The Vampire Voss (14 page)

He steeled himself against the rush of anger. He had a va
riety of reasons for disliking and mistrusting Voss. But now he had reason to kill the man.

Lucifer be damned.

The irony of that thought was not lost on him, but Dimitri had no inclination toward amusement at the moment. He had too many distractions to which he must attend, not to mention that he expected Giordan Cale to arrive at any moment.

“Is that all?” he asked, managing to keep the hope from his voice.

She lifted her pointed little chin and gave him a definite glare. “No, it is not. In fact, I wished to speak with you in regard to your conduct last evening.” He realized with a start that she was taller than he'd realized, her head nearly reaching to his chin.

“My conduct?” Dimitri was fully aware that the tone of his voice was such that a less insistent individual would turn tail and run. His head had begun to pound and, on top of that, he noticed a shaft of sunlight pouring into the corridor beyond. Someone had uncovered the windows, blast it.

“Not only was it abhorrent and crude, but you didn't even take the moment to explain or apologize before shoving Mirabella and myself into a carriage and sending us off.”

“Indeed.”

“There was simply no reason for you to put your hands on me—” her voice dipped a bit as if she were infuriated or overcome “—and toss me out onto the balcony like some sort of—”

Dimitri matched her glare with his own. “In fact, I had sufficient reason for doing so. The least of which was the fact that you would not have obeyed me.”

“If you had simply explained—”

“There was no time for explanations, even if I had believed you might have heeded them, Miss Woodmore. You would
have ignored them just as you have everything else since arriving here, including keeping the windows in this house shrouded, my library in order, and my preference
not to be bothered
.”

She didn't step back, despite the fact that his voice had risen to a near-bellow. “If you had simply explained that we were in danger and there was no time for discussion, I would have heeded your warning.”

Dimitri didn't bother to hide his irritation and considered simply walking away, pushing past her and finding sanctuary. But before he could respond, she drew in a deep breath and continued, unfortunately along a vein in which he would have preferred to avoid.

“In addition to an apology, I believe it isn't asking overly much to request an explanation for what happened last evening. I understand that Angelica and I were in danger, but I would like to know why and from whom or what. And how it happened that you arrived in time to prevent whatever the outcome might have been…regardless of the clumsy manner in which you executed it.”

Dimitri relaxed slightly. Then she hadn't realized he'd been there all along. He'd taken pains not to be noticed, of course, except for that one foolish indulgence on the dance floor…and after. “Clumsy manner?” he repeated, aggravation superseding his relief.

She made an exasperated sound and an elegant feminine gesture with her gloved hand. She had a very delicate wrist. “You pushed me out onto the balcony,
wrapped up in curtains.
Can you not give me the courtesy of telling me why?”

“Because there were some very bad men who want to take you away,” Dimitri told her without moving his jaw. “That is why your blasted brother snared me into being your guardian.
Because he knew there was no one else who could keep you safe.”

“Please, my lord, you sound like a character in one of those Gothic novels by Mrs. Radcliffe, making all sorts of Byzantine comments and cryptic warnings. If you would cease these ambiguous statements and simply tell me what is happening—”

“What then? You would accept my explanations and my orders without question?”

For a moment he thought her lips quivered—either from humor or, Fate forbid it, from some other emotion. “Certainly not. But at least you wouldn't feel the necessity to wrap me up and throw me onto the balcony.”

Would the chit never stop screeching about it?

Dimitri crossed his arms over his sagging, stained waistcoat and glared down at her. “The truth is, Miss Woodmore, your brother has gotten himself into serious danger with a society of ruthless men. By disappearing with the sister of one of them, he has not only put himself in a most injurious position, but also you and your sisters—for they would like nothing better than to use one or any of you to get to Chas.”

“Then they are after us as hostages? Ransom?” Her dark blue eyes narrowed as if in thought. “But then that must mean Chas is still alive and hidden somewhere if they are trying to abduct us.” Relief washed over her face and for a moment, Dimitri was struck by the beauty and intelligence in that stubborn countenance. “He must still be alive. And safe.”

