Chapter 8
IN WHICH LORD DEWHURST SUFFERS A POOR VINTAGE
Angelica barely made it down the stairs without falling. Her knees shook, threatening to give way and send her tumbling, and she felt as if she were about to toss up her accounts at any moment. Yet it was concern not only for Ella but for Voss that kept her upright and intent on finding help.
She got to the bottom step, and as she followed the path of destruction—crooked wall pictures, an upended vase, a streak of something dark on the wallpaper—down a short corridor, she met up with Rubey.
The older woman looked disheveled, but not as if she’d been attacked or fought off intruders. No blood nor claw or tear marks. Her expression was tight and shocked, and her first words were, “You’re unhurt? What about Ella?”
Angelica shook her head and peeled her tongue off the roof of her mouth. “Voss is seeing to her. He sent me for help.”
Just then, the sound of heavy footsteps had Angelica spinning in alarm. But it was Voss. He filled the corridor, his face just as taut as Rubey’s, his stride purposeful.
“There’s no help for the maid,” he told Rubey without looking at Angelica.
“No,” Rubey whispered. “Ella?” Her face loosened with pain and shock, then darkened with fury. “Damn you, Voss, for bringing this here. Your greed and games.”
Voss’s expression tightened further and he inclined his head as if in acceptance. Still without acknowledging Angelica, keeping his eyes hooded and on Rubey, he said, “We haven’t much time. Where is he?”
Apparently the older woman could decipher his code, for she stepped back and gestured down the hall. “Still in there. Pretending to be injured.” Her eyes flashed lightning blue as they met Voss’s, once again making Angelica feel as if she were missing something important. “Do what you will.”
Before she could ask, Voss glanced at her, his eyes scoring down over what she belatedly realized was a scandalously flimsy shift and then her bare legs and feet. Yet she couldn’t bring herself to truly care.
“If you could dress her, and get that damned foot bound up, I would greatly appreciate it.” He was speaking to Rubey, again as if Angelica wasn’t there, and she had to bite her tongue to keep from demanding petulantly that he acknowledge her.
Fool.
Then he brushed past her, the sleeve of his coat dislodging a lock of hair from her shoulder, and disappeared down the hall.
“Come. I’ll see to you myself,” Rubey said wearily. “You can’t stay much longer. And I’ve got to leave as well.”
Angelica resisted the urge to stare after Voss. A little prickle of nervousness ran up her spine. Do what you will.
Whatever Rubey meant, Angelica suspected it wasn’t to the good.
She followed the older woman’s brisk pace and realized for the first time the cuts on her foot were deep and painful.
Fortunately the bleeding had slowed to an ooze, and as soon as they reached their destination, Rubey made her sit down.
Moments later, she gave a damp cloth to Angelica to wipe away the blood.
As she bathed her cuts, noticing that the one in her heel was split and would likely take some time to mend, she realized this was an exceedingly well-appointed home.
A smallish residence, but furnished richly and with elegance.
It dawned on her this must be where Rubey lived.
The chamber to which they’d come was clearly Rubey’s private one, and it was decorated in rich gold and all other shades of yellow.
It also occurred to Angelica, as Rubey dug through a large, polished wardrobe across from a very decadent and well-pillowed bed, that the fact that two vampirs had invaded the home and killed a maid didn’t seem to shock her hostess.
Certainly she was aggrieved at the loss of Ella, but she didn’t seem to be as stunned and paralyzed as Angelica felt.
This realization, coupled with the fact that Ella had had what most certainly were bite marks on her neck, and Angelica began to feel lightheaded again. Light of head, and confused.
Were these horrific creatures—which she’d had no idea existed beyond Granny Grapes’s imagination until only last night—more common than she could have imagined? Did these violent, rapacious monsters live among them like normal people?
And what was Voss’s connection to them?
Rubey moved with the same efficiency and spare movements as Ella had, insisting Angelica don a clean chemise and even loaning her one of her corsets.
Although she didn’t attempt to do anything with the mass of wild hair except pin it up loosely again, Rubey tugged and laced and buttoned Angelica into a pretty pink frock in short order.
Just as Angelica was rolling silk stockings up over her knees and aligning borrowed slippers (which were a bit too large) for her feet, Voss strode into the chamber. Uninvited, and yet clearly comfortable being there.
