hand. She looked particularly lovely tonight, with her hair scooped up high at the back of her crown in an intricate braided and curling mass. Depending upon the light, her hair could appear mahogany or chestnut, or even honey-red. Angelica had always been a little envious of her sister’s classic beauty, compared to her own Gypsyish looks. Yet, she often told herself that though her sister might have gotten the beauty, she also got the bossy, rigid personality of their mother to go along with it.
“You look so pretty tonight. Is it because Mr. Bradington has returned?” asked Angelica as she smiled at Maia, suddenly feeling a rush of affection for her sister. After her experience with Voss, she understood better what happened between a man and a woman and how beautiful it could be. Now she realized how Maia must have felt all these months with Mr. Bradington absent, waiting for him to return. “You seemed so happy when you were dancing with him at the party last night.”
Clearly surprised, Maia smiled. Her creamy cheeks pinkened a little. “I am glad he’s returned at last. He is an accomplished dancer.”
“And when you danced the waltz, he looked down at you in such a way that it makes me want to blush,” Angelica said. “His regard is very evident.”
Maia’s smile faltered just a bit. “I’m not certain that’s proper, to be so overt about it in front of everyone.”
“Why would you think such a thing? I know that you are careful about propriety, but you’re engaged to be married,” Angelica said. “I would be so happy if a man looked at me that way, regardless of whether it was in public or private.”
She would not think about Voss.
“Corvindale seemed annoyed that we waltzed, even after I informed him that Chas permitted it. And I reminded him that we are to be married in two months.” Maia’s smile had been replaced by very flat lips.
“Corvindale is always annoyed about something,” Angelica replied, getting a surprisingly unladylike snort from her sister.
“I’ve never heard truer words.” Then Maia bumped her with her elbow. “Shhh. Tilla is about to play.”
As the smattering of applause greeted the youngest Stubble field sister, who was taking her seat at the piano, Angelica settled into her seat and tried not to look bored.
She found that the performance and the necessity of sitting quietly gave one an ample opportunity to think…something that she found she’d been doing much of lately. Not always pleasant thoughts, but sometimes they were pleasant.
Sometimes the thoughts…the memories…actually made her blush. And the insides of her tingle.
Other times, they made her want to cry.
And still other times they made her angry.
But threading through all of them was Voss.
They had become, she thought, intimate enough that she could think of him again that way.
If he was even still alive. A little shudder whipped through her now as she remembered that dream where he’d died. She’d kept Chas from killing him, but for all she knew, he was dead anyway. The same coat, the same neckcloth…the image of him sprawled in the sun: the dream was burned in her brain. She remembered what Corvindale had said about Voss’s friend: Brickbank was destined to die that night, and no precautions could have changed it.
She’d never know for certain of Voss’s fate, unless Chas chose to tell her. And it certainly shouldn’t matter to her. But she couldn’t deny that it did.
It felt as if that part of her life was unfinished.
The day after she and Chas had returned from Paris, when she couldn’t sleep, Angelica had succumbed and opened the drawer in her bureau. The message that had come from Voss after she sent him the letter telling him what she’d learned from the watch chain was still in the drawer, the seal unbroken. Apparently even nosy Maia hadn’t found it…unless she’d discovered a way to lift the seal without breaking it.
Angelica wouldn’t put it past her.
By the low light of her bedchamber lamp, she looked at her name, written simply as Angelica in a dark, strong script. Her eyes burned. After a moment, she broke the seal and unfolded it to find more of his writing filling half of the page.
Angelica,
I am very grateful for the information you provided me, and because of that, I plan to fulfill my end of the bargain and leave London. I bid you farewell, then, and offer you a warning: do not wear the rubies in the presence of Corvindale, or even at all while you are under his care. I intended the earbobs to be a jest that only he would comprehend, but in retrospect, I’ve reconsidered. Wearing them could only cause you hurt and, whether or not you believe it, that is the last thing I should ever wish upon you.
Your servant, Voss.
The signature was larger than the remainder of the text, and had a bold and charming flourish—just like the man himself. Angelica had smiled at the thought and read it again, and then a third time.
And then she realized she should be angry…for if she had read the message, she would never have worn the rubies. And she wouldn’t have been abducted and taken to Paris.
But if she’d never been abducted and taken to Paris, she would never h
ave seen Voss again. And somehow, that experience, that time with him superseded the discomfort and terror she’d suffered at the hands of Cezar Moldavi.
