Her eyes widened a fraction and he heard the subtle intake of her breath. He thought she might ignore the question, as she had done earlier when he asked if she’d known about her parents’ death before it happened.

“No,” she said softly, rising from the becloaked chair. “I attempted it once, holding one of my gloves and concentrating upon it…but I could see nothing. Perhaps it is for the best.” She’d taken a few steps and the hem of her dress dragged on the floor. It pulled the neckline of her gown awry and he couldn’t help but notice. “I know enough.”

“Did it make your childhood very difficult?” he asked, wondering why he didn’t simply grab her and drag her up against him, sink inside her. Everything about her filled the room.

He turned away and opened the whiskey. A quick sniff told him it was only marginally better than the rotgut he’d had during a brief trip to Kentucky, but it was something.

He poured a glass and sipped. No, it was even worse than the Kentuckian drink they called moonshine. He managed another sip and restrained a grimace. Perhaps the wine he’d ordered would be better.

“Granny Grapes wouldn’t allow me to dwell on it. She helped me to learn how to set things aside. How to accept.” Her slippered toe dug into a hole in the rug braided of rags. “I have no doubt I’d be a different person if it weren’t for her wisdom.” She hesitated, digging her toe deeper. “May I tell you something I’ve never told anyone?”

Yes. But…why? Why him? Something inside his chest swelled, warming him. The Mark burned in warning. “I would be honored,” he said, ignoring it, “Angelica.” He set the glass down.

She gave him that odd look again, a wry sort of expression. “So it is back to Angelica once more. What has happened to ‘Miss Woodmore’? Or is she about only when we are in the presence of your Cyprians?”

The layers of meaning in her words assaulted him, but Voss was a master at paring through to the core of a woman’s speech, whether it be murmured pillow talk or screamed demands. “In truth, I think of you as Angelica, regardless of what I might say. Angelica.” He said her name, drawing it out slowly like a verbal caress.

“Is that so?” she said. But her voice was rough and he saw that her cheeks were flushed tawny pink. Then she drew herself up and he recognized tension settle over her. “Were you with Rubey when those…vampirs attacked us?”

Once again, he understood what she was truly asking. He couldn’t find it odd or even flattering that she should assume that he and Rubey had been intimately engaged. Not only was it a logical assumption, even for a sheltered young woman and especially after what she’d been exposed to, but Angelica had already proven she had a facile mind.

“We had left to go to her place of business. To settle my accounts. My pocket is now that much lighter.” The light tone he’d adopted faded. And Rubey, whom he had considered a friend, had all but exiled him from her place. “If I’d had a glimmer of suspicion that Belial’s men would have found us and attacked in the daylight, I would never have left. But neither Rubey nor I had fathomed she might be betrayed by one of her closest employees.”

“The daylight. So that part is true? That they cannot go about in the sun?”

Voss nodded, wishing he’d left out that bit of detail. She seemed to know too much already. “I’m relieved that we returned in time to keep anything worse from happening to you. One of the chambermaids managed to get out of the house and to come after us.”

“But you weren’t in time to save Ella.” There was reproach in her voice, and Voss realized he’d forgotten about the dead girl.

“No,” he said. Although it had been more than a century since he’d been the cause of a mortal’s death—from reckless feeding—he’d also come to accept that it was a casualty of the Draculia and its need to feed on mortal blood. One could learn to control the blind need and leave the victim alive, as Voss had learned to do early on, but many of the Draculia had no concern about doing so. They had no reason to care any more about the lives of the mortals upon which they feasted than a butcher was concerned with the slaughtering of his cow or pig.

This was by design of Lucifer, of course.

Yet, Ella had been the victim of a particularly vicious vampir, and Voss had seen tendons and torn muscle beneath the ravaged skin of her shoulders and bosom. And blood, so dark and plentiful that it was nearly purple. The snapped and protruding collarbone and the awkward angle of her neck. He went still.

It could have been Angelica.

“How much longer am I going to be hunted by them?” she said. Her voice was thin. “When will it stop?”

“Moldavi won’t rest until he gets his sister back, or until he has revenge on your brother for taking her.”

“Chas took a vampir’s sister? Do you mean he kidnapped her?” The fear was replaced by surprise and confusion. “What on earth do you mean? How many of those creatures are there?” Panic stretched her voice.

