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Giordan, who, in some ways knew his friend better than Dimitri knew himself, suspected the man had used up his not very extensive patience. The earl's library and office had been invaded, not to mention his hermitlike lifestyle disrupted by the new additions to his household, and would be, it seemed, for sometime to come.
The earl wanted everyone gone.
In the flurry of the sisters Woodmore bidding good-night and farewell to their brother, and the earl's insistent ushering of them out of the chamber, Giordan managed to position himself so that Narcise would be unable to quit the room without passing directly by him.
As it happened, whether by accident or Dimitri's intent, Narcise was separated from her lover and left alone in the chamber with Giordan. She would have slipped past him, the cowardly woman, if he hadn't moved a half step to stand in the way. Now she must brush against him if she meant to escape and avoid a conversation.
"Good evening, Narcise," he said.
She was close, so close, that not only her essence but the warmth of her presence surged against him. Yet, he absorbed the assault as if withstanding the force of a blow and would not allow her to escape from his gaze.
"Giordan," she replied in a voice as cool as her icy-sea eyes. An ink-black coil of hair clung to her temple as if it had been smashed there by the heavy hat.
For a moment, he wavered-the darkness, the loathing and disgust, shimmering, threatening to drop like a heavy curtain-but it was just an instant of madness. He recovered himself. "And so you have found your escape at last. My felicitations. I hope it is all that you've dreamed."
Ah, his tones were so easy, so casual and absent of irony, devoid of the shame and anger he felt. The humiliation. They were so loose, unlike his twisting insides, unlike the impossibly tight curling of his fingers.
"It is," she replied in a matching tone. It was as if they'd settled at a cafe and discussed the weather over coffee and tea whilst overlooking the Palais Gallery.
He made certain he showed no hint of the bloodlust that simmered beneath his skin, throbbing, dark and hot and suddenly insistent.
"My only regret," she said, still looking up at him with eyes as emotionless as a pair of black-mounted amethysts, "is that Cezar still lives."
"What is this?" Giordan responded lightly, oh, yes, still so lightly despite the heaviness threatening his mood. "Your vampire hunter could not complete the task?" Faint surprise and polite regret tinged his words. "I was under the impression that he traveled to Paris for that purpose only."
"Alas, no, for when he found there was a choice between having Cezar and protecting my well-being...well, of course you see how that turned out."
Direct and sharp, her words and meaning stabbed him deeply. And twisted, as if the blade was in his entrails, raking a cross through his insides in the manner of the Japanese seppuku.
Nevertheless, he kept his expression emotionless. "If only it were always so simple," was all he replied.
"Narcise." Woodmore's smooth voice interrupted from behind them.
"Chas," she said, brushing rapidly past Giordan as if he were a Corinthian column. The scent of her relief swamped him.
"I'm sorry to keep you waiting. My sisters are a bit over-set," said Woodmore, looking down at Narcise and then at Giordan. Comprehension shone in his dark Gypsy eyes. "And Corvindale is fairly apoplectic that Voss has been inside Blackmont Hall."
"Not to mention the fact that his entire household has been upended," Giordan replied with a faint tinge of malice. "For the foreseeable future. I cannot say I blame him."
Woodmore continued to look at him with cool challenge and the faintest of complacence. If the vampire hunter hadn't known before, he knew now at least something of the history between him and Narcise. But if he was under the impression that Giordan would be competition for him, he was sadly mistaken.
"Indeed, and my sisters are just as disrupted. Thus, the first thing to appease everyone-including me-is to find Voss and take care of him. I don't want him anywhere near my sister. Then we can leave London." He looked at Narcise. "And go someplace where you'll be safe."
Corvindale returned at that moment. "Are you leaving now? Excellent. Good night." His expression and tone left no room for further conversation, and giving Giordan a wry look, Woodmore gestured for Narcise to start down the corridor.
"We are gone, then," he said. "Dawn is almost here. I'll see what sign I can find of Voss while the sun is up. Look for word from me in the afternoon. If luck is with me, I'll find the bastard and stake him in his sleep."
"By the Fates, you look as if you need a drink," Dimitri said to Giordan as soon as they were gone. "The Devil knows I do. Bloody damned women."
By Luce's dark soul, it wasn't a drink he needed. "No," Giordan said. "I'll take my leave before the sun is up."
And he followed Woodmore and Narcise's path down the hall, inhaling her essence in his wake.
No, indeed. It wasn't a damn drink he craved.
"You aren't truly going."
Chas paused in his packing to look up at the tone of accusation in Narcise's voice.
"Of course I'm going," he replied firmly, shoving a trio of stakes into his leather sack. "She's my sister, Narcise. Do you think I would leave her safety up to chance? Especially with Voss?"
Two weeks after their gathering in Dimitri's study, Angelica had been abducted by Belial. According to Voss-who'd seemed unaccountably concerned-she was being taken to Paris to be delivered to Cezar.
The other vampire had been convincing in his argument that he, Voss, should be the one to go after her and bring her home, despite the fact that Angelica's own brother was a vampir hunter. And though even Dimitri's stubborn opinion had been swayed by Voss's points, Chas wasn't about to sit on his hands while his sister's fate was in the hands of a bloody damned vampire.
Especially one who'd already attacked her once. And who'd sneaked into her chamber and done God knew what else while she was under his thrall.
He shoved a clean shirt into the pack with more violence than necessary. The only reason Voss wasn't dead right now was that he'd been wearing protective armor when Chas had seen him last, when he'd come to White's club to deliver the news that Angelica was on her way to Paris. And because the damned man was right-he could gain access to Cezar.
"But Voss is smart enough, and Cezar likes him because he always has information he wants." Narcise argued the same points that had been made previously. "For sale, of course. He won't be suspicious of him, so Voss will have no problem getting in. And with those smoke-cloud packets you gave him, he'll have an easy way to escape."
