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“Does she bite people, too? With long teeth and claws? Tear into them like paper dolls?” Tears had gathered in her eyes and as she lifted a hand to her mouth, he saw that her fingers trembled violently. “I cannot fathom such vile creatures who take from other people and leave them to die. They drink their blood. They take.”
Voss reminded himself that she could have no idea that she was sitting in the same room with one of those horrible creatures—who wanted nothing more than to do the same to her, among other things—but for some reason, her words stung. “Angelica,” he began.
She swiped a tear away and kept talking. “I thought it was all stories, a legend that my granny told us. But they’re real. And my brother is all sorted up with them. He could be in danger. He is in danger. He’s gone into hiding, I’m certain of it.”
“Everything I know about your brother says that he knows how to take care of himself,” Voss told her. “Did you not just say he isn’t dead? Do you know this?”
“I’m sure he’s not dead. I—”
A knock at the door interrupted her, and Voss, smothering a curse as she fell silent, walked over. A low opening at the bottom of the door allowed for a tray of wine, cheese and bread to be slid beneath—again, keeping the anonymity of the chamber’s occupants intact.
“I cannot eat,” Angelica said, holding a hand in front of her belly. “I don’t know that I shall ever eat again, with those images in my mind. Poor Ella.” She looked even more pale-faced than before, and her eyes seemed to have sunken into their sockets in the last few moments. “I cannot believe it of Chas.”
Voss put the tray on the table and poured a glass of the wine. “Perhaps you are thirsty?”
“What is that?” she asked, pointing to his glass, likely forgetting that ladies didn’t point. “Whiskey? Brandy? Something else that’s meant only for men?”
Some of his discomfort slid away. “If you wish to try it, I won’t tell anyone.” No indeed.
“There are many things about these last two days that I hope you shall not tell anyone,” Angelica said. The look she gave him was not one of a coquette, teasing him for more, but one of a woman very aware of her situation…and it was disconcerting.
She took the glass and drank, then, predictably, began coughing uncontrollably. But despite the fact that her eyes watered, she raised the glass for another taste. This time, she was a bit more cautious and the sip went down much easier. “It tastes terrible.”
Voss smiled. “I know. The wine isn’t much better quality, but you might prefer it.”
“It’s warm,” she said, drinking again. “I mean to say, I feel warm. It makes me feel warm.”
“That is not the only way you’ll be feeling if you drink too much of it,” he said despite the arc of pain that shot through him. Let her drink, the devil told him. She won’t fight it. He thought it prudent to change the subject. “What were you going to tell me, earlier? Or have you changed your mind?”
She sank down onto the cloak-draped chair, whiskey still in hand. Half the generous dollop he’d poured was gone and her movements were already looser. “I’ve never told another person this. I’m not altogether certain why I should want to tell you, Dewhurst.”
“Voss,” he said. “Call me Voss.”
Angelica frowned and he wasn’t certain if it was because she’d taken another drink or because of his suggestion. “Rubey calls you by your given name. That bespeaks of a very intimate relationship.”
“I have just asked you to call me by my given name, as well. Do you and I have an intimate relationship?” The words, practiced and easy, slid from his flirtatious tongue. He brought out his smile, the warm one whose allure never failed, to curve his lips. His sisters, his mistresses, the wife of his mathematics teacher, and so many others… None of them had been able to resist.
The smile that told her just what sort of relationship he wanted.
“No, we do not,” she replied primly. Oh, so primly. “But if I don’t get back to Blackmont Hall or at least to a chaperone soon, my reputation will be ruined on the grounds of mere suspicion and assumption. ’Tis nothing to take lightly, my lord.”
So it was “my lord” now. “And then…?”
“And then I’ll never make a good marriage. No respectable gentleman will want to wed me.” She sipped again. “Chas has made it very clear that I need to make a match this Season. He has little patience for chaperoning us about.”
Yes, there was the concern of Chas being more than annoyed that Voss had ruined his sister. And of course, marriage to a Dracule was out of the question—for a variety of reasons in Chas Woodmore’s eyes, the least of which was the immortality issue. Not to mention the pact with the devil. Thus, Chas would be incensed if his sister was ruined by Voss, or any other Dracule.
But Voss was fully confident in his ability to evade the vampir hunter. It wouldn’t be the first time.
Angelica continued talking, the whiskey having done a nice job of loosening her tongue. “But perhaps after Maia and Mr. Bradington wed, she can be my chaperone and Chas can go about his business. Sonia won’t be out for another two years.”
“Is there a respectable gentleman whom you wish to wed? Is there one who might have his hopes dashed if you do not return? Or if you return…in a questionable state?” Voss wasn’t altogether certain why he pursued this topic, but he didn’t seem able to control his tongue. Perhaps he ought to try a sip of the whiskey himself.
No. He had no reason to subject himself to that horror.
“Perhaps. Lord Harrington is quite agreeable.” Her expression wasn’t one of sly flirtation, but rather as if she’d just realized some simple fact such as that the sky was blue.
Voss thought he recalled the man in question—the slender dandy who’d waltzed with her at the masquerade. The one whom he’d put the fear of the devil into with a mere glance while visiting in Angelica’s parlor. He smothered a snort. Harrington was probably the sort who’d been thrown in the privy and had had his clothes tossed into the coal pit.
“Agreeable is such a flavorless word. I don’t believe I should appreciate being described as merely agreeable by a woman such as yourself,” he said, lifting an eyebrow.
“That is no surprise,” she replied. “I suspect you would aspire to descriptors like ‘charming’ and ‘handsome’ and ‘witty.’ And ‘wealthy.’”
