Petted, fussed over, indulged.

“You’ll have to answer for it all someday, Voss.”

He opened his eyes. “I don’t want to,” he said, speaking more honestly than he could ever remember doing. Something hot and raw inside him exploded, and so did the searing pain of his Mark. He felt Lucifer’s hate at that moment.

“If you’re afraid to answer for what you’ve done here,” Rubey said as she leaned forward and rested her hand on his, “then change.”

11

OF SNEAKING INTO BEDCHAMBERS AND UNEXPECTED REUNIONS

There were many ways to sneak into a woman’s bedchamber, and Voss had tried a good variety of them in the last century, with great success and few disappointments.

Since, after all, there was little danger to him physically should he be found with his hand down (or up) a frilly night rail—being shot, tossed from a window or otherwise attacked were not real threats—Voss had no qualms about taking advantage of the lowered defenses of a slumbering woman. There was something even more attractive and sensual than usual when a woman was tousled with sleep, her face slack and without artifice, her slender arms and delicate shoulders exposed from beneath rumpled sheets, her lashes fanning over pale cheeks.

But most of all, he appreciated the way she would come to consciousness under his touch. Most often, like a cat—stretching and sighing, with a languorous roll. Warm skin and creased cheeks, and, most of all, the soft, hot valley between her breasts…easily accessible when bare of a corset. His gentle strokes and nuzzling lips brought her slowly awake to delicious pleasure, and once she opened her eyes, his own would be there…glowing, coaxing and easing any hesitation.

Sneaking into a woman’s chamber in the home of a Dracule, however, was a different challenge. Especially if the Dracule was Dimitri.

Nevertheless, Voss had managed it.

Dimitri would be prepared for Belial and his cohorts to attack by climbing over walls or rushing the doors, using brute force. Or perhaps by hijacking a returning maidservant, groom or carriage, or tricking them into coming out—all after the sun was setting, of course…but Voss had a simpler way. It required more patience and planning than Belial or his ilk would have, but he didn’t mind.

The earl’s household ran like most other gentrified households in London, despite Dimitri’s necessary proclivity for sleeping during the day and moving about during the night. As it was, such a lifestyle was not so different than that of most of the ton, particularly the gentlemen—which, as a rule, socialized well past midnight most nights. Thus they slept late in the day, often past noon. Since normal business was conducted during the daylight hours as well, it was simpler for most Dracule to have a household that ran thus.

Voss gained admittance, therefore, when he assisted in delivering the large haunch of pig and various other packages from a butcher shop, just after the servants ate supper. In the confusion in the kitchen as he and the butcher’s son carried the wrapped pieces in, Voss slipped away to the servants’ quarters.

After that, it was a simple matter to remain hidden until the time was right to find Angelica. Being among the servants would also help him determine who was going out for the evening and who would need to be avoided. The staff was busy throughout the rest of the evening, only coming into their living quarters briefly. When they did, Voss heard and smelled them in plenty of time to hide. He moved more quickly than any mortal and made no noise.

Thus, his plan was simple, but it also required foreplanning and patience.

He must stay out of sight for hours in the same house that Angelica lived in, and far enough away that Dimitri wouldn’t scent him. Angelica had left the house shortly after his arrival; he knew this, for her maid was discussing her mistress’s choice of gown for the night’s engagement. Yet, despite her absence, Angelica’s scent somehow rose above every other smell—and there were many of them, not all pleasant—in Blackmont Hall, reminding him that she was near.

Even when two of the upper chambermaids somehow found the opportunity to retreat to their shared attic room shortly after supper, undress and conduct simple ablutions in front of a grainy mirror, Voss was hardly distracted. In the past, he would have considered such an opportunity a gift, and he would have emerged from where he hid beneath a narrow bed complete with glowing eyes and a variety of ideas that involved the three of them.… But he had no desire to bestir himself while he was waiting for Angelica to return. When the chatting maids left, smelling of lye soap and cheap rose petal water, Voss found himself wondering precisely why he had taken the trouble. Why he was here, hiding under a dusty bed on a threadbare rag rug.

Of course, a good portion of the reason was that he enjoyed the challenge. And he had the inexplicable desire to annoy Dimitri. He meant to leave the man a farewell gift of sorts so that he was aware that Voss had breached the house on his way from London to…wherever he was going to go now. Seville? Venice?

Constantinople was appealing.

