The Vampire Voss

behind Maia. “I do apologize for—”

“What seems to be the problem?” came a deep, smooth voice at her ear.

Maia turned to see Lord Dewhurst looming on the porch behind her. She wasn’t certain whether her first reaction should be one of apprehension or of gratitude. After all, yes, he had abducted Angelica and taken her to that horrible place where she and Corvindale had retrieved her…but he also had actually sent for them and relinquished her sister. Angelica had been unharmed.

Relatively unharmed—except for four little punctures on her neck, Maia amended mentally.

Yet, Angelica had dreamed of him, in nightmares, sobbing and thrashing about…calling his name. Voss.

She wondered what more had occurred between the two.

And whether a vampire could ever be trusted.

“There is no problem,” the butler was saying. “May I assist you, my lord?”

Dewhurst looked at Maia. “You seek Corvindale? He’s within?”

Her eyes narrowed. “Yes. Despite what this individual says, I saw him enter with my own eyes.” Only because when he thought he’d left her with Mirabella back at Blackmont Hall after the attack on the carriage, she’d gone to look for him in his study and had been just in time to see him leave.

Of course she’d followed him, the vile man, using her own footman and carriage. How dare he leave without answering her questions and telling her the plan.

“I’ve been in search of Corvindale, as well,” Dewhurst said. “Just as urgently.”

This surprised Maia, considering how angry Corvindale was with Dewhurst.

She didn’t know what specifically he did to make the butler shift out of their path and open the door, but a few words exchanged between the two men and Maia was inside with Dewhurst.

As was true for any other proper lady, she’d never been in any gentleman’s club before, although of course she’d heard of this famous one, and as Lord Dewhurst gestured for her to precede him down a dark corridor, Maia took it all in with her gaze. Despite the fact that this seemed to be a deserted area of the club—perhaps a servants’ entrance—the decor was just what she would have expected of a haven for the male gender.

Heavy, dark paneling rose from floor to ceiling. Intermittent sconces sent small half spheres of light glowing yellow-orange against the oiled, dark wood. And…heavens! The painting of a woman dressed in nothing but transparent gauze!

Along with a variety of pictures, the corridor was studded with several doors, and as they passed along she heard masculine voices rise in laughter, argument and other forms of joviality. But they stopped at none of the doors until the hallway turned.

Dewhurst, who’d disdained the butler and left the man behind them, came to the end of the hall—a dead- end—and turned to look at her. For a moment, Maia’s heart leaped into her throat as she realized she was here, alone, in an empty corridor at a club where no one knew she’d come, trapped with a vampire who’d attacked her sister. Foolish, foolish!

“My apologies, Miss Woodmore,” Dewhurst said in a surprisingly gentle voice, “but you’ll need to don this hood if you wish to go any further.”

Maia’s eyes grew wide as he plucked a heavy velvet hood from a set of hooks on the wall. “You’re mad,” she said. “Why would I trust you?”

He shrugged with easy indolence. “As you wish. But I haven’t time to wait for your compliance. Either do as I ask, or you’ll wait here until I—or Corvindale—return. And it could be some time. I am under the assumption that Moldavi’s men have succeeded in abducting Angelica.”

“Which makes this the second time she’s been abducted,” she told him pointedly.

“I warned Corvindale, blast it.” His lips twitched slightly, but then flattened and she fancied she saw a flash of anguish there. Or not.

Maia took the hood, fingering its heavy softness and with a huff of annoyance, pulled it over her head. She couldn’t imagine what her hair looked like after the attack in the carriage— which had been only an hour ago, hard as it was to believe. She was still wearing her party frock and her slippers were stained with mud and goodness knew what else…but there was no time to waste.

Once the stifling hood was in place, Dewhurst took her arm and led her…she wasn’t certain where. If she’d thought she might see down beneath the hood and trace their steps via a peek of the floor beneath it, she was disappointed. The hood had so many folds and was so long that she could see nothing and had to rely fully on the man next to her. The concern that she might be recognized should they encounter any other member of the club was moot, for the hood obscured her identity.

Their rapid journey included turns and the opening and closing of at least two doors that seemed to slide rather than swing open, and there was a set of stairs (stone or brick, unlike the rest of the flooring, which had been carpeted) down which they tread…and then another door.

The loud voices on the other side of the door stopped abruptly, and Maia fancied it was because of her appearance on the threshold of whatever chamber they’d entered.

Some loud and violent noise sounded as if someone stood, shoving away a table or knocking over a chair, and then there was the sharp symphonic clink and clank of, perhaps, glasses or bottles on a table that might have been bumped or moved, and an abbreviated scuffle.

Dewhurst didn’t release her arm, and she felt his fingers tighten as if in readiness. “Don’t be a fool,” he said sharply. She knew he wasn’t speaking to her. “Did you think I would be so foolish as to come unprepared?”

Impatient, she yanked off the hood and found herself standing at the entrance to a small, windowless room that boasted less than half a dozen occupants. Before she could identify any of them other than—oh dear— Chas, an aggrieved sound drew her attention.

“You.” Corvindale, of course. He was half-seated at a table with one hand flat on wood shiny with some spilled liquid, and a few glasses. One was on its side. He was staring at her with a mixture of shock, fury and disgust. Chas stood just to his right, and Maia thought she recognized the other gentleman, but it wasn’t Mr. Cale. The female vampire Narcise was nowhere in sight; the remaining occupants were men who appeared to be footmen or other servants and they seemed to melt into the shadows as if to remain unnoticed.

Dewhurst tugged Maia closer, her hem brushing his trousers, and she saw that he’d shifted the flaps of his coat. A large ruby winked in the center of his neckcloth. He smiled coolly at Corvindale, who looked as if he were about to fly across the room, but had been halted in midtrajectory.

“Of course I wouldn’t come unprotected, knowing just how you feel about me,” Dewhurst was saying. He nodded at Chas, who, Maia noticed, was holding a stake in his hand, and then Mr. Cale. “Keep your distance, and no one will get hurt.”

“Maia,” Chas said, his voice sharp and steely. “Are you all right?”

“Other than worried to illness for the safety of my sister, while the rest of you sit about and visit at your club? Yes, I am fine.” She made no effort to hide the bite in her voice. “If it weren’t for Lord Dewhurst, I would still be standing at the door, arguing with the butler. It was he who helped me gain entrance.”

“How convenient,” Corvindale said. He sank back into his chair, but his gaze flashed, burning at the man standing next to Maia, and all at once she lost her breath.

Impossible.

She stared at the earl, her heart pounding hard and her head light. Impossible, but…it rather made sense. His eyes had burned. Red.

How could she have been so blind?

It was no wonder he wanted all of the curtains drawn, even in his study. Why his sister hardly knew him, and even in moments of great urgency called him by his formal name. And why he had been chosen by their brother to take care of them in his absence.

Who better to protect his sisters from a vengeful vampir than another vampir?

“I cannot believe your incompetence, Dimitri. I sent you the warning,” Dewhurst was saying as Maia came back to reality. His voice was cold with fury; no longer smooth and rich as it had been before. “And you, Woodmore.