Before Voss could respond, Chas leaped, tossing a chair out of his way and bounding up and over a table to slam the man into the wall. He was fast, but Dimitri was faster, fairly flying across the room to grab Miss Woodmore, snatching her out of the way just as the two men tumbled to the floor.

She weighed no more than a pin, just as she had three years ago and of course a few nights ago, as well. And, unlike the other night at the masquerade, she didn’t have yards of skirts and fabric bunching up and around them as he scooped her up out of the way, slamming her quickly against his torso to avoid being smashed by a flying chair.

It was probably best if she didn’t see what was about to happen to Voss Dewhurst.

“Release me, you idiot man!” She slammed an elbow that was as sharp as her tongue into his gut and Dimitri grunted, shifting her so that she didn’t have another chance at him. But she tried to kick at him and to yank away, even as chairs flew and tables upended. Chess pieces scattered. The bottle of whiskey crashed to the floor.

Addled woman. Do you want to get yourself killed? He whipped her out of the way just in time to keep from being crashed into by Chas and Voss, who were putting on a damned good show. If Dimitri weren’t so furious with the latter, he’d be watching the fight with interest. For being mortal, and not as strong or fast as a Dracule, Chas Woodmore was brilliant. One would never know that he was overmatched.

And perhaps he wasn’t overmatched with the vampires. Perhaps he was made that way—to hunt them. After all, God would have some sort of defense against the malignance of Lucifer’s makes.

Chas whipped Voss into the wall, following him with his stake raised. They crashed against the brick, and Dimitri stuck out his foot and sent Voss staggering away. Chas leaped, the stake in hand, ready to deliver the death blow as Miss Woodmore screamed. “Don’t! Chas!” she shrieked, burying her face in Dimitri’s shirt.

Naturally Woodmore ignored her as he plunged the stake toward Voss’s heart. The powerful blow fell, and Dimitri watched as the stake fairly bounced off Voss’s torso. What in the bloody hell…?

Some sort of armor, blast him.

Everything fell silent for a moment, except for the sounds of labored breathing from the two fighting men. And then, with a muttered curse, Chas pulled up and away from where he’d landed on his target, a splintered stake in his hand.

As the action waned, Dimitri was no longer able to ignore the bundle of femininity clutching his shirt with two fists, and her warm breath burning through the linen to his skin. Not to mention the very evident press of breasts against his belly. A rush of heat swarmed through him and he made the mistake of drawing in a breath, getting a good sniff of her hair. Lemon and jasmine, and an undernote of cardamom-vanilla. Flowers and spice.

He forced himself to release her slender arms and made his own fall to his sides. “I do hope you aren’t wiping your nose on my shirt, Miss Woodmore.” He had to work hard to make certain his tones were laden with disdain.

Miss Woodmore jerked back as if she’d been stung, and he saw very pink cheeks just before she spun away.

“Armor?” Chas was saying to Voss as he brushed off his shirt. He looked bloody annoyed.

“After a fashion. I warned you I’d come prepared—for all of you.” He glanced pointedly at Dimitri and Giordan, as well. “Now, if you would cease attacking me, I would appreciate the opportunity to assist you in retrieving Angelica.”

“Your assistance is neither wanted nor needed,” Chas told him. “Aside of that, I want you in no vicinity to any of my sisters. A different country would be preferable. Just because you were prepared this time doesn’t always mean that you’ll escape my stake.”

Voss’s laugh was short and sharp. “I didn’t believe you were that foolish, Woodmore. In fact, I’m the only one who can assist you in saving Angelica.”

Dimitri smothered a snort of disbelief and walked over to pour a new glass of whiskey. “Not bloody likely.”

Voss shrugged, and glanced at Miss Woodmore. “Very well, then,” he said coolly. “Best of luck to all of you.” He turned toward the door.

“Wait!” Miss Woodmore stomped her foot.

Dimitri resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Always the dramatics.

“Are you just going to allow him to leave?” She glared at her brother. “Without hearing what he has to say? Angelica’s in danger and all you care about is…is whatever insults you’ve given to each other in the past. I vow, the three of you are like little boys fighting over a ball.”

Dimitri opened his mouth to tell her precisely how addled she was when Woodmore beat him to it. “I don’t need his help.” His tones dripped with brotherly disdain.

“Perhaps the lady is right.” Giordan had remained out of the fray due to the fact, Dimitri presumed, that somewhere on Voss’s person was some essence of Giordan’s Asthenia since he didn’t appear to be in possession of an actual cat. And since Giordan obviously didn’t feel compelled to manage the annoying Miss Woodmore, he’d been in the enviable position of observer. “At least hear what the bastard—pardon me, Miss Woodmore—has to say. Then turn him out.”