He bowed his head. “Your brother is very cunning and able, and you are likely correct. I'm confident he can take care of himself. But you and your sister must not leave this house or see anyone without my permission. You are completely safe whilst in my custody, but Cezar Moldavi is not only ruthless but also very intelligent. And your brother has betrayed him in a most egregious manner. He will not give up easily.”

“Cezar Moldavi?” Her eyes widened.

Now it was Dimitri's turn to be surprised. “You recognize that name, then?” Woodmore must have been much more forthcoming with his sisters than he'd thought—and more than was prudent.

“Rather like yourself, Corvindale, I'm familiar with the name but I have never met the man.” She fluttered her hands, this time in more agitation. “I mean to say, now that I've met you—”

Dimitri shifted impatiently. “Yes, yes, Miss Woodmore. Please refrain from stating the obvious. Now, I am expecting Mr. Cale any moment now. What other items must you drag forth and force me to ponder?”

“You still have not tendered an apology,” she replied primly, and, he thought, with great bravery. “I have never been handled so—”

“Miss Woodmore,” he interrupted. “Do you mean to say that should a man push you from the path of an oncoming carriage he should bow and scrape at your feet in apology for mussing your skirts? Or should he ask permission first, before doing so?”

“Well, I do believe—” She stopped herself this time and pressed her full lips together. Then she took a deep breath and squared her shoulders. “I did not realize we were in some sort of danger. You made no effort to impress that fact upon me—a fact which you obviously well knew. Perhaps in the future, Lord Corvindale, you might be a bit more forthcoming. Particularly about things that apply to me and my sisters.”

“Perhaps,” he conceded. Simply to shut her up.

She had the temerity to step closer, followed by a stronger waft of spiced flowers. “There is one more thing, my lord. I require your assurances that my sister's reputation will be intact
when she is returned here to your custody—or that you will take the appropriate steps to correct any problems thereof.”

Dimitri pressed his lips together. If he ever saw Chas Woodmore alive again, he would kill him for visiting this mess upon him. He and Chas were associates—one could almost consider them friends, as odd as it might be for a Dracule to be friends with a vampire hunter. But this situation with the sisters went beyond the boundaries of friendship and strained the slender bit of honor that Dimitri had.

“You have my assurances that I will do my utmost to protect your sister's reputation, Miss Woodmore,” he replied stiffly. “No one—other than perhaps yourself and Chas— is more concerned about it than I am. But you haven't any reason to worry. She is safe from Moldavi and in unblemished company.”

Miss Woodmore held his gaze for a bit too long, but Dimitri managed to hide the fact that he was lying from behind his incisors.

Voss was going to be dead the moment Dimitri found him and slammed a stake through his heart. Lucifer could bugger himself. And then maybe he'd be fortunate enough that the devil would be furious enough to kill Dimitri in retaliation.

That was a compelling possibility.

And then Angelica would have to be married off to someone who would keep his mouth shut, quickly and quietly—

At that moment, he was saved from any further interaction with this woman who seemed to be fearless in his presence and who seemed to have no qualms about making demands that any prudent man would be.

“My lord.” Vigniers, his butler, appeared in the corridor. “Mr. Giordan Cale has arrived.”

Cale, of course, was right on Vigniers's heels, his hat in hand, his strides confident and unrushed. But his face was
haggard and weary and for a moment, Dimitri feared the worst news about Narcise Moldavi.

“Dimitri,” Cale said by way of greeting. And then, “Miss Woodmore.” He gave a quick bow as she, ever the proper miss, curtsied. Her chestnut hair gleamed with shots of gold and copper as she did so.

It occurred to Dimitri at that moment that she'd not curtsied to him at their first official meeting. He frowned. “If you'll excuse us,” he said to the infuriating woman. Then he looked at Cale and gestured down the corridor. “My study.”

Cale bowed again to the woman then brushed past her, seemingly without hesitation or even without stirring her skirts.

Dimitri could do nothing but follow him, and was absurdly pleased when Miss Woodmore took the hint and shifted out of the way, spicy essence and elegant wrists and all, as he strode past her into the sanctuary of his study.