What kind of fool was she? To have fallen in love with a vampir?
“I love this violin piece,” Maia leaned over to whisper, pointing to one of the items on the program and pulling Angelica from her musings. “I hope she doesn’t ruin it. Melanie has fat fingers.”
Angelica stifled a laugh and then sobered, for she was reminded of Voss when the second Stubblefield sister commenced with playing the violin. He’d complained about a violinist’s chair squeaking as if it were some great annoyance. At least this time, the performer was standing.
“Harrington has just walked in,” Maia said suddenly from the side of her mouth.
Angelica closed her eyes and waited.
No. It didn’t happen.
The rush of anticipation, the little thrill wasn’t there. She didn’t have the urge to slyly turn and look at him, to wonder if he’d find a way to ease them into a dark corner for a delicate kiss.
Or a passionate one.
“He’s coming this way, along the back of the room,” Maia added. “He looks a bit…determined.” She smiled knowingly, giving her sister a sidewise look.
The back of Angelica’s neck didn’t prickle, despite the fact that she knew her beau was easing along the wall just behind her. Her pulse didn’t quicken, nor did anything flutter in her belly.
But that was often the way of it, she knew. Marriage rarely began with the instant and passionate connection that her great-great-grandmother Beatrice and the Gypsy groom Vinio had. It more often began with a general regard, an ability to stand the other’s presence—and of course, a good family and sufficient income—and then, if one was fortunate, it grew into companionship and affection. Perhaps even love and respect.
That was how it would be with Lord Harrington, should he propose, and Angelica couldn’t be more pleased with it. Truly.
And if she was a bit envious of Maia and her fiancé—that the deep regard and affection shaped itself even before the marriage—Angelica simply told herself that the two had been engaged for nearly a year. The affection and intimacy had had time to grow. His absence might have helped intensify that affection, as well.
“He’s been so patient, waiting for you,” Maia whispered, again pulling Angelica from her thoughts. Why did her sister have to be so talkative tonight? “I do think his attachment is quite solid.”
The fact that Angelica and Maia had never made it to Harrington’s birthday fete because of the attack by Belial, and Angelica’s subsequent abduction, hadn’t seemed to deflate the man’s regard for her at all.
“Did you speak with him at the party last night?” Maia asked.
Why was her sister so dratted talkative? “No, he wasn’t there,” Angelica replied.
Maia smirked. “I’m certain he would have been if he thought you were to attend.”
Angelica reminded herself that she was fortunate that a young, dashing, comfortably wealthy peer seemed to have such an attachment to her. She couldn’t expect a better match.
A small burst of applause interrupted her private lecture and Harrington took that moment to slip into the chair next to her.
She turned and gave him a modest smile that became a bit frozen when he leaned close and whispered, “I have waited two weeks to speak with you, and I shan’t be put off any longer. I should like to call on your guardian tomorrow, Miss Woodmore. With your blessing.”
Her throat dried. The only reason he would make such a request was so that he could ask for her hand. It was truly going to happen.
Tomorrow she was going to become engaged.
18
In Which Our Heroine Is Once Again Proven To Be A Light Sleeper
Old habits die hard, Voss thought as he slipped through the window.
Although, it wasn’t quite as easy to sneak into a woman’s bedchamber as it used to be. And tonight, for expediency purposes, he’d used the most direct—if not most inconvenient—route.
Fortunately Angelica’s chamber had a sturdy oak tree growing near enough to allow him to reach the sill of her window from a thick branch, and with a little luck and some planning, he managed to launch himself over to the ledge with only a soft thump. The earl really ought to keep those branches trimmed. He was going to have to have a word with him about that sort of maintenance when this was all over and he was certain he wouldn’t have need of them again.
He wasn’t as concerned about Corvindale discovering him as he had been the last time he visited Angelica, for a variety of reasons. And since he’d been lurking about for the past three evenings, waiting for a time in which the earl had gone out for the night without the sisters instead of staying in (why would a vampire stay in at night anyway?), his patience was strained enough that he was ready to take the chance even if the earl was at home as well.
The window was open, allowing the summer breeze as well as Voss to enter the room. Once inside, he stood, looking down at the rumpled bed and the woman sprawled in it.
His mouth went dry and his heart rammed hard in his chest. She’d said she loved him…but had she meant it?
What would he do if she didn’t?
