It wasn’t lost on Voss that Maia Woodmore hadn’t made any statement of welcome. He could only assume that Corvindale had already begun to impress upon her all of the reasons Voss should be avoided. Hopefully the earl was still abed like any other sane Dracule would be.
Nevertheless, Voss decided that he had no time to waste.
“I’m terribly sorry to interrupt,” he said, actually putting sincerity in his tones, “but I must have a word with you, Miss Woodmore.”
He was looking at Angelica, so it was clear to which sister he was speaking, but Maia was the first to respond. “Pray have a seat, then, my lord. We have just been discussing the newest play at Drury Lane.”
“I wish I could join you, for I hear the lead actress is devastating,” Voss replied, his voice now dripping with innocence. “But I fear that I have only a short time to enjoy your company, and it’s imperative that I speak with your sister.”
During this exchange, Angelica had risen from the sofa and, with a tempered glare at her sister, managed to navigate between the shod feet and pantalooned legs of the myriad of male callers. She was wearing a pale yellow frock today, trimmed with gold ribbon around the neckline (which was, of course, much higher than last night’s), and her hair was pulled into a smooth, neat gather at the back of her head. Only a few wisps of hair fanned her cheeks, giving her the look of an exotic pixie. A slender golden chain rested around the base of her throat, with a tiny, matching cross settling into the hollow there.
Voss swallowed hard and deflected his wayward thoughts as he trained his gaze up. To her eyes. Cocoa-brown eyes, wide and dark as night.
“I’m certain we don’t wish to keep Dewhurst,” Angelica was saying to her sister and the room at large. “If you’ll excuse me?”
“Angelica,” Maia said, beginning to rise. “I don’t—”
“Never fear, Miss Woodmore.” This time he clearly spoke to the elder sister. “Despite whatever warnings Corvindale might have given you, I have no plans to corrupt your sister in the few moments I will speak with her in the foyer.”
With that, he gave a little bow to Angelica, and gestured her to cross in front of him toward the parlor door. Before he turned to follow her out of the room, inhaling subtly as she swept past, Voss turned and took a moment to memorize the faces of the men in the room.
He locked eyes with each of them in turn until he saw the familiar leap of fear and terror in their eyes. Then, quite pleased with himself, he followed Angelica from the room.
“The library is here,” she said. “We’ll be able to speak privately there.”
Indeed. Voss contained a rush of pleasure. The door would remain open, of course. But—blast! His belly felt prickly and odd as he followed her into the room. And his damned shoulder ached.
He mentally patted himself on the back when he not only left the door open, but much wider than was strictly necessary. Merely a first step, he told himself and his Mark. There will be other opportunities to close it later.
Then he turned to face her, and for a moment, his thoughts and words scattered. Angelica stood near a tall window across the room from him, and in a sort of irony, the embattled sun had managed to emerge from its blanket of clouds beyond her. It shone through the window, bathing her in its soft glow of warm beams…warmth and light that Voss hadn’t felt or been touched by since he was twenty-eight.
A hundred and twenty years without feeling the sun.
For a moment, the ridiculous thought that Angelica Woodmore would be just as elusive as those golden rays worried at him. But that was absurd on so many levels. Nothing could keep him from what he wanted.
Still. How was it she had positioned herself so perfectly: embalmed in a nimbus of light, which made her dusky skin glow and the edges of her hair seem to light—and yet, she was out of reach. Literally. The pool of light served as more of a deterrent than Corvindale ever could.
“My lord?” she asked, smiling at him. “What did you wish to speak with me about?”
Was it possible she knew? Had Corvindale told her how to protect herself from the likes of Voss Arden, Viscount Dewhurst and Dracule?
He eyed her closely, not yet employing his thrall, but trying to read anything in her gaze that might indicate whether she knew exactly what she was doing…but there was nothing in her expression other than curious pleasure. That was a fact which warmed him considerably.
“My lord?” she asked again. “Are you feeling quite all right? You look a bit…weary.” Her voice trailed off.
Voss straightened in annoyance. He was perfectly groomed and attired. He looked bloody tantalizing.
“How is your friend Lord Brickbank?” she continued, before he could respond.
And suddenly everything came rushing back to him: the images, the guilt and anger, the reason he was here. A heavy, dark ball settled in his belly.
“In fact,” Voss said, realizing to his shock that he needed to steady his voice, “he is not well at all. That’s the reason I wished to speak with you.”
Angelica’s face drained of color and her eyes widened. “My lord, no.” Her fingers curved around the back of a nearby chair as if to provide support, and he wondered briefly if she might faint.
“I’m afraid…yes.” His voice was curiously choked and Voss resorted to swallowing twice, hard, in order to continue. “He fell from a bridge last night and would have survived, I’m certain, if he had not impaled himself upon a piece of rotted dock.”
She’d lifted her free hand to her mouth, her eyes no longer almond shaped but nearly circular. “I am so sorry, my lord. Apparently even my warning couldn’t have prevented such an event.”
Voss shifted and tried to decide whether her comment was meant to stab him in the chest with reproach, or if she believed that her warning truly had been in vain. Unable to come to a conclusion, he opted to explain further. “The interesting thing, Miss Woodmore, is that my friend fell not from Blackfriars, but from Westminster. I confess, I didn’t fully disregard your warning. We avoided Blackfriars. You did name it as the bridge to be avoided, did you not?”
She moved, a little jolt of surprise, and nearly stepped out of her safe circle of sunlight. Not that it would have made a difference if she had, for Voss was feeling uncomfortably cold at the moment. “Indeed, you are correct. I saw Blackfriars in my dream. It’s impossible to mistake it, don’t you agree?”
He nodded.