At last.

A
ngelica opened her eyes.

Sun shone through the window of an unfamiliar room, cascading onto the bed where she slept. The chamber was clearly that of a woman, with floral paper on the wall and little glass bottles on the dressing table. Lace-trimmed curtains hung at the open window and in front of what appeared to be a large dressing room.

It took only a glance over at the blue-lined cloak and the pile of her black Greek gown on a bepillowed chair for her to remember.

All the blood. All the violence.

Angelica sat up and the coverlet fell away, leaving her to see that she'd been dressed in a night-rail. Her hair fell around her shoulders, loose and heavy. She was cold, despite the warmth of late afternoon sun pouring into the chamber.

Voss. She looked around, as if he might be lurking in the corner—which of course he wasn't. And which would be outside of unseemly.

But his presence lingered—there, in the cloak he'd draped
over her shoulders. In the clean comfort of the room and even, faintly, in the air.

Before she could decide what to do, a firm knock came at the door and it cracked open.

“Ah, you're awake.” The woman came in before Angelica bade her to do so. Her clothing, her demeanor, even her opening the door immediately after the knock, indicated that she wasn't a servant.

“Good morning,” Angelica said, examining the new arrival.

She was older, perhaps in her late thirties. Her frock, a daydress that showed enough bosom to qualify for an evening gown, was nevertheless made of good lawn and was at the height of fashion. Large, bright scarlet roses patterned the fabric and wide pink ribbon trimmed the sleeves and hem. Although she didn't wear gloves, her strawberry-blond hair was dressed in a proper chignon and a bit of curl flattered her striking face. One wouldn't consider her beautiful, but she had a pleasing, if not shrewd, countenance with high cheekbones and good skin.

“I'm Rubey,” she told her, and then turned to make an abrupt gesture behind.

Another woman, younger and clearly a servant, came in carrying a tray with food and tea, and Angelica instantly realized she was hungry.

“Thank you,” she said as the tray was deposited on the bed next to her. The servant left and the two women were alone.

“And I can see you've slept well,” Rubey said as she poured tea. It was a clear statement rather than a question. “After a frightening night.”

Angelica swallowed a delicious bite of orange scone and
immediately wanted another. “Where am I? Lord Dewhurst brought me here.”

Rubey nodded and settled into a chair in the corner. Perhaps to watch her eat? “Voss is still abed.” Her eyes seemed to glint with humor. “He was in need of a bit of…rest…after the events of the night and into the morn. I believe he intends to speak with you shortly.” Although her expression wasn't unkind, it and Rubey's demeanor gave Angelica the impression that she was missing some important information.

“You haven't told me where I am.”

“You're safe. That's all you need to know for now.”

“I need to get a message to my sister,” Angelica said. “She'll be frantic by now. There's no clock in here. Do you know what time it is?”

“It's nearly four o'clock.”

Angelica's eyes widened in surprise. She'd been vaguely aware of their arrival here, and that the sun was just beginning to rise, but she could hardly credit having slept so long. Usually, even after a late night of dancing and revelry, she woke before noon.

But last night had been different…in more ways than one.

Rubey continued, “And as for the message, I'm certain Voss has seen to that. But you'll have to ask him.”

“Only one of many questions, I'm certain,” came a deep voice.

Angelica hadn't noticed the door opening, but then she'd been rather involved with her tea and the plate of cheese and scones. The sight of his figure, well illuminated by the splash of light in her room, made her heartbeat kick and her belly flutter, chasing all thoughts of orange-glazed biscuits from her mind.

In surprising dishabille, he wore no coat over his shirt,
trousers and waistcoat, and a neckcloth sagged casually around his neck. She couldn't remember ever seeing a man so handsome, so golden and striking and
delicious
. And whose lips were so full and soft and warm… Her cheeks flushed at the memory and she quickly lifted her teacup to drink. Perhaps to hide her face.

“How do you feel today, Miss Woodmore?” he asked in that same smooth voice, standing in the doorway. He glanced at Rubey, who rose from her seat. “Well rested, I trust?”