“To be quite honest, I’m not certain whether he abducted Narcise…or whether they—er—eloped. It’s all conjecture, really, but I do know that Moldavi is looking for your brother because Narcise is with him. Or was last seen with him, in Paris. Moldavi is rather closely associated with Bonaparte and has been staying there for some time. And until he gets Narcise back, or until he finds Woodmore, you are in danger because Moldavi will want to use you as bait or ransom for Narcise’s return. And if your brother is dead—”

“He’s not dead.”

Voss stilled. “You know this?”

But she wasn’t listening; it was as if she were having her own conversation. “Are you suggesting that my brother has eloped with a vampir? How could you even fathom such a thing? Chas would have nothing to do with monsters like that. Or is she not one of those horrible creatures, but just the sister of one?” Her eyes blazed with shock and accusation.

“Narcise is one of them, yes,” he replied, feeling as if he were walking on a very delicate sheet of ice. And once again, he wondered why in Luce’s name did he even care if he fell through. At least if he did, there would be no reason to wait any longer. His blood surged at the thought.

“Does she bite people, too? With long teeth and claws? Tear into them like paper dolls?” Tears had gathered in her eyes and as she lifted a hand to her mouth, he saw that her fingers trembled violently. “I cannot fathom such vile creatures who take from other people and leave them to die. They drink their blood. They take.”

Voss reminded himself that she could have no idea that she was sitting in the same room with one of those horrible creatures—who wanted nothing more than to do the same to her, among other things—but for some reason, her words stung. “Angelica,” he began.

She swiped a tear away and kept talking. “I thought it was all stories, a legend that my granny told us. But they’re real. And my brother is all sorted up with them. He could be in danger. He is in danger. He’s gone into hiding, I’m certain of it.”

“Everything I know about your brother says that he knows how to take care of himself,” Voss told her. “Did you not just say he isn’t dead? Do you know this?”

“I’m sure he’s not dead. I—”

A knock at the door interrupted her, and Voss, smothering a curse as she fell silent, walked over. A low opening at the bottom of the door allowed for a tray of wine, cheese and bread to be slid beneath—again, keeping the anonymity of the chamber’s occupants intact.

“I cannot eat,” Angelica said, holding a hand in front of her belly. “I don’t know that I shall ever eat again, with those images in my mind. Poor Ella.” She looked even more pale-faced than before, and her eyes seemed to have sunken into their sockets in the last few moments. “I cannot believe it of Chas.”

Voss put the tray on the table and poured a glass of the wine. “Perhaps you are thirsty?”

“What is that?” she asked, pointing to his glass, likely forgetting that ladies didn’t point. “Whiskey? Brandy? Something else that’s meant only for men?”

Some of his discomfort slid away. “If you wish to try it, I won’t tell anyone.” No indeed.

“There are many things about these last two days that I hope you shall not tell anyone,” Angelica said. The look she gave him was not one of a coquette, teasing him for more, but one of a woman very aware of her situation…and it was disconcerting.

She took the glass and drank, then, predictably, began coughing uncontrollably. But despite the fact that her eyes watered, she raised the glass for another taste. This time, she was a bit more cautious and the sip went down much easier. “It tastes terrible.”

Voss smiled. “I know. The wine isn’t much better quality, but you might prefer it.”

“It’s warm,” she said, drinking again. “I mean to say, I feel warm. It makes me feel warm.”

“That is not the only way you’ll be feeling if you drink too much of it,” he said despite the arc of pain that shot through him. Let her drink, the devil told him. She won’t fight it. He thought it prudent to change the subject. “What were you going to tell me, earlier? Or have you changed your mind?”

She sank down onto the cloak-draped chair, whiskey still in hand. Half the generous dollop he’d poured was gone and her movements were already looser. “I’ve never told another person this. I’m not altogether certain why I should want to tell you, Dewhurst.”

“Voss,” he said. “Call me Voss.”

Angelica frowned and he wasn’t certain if it was because she’d taken another drink or because of his suggestion. “Rubey calls you by your given name. That bespeaks of a very intimate relationship.”

“I have just asked you to call me by my given name, as well. Do you and I have an intimate relationship?” The words, practiced and easy, slid from his flirtatious tongue. He brought out his smile, the warm one whose allure never failed, to curve his lips. His sisters, his mistresses, the wife of his mathematics teacher, and so many others… None of them had been able to resist.