Chapter 7
WHEREIN OUR HEROINE’S HORIZONS ARE GREATLY brOADENED
Angelica opened her eyes.
Sun shone through the window of an unfamiliar room, cascading onto the bed where she slept.
The chamber clearly belonged to a woman, for it had 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 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 she wasn’t a servant.
“Good morning,” Angelica said, examining the new arrival.
She was much older than she; perhaps in her late thirties.
Her frock, a dress 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 Angelica, 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 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.” Rubey’s 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 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,” Angelica 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 anticipated 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 may rest assured your sister is not needlessly worried.”
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 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.” 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.”
“And 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 me 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 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 persist in 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.