Free The Vampire Voss by Colleen Gleason Page B

pressed clothing helped further, and when he was fully attired, he agreed with himself that he looked just as magnetic and attractive as he always did.
    For, although it was only late in the afternoon and the sun was still up, Voss needed to go out. He’d flirted with the idea all morning, knowing all along that he would end up deciding to go; that it was merely the details left to be decided.
    He must speak with Miss Angelica Woodmore.
    Corvindale would be apoplectic, and Voss’s only real hesitation was in determining whether to call on Angelica (when had he begun to think of her in that way?) openly, so that the earl would know he had defied his command, or to do it clandestinely so that they wouldn’t be interrupted.
    In the end, he decided to do it openly. Corvindale wouldlearn about it regardless and think the worst of him no matter what, and, frankly, Voss wasn’t terribly opposed to dusting a bit of the floor with Dimitri, bloody Earl of Corvindale. Especially in his current mood.
    He wouldn’t even care if he got blood on his shirt, because he needed something else to think about. Something other than what had happened to Brickbank.
    When he arrived at the relatively small, but very elegant, well-kept Woodmore home in Mayfair, Voss alighted from his closed carriage (a very undashing necessity for daytime transportation) gloved and cloaked. He also held a wide umbrella low over his hat—ostensibly to protect his perfectly combed and lightly pomaded hair from the faint drizzle.
    It occurred to him that the sisters might already have been removed to the safety of the earl’s home, so it was to his surprise and delight that the door was answered immediately by a well-mannered butler. He accepted his card, hat and cloak, then admitted him promptly with a gesture toward the parlor. Voss had suspected that after last night, Corvindale would have left strict orders that Voss not be received, and he’d anticipated having to bluff or barrel his way in.
    Mildly disappointed, he stepped through the parlor door and realized immediately why Corvindale had apparently not seen fit to do so.
    â€œVoss Arden, Viscount Dewhurst,” announced the butler.
    No fewer than a dozen faces turned and looked over at him, shock blazoning on all of them. Two were the lovely countenances of the sisters Woodmore—but the vast majority of the others were male.
    Of course. Voss was so infrequently out during the daylight, and certainly not familiar with current London Society, that he’d forgotten about the rigid practice of afternoon calls.
    â€œMy lord, what an honor for you to join us,” said Angelica,who seemed to be wedged between two pansy-faced, juvenile-countenanced gentlemen on the settee. She appeared both surprised and delighted by his presence.
    And perhaps there was the faintest tinge of rose on her cheeks. He certainly expected there should be.
    â€œI hope you will take some tea?” she added.
    Bloody tea wasn’t exactly what he’d come for, particularly since a mixture of brandy and wine still sloshed within his belly today. And he didn’t particularly care for the lascivious expression on the face of the good-looking dandy who stood behind Angelica. Likely staring down her bosom, the uncouth fop. Harringford or Harringmede or something like that. He’d seen him at White’s.
    Voss would never do such a gauche thing openly. In fact, he never had to resort to stealing glances or ogles. His lips twitched in a self-satisfied smirk.
    â€œLord Dewhurst,” said Maia, the older one, drawing his attention. She was a pretty one, too, with lighter coloring and a more petite frame than her sister, and Voss wondered briefly whether, if he’d seen her first last night, he’d be as compelled to speak with her as he was to Angelica. His first instinct was no.
    Was Angelica the only one with the Sight? Or did the others have it, too?
    He nodded to the sisters and