“It’s because of me that you even knew they were to attack this evening,” Voss said, with a flinty look at Dimitri. Then he turned to Maia. “I was fortunate enough to cross paths with Belial, who is the vampir Moldavi sent to find your brother—or one of his sisters—who could be used as a hostage.”

Dimitri watched him as he explained to Maia how he came to overhear Belial’s plans. The man seemed truly overset, especially for Voss. Was it possible that he was sincerely concerned for Angelica? That it wasn’t just another bid for attention, or a jest? He narrowed his eyes and watched, even as disdain crawled into his belly.

Voss didn’t truly care for women.

He simply used them. Coaxed them and took what he could. While he meant no real harm to anyone, neither did Voss care about anyone else aside of himself and his pleasure.

Angelica Woodmore, a young mortal woman, would hardly be any different from the hundreds or thousands of others over the years. Willing and otherwise.

“When I arrived here to find her arguing with the butler,” Voss was explaining about Maia coolly, “rather than leaving her on the doorstep where she might have been otherwise noticed, I thought it best to bring her within.”

“They had ample opportunity to abduct her, as well as Mirabella, this evening,” Dimitri reminded him between clenched teeth. He was still enraged over the debacle. “They chose not to. It was Angelica they were after.” Moldavi could find any number of uses for the younger Woodmore sister’s Sight.

“Because they’d already identified her. I’m certain, for by now, Moldavi has heard of her unusual ability. Angelica wasn’t very secretive about it, at least among her friends. Not only does Moldavi want to use her to bring Chas into submission, but also to put her to work. He can force her to tell him what she knows about the person who owns any item he brings to her.”

“You’re wasting our time,” Woodmore said. “We’ve finished our plan to search the city and now you’ve set us back.”

“And where exactly were you going to search in the city?” Voss asked, lifting an arrogant brow. He removed a handkerchief and wiped his hands of a streak of blood as he glanced up at Dimitri. “Because she’s no longer in the city. They’re taking her to Paris. They’re already well ahead of you on a boat going down the Thames.”

Satan’s bloody stones.

Chas and Dimitri exchanged glances. They hadn’t expected them to use a riverboat to get out of Town. A ship or a stage, but not one of the small river vehicles.

Giordan nodded thoughtfully, and Voss continued, for he had their attention now.

“You didn’t think Cezar would risk himself to come here, did you? Belial is bringing Angelica to him. The good news is that she’ll arrive unharmed—for Belial won’t dare allow anything to happen to her. She’s going to be very valuable to Cezar. The bad news is…not one of you could expect to gain entrance to Moldavi’s residence in Paris, to get to Angelica. Except for me.”

Dimitri didn’t bother to correct him. Moldavi would see him, if only for the chance to slam a stake into his heart. In fact, he’d relish it just as much as Dimitri would to do the same.

“You forget about me. Moldavi will see me,” Giordan said. His voice was flat and his eyes empty. “I’ll go.”

“No, Giordan,” Dimitri snapped, looking at his friend in concern. Cale didn’t need to put himself through that again. There were other ways.

“I’ll go,” Voss said firmly. “Moldavi will see me. I’ve acquired some information he wants about Bonaparte. And I’ll be able to get her back.”

“How are you going to get to Paris? We’re at war!” Miss Woodmore interjected. “Mrs. Siddington-Graves has been trapped there for a year!”

Dimitri didn’t know who Mrs. Siddington-Graves was, and he certainly didn’t care, but he forbore to say anything. Let Woodmore take care of his sister while he was present, blast him.

“Why should I trust you?” Woodmore was saying.

“I returned her once before, didn’t I?” Voss pointed out.

“Complete with nightmares, frightening memories, not to mention marks on her skin. Not quite unharmed.”

Dimitri saw a flash of emotion in Voss’s expression that he would have described as chagrin, or even guilt, if he hadn’t suspected that those feelings were as foreign to Voss as sunlight. “As you well know, I’ve spent my life collecting information and learning the weaknesses of my associates and enemies alike. I know how to influence Moldavi,” he said steadily.

Glancing over at Miss Woodmore, Dimitri saw that she was following the conversation with interest. Hope and terror warred in her expression, and he thought it must have to do with worry for her brother. For, after all, if Chas never came back, she’d be under Dimitri’s wardship forever—or at least until she wed.