Voss wasn’t certain how long he stood looking down at her, but all at once a clock struck from somewhere in the house. Three. Less than three hours until dawn.
Was that enough time?
Moving closer, he saw more detail in the blue-white light of the full moon shining through her window. The citrusy-sweet spice of Angelica, and feminine smells like powders and creams and fabric teased and assaulted him. Her dark lashes, half-parted lips, the masses of dark hair spread over the pillow. How many times had he dreamed of her thus?
A shoulder protruded from beneath the sheets, and one arm was curled to her throat. Then he saw streaks on her face. Shiny streaks running down her cheeks.
Tears?
Voss moved closer, reaching for her. Without warning she gasped and her eyes shot open. She scrambled into a sitting position, a cloud of hair tangling over the bodice of her night rail and spilling onto the blankets.
“You’re not dead,” she said.
“You have the ability to focus on the most inane things,” Voss said, reeling a bit from her sudden wakefulness, along with the enticing vision of her rumpled and sleepy. “Not, ‘Why are you here, Voss?’ ‘How did you get in?’ Or, even, as you so bluntly said last time, ‘Get out.’”
“I believe it was ‘Get away.’” Her lips curved a bit. Just a bit. “I am surprised to see you. Does that help?” The low timbre of her voice could have been from sleepiness or some other emotion.
Just then he noticed something glinting at her throat, high lighted by the moonlight. Surely it wasn’t… “Is that the neck lace I gave you?” When he shifted, he could see the dark leaves of fresh hyssop intertwined with the gold. He faltered. What did it mean that she was still wearing the necklace to ward him off…especially if she thought he could be dead?
“Yes. I had to replace the hyssop because the original leaves dried up.” Her fingers plucked at it gently. It was too dark to tell for sure, but he thought they might have trembled a bit.
Then his attention was caught by the shadow between her breasts, a deep valley that he’d explored only once before… and not nearly well enough. Blood surged through him. He wanted nothing more than to slide into that warm bed with her and line his body along her soft, warm one.
“Why were you crying?” he asked, easing himself to sit at the edge of the bed. If she screamed or called out, it would be that much more difficult to make a getaway this time. Her chamber window was rather high off the ground.
And Corvindale would likely be in no mood to listen to any explanation from Voss.
Angelica looked away. She wiped at what was now a dried rivulet on her cheek. “What are you doing here? If Chas finds out…”
“Your brother,” Voss said, his voice steely, “isn’t goi
ng to find out unless you tell him. He’s entirely too involved with Moldavi’s sister to pay proper attention to his own. Or hadn’t you noticed?” Then he smiled ruefully, although she probably couldn’t see it anyway. He sat in shadow while she basked in moonlight. “Not that I should complain, because if he had been paying closer attention, I don’t think I’d be here now.”
“Please,” Angelica said. “Why are you here? If someone finds you, I’ll be ruined. And tomorrow—” She stopped and he saw her bite her lip.
“What’s happening tomorrow?” he asked lightly. “A ride in the park with Lord Harrington? A picnic with Mr. Revelsworth? Or is it a fete on the arm of Sir Brittonsby?”
“I’m going to become engaged.”
Just in time. Just in time.
“Indeed,” was all he could say. Surprising how his mouth dried and his brain emptied. “But,” he said, forcing his signature smile. “You love me. Or was that just a lie, to keep your brother from assassinating me with you as witness? I know you don’t care for the sight of blood.”
“It wasn’t a lie. It…isn’t,” she said.
“Truly?” he asked, something inside him easing. He moved toward her. The first touch of her warm skin, his fingers over her arm, sent a shaft of rightness shuttling through him. Yes.
“Truly,” she whispered. In the low light, their eyes met and he shifted a bit closer, still taking care not to move too quickly. Women could be skittish, even if they claimed they were in love. “I never thought I’d see you again,” she added.
“But…you’re wearing that,” he said, gesturing to the necklace.
She tipped her head down. “It’s the only thing I have from you…except the ruby earbobs. And those weren’t really for me, were they?”
He gave a shameful laugh. “No. I was being an ass.”
“That is exactly what Chas said. Although I think he used a more vulgar term.” She looked back up, still toying with the chain. “And I thought that if a miracle happened, and you ever came to me again, I could do this…” She gave a sharp yank, breaking the chain and scattering hyssop leaves. With a flick of her wrist, she sent the necklace flying through the window. “So that you would know.”
