“Good evening, my lord,” Angelica said. “How kind of you to join us. Maia was just commenting on that event and how gratified she is you’ve taken our safety so seriously that you’d deign to ride with us.”
Maia wasn’t very subtle as she knocked her pointed slipper into Angelica’s ankle, but the latter had been expecting such a reaction and adjusted her foot appropriately. But any further commentary waned as she glanced over at Corvindale.
The coach had started off with a little jerk, but the man was sitting there with an oddly arrested expression on his face. He seemed frozen, his harsh features even more stony than usual. Dark hair gleamed in the low moonlight, brushed neatly away from his temples, but rough and shaggy around the edges of his collar.
Maia, who had turned up her slender, pretty nose and her face toward the small, curtained window, was pointedly not looking at him. And Mirabella, who seemed to have lost her chattiness the moment her elder brother entered the scene, had succumbed to picking at the embroidery on the back of her glove.
Angelica realized Corvindale seemed to be staring at her—no, at her ears—and that he appeared to be having difficulty breathing. Had he somehow recognized that her earbobs were from Voss? Was he working to control his fury?
Rather than anger in his face, however, she thought the emotion there was more akin to shock. Or pain?
“My lord?” she asked, tipping slightly into Maia as the coach turned a sharp corner. He didn’t respond.
The light in the carriage flickered as they passed by streetlamps, leaving her with the impression that Corvindale had blinked or given some other dismissive sort of gesture. His fingers curled over the front of his knees, one hand curved around a walking stick she suspected wasn’t used for ambulatory purposes as much as for weaponry. At least, she hoped it wasn’t.
Apparently, despite his intention to protect them from whatever dangers the vampires might have planned, the earl was in no mood to talk. Good. Nor was Angelica.
She turned to look out the window, shoving the curtain aside.
But something bothered her: the uncomfortable silence among them, the sound of harsh, rushed breathing rising just above the rumble of carriage wheels, the fact that she could see no other streetlamps amid the shadows of buildings…and that odd expression on his face.
Angelica turned back to the earl and had the impression in the odd light that his eyelids were fluttering. His lips had drawn back in something clearly like pain and he seemed unable to move.
“Lord Corvindale!” she exclaimed, standing abruptly.
Her head brushed the top of the carriage, and she bumped against the wall. Her shrill voice penetrated Maia’s self-imposed pout, and her sister turned back toward them. “Are you ill?”
“What is it?” Maia asked. Any trace of pique had left her voice and she, too, was leaning toward Corvindale.
But the earl seemed to shrink back in the seat, his eyes flashing darkly. “A…way.”
His lips moved; Angelica was certain that was what he’d said, although it had come out in more of a gasp-like whisper.
“Corvindale, what is it?” Mirabella had come to life as well. Sitting next to her brother, she was the obvious one to pluck at his arm, which did nothing but flop lifelessly. “My lord!” She grasped his shoulders with her small hands and tried to shake him, but the man was too large and solid for her to do more than jolt him a bit.
He made a noise that sounded like a groan, or a frustrated gasp, and although his eyes flashed angrily in the dark, he seemed unable to speak further.
Angelica lifted her hand to pound on the roof of the carriage, but just before she did, the vehicle stopped abruptly. She tumbled back into her rear-facing seat, landing in Maia’s lap. Someone shouted outside and the vehicle gave a great jolt, as if something had slammed into the side of it.
Another shout, and then the sound of something like a pistol.
Angelica, trying to disengage herself from Maia’s lap, looked over at Corvindale, whose eyes had become more wild and his mouth even more flattened. He seemed to be struggling against some invisible bonds, trying to breathe, eyes bulging. The walking stick shifted slightly in his fingers, but didn’t rise.
The door opened and fresh summer air wafted in, followed by a pair of glowing eyes.
Mirabella screamed and cowered next to her brother. Angelica stifled a gasp as she saw the flash of fangs. The burning gaze fastened on hers, and then something heavy and dark lunged toward her.
Strong hands closed over her arms, and the next thing she knew, she was being dragged from the vehicle.
Maia screamed and tried to pull her back in, and for a moment, Angelica was suspended in midair, being torn in two directions. But with a great jolt, the vampire tore her free.
Whipping Angelica away from the carriage, her captor held her with an immovable grip despite her struggles. The next thing she knew, she was being shoved into another vehicle.
