The Vampire Voss (Regency Draculia 1)

“But what does that mean?” Her voice had dropped to nearly a whisper, and a range of expressions passed over her face: thoughtfulness, confusion, deep concern. “What can it mean?”

“It means, I believe,” came a deep voice from behind them, “that regardless of the irresponsibility of his companions, Brickbank was destined to die last night. And no precautions could have changed it.”

Luce’s dark soul. Was he never to be able to finish a conversation with the chit without being interrupted?

Voss didn’t bother with a dry, bored comment this time. He merely turned and lifted an eyebrow at Corvindale, who’d stepped into the doorway. The butler stood behind him, holding a hat and cane, obviously having just given the earl entry to the Woodmore home.

“Ah, Voss. What a surprise to see you again. So soon.” Corvindale bared his teeth in a definite nonsmile. “I presume Miss Woodmore explained to you that today would be the last day she and her sisters were to receive callers here at Turnbull? I advised them of that earlier today, and they’re already in the process of moving to Blackmont Hall until Chas Woodmore returns.”

Bloody blasted hell. “I cannot imagine that they would find it very comfortable there,” Voss said. “Without a woman to see to things, I can only imagine the drafts, dust and ill illumination they might find. Not to mention skeletons in the closet and—”

“Mirabella,” Corvindale interrupted just as blandly, “arrived yesterday morning—along with my dowager Aunt Iliana—and has been preparing for the Woodmore sisters’ arrival. I sent for her immediately after you spoke with me at White’s.” He looked at Angelica. “My sister is in raptures at the thought of having companions her own age living under the roof.”

“And so you will be ushering not one, but three young women throughout Society this Season?” Voss made no attempt to hide his amusement. “Balls, fetes, the theater and of course Almack’s. Rides in St. James. Picnics in the country. Presentations at court. And, of course, shopping on Bond. Why, Dimitri, that will be such a departure from your normal, hermitish life. I do look forward to watching the entertainment.”

“I don’t believe you’ll be close enough to observe any of the details, Voss. I’ve just come from the apartments at White’s.” This time, Dimitri’s smile was genuine. “You’ve been chosen to see Brickbank’s body back to his home. In Romania.”

Maia knocked a second time on the door to the earl’s study. While she waited for his response, she looked around the corridor, noticing the fine paintings and elegant statues in her temporary (she prayed) home.

They’d been ushered here more quickly than she could have thought possible, arriving early this morning after the visit by Lord Dewhurst yesterday afternoon. Corvindale hadn’t even allowed them to pack; their clothing and maids would be arriving later today. Apparently once he’d set his mind to things, they moved very quickly.

Blackmont Hall lived up to its name in some ways, for instead of being bathed in open-windowed light and filled with pintuck and lace pillows and frothy curtains like Turnbull was, the earl’s residence had more sober furnishings. The upholstery and wall coverings were of dark colors: midnight-blue, charcoal, wine, forest. The decor was heavy and masculine and gave a sense that its owner preferred to keep his residence without a hint of a woman’s touch.

“Yes. Come in,” came a very annoyed voice.

Maia pushed the door open and, drawing in a deep breath, stepped in.

Corvindale hadn’t bothered to look up. He was reading or studying some sort of massive ledger on his desk, and a pile of pens lay haphazardly next to him instead of in their cup. The ink blots dotting the cloth protecting the desk indicated that he habitually eschewed putting the pens in their holder. The inkwell next to him had a ring of dripped ink around it, as well as several other circles. A sheaf of papers sat neatly at the opposite corner of the desk, held in place by a smooth black stone. And there were books everywhere, on every surface, piled opened, unopened, faceup, facedown…even held to an open spot with another tome acting as a bookmark.

“No bloody need to knock twice,” he said in the same welcoming tone as he absently scratched his temple. “I heard you the first time. How—” He looked up at that moment and closed his mouth. “Miss Woodmore. I didn’t realize it was you.” He rested his pen down on the pile.

“Obviously.” She stepped farther into the room, leaving the door wide behind her. She itched to pick up the pens and arrange them in their place and pull the ink-bedabbled cloth for washing. And, heaven above, someone needed to organize the books. “At least, I presume you wouldn’t have spoken to me or any of my sisters in that way if you knew.”

The windows that flanked his desk were obstructed by long curtains that allowed little light to emerge, but the other windows at the far end of the study were partly uncovered. This gave the chamber an unbalanced look.

“How can you work when it’s so dark in here?” she asked, beginning to cross toward the nearest window.

“Leave it,” he snapped as she reached for the drapes. He sat up straighter in his chair as her hand fell back to her side. “I have already told Mirabella and Crewston to see to your needs. If you have a complaint about your accommodations, I suggest you speak to my sister.” He looked back down, but she noticed that he didn’t pick up the pen.

“My lord,” Maia said, eyeing the window with a frown. How could he even see the writing on those pages? It was dark and cramped and looked centuries old. “I wanted a moment to speak with you. Things have happened very quickly since the Lundhames’ ball and—”

“So at first, I did not respond quickly enough to your peremptory message, and now I have responded too quickly? Devil take it, Miss Woodmore, do make up your mind.”

Maia, who had long ceased to be offended by bad language thanks to Chas’s undisciplined tongue, merely tightened her jaw and pursed her lips. Her sisters would have recognized that as a clear warning, but of course, the Earl of Corvindale hadn’t been thus educated. Yet.

“My lord. I would sincerely appreciate it if you would look at me while I am speaking to you.” She was proud that she kept any bit of quaver from her voice.

Corvindale didn’t frighten her so much as annoy her. He was certainly imposing, and his brusque manner made him unpleasant to approach. He wasn’t boldly handsome in the way Lord Dewhurst was, or her own Alexander, but he was…striking, she supposed. In a hawkish, austere sort of way, with the slender blade of his nose and high, prominent cheekbones.