“Yes, and also well fed,” she replied, gesturing to the remains of her scone. “I'm certain I have you to thank.”

Voss inclined his head in polite acknowledgment and stepped just inside the door, leaving it ajar next to him. “In addition, I had already presumed your need to be in contact with the eldest Miss Woodmore and thus, I have sent word to Corvindale that you are with me, and to pledge your continued safety. So you need not worry that your sister is concerned for you.”

Rubey had moved to the window. She left the curtains and windowpane open wide, but closed the shutters, leaving only a fraction of the sunshine sliding through the top half of the opening. The room was still well illuminated by the day, but the warmth was gone.

“Oh,” Angelica said in dismay, her attention turning to the other woman. “Why did you do that?”

“It's safer,” Voss replied, stepping farther into the chamber. “We must take no chances that Moldavi's men might glimpse you through the window.”

A spike of fear jolted her. “Do you think they've followed us? Or know where you've taken me?”

“I suspect they haven't, for they didn't know you were with me when we left Sterlinghouse last evening. But I intend to
take no chances with you and your safety, Miss Woodmore.” His eyes settled on her as he smiled slowly. “Not at all.”

Standing by the window, Rubey made a soft sound that could have been mistaken for a snort, but Angelica wasn't certain. The woman eyed Voss with a raised brow, and he merely turned his charming smile onto her. “Now, Rubey,” he said. There was affection in his voice—something that Angelica hadn't noticed when he spoke to
her
—and also a bit of warning. “You give me too little credit.”

“A lie that is, to be sure. I give you more credit than you deserve,” she replied, folding her arms over her middle. For the first time, Angelica noticed a bit of Irish lilt in her voice. “And it lightens my coffers more than I care to admit.”

“But, Rubey,” he said, his voice still easy. “You know I'm good for it.” His voice lowered and Angelica felt a little responsive shiver in her belly.

“That you are, which is why I keep you around. But a little slow on the settling up. After this—” she gestured abruptly at Angelica and moved toward Voss “—I expect your account to be settled
most
generously.” Then, to Angelica's shock, she poked him in the chest with her finger, just below the loose neckcloth.

Voss didn't seem to care. “I am always generous,” he told her in that low, nearly purring voice that made Angelica vacillate between warmth and annoyance. He was fairly ignoring her and quite clearly flirting with this woman.

She didn't like it at all.

Rubey gave a little huff of laughter that ended on a low note. “Indeed,” she added in a more husky tone. “When you are finished here, I'll expect you to see to all of it.”

She glanced briefly at Angelica to say, “I'll send clothing up for you shortly. And a maid.” And then she left the chamber, closing the door in her wake.

For a moment, Angelica sat stunned and speechless. She was alone in a bedchamber, clothed in little more than a thin shift,
with a man
.

With Voss.

He turned to look at her, but before she could speak, he gave a little smile. “Ah, yes. Propriety.” To her relief, he opened the door, leaving it more than halfway ajar.

“Thank you,” she said, fumbling her hands over the top of the puckered coverlet. The thing that frightened her the most was that the idea of being alone in the bedchamber with Voss
didn't
frighten her, or concern her. In fact, the thought was more than a bit alluring.

Standing near the door's corner, against the wall, he nevertheless seemed to fill the room, his shoulders wide and solid against feminine wallpaper. Though he remained near the darker side of the room, his skin picked up a hint of the golden glow of sunlight. Thick hair, the color of her old ginger cat, streaked with all shades of bronze and honey caught by the light, had been combed back neatly and rose above his high forehead. Yet, its very color and the hint of untamed waves near his ears and throat suggested something less staid and proper lurking beneath.

The sensual little curl at one side of his mouth contributed to that lack of propriety…along with the fact that his neckcloth hung loosely knotted from the opening of his shirt. The shallow V of golden skin and the hollow of his throat she found fascinating, and more than a bit disturbing as her imagination ran to places it had never been.

“Angelica.”

Her gaze flew to his and the expression she saw there made her insides plunge.
Oh.

“If you keep looking at me like that, I'm going to close the
door again,” he said in a voice that tempted her to ask him to do so.

