Angelica reminded herself that she was fortunate that a young, dashing, comfortably wealthy peer seemed to have such an attachment to her. She couldn’t expect a better match.
A small burst of applause interrupted her private lecture and Harrington took that moment to slip into the chair next to her.
She turned and gave him a modest smile that became a bit frozen when he leaned close and whispered, “I have waited two weeks to speak with you, and I shan’t be put off any longer. I should like to call on your guardian tomorrow, Miss Woodmore. With your blessing.”
Her throat dried. The only reason he would make such a request was so that he could ask for her hand. It was truly going to happen.
Tomorrow she was going to become engaged.
18
IN WHICH OUR HEROINE IS ONCE AGAIN PROVEN TO BE A LIGHT SLEEPER
Old habits die hard, Voss thought as he slipped through the window.
Although, it wasn’t quite as easy to sneak into a woman’s bedchamber as it used to be. And tonight, for expediency purposes, he’d used the most direct—if not most inconvenient—route.
Fortunately Angelica’s chamber had a sturdy oak tree growing near enough to allow him to reach the sill of her window from a thick branch, and with a little luck and some planning, he managed to launch himself over to the ledge with only a soft thump. The earl really ought to keep those branches trimmed. He was going to have to have a word with him about that sort of maintenance when this was all over and he was certain he wouldn’t have need of them again.
He wasn’t as concerned about Corvindale discovering him as he had been the last time he visited Angelica, for a variety of reasons. And since he’d been lurking about for the past three evenings, waiting for a time in which the earl had gone out for the night without the sisters instead of staying in (why would a vampire stay in at night anyway?), his patience was strained enough that he was ready to take the chance even if the earl was at home as well.
The window was open, allowing the summer breeze as well as Voss to enter the room. Once inside, he stood, looking down at the rumpled bed and the woman sprawled in it.
His mouth went dry and his heart rammed hard in his chest. She’d said she loved him…but had she meant it?
What would he do if she didn’t?
Voss wasn’t certain how long he stood looking down at her, but all at once a clock struck from somewhere in the house. Three. Less than three hours until dawn.
Was that enough time?
Moving closer, he saw more detail in the blue-white light of the full moon shining through her window. The citrusy-sweet spice of Angelica, and feminine smells like powders and creams and fabric teased and assaulted him. Her dark lashes, half-parted lips, the masses of dark hair spread over the pillow. How many times had he dreamed of her thus?
A shoulder protruded from beneath the sheets, and one arm was curled to her throat. Then he saw streaks on her face. Shiny streaks running down her cheeks.
Tears?
Voss moved closer, reaching for her. Without warning she gasped and her eyes shot open. She scrambled into a sitting position, a cloud of hair tangling over the bodice of her night rail and spilling onto the blankets.
“You’re not dead,” she said.
“You have the ability to focus on the most inane things,” Voss said, reeling a bit from her sudden wakefulness, along with the enticing vision of her rumpled and sleepy. “Not, ‘Why are you here, Voss?’ ‘How did you get in?’ Or, even, as you so bluntly said last time, ‘Get out.’”
“I believe it was ‘Get away.’” Her lips curved a bit. Just a bit. “I am surprised to see you. Does that help?” The low timbre of her voice could have been from sleepiness or some other emotion.
Just then he noticed something glinting at her throat, high lighted by the moonlight. Surely it wasn’t… “Is that the neck lace I gave you?” When he shifted, he could see the dark leaves of fresh hyssop intertwined with the gold. He faltered. What did it mean that she was still wearing the necklace to ward him off…especially if she thought he could be dead?
“Yes. I had to replace the hyssop because the original leaves dried up.” Her fingers plucked at it gently. It was too dark to tell for sure, but he thought they might have trembled a bit.
Then his attention was caught by the shadow between her br**sts, a deep valley that he’d explored only once before… and not nearly well enough. Blood surged through him. He wanted nothing more than to slide into that warm bed with her and line his body along her soft, warm one.
“Why were you crying?” he asked, easing himself to sit at the edge of the bed. If she screamed or called out, it would be that much more difficult to make a getaway this time. Her chamber window was rather high off the ground.
And Corvindale would likely be in no mood to listen to any explanation from Voss.
Angelica looked away. She wiped at what was now a dried rivulet on her cheek. “What are you doing here? If Chas finds out…”
“Your brother,” Voss said, his voice steely, “isn’t going to find out unless you tell him. He’s entirely too involved with Moldavi’s sister to pay proper attention to his own. Or hadn’t you noticed?” Then he smiled ruefully, although she probably couldn’t see it anyway. He sat in shadow while she basked in moonlight. “Not that I should complain, because if he had been paying closer attention, I don’t think I’d be here now.”
“Please,” Angelica said. “Why are you here? If someone finds you, I’ll be ruined. And tomorrow—” She stopped and he saw her bite her lip.
“What’s happening tomorrow?” he asked lightly. “A ride in the park with Lord Harrington? A picnic with Mr. Revelsworth? Or is it a fete on the arm of Sir Brittonsby?”
“I’m going to become engaged.”
Just in time. Just in time.
“Indeed,” was all he could say. Surprising how his mouth dried and his brain emptied. “But,” he said, forcing his signature smile. “You love me. Or was that just a lie, to keep your brother from assassinating me with you as witness? I know you don’t care for the sight of blood.”
“It wasn’t a lie. It…isn’t,” she said.
“Truly?” he asked, something inside him easing. He moved toward her. The first touch of her warm skin, his fingers over her arm, sent a shaft of rightness shuttling through him. Yes.
“Truly,” she whispered. In the low light, their eyes met and he shifted a bit closer, still taking care not to move too quickly. Women could be skittish, even if they claimed they were in love. “I never thought I’d see you again,” she added.