The Vampire Voss (Regency Draculia #1)(39)
Author: Colleen Gleason

Angelica heard the steady, solid clump of his shoes as he strode down the corridor and then, it seemed, down a flight of stairs. Then it was lost amid the other household noises.

Her heart didn’t stop pounding, nor the tingling in her belly cease until several moments later when the first servant arrived with buckets of steaming water for her bath.

Angelica closed her eyes and sank back into the tub, the water swishing over her shoulders. Whatever scented oil the maid had sprinkled into the bath was sweet and citrusy, and its residue sat atop the steaming water like circular rainbows.

“What is it called?” she asked without opening her eyes. “The scent you poured into the water?”

Ella, whose movements were neat and exceedingly efficient, had moved behind Angelica and was brushing out her hair. “It’s named neroli,” she said as Angelica sighed at the heavenly feel of the bristles over her scalp. “The mistress would give you a small bottle of it if y’like.”

“That would be very kind,” Angelica said and lifted her head as the young woman tucked a folded towel between her neck and the edge of the metal tub. “It’s a lovely and unique scent.”

“Comes all the way from It’ly,” said Ella. “Or is it Ind-ya? Alack, I don’t try to remember it all.” She giggled and continued with the brushing.

Angelica had noted that a gown, chemise and under-necessaries were waiting for her on the dressing table and marveled to herself at what comfortable lodgings Rubey provided. If she felt a pang of unease in regards to what other services the red-haired woman might offer, Angelica pushed it away with relative ease.

Voss was trying to keep her safe, and so far he’d succeeded. She had made the decision to trust him, and so far he hadn’t given her reason to question his motives.

But then, Maia’s disapproving expression, complete with wagging finger, popped into Angelica’s mind and ruined the relaxation of the bath.

Pickle bumps and fern-dots and blast it all! Her eyes opened and she realized that her mouth had twisted into a frown, all on its own.

She could just hear Maia, like an annoying shriek of conscience: “But you don’t know the man, Ange. And you’ve gone off with him without a hesitation! What are you thinking?”

What was she thinking, indeed.

She was thinking about his beautiful eyes and the way they made her feel when he looked at her. And the lush kiss he’d coaxed from her, making her knees weak and her body rush with heat.

And she was thinking about the deeply hidden, almost lost expression in his eyes when they’d been speaking only a few moments ago. He needed something from her.

Perhaps he was afraid of dying. Or someone he loved was dying, or had died. Something.

Ella had set aside the brush and had just finished pinning Angelica’s hair into a loose knot at the base of her neck. Now she watched as Ella bustled about the chamber, preparing towels that had been warming in a little metal trunk near the fire. Such a luxury she’d never even conceived.

“The mistress says what a terrible night y’had,” Ella said, closing the top on the trunk with a quiet thud. “You were s’tired when you came in, I thought I was dressin’ a babe for bed. I hope you slept well.”

“I did,” Angelica said. Well, there is the answer to that question. Too bad Maia isn’t here for the confirmation that her sister’s virtue is still, indeed, intact.

Ella came forward, a renewed wave of neroli wafting from the warm towel, and Angelica rose from the tub. As she stood, she noticed two little marks low on the maid’s neck.

They looked like small red dots. Or puncture wounds.

The skin around them was smooth and white, and the circles were neat and each was perhaps the diameter of a tiny pea. As Ella shifted, draping the warm, scented towel around her, two more marks were exposed on the back side of her upper shoulder.

A chill replaced the steamy comfort from Angelica’s bath, and she couldn’t tear her eyes from the marks on Ella’s neck. She was suddenly, uncomfortably certain she knew from where those four wounds had come. If she hadn’t been witness to the carnage from the vampirs last night, Angelica might have thought little of it. But after seeing it for herself, she knew there was no mistaking bite marks.

The maid tucked the towel around Angelica and moved away, seemingly unaware of the horror that must be shining in her charge’s face.

Had she been attacked also? And Voss rescued her as well, bringing her to safety at Rubey’s? Try as she might, Angelica could see no other marks or scars on Ella’s arms or throat, and she was just about to be bold and rude and ask the maid about the marks when a loud shout erupted from below.

Ella turned, holding a chemise, and they both paused to listen. Loud thumps and thuds reverberated, followed by a scream and more alarmed shouting.

“What in heaven?” Angelica said, but she and Ella had both sprung into action. “Someone is in trouble.”

“Stay here,” Ella said, thrusting the chemise at her and then dashing to the door to peek out.

The sounds of what was clearly a struggle had become more violent, causing the little glass bottles on the dressing table to clink together as the walls and floor shook. More shouts and another scream, followed by crashes and a loud thud.

As Ella peeked out the door, Angelica struggled to tug the chemise over her damp body. Her fingers shook as she tied the lace at the neckline, and then the door slammed shut as the maid turned toward her with wide eyes. “They’re coming. I think we should hide.”

Angelica could hear the pounding of footsteps on the stairs and looked around for a weapon. The stool Voss had sat on, the brush and combs on the table, the chamber pot…the fireplace poker. She seized it and swung around, her hair sagging at the back of her neck and the chemise still sticking to her belly and the curve of her rear.

Ella, who had lost every bit of her previous efficiency in favor of stark terror, began to shove at the bed. Angelica recognized her intent and rushed to help her push it against the door. In her haste, she bumped against the flimsy dressing table, sending it and its contents crashing to the floor and against the fireplace brick.

“Blast,” she muttered, avoiding the broken glass and heaving at the bed, poker in hand. Now she’d done nothing but draw attention to their presence.

The ominous thuds of footsteps reached the top of the stairs by the time the bed was in place against the heavy door. Angelica whirled toward the shuttered window to see if it offered some possibility of escape. She felt the bite of glass under her heel and then the ball of her foot, but the sounds of violence in the hall beyond their door had other worries on her mind.