The Vampire Dimitri (12 page)

None of them were able to give him a clear answer on where the vampires had gone, and despite the fact that Dimitri was relieved that Belial had only seen fit to take one of the carriage's occupants, he was incensed that he'd been caught by surprise.

Yet another unfortunate event caused by Voss and his games and jests.

Frustrated by the fact that he couldn't leave the women and go off after Belial immediately, Dimitri sent Tren off to find a hackney or some horses so he could get them home. Then he could start combing the city for Angelica and Belial. While the groom limped off, Dimitri circled the area around the accident, sniffing, observing, listening intently in the distance for any clue that would lead him after the younger Woodmore sister.

We have time.
His mind was clear and calm. Belial would keep Angelica safe and protected until he got her to Moldavi, and getting a young woman across the Channel during wartime would be some challenge, even for the Dracule—but it could be done. If Dimitri could find them before they left London it would be best, but he knew exactly where Moldavi stayed in Paris and where they'd be taking her. So if he had to go to Paris and face down the damned child-bleeder, he'd do it.

With relish.

Cool and intent, his brain clicked through the steps to hunt down Belial and his victim, running through the possibilities—would they leave tonight, would they keep her somewhere until a boat was arranged, would they leave from the docks here or go by land to Dover—even as his eyes observed and he lifted his face to scent over and under the smells weaving in the world, searching for the one that belonged to Angelica.

When he realized she hadn't stopped talking, trying to get his attention, and her insistence was
interrupting his concentration,
Dimitri turned and snarled at Miss Woodmore. To his surprise, she actually closed her mouth for a moment, looking up at him with wide, shocked eyes.

He drew in a deep breath, fighting to keep his eyes from burning red and from his fangs being exposed. And, staying his distance from the lethal rubies, as he met her gaze, he felt something inside him soften. She looked terrified and rumpled and, impossibly, as if she were about to cry.

“Surely you aren't about to cry, are you, Miss Woodmore?”

His words had the desired effect, for she straightened her shoulders, which had begun to bow inside her silvery-blue gown, causing it to gap at the bodice. Her gaze flashed almost as hotly as Belial's, except that it glistened with tears.

“Of course I am,” she said in affronted tones. One of the tears spilled over and ran down her cheek and she wiped it away angrily.

Dimitri clamped his mouth shut on the automatic response he'd intended to make after her denial and looked at her again. And then realized he really shouldn't have done so.

That softening inside him started to twist and unfurl more quickly, like a sail gaining wind, and he couldn't help but notice how lovely she was in her dishevelment…particularly now that her mouth wasn't moving in demands and recriminations. The curve of her cheeks, soft and high, the point of her chin with its subtle dimple, and even in the faulty light, he could see dark lashes and brows enhancing the shape of her eyes.

And that mouth…his blood surged and he stopped himself cold from remembering the soft heat of it against his. And the cardamom-vanilla and sweet lily that wafted from her skin. Her hair looked silver-black in the moon, all of the nuances of color washed out and reduced to a simple chiaroscuro. Her coiffure was a bloody mess, but he found
it much more interesting all tumbled about her temples and jaw and sagging along her neck around those earbobs than the way it had been forced into submission moments earlier.

“I should think that I'm entitled to a few tears,” she said in a voice that seemed…less hard. More bumpy, unsteady in its cadence. Firm, still, but with feeling. “I am a bit frightened and confused. After all, we've just been in a carriage accident, attacked by horrible, bloodthirsty
vampir,
and my sister has been abducted by them.” Now her voice began to rise. “And our very fierce guardian could do nothing to stop them. What was Chas thinking?”

The sail inside him lost its wind and Dimitri scowled. Damn her, she was bloody well right. Not that it was his fault that Voss had done something so foolish, presumably unaware of the potential consequences (which was always his excuse), but in all fairness, it
had
been Dimitri who allowed Angelica to be abducted.

And Dimitri wasn't used to being at fault.