Heat rushed to her cheeks and Angelica caught her breath, aware of a sudden, very pleasant tightening in her insides. What if he did? What if he came to sit on the edge of the bed—no. That was outside of proper. She swallowed.

As if to put a distance between himself and that enticement, Voss stepped away from the opening and sat on an upholstered stool in front of a small dressing table. His long legs were bent up a bit and, sitting amid lace and glass, he appeared more out of his element than she'd ever seen him.… Yet, with him there was no real awkwardness. He wore no coat, but the crisp white sleeves of his shirt and the intricate pattern on his waistcoat detracted from the pink and yellow florals surrounding him.

Angelica decided she should be relieved that he'd taken a seat so far from her. “Where are we? And who is Rubey? Is she your…sister?”

Her cheeks warmed when he gave a short little laugh. “No, indeed, Rubey is not my sister.”

Angelica drew herself up a bit and pulled the coverlet higher. “I suspected not,” she added in what she thought of as her Maia-voice. “I was simply giving you the benefit of the doubt. She is a proprietress of some sort, I suppose. Is this her home?”

A suspicion had begun to form during Voss's exchange with Rubey, wherein Angelica realized she was missing some of the underlying meaning of their words. She didn't know much about the demimonde or the sorts of women who would become a man's mistress, but the way Rubey had looked at Voss and the ease of manner between them—along with the very low line of her bodice—made her wonder. She'd spoken
of services and of settling accounts.… Angelica became more suspicious.

“Rubey owns the place,” Voss told her. “One of several, in fact. She's agreed to let you stay here until I can make other arrangements.”

“Is she your mistress?” Angelica asked. “Or is this a brothel?”

The slight widening of his eyes was the only indication of his surprise. “I didn't believe young, well-bred women knew of such things.”

“Am I to presume that is a confirmation?” she asked, trying to decide why she felt so uncomfortable. Right in the pit of her belly.

“You needn't presume anything of the sort,” Voss said. “Rubey is merely a woman with many skills and assets—not unlike yourself, Miss Woodmore.”

She couldn't help but wonder just exactly what sort of skills and assets Rubey had.

And then she realized that, a moment earlier, he'd called her Angelica. Now it was back to Miss Woodmore.

Angelica frowned and all of her warm thoughts dissipated.

But Voss didn't seem to notice, for he continued. “In fact, I was hoping you might use one of your talents to assist me.”

Her attention flew to him, but his expression was neutral. Perhaps even…apprehensive. For the first time, she noticed that despite his easy manner, his eyes held weariness. “What exactly do you mean?” Angelica asked, resisting the urge to ask if he hadn't slept well.

Voss shifted in his seat, his long legs ruffling the lacy table cloth, causing the glass bottles to clink gently. “You foretold the death of my associate Lord Brickbank. And I understand
that you have been able, in the past, to predict or foresee the death of others.”

When she would have spoken, something like dismay and perhaps anger bubbling up inside her, he continued. His voice lowered and became…tentative. “I confess, it was more than a bit of a shock to me—that which happened with Brickbank. You'd warned us, you'd foretold it…and yet we couldn't prevent it.”

His face seemed to sag in the uneven light. Emotion clouded his eyes, and the bit of annoyance she had with him ebbed. “Perhaps not,” she said, but gently. “If you had stayed away from the bridges—”

He looked sharply at her. “But you clearly said which bridge. We went nowhere near it, and he still died in the manner you'd foretold.”

Angelica eased back against her pillows, closing her eyes briefly. Yes, that very same realization had settled uncomfortably in her thoughts, as well. It made her fingers grow stiff and icy, despite the mild summer day, and her insides tighten.

There was no escaping fate.

And she was fated to bear its knowledge.

“How do you manage it, Angelica?” he asked suddenly, as if it burst from him. Earnestness and something much deeper blossomed in his gaze. “Seeing death at every turn?”

She sensed that he needed the answer; that it was a need for him as much as an understanding about her. “It's become part of my life,” she said. “Since I was very young, I would touch something and sometimes the flash of a vision would rush through my mind. I didn't understand what it was at first.”