The Vampire Voss by Colleen Gleason Read Free Book Online Page A

But there were times when something separated from the rest and rose to his notice. It might be a smell that was nauseating or strange, or simply rank.
    In this case it was…indescribable. Titillating and… intriguing.
    Voss realized with a start that he’d been standing there with his nostrils quite literally, ridiculously, flaring, trying to drawin the unusual aura. 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 that 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.
    â€œâ€”must have a moment to speak with you, my lord,” she was saying. He had to give her credit, for despite what she must perceive as urgency, her voice was low and calm.
    â€œI…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?”
    â€œPerhaps 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, or some sort of smudge.
    Corvindale said something and shifted so that 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 that she wasn’t merely too 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.
    â€œMy name is Angelica Woodmore,” she was saying. Her hair was dark, nearly black, but with brown lights that made it rich and interesting. Impatience colored her voice, and de spite the fact that she’d fairly barreled into a strange group of gentlemen—and rather fierce, austere-looking ones at that—she seemed more intent on having some sort of communication with Brickbank than anything else.
    â€œMiss 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, taking the earl to task. 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.”
    â€œAn gel ica!”
    A new voice—a feminine one, laced with shock and annoyance, and barely hissing from between clenched teeth but pitched so as to reach above the dull stew of noise—drew the attention of the entire group. Voss recognized immediatelythat this was another Woodmore sister and he couldn’t help the