None too gently, he elbowed up to Brickbank and turned to bestow his most charming smile on the yellow-gowned chit with the alarmingly enticing neck.
It was swanlike, long and curved just so. Elegant…and Voss realized he was having a hard time swallowing. His incisors teased him, slipping out just enough that his tongue brushed against them in a parody of where they really wanted to be: sliding into that ivory flesh, to feel the flood of hot, heavy blood surging into his mouth, over his tongue…into him.
Sweet. It would be sweet and heady and rich, and she would sigh against him, the pleasure trammeling through her veins, matching his. Their breaths would mingle, their bodies sear against the other…
He blinked, focused and nearly turned away, calling himself every ridiculous name he knew. It had been less than thirty minutes since the girl in the alley…and only yesterday since he’d partaken even more fully of the erotic flesh. He certainly didn’t need to pant after a virginal young miss who was about to be taken under the wing of that dead-blooded Corvindale, enticing as she might be.
Another trip to Rubey’s might be in order. Or a tête-à-tête with that saucy matron in pink. She looked as if she’d be a rough, wild ride.
She might be convinced to allow him to sink into her neck instead of her arm. Or thigh. Plump, sensitive thighs were a lovely treat, but not so much as a sleek, bare neck. He felt the stab of interest shimmer through him, and he found himself eyeing that one belonging to Miss Woodmore.
“I feel the need to warn you,” she was saying. Obviously Brickbank wasn’t listening any more closely than Voss had been, for his expression seemed quite unfocused as well.
“Warn me?” he repeated.
“Perhaps I might be of assistance,” Voss said, at last,at last,drawing the girl’s attention to him.
He gave a genteel bow and took her hand, bringing it to his lips. Her scent enveloped him, and he felt something tug in his belly, followed by a sharp twinge on the back of his right shoulder. His mouth brushed the cotton of her glove and he had an instant fantasy of slipping that glove down to bare a narrow wrist. “I am Dewhurst.”
Her eyes met his and he felt a sizzle of warmth at the candid interest in them. Ah. Very good.
“I would very much appreciate it if you would recommend to your friend that he heed my warning,” she told him.
“And what warning might that be?” Voss returned.
For the first time, she seemed to hesitate. Drawing herself up as if girding for battle, the hollows of her delicate shoulders catching the light and shadow just so, Miss Woodmore moistened her lips and spoke. “I had a dream in which you died,” she blurted out, looking at Brickbank.
Voss blinked. A range of emotions blasted through him, the least of which had to do with the fact that he was on the verge of learning what he’d come to learn. If she dreamed of people she didn’t know, she might have the Sight. Which would mean he would have a legitimate reason—or at least a justifiable one—to converse with her. He resisted the urge to smile and instead shifted automatically so that his body blocked them from view of the rest of the room. “Go on.”
She was still looking at Brickbank, and Voss watched the steady pumping of the pulse in her throat.
“I dreamed you fell off a bridge. That you died,” she said.
Brickbank blinked and glanced at Voss, who lifted his gaze and shrugged.
“A dream, you say?” Brickbank replied, suddenly no longer red-nosed and tipsy. “I was in your dream, and fell off a bridge and died?”
A flash of what might have been irritation crossed Miss Woodmore’s face—perhaps she felt her explanation had been clear enough that it didn’t bear repeating. “Yes. That is what I said.”
Voss shrugged again. Odd enough she’d had a dream about Brickbank and had recognized him—which could or could not mean she had metaphysical powers. But the fact was, a Dracule wouldn’t die from a fall off a bridge. They couldn’t drown, nor would the impact of the water damage them beyond a bit of a headache.
They were never going to die.
That was part of the arrangement with Lucifer. It was something Voss was assured of, as long as he was careful with his weakness to hyssop.
Not that either he or Brickbank would be inclined to explain this to the very earnest, lovely—yes, indeed, quite lovely—young woman bristling with intent. Those of the Draculia, of necessity, hid their immortal afflictions from all but other members and their households. And even then, those household members were carefully selected, well paid, and well trained to keep their secrets.
That was, Voss paused for a moment to smirk, certainly one of the reasons Corvindale had been reluctant to take on his responsibility as guardian to the Woodmore girls. The sort of disruption a pair of mortal debutantes would cause in the household of a Dracule would be frightful.
“You have my gratitude, then, Miss Woodmore,” Brickbank was saying gravely. “Shall keep myself far from any bridges, and thus if there is any danger, it shan’t find me.”
The young woman appeared only slightly mollified, and Voss could read the suspicion in her expression. She wasn’t certain if she was being condescended to or not.
“At least,” she said, lifting her chin, “you would do well to stay away from bridges whilst dressed as you are. For, you see, you were wearing thatexactattire in my dream. When you fell off the bridge.”
Voss stilled, a renewed prickle of interest settling over him. Fascinating, shocking…yet he could not find it terribly disturbing due to its impossibility. Brickbank seemed just as stunned.
Before either of them could speak, Miss Woodmore gave a nod and said, “Very well, then. I’ve done my duty. Now, if you’ll excuse me, my lords. I have a previous engagement.”