He’d stop first in Paris to do business with Moldavi—or perhaps in Barcelona to see Regeris—and then be on his way. Despite his disregard for governments—imperial or otherwise—Voss had no desire to remain in a land in the midst of a war.

Yes, there were benefits to it: many women were left lonely and unprotected whilst their men were off fighting, and of course, some Dracule appreciated the smorgasbord of fallen soldiers on a silent battlefield. Voss liked fresher blood than that, but he’d been known to partake when necessary. After all, a vampire really only needed to feed once every few days or so. The other times were merely enhancements to or ways to prolong sexual pleasure. It was difficult—and, really, unnecessary in Voss’s mind—to separate a bit of a fang-slip and a taste of lifeblood from other physical pleasure. Why bother to try?

Of Voss’s relationship with Moldavi, there was no love lost. Despite what others might think, Voss had never done significant business with him. Just enough to keep the man from being suspicious or offended so that Voss didn’t become one of his particular targets as Dimitri had become so long ago in Vienna.

Voss crawled from beneath the bed that was barely wide enough to hold a child, let alone a woman, and thought he might have to have a word with Dimitri about his servants’ quarters. Not that he was terribly concerned for the comfort of servants—who was?—but at least if they slept well, they were more productive during the day or night.

But that bit of advice he would save for later, of course. Decades from now, perhaps a century, when Angelica was long dead and this whole incident was well in the past and forgotten.

Yes. A hundred years from now, all this would be forgotten and Voss would still be visiting Rubey’s.

Voss lurked about well into the night, easily evading notice. Aside of the two chambermaids who’d changed earlier, he was also privy to a passionate encounter between one of the young, muscular footmen and a curvaceous blonde kitchen maid. He couldn’t help but mentally critique the footman’s technique, which could have been more visually attractive—for he knew from experience just how a man and woman looked when they were together against the wall. He’d utilized a mirror more than once to determine the best angles.

Another incident involving a less fortunate groom and a redheaded girl ended with the groom half falling down the back stairs after being rebuffed by the toe of a well-placed slipper.

Smirking to himself, Voss shook his head. The groom’s advances had been clumsy and doltish…just as his own had been. One hundred and twenty-five years ago.

Originally Voss had assumed that Angelica would be staying in tonight, after her unpleasant experiences that had begun three days earlier with the masquerade ball. But to his surprise—and perhaps annoyance—his eavesdropping indicated that she had gone to a dinner party. Although he didn’t see the frock in question, the discussion between the two upstairs maids about her choice of a periwinkle gown with dark blue ribbons induced an unseen nod of approval from Voss.

She would look lovely in blue, with her dusky rose complexion and dark eyes. Perhaps her hair would be dressed high, leaving the slender column of her neck bare for all to see. The delicate ridge of her clavicles, a bit of a swell of bosom, and perhaps even the hint of a shoulder blade…

A twinge of regret tightened his belly, but he pushed it away. He would see her soon enough, mussed from the pillow and sheets, warm with slumber. A pang tightened his gums, but he kept his fangs sheathed.

How would she have hidden the marks he’d left on her shoulder? It had only been two days; they wouldn’t have quite healed yet.

Voss frowned. Perhaps with a well-placed curl and a wide necklet. It might mar the picture, but it would preserve her reputation.

He wondered if her reputation was, indeed, intact. Would she find a suitable groom, a man who either didn’t know what had occurred—or didn’t care?

Not that anything terribly untoward had happened, at least in Voss’s mind. A bit of kissing and a single, abbreviated nibble shouldn’t be enough to remove a woman from marriage consideration. And as for his own discomfort…the pain from his Mark, while it hadn’t completely dissolved, had at least become bearable. It ached more than it ever had before, and occasionally he got a stubborn streak of fire radiating over his torso, but it wasn’t enough to send him gasping for breath as it had before. Feeding on Angelica, for however brief a time, had obviously been the right thing to do to stop it.

It was well past two o’clock before the ladies returned from the dinner party. Corvindale was not with them, and Voss suspected that he was scouring London for none other than himself.

Such an irony that he should be hiding here in Corvindale’s home, of all places, whilst the very man was hunting him. He grinned in the dark library, where he’d taken refuge shortly after midnight. None of the servants would be looking for reading material, and the ladies were otherwise occupied. He was reluctantly impressed with the choice of literature lining the walls—a great variety of novels as well as books in languages from Greek to Latin to Spanish and even Egyptian and Aramaic. Apparently studying was what Dimitri did instead of socializing.