Tumbling to her knees on the small floor space, Angelica clawed the covering wrap from her face and looked up into the burning red eyes of the vampire Belial.
CHAPTER 13
THE AFTERMATH OF A JEST GONE AWRY
“I must speak with the Earl of Corvindale,” Maia said firmly. She shoved the toe of her slipper between the door and its frame.
The main entrance to the infamous White’s—a place she’d heard of but had never even seen before tonight—was on St. James. Its white brick facade was well lit by two lanterns, but this obscure rear door was the one she’d seen the earl employ. Despite the fact that it seemed abandoned and unused, she’d made her way up and rapped on the door.
“It is imperative that I speak with him. I’ll not be turned away.”
“The individual of whom you speak is not in residence,” said the man with a supercilious sneer that was clearly visible in the stream of light coming from inside. “Aside of that, individuals of the feminine persuasion”—and he said this with even more disdain as he raked her with a glance of distaste—“are not allowed admittance into this structure. Ever.”
But Maia had dealt with people of every sort, including slick men of business during the times Chas had been absent. She was not cowed, especially when her sister’s life was at stake. “As it happens, I saw the earl walk into this structure with my own eyes. I know he’s here and it is of great necessity that I speak with him. Now, if you please, you may either find him and relay my message, or I shall do so myself.” She pushed at the door with her gloved hands.
“Indeed, madam, I will not—oh, good evening, my lord.” The sneer evaporated from his face as he looked up and 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 gentlemen’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 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 trod…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 fewer 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 Mr. Cale sat in the corner. 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 mid-trajectory.
“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. Corvindale’s 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. Another disappearing and then reappearing act? Are you here to take care of your sisters or not?”
No. She didn’t want to believe it. Couldn’t believe it.
They were the wards of a vampir? My word, were they everywhere?
And…her brother worked for him? A vampir hunter was the associate of a vampir? Her head began to hurt.
“Oh, aye, I got your message—along with two bloody pairs of ruby earbobs, you bastard.” Corvindale had stood again, and a vein at the side of his temple throbbed so hard she could see it from across the room. He would have lunged if Chas hadn’t thrust an arm out in front of him.
Dewhurst shifted a bit, then thrust his chin belligerently, and this time Maia saw a flash of—dear God, fangs? “It was a jest, nothing more. I warned her not to wear them in your presence.”
“Damn your soul to Lucifer, it’s your bloody fault she’s been taken,” Chas said. “You and your cursed jests and games, Voss.” The stake shifted, and the next thing Maia knew, the tension in the chamber snapped, and the place was in an uproar.
Something strong and powerful whipped her off her feet, gathering her up and spinning her away as Chas flew toward Dewhurst. The two men tumbled to the floor as Maia fought in vain to pull away from the strong hands that held her.
“Release me, you idiot m
an,” she said, jamming her elbow into the vicinity of Corvindale’s belly. She must have missed, for whatever she hit was solid and hard and made her gasp with pain. And he didn’t release her, merely holding her firmly away from the fray and muttering vile things under his breath.
Her brother and Dewhurst were on the floor, and then back on their feet, squaring off, facing each other, half crouched and wild-eyed. Chairs flew, crashing onto tables and sending glass flying. Dewhurst’s eyes blazed with fire, and Maia could, for the first time, clearly see the jut of his fangs. He seemed to favor his right shoulder, unable to lift his right arm as high as his left, wincing with pain when Chas flung him into the wall, cradling that arm. Dewhurst stumbled and tripped over Corvindale’s outthrust foot, somersaulting into the wall.
The stake rose and Chas followed and Maia stifled a gasp as it whipped down toward Dewhurst’s torso, hiding her face even as she cried, “Don’t! Chas!”
There was a loud noise, a scuffle and then…silence. Followed by the sound of a muttered curse. Maia realized suddenly that her face was buried in a broad, cotton-covered chest, warm and solid and very, very wide. It smelled fresh and sharp and like some pungent herb.
A sudden vision of that very same chest, dark and bare and muscular, half covered beneath his bedclothes, rose in her mind.
Dear God.
At just about the same moment as the blast of embarrassed heat rushed over her face, Corvindale said, “I do hope you aren’t wiping your nose on my shirt, Miss Woodmore.”
The realization that, while she was still clutching him, he was no longer holding her, added to her mortification, and Maia spun away. She opened her eyes, fully expecting to see the bloodied corpse of a staked vampire on the floor.