Miss Woodmore was smiling as Ainsworth hooked her elbow and spun her in a neat circle before moving on to the next steps in the dance that separated them, and then brought them back, glove to glove. At least the dress she wore wasn’t pink or yellow, but an unassuming blue with discreet pink roses on the shoulders. It clung and slid along her hips and thighs like damp silk as she moved through the paces, and Dimitri wondered darkly if Chas had seen and approved of that frock.
A sudden waver in his vision and a heaviness in his chest had Dimitri removing his gaze from the dancers and focusing on a couple strolling past. The female half was wearing ruby earbobs and a matching necklet, which was the reason for his flash of lightheadedness. But she was far enough away, and she didn’t pause, so the weakness passed almost immediately.
Yet another reason to avoid fetes and balls and dinner parties and Almack’s and court. And even, as often as he could manage, Parliament. How he hated sitting in the House of Lords and listening to those mortals natter on about postage laws or minting coins or other inconsequential things like tea taxes. It had been the worst during that mess with the Colonies and the stamp tax imposed on them.
Yes, one never knew when one might be accosted by a ruby, and since Dimitri had been unfortunate enough to acquire that particular gemstone as his Asthenia, he must always be on guard from that danger.
Each of the Dracule, along with gifts of immortality, speed and extraordinary strength, also had a specific weakness endowed upon him by their partner in the dark covenant: Lucifer. Since the ruby festooning Meg’s neck was the first thing Dimitri had seen when he woke from that fateful dream one hundred thirty-eight years ago, his Asthenia was the blood-red gemstone.
Thus, other than a wooden stake to the heart or a decapitating sword, which would kill him, sunlight and rubies were the only things that would weaken or harm him. Despite the inconvenience, he could appreciate that his Asthenia wasn’t something as commonplace as silver.
Suddenly Dimitri’s eyes narrowed. By the damned bones of Satan, there was Voss again, sniffing around Angelica Woodmore.
Despite his reluctance for the guardianship, Dimitri took his responsibility seriously. 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 Voss had heard rumors 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 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 the lazy, hooded-eyed look that worked so well to seduce the ladies—even aside from the hypnotic thrall 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,” Dimitri replied, “but it’s clear 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.
2
OF EGYPTIAN QUEENS
“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 chaperone, Aunt Iliana, and included her in the smile. “The Midsummer Night’s Masquerade Ball is one of the most exciting events of the Season.”