“We must go,” he said to Angelica. She sensed wildness about him, some restrained energy beneath his movements. “Straight away. We’ve a carriage waiting.”
“What of Edouard?” Rubey asked, her lips pinched together.
“Belial paid him well—and he’d already been made Dracule, Luce take it. How the fool didn’t think we’d figure him out, I can’t imagine. I threw him outside and he’s burning in the sun now. Won’t see him again.”
Rubey made a sound of distaste and turned away. “Blast it, Voss. Every bloody time you come here, you leave a mess.”
“That’s why you charge me so much,” he replied. But this time, there was no humor in his voice, no lilting charm. “And why I always settle up.”
“I cannot charge you enough to make up for this,” Rubey said. Her eyes were red now. “Ella was…she was…a friend, as well.”
“My sincerest apology,” Voss said. He sounded as if he meant it, and he reached to touch Rubey’s arm as if to emphasize. “Truly. I don’t know when I’ll see you again.”
“Never will be soon enough,” said their hostess. And she sounded, at that moment, as if she meant it, too.
Voss turned sharply. “Miss Woodmore, we must make haste. You’re no longer safe here.” Formality and command replaced the empathy in his voice.
Angelica allowed him to lead her from the bedchamber and down the corridor. His strides were long and fast, and she felt awkward trying to keep up with him. But her fingers, gloveless, were clasped in his big bare hand, and he steadied her as they hurried along.
The carriage had been pulled up very near the servants’ entrance; to climb in was no more than a step out the door and up into the vehicle. The conveyance was parked in a narrow mews between two tall buildings, which made the space dark and shadowy despite it being several hours before twilight.
For the second time in less than twenty-four hours, Angelica entered a carriage to ride with Voss. Alone.
“Where are we going this time?” she asked as he stood at the doorway, his hand on the edge of the door, his feet on the stoop of the house.
“Somewhere safer,” he said. His eyes seemed to glitter with heat as he looked up at her. “Somewhere where they cannot find us.”
There was something about the way he said those words that gave her pause. An odd combination of desire and unease prickled inside her.
“Why do you not take me back to Blackmont Hall? Surely it’s safe there,” Angelica said, remembering the stone wall that surrounded the small plot of land on which the mansion sat. Maia must be sick with worry, too. And what if there’d been a message from Chas?
“I’ll not take you back to Corvindale,” Voss said flatly. “Not quite yet.”
And then, to her shock and surprise, he slammed the door closed, leaving himself on the outside. The sound of the latch catching solidified the realization he didn’t intend to join her.
Angelica whipped the heavy curtains away from the windows just in time to see Voss—she thought it was him, at any rate—heavily cloaked and with a low-riding hat settle on the small stoop at the back of the barouche where the footman would normally stand.
He was choosing to ride outside of the vehicle instead of inside with her? What did that mean?
The sudden jolt of the vehicle starting off nudged her against the padded wall.
Voss hadn’t moved, but she could see his gloved hands holding on to the handles next to the window.
He looked like a black wraith, his cloak flapping as they went on and his face in shadow, his profile turned away and down.
Angelica, exhausted, still more than a bit horrified at the day’s events, and now filled with annoyance, settled into her seat and folded her arms over her middle.
“This is a fine kettle,” she said to herself. Locked in a carriage, being taken who knew where.
But she wasn’t frightened. At least, not of Voss.
There were much worse threats to her person than the tawny-haired man with the hot gaze.
Perhaps he meant to protect her reputation by not riding about London during the day alone in the carriage with her. Not that anyone could see inside the heavily curtained windows.
Or perhaps he thought it would be safer if he rode outside, where he could watch for other attacks.
Or perhaps he didn’t wish to be near her any longer. Now that he’d been with Rubey for the afternoon.
For it had become starkly clear to her that he and Rubey had been otherwise engaged when the invaders had come into the house, and had somehow avoided a direct attack. The thought of what they were doing made her feel suddenly quite ill again.
Miserable, she settled into the corner of the carriage. The plush velvet walls and cushions embraced her, and she rested her head back and tried not to think about what a disaster her life had become.
She had to admit it. She’d come to truly fancy Voss in the few days that she’d known him, in the fleeting moments of conversation and in those moments when their eyes had met…Well, she must admit it. She had believed, hoped, he’d fancied her, too.