He opened his mouth to say something—likely something snarly and rude that would send her huffing off into the closed carriage, which was exactly what he wanted: her away from him—but he realized he had a mouthful of fangs, thrusting long and sharp and in no mood to be sheathed. It just didn't seem to be the right moment for her to learn that he was one of those—what had she called them? Horrible, bloodthirsty
vampirs.

At least she hadn't said “murderous.” Although in the case of Belial and Moldavi, that would be more accurate.

Just then, Mirabella, who also looked as if she'd been tumbled down a hill and then dragged herself to her feet at the bottom, spoke. “Maia, where did you get those rubies?” She didn't spare Dimitri a glance, but hurried over to Miss Woodmore. Tension oozed from her. “Corvindale
despises
rubies,” she said to her companion, under her breath presumably so that Dimitri couldn't hear—but of course he could hear everything, including Miss Woodmore's response.

“Rubies? The earl despises rubies? Why in the world should I care?
He
doesn't have to wear them.” Her furious whisper broke at the end. “I want to find Angelica. We have to find
my
brother—at least
he'll
be able to save her. He can kill those
vampirs
—”

“But you don't understand,” Mirabella was saying, still in a low hiss, glancing covertly at Dimitri from over her shoulder. “The very sight of them make him furious. You must get rid of the earbobs, for he hates them.”

“What?” Miss Woodmore's voice rose incredulously, matching Dimitri's own surprise that Mirabella should know so much about his affliction. He'd taken great care to hide it from her, along with the fact that she wasn't truly his sister but a mere foundling he'd brought into his home years ago. “Get rid of my rubies?”

Naturally the staff knew, but they were also exceedingly well-paid to keep their master's secrets from everyone. Aside of that, none of them wished to risk the wrath of a Dracule, and, unlike Cezar Moldavi, Dimitri didn't make it a point of turning every one of his servants Dracule anyway. Iliana didn't have a loose tongue, either. She had her own reasons for keeping the secret.

“I'll do no such thing,” his ward was saying, fingering her earbobs. She cast a sidelong glance at Dimitri, then leaned closer to Mirabella. “Why should mere jewels make him so angry? Was that why he seemed so odd in the carriage?”

By that time, Dimitri had turned away, annoyance and fury prickling over his shoulders. He refocused his attention on the scene of the kidnapping instead of wondering just exactly how much Mirabella knew about him, and where she
had learned it. And the fact that Miss Woodmore seemed to have latched onto the concept of his dislike for rubies with her characteristic tenacity.

Just then, praise the Fates, Tren arrived with a hackney.

Dimitri wanted nothing more than to send the women back to Blackmont Hall and to get on his way, but he dared not relieve himself of their presence until he knew they were safe. So while they climbed into the hack, rubies and all, he settled onto the back of the conveyance, where the footman might perch, and allowed Tren to ride with the driver.

The ride to Blackmont Hall was without incident, and Dimitri went inside to ascertain whether he'd received any responding messages from Chas or Giordan Cale in regards to Voss's warning—which had, in fact, been pertinent. He found word that they were waiting at White's for news from
him,
causing renewed annoyance that the message had arrived too late to prevent Angelica's abduction, not to mention the fact that the presence of the rubies in his household—let alone in the confines of a carriage—had endangered the safety of both Woodmore sisters. Voss's irresponsibility was inexcusable. Dimitri armed himself with an ash stake and his thick walking stick. The bottom half of said cane was actually a saber that could come in handy if he encountered Belial.

Or Voss.

And then he shoved a pistol into his pocket and slipped out of the house before Miss Woodmore could accost him again. The intense relief that he'd managed to do so was beyond annoying.

Moments later, he arrived at White's, the well-known gentleman's club where the Dracule had private, subterranean apartments hidden in the back. Ironically the club, which catered to the most powerful and rich members of the
ton,
had
been influenced by Dimitri's own establishment in Vienna; however, the Dracule who frequented it rarely visited the main chambers—except to enter a bet in the books.

Famously there'd been an incident when Beau Brummel and Lord Eddersley—a mortal and a Dracule, respectively—had sat in the front, bowed window of the club and bet three thousand pounds on which of two raindrops would reach the bottom of the glass first.

