The Vampire Voss (Regency Draculia #1)(46)
Author: Colleen Gleason

Now that they’d arrived on the eastern side of town amid close, tall buildings, Voss was able to raise his face without fearing it would be seared by the light of the sun. That heavenly body had sunk lower, which meant that Belial and his forces would be out in full force in short order.

Voss was one of the few Dracule who could go out during the daylight, as long as he kept any direct sunbeams from touching his skin. Even on some rainy, very cloudy days, he could walk about without covering for a short time. Tolerance for the sun varied by each individual, but there were some who dared not venture into sunlit air at all—covered or not. Nevertheless, full and direct exposure would kill any Dracule.

Just as Lucifer lived and thrived in the dark, relying on shadows and night to hide his deeds, so were the Dracule made. Sunlight exposed too much.

Voss considered himself relatively fortunate in this matter, which had made his escape from previous sticky situations much easier. And, in this case, it gave him the freedom to remove Angelica to a safer location.

The carriage had come to a complete stop in the back alley behind Maude’s, and Voss released the handle, stepping lightly onto the ground. A sharp glance around confirmed that the shadowy passage was deserted. He moved quickly to unlatch the carriage door, more than a bit apprehensive about Angelica’s reaction to being abducted in such a manner.

When he opened the door and looked in, she didn’t move except to spear him with a cool gaze.

At least she didn’t fly at him in a rage as another of his consorts had done when he’d subjected her to a similar mode of transport. Of course, India had been a fiery-haired and tempered vixen even when she was at rest, and that situation had been markedly different than this one. For one, he’d been abducting her from her husband. For another, he’d already shared her bed on more than one occasion.

His mouth dried and the sheaths around his incisors tightened as he realized how soon he’d be doing the same with this young woman.

“Shall I disembark, or are you planning to join me?” Angelica asked in an even voice. Her hair was still pooled around her shoulders, and her slender hands were settled in her lap. The uneven light spilled over the curves of her collarbones and br**sts. Voss’s breath deepened as he gripped the door frame. She was so very lovely.

But…her eyes. It was her eyes that captured him: clearly annoyed, beckoning, intelligent. And wise.

It was the wisdom there, the peace, that tugged at him.

“I thought you might wish a bit of refreshment,” he said. “We’re going to stop for a bit.”

“Is it safe?” she asked, and that peace edged away to be replaced by wariness. Worry.

She still trusted him enough to ask.

“I won’t allow anything to happen to you, Angelica,” he said, offering her his hand. At least, anything that you won’t enjoy.

She murmured something that sounded annoyed, but she rose from her seat and took his hand with her bare fingers. “Does this belong to you?” she asked, showing him one of his gloves.

“I wondered where it had gotten to,” he replied and took it as she alighted from the carriage. “Thank you for finding it.”

She merely gave him an inscrutable look and lifted the hem of Rubey’s frock so that it didn’t drag on the ground.

Voss, feeling unusually put-off by her reticence and calm (he had expected to be confronted with a harridan when he opened the door), and the odd way she was looking at him, opened the grimy door of the building. No sooner had they stepped inside the back entrance, dark with dirt and soot and sticky with grease, than his carriage rumbled off for a change of horses. The groom would return after and wait for them in the alley.

Inside Black Maude’s, Voss led Angelica down the dark passage to the private rooms with which he was well familiar. As was expected, no one greeted them in this rear corridor. It wasn’t until he unfastened the latch on the third door (the only one with the red string hanging out, indicating that the chamber was empty) and entered the small chamber that he spoke again.

“Are you hungry?” he asked, turning to lock the door behind them and to pull its red string inside. There was another door on the opposite side of the chamber through which he would communicate with the proprietress.

It was all very discreet but, unlike Rubey’s, this particular establishment didn’t cater to Dracule members. Most of the patrons here were mortals with very specific tastes that they dared not allow to become public.

Angelica stood in the center of the room, looking as if she were afraid to touch anything. Voss couldn’t blame her; for although the bed was neatly made, its cleanliness appeared dubious at best. There were two chairs and a small dining table, along with a screen in the corner and a chamber pot. On the table was an unopened bottle of whiskey along with a collection of glasses. And, to his annoyance, in what sounded like the very next room, a woman was trying to sing to a piano that was ridiculously out of tune.

“Your choice of accommodations seems to be deteriorating,” she said, gesturing to the space. But a bit of a smile twitched at the corner of her mouth, taking some of the petulance away.

“The chair is likely the safest place,” he said, sweeping off his smothering cloak. He settled it over the nearest chair and indicated for her to sit.

And all of a sudden, he felt awkward. He was in a bedchamber, with a woman he desired.

And he felt awkward.

“Is something amusing?” Angelica asked. Despite the sensual disarray of her hair, she managed to look and sound very proper. Even her bare hands were folded neatly in her lap.

A knock at the door interrupted any reply he might have made, and Voss went to slide open its small, inset panel. He ordered food and drink for Angelica, and then closed the sliding door.

“I neglected to ask earlier,” Voss said, resisting the urge to pace, and firmly ignoring the painful nudge at the back of his shoulder, “if you were hurt. Other than your…foot.”

“Hurt? No, ’tis only a little ache. But frightened?” She lifted her chin and fastened him with her gaze. “Yes, I am quite frightened, Dewhurst. Frightened and confused.”

“I prefer you to call me Voss,” he said, taking care to allow a bit of huskiness into his voice.

She merely looked at him, and again, he felt as if the ground was falling away beneath his feet. This was a woman he couldn’t quite understand…and couldn’t control. She didn’t make demands, she didn’t throw her delicious body at him— but nor was she a shy and retiring virgin, exactly. And she was a woman who saw, and lived, death every day.