Voss realized with a start that he’d been standing there with his nostrils quite literally, ridiculously, flaring, trying to draw in the unusual scent. Fortunately no one else seemed to notice, for the young woman had done something completely and utterly out of etiquette.
Even though he’d been in the Colonies—gad, now they were called the United States, weren’t they?—for much of the past three decades, Voss knew a proper young woman never approached a man whom she didn’t know and began to speak to him. Particularly without a chaperone.
But that was precisely what was occurring to the dumfounded Brickbank, whose nose was still tinged red at its pointed tip.
“—must have a moment to speak with you, my lord,” she was saying. He had to give the chit credit, for despite what she must perceive as urgency, her voice was low and calm.
“I…er…” One could only attribute Brickbank’s unusual befuddlement to the breach of etiquette in addition to Voss’s best brandy. “But of course, miss…er, mada—my lady?”
“Perhaps we could step aside?” she asked.
Voss had sidled closer.
Not, he told himself, so that he could sniff delicately at the fragrance that clung to her—he felt ridiculous even acknowledging the fact that he considered doing so—but so that he could determine the exact color of her hair. And eyes. And discern whether that was indeed a delicate little mole at the back of her neck, just where the base curved into a creamy-rose shoulder.
Corvindale said something and shifted so he cut into Voss’s view, bringing the latter back into the moment as if he’d been shaken awake from a dream.
A very compelling dream.
Now that he’d focused back in on the conversation, he realized with a terrible start that she wasn’t merely too young and inexperienced…but she was also the Earl of Corvindale’s new ward.
But, Luce’s nails, that just made her all the more enticing. He smiled.
“My name is Angelica Woodmore,” the girl was saying.
Her hair was dark, nearly black, but glossed with brown lights that made it rich and interesting. Impatience colored her voice, and despite the fact that she’d fairly barreled into a strange group of gentlemen, she seemed more intent on having some sort of communication with Brickbank than anything else.
“Miss Woodmore, I am the Earl of Corvindale,” said Dimitri in a pronouncement that Voss was certain was meant to stop the chit in her tracks.
It did, in fact. Miss Woodmore paused and looked at him in surprise. Then her almond-shaped eyes narrowed. “My sister has been looking everywhere for you, my lord. We understood you would be here tonight. You have not responded to her letter.”
Voss didn’t try very hard to smother his amusement at the girl’s set-down. Perhaps she wasn’t quite as young as he’d thought. She certainly was no timid wallflower, taking the stone-faced earl to task as she had. He shook his head mentally, wondering what it was about the earl that attracted women. Certainly Miss Woodmore wasn’t one of them. He was ridiculously glad that was the case.
Corvindale, of course, rose to the occasion by looking down his long, prominent nose at her. “An earl does not generally respond on command, Miss Woodmore. Particularly to imperious orders from young women.”
“Angelica!”
A new voice—a feminine one, laced with shock and annoyance, and barely hissing from between clenched teeth but pitched so as to reach over the dull stew of noise—drew the attention of the entire group. Voss immediately realized this was another Woodmore sister, and he couldn’t help the smile that curled the corners of his mouth.
Corvindale looked as if he’d been stung. Well, perhaps that was an exaggeration. The man stiffened and couldn’t quite suppress a flare of something that rose in his austere face, but was quickly submerged. Fascinating. Voss could still sense the man’s discomfort as he turned to the sister and gave a sharp, smart bow.
“Miss Woodmore,” he said.
“Maia, I’ve found the earl,” said Miss Angelica Woodmore unnecessarily.
“So I see,” replied her sister. Still with clenched teeth, but at this point Voss wasn’t certain if that was for the benefit of Corvindale or Angelica.
The next portion of the conversation between the earl and the elder sister was lost on Voss, for the lovely Angelica had turned back to Brickbank. Every time she moved, a new, fresh waft ofherfiltered toward him. Voss sidled nearer, sliding past Eddersley to get closer.
“It’s of a personal nature,” Miss Woodmore was saying. Her expression and demeanor were of matching earnestness, and for a moment, Voss was overwhelmed by annoyance.
Why wasn’t she approachinghimto speak of something of a personal nature? He was quite certain he could find something personal and natural to interest her.
Why on God’s green earth did she have to find Brickbank fascinating?
Then Voss realized it was simply because she hadn’t seen him yet, and he edged his way even closer.
Women always noticed him. And that was one of the delights of his immortal life. He enjoyed as many of them as he wanted, without the hassle of having to woo or court or be the recipient of their many moods. Let alone spend any significant amount of time with them outside of the bedchamber. Why bother? There was always another one waiting.