Since Dimitri's similar property in Vienna had gone up (or down, depending upon how one looked at it) in flames, he had lost his taste for such investments, although he had helped fund moving White's from Chesterfield to St. James. Dimitri found it morbidly amusing that the
de facto
headquarters for the Whig Party was being financed by a Dracule, who had absolutely no regard for political parties, politics, or even patriotism.

His world was unaffected, for the most part, by the government or legal systems of his mortal counterparts. And, as one who'd lived through the Cromwell years and the return of Charles II to the throne before he even became Dracule, Dimitri had no qualms about his apathetic attitude. Government machinations meant nothing to him.

When Dimitri arrived, he found Chas and Giordan Cale in the private apartments at White's. Other than the three of them and the two attending footmen, the chambers were empty. There weren't many other Dracule in London at the time—not that there ever were, for Lucifer was selective in his choices for soul induction. Dimitri thought sourly that he wished the devil had been even more selective, and passed him by almost a hundred and forty years ago. He certainly wasn't the sort of man Lucifer tended to gravitate toward.

At least, he hadn't been before becoming Dracule. He'd been a quiet, studious young man who grew up in a Puritan
household where books and God were revered and clothing was black, brown, gray or dun.

He'd been perfectly content with his studies, for, as the youngest son of five and thus unlikely to inherit the Corvindale title, he was attempting a professorship in physics at Cambridge. And even after Cromwell died and Charles II was restored to the throne, Dimitri continued in his simple life of studies. Until he met Meg.

“At last,” Chas said, looking up from the table. Tension had settled in his face.

“A drink, Corvindale?” Giordan asked as Dimitri strolled across the chamber. His neckcloth had been loosened and he was in his shirtsleeves. It appeared that he and Chas had been in the midst of a chess game.

Interesting, and hardly comprehensible, particularly since surely by now Chas was aware of the history between Giordan and Narcise. But then, if nothing else, Giordan was a gentleman, and well in control of himself.

Dimitri glanced at the board to see who seemed to be winning. It took him only a glance to confirm what he would have suspected: Chas was for the bold, brazen moves and Giordan more subtle and covert. Well-matched, but two different styles.

Interestingly enough, the queens had both been captured already.

Even more interesting than that was the absence of Narcise herself. The presumption was that Chas had settled her safely somewhere while he saw to the situation at hand. Perhaps with Rubey.

“Angelica has been abducted,” Dimitri said without preamble. Accepting the drink, he sat at the table with them.

“Voss?” Chas spat, rising to his feet. If he were a Dracule, his eyes would be blazing red and orange. “If he caused it—”

“No,” Dimitri said, taking a healthy swallow of whiskey, and then tersely explained what had happened. “We're going to have to search the city and then to Dover if we don't catch them.”

Chas settled back into his chair and nodded. His eyes were fierce and his jaw moved slightly as if being clenched. “We'll have to split up.”

They'd just finished determining the most likely places Belial would have taken Angelica, and the best routes, dividing up the locations, when the door opened.

Voss stood there on the threshold, gripping the arm of a cloaked and hooded figure.

Dimitri started up, reaching for the stake in his inside pocket just as Chas whirled in his seat to look.

“Don't be a fool,” Voss said sharply, flipping open his coat to expose a large ruby in the center of his neckcloth. “Did you think I would be so foolish as to come unprepared?”

Dimitri remained standing, settling his hand onto the table in a pool of spilled whiskey as he fixed Voss with a dark glare. The ruby was far enough away that its potency was weak, but certainly he couldn't get much closer.
Bastard. A smart, sneaky bastard.

Reluctantly he glanced at the figure next to Voss. It was obviously a woman, and Dimitri had a sudden, ugly feeling he knew who it was.

Impossible. Even she wouldn't be so foolish.

But he couldn't talk himself out of the certainty, and when she yanked off her hood and he saw Miss Woodmore's accusing eyes and mussed golden-chestnut hair, he couldn't hold back his exclamation of annoyance.
“You.”
He turned his glare onto her.