Колин Глисон - The Vampire Dimitri

Suddenly Dimitri’s eyes narrowed. By the damned bones of Satan, there was Voss again, sniffing around Angelica Wood more.

Despite his reluctance for the guardianship, Dimitri took his responsibility seriously. Thus he was out from his alcove in a flash and making his way smoothly across the room. He would appear unhurried to anyone watching him, but in reality, he moved faster than a breath. He made his way from one side of the room to the other, through and around and between the crush of people, in an instant.

It wasn’t so much anger as it was annoyance that burned through Dimitri as he approached the handsome, well-dressed man. Also a member of the Draculia, Voss, the Viscount Dewhurst, had just returned to London from somewhere in the New World—Boston, perhaps—after a decade of absence. Dimitri would have preferred him to stay away even longer than that, but one couldn’t always have what one wished, as was evident by a variety of events in the past few days. This was the second time he’d found Voss accosting Angelica Woodmore tonight, however, and that fact did not sit well with Dimitri.

If he had to guess, he would surmise that Voss had heard the rumors that the middle Woodmore sister possessed the Sight. And Voss, being not only a rake of the highest order, but also a man who dealt with the buying, selling, and otherwise hoarding of information, was likely intent on taking advantage of the absence of the chit’s brother—and what he perceived as Dimitri’s lack of interest in the girls—to see what Angelica could add to his inventory of knowledge.

As he drew closer, he heard Voss murmur something to Angelica about a waltz. And at the same time, Dimitri became excruciatingly aware that Miss Woodmore was approaching from the opposite direction. Her bronze-honey hair fluttered in wayward wisps about her temples as she bore down upon Angelica and her erstwhile suitor.

Dimitri turned his attention to Voss, and, coming up unnoticed behind the man, said, “Miss Woodmore will not be hastening anywhere with you, Voss. Most especially not to a waltz.”

He heard the man’s annoyed curse under his breath, but to his credit, he turned without hurry. “By Luce, Dimitri, have you not yet attended to that violinist’s flat string I mentioned earlier? It’s beyond annoying. I’m certain that a mere look from you would tighten it up perfectly.”

“I don’t know what you’re after,” Dimitri said, shifting between Voss and the spicy-floral-scented Miss Woodmore, who’d taken her younger sister by the arm and was towing her off in a different direction, “but I suggest that you remain far away from Angelica Woodmore unless you wish to find yourself in a most uncomfortable position. Neither Chas nor I will suffer your attentions to her or the other Miss Woodmore.”

Voss gave him that lazy, hooded-eyed look that worked so well to seduce the ladies—even aside of the hypnotic thrall that the Dracule utilized to get what they wanted, when they wanted it. “Of course. The last thing a vampire hunter like Chas Woodmore would tolerate is one of the very creatures he hunts sniffing around his sisters. Never fear, Dimitri,” he continued in that smooth, mocking tone, “there are plenty of other fish in the sea—or, as I like to think of it—lovely, narrow wrists, or slender, delicate shoulders to slide into. There’s nothing like that pleasure is there? The penetration…sleek and quick, and then the sudden flood of liquid heat, rich and full.” His voice had dropped seductively.

Then Voss worked up an ironic smile. “But, of course, you wouldn’t have any recollection of such a pleasure, limiting yourself as you do to bottles of cow’s blood from your favorite butcher.” He gave a sad shake of his head. “I cannot fathom for what purpose you’ve chosen the path of abstinence.”

“I’m certain you cannot,” Dimitri replied coolly. He didn’t even bother to display the tips of his fangs. “Such discretion would be beyond your sensibilities.”

“Discretion?” Voss’s laugh rang out. “Let’s call it what it is—self-flagellation, or even martyrdom. What a gray life you must lead, you emotionless bastard.”

“Regardless,” Dimitri said, “stay away from the Woodmore sisters. I’m fully aware of your penchant for taking whatever is offered—and seizing your desire when one is not forthcoming—and then leaving whatever remains as you saunter on to your next victim. Not to mention your carelessness and silly games.”

At last, Voss’s face darkened and his eyes burned with a dangerous red glow. “What happened in Vienna with Lerina was an accident, Dimitri, and well you know it.”

“That may be the case,” he replied, “but it’s clear that even tragedy hasn’t caused you to change your manipulative ways in the century since.”

Without deigning to wait for the other man’s response, Dimitri turned and stalked off. Angelica Woodmore had been taken away by her capable sister and Voss wouldn’t dare make another attempt to accost her. At least, not tonight.

Once the Woodmore sisters were safely home, Dimitri could return to his solace and uninterrupted studies for the last time in the foreseeable future.

Although…perhaps on the way home, he might walk through some dark, infamous street in St. Giles or along the river, just so he could be accosted by a gang of thieves or other blackhearts. He was in the mood for a good brawl.

Might as well enjoy as much of the night as he could, for tomorrow, his home would be invaded.

“We’re nearly there now.” Maia smiled at Corvindale’s sister, who sat across from her and Angelica in the closed carriage. She glanced at their other companion and chaper one, Aunt Iliana, and included her in the smile. “The Mid summer Night’s Masquerade Ball is one of the most exciting events of the Season.”

Mirabella looked as if she were about to explode with anticipation for her first Society event, and Maia couldn’t blame her a bit. The poor thing had been left in the country for the past seven years with hardly a visit or communiqué from her elder brother. At seventeen, she’d never been presented at court, and her wardrobe was horribly outdated.

It was really quite irresponsible of the earl—not to mention inconsiderate. How was the girl ever to make a match?

She couldn’t move about in Society until she was introduced at court, and until that happened, she couldn’t even think of meeting a potential husband.

Maia was still seething over the way Corvindale had fairly yanked the proverbial rug out from under her and Angelica’s feet to get them moved to his London residence, with nary a thought to their preference or opinions. It had happened two days ago, so quickly and efficiently that she would have been in awe if she hadn’t been so infuriated.

Certainly Maia was used to being the one in charge. And there had been times when she’d wished for a reprieve. But not this way, and not because of an ill-tempered earl.

The morning after the Lundhames’ ball, as promised, Corvindale’s note had arrived. It simply stated that they would remove to Blackmont Hall after receiving their normal afternoon callers, and they would stay under the earl’s guardianship until Chas returned. Before Maia could fly to her study and snatch up stationery to respond in the negative, the earl’s staff had arrived to pack their things, and the next thing she knew, the earl was there, as well.

Just as immovable and emotionless as a brick wall, he was, and nothing she said had any effect on him except to prompt that arrogant lifting of the eyebrow.

He’d arrived just in time to catch Viscount Dewhurst—who’d surprised them all by calling that afternoon—as he attempted to woo Angelica in a private corner of their library. Maia had to admit gratitude toward Corvindale for interfering in that matter, for Angelica had seemed more than a little starry-eyed when the viscount had arrived. And the more she saw of Dewhurst, the more certain Maia was that the man was of no good character—a rake and a rogue and the last sort of man with whom her beautiful sister should become enamoured. Someone like Lord Harrington would be a much better choice for Angelica.