“Raphael is practical. It’s part of what makes him so successful. He saw the value of what I offered, and that was it. His people were less sanguine about it, especially his mate. In her eyes, I’m not only one of the European invaders, but Mathilde’s child, to boot. She’s not even inclined to like, much less trust, me. Raphael doesn’t trust me either, but I think he honestly wants the strongest candidate possible to win the South.”
“As long as it’s someone he approves of.”
“Someone he can work with,” Christian corrected. “I have no doubt that if Raphael didn’t think I’d be good for the South, you and I wouldn’t be having this conversation right now. I’ve heard stories of his power—it was all Mathilde talked about sometimes. But it’s one thing to hear of it, and another to stand ten feet away from it.”
“You’ve power enough to win the South on your own merits,” Marc said loyally.
“I do, and I will. But I did the right thing in speaking to Raphael first. It’s a matter of respect,” Christian said, as he speed-dialed Anthony’s office.
“Lord Anthony’s office, how can I help you?” The woman’s voice was creamy smooth, with just a hint of sexy purr beneath words that flowed with the musical drawl of someone born and raised in New Orleans. The sound of that voice struck Christian so hard that he pulled the phone away from his ear and stared at it for a moment, wondering if her physical reality could possibly match that wonderful voice.
“Christian Duvall here,” he said finally. “I wish an audience with Lord Anthony and assume an appointment is required,” he added, cursing himself for sounding stiff and humorless. He doubted that she of the lovely voice was even remotely as entranced by his voice as he’d been by hers.
“Well, Mr. Duvall,” she said smartly, but with a touch of humor. Probably because he’d sounded like a stuffy old man. Okay, so he was an old man at 239, but he didn’t look it and, despite all evidence to the contrary, he didn’t normally act it either. Fuck!
“Excuse me?” he was forced to ask, since she’d been talking the whole time he was scolding himself, and he hadn’t heard what she’d said. Even better. Now, she thought he was stuffy, old, and stupid.
But she only laughed, a sound that made his dick hard. Mon dieu, he was like a randy teenager. Had it been that long since he’d had sex? He’d fed regularly since arriving in Texas. It was always easy to find willing young women. He never took more than he needed, and always left the woman with sensuous memories, but he hadn’t actually had sex with anyone in . . . he thought back . . . nearly two months. No wonder the mere sound of this woman’s voice was doing him in.
“—not sure when his secretary will be back, but I can check with Lord Anthony for you, if you’d like?”
Christian blinked, aware that he’d drifted into his own thoughts again. “That would be kind, Miss . . ?” he said leadingly. He wanted this siren’s name.
“Natalie,” she provided. He’d have preferred the full name, but he would get that later. He might have failed miserably in this phone encounter, but when he and Natalie met, he would do better. He was, after all, French. And, say what you will about the French—and the Americans had plenty to say—they had perfected the art of seduction centuries ago.
“Natalie,” he repeated, tasting the syllables. “Is Lord Anthony currently in his office?”
“He is. Would you like to hold?”
Christian didn’t, in fact, want to hold. He hated being put on hold. But he wasn’t going to tell Natalie that. So he said, “Of course.”
“Be right back.”
Christian nodded, even though she couldn’t see it. Maybe she didn’t think he was stuffy. After all, Natalie of the siren’s voice worked in Anthony’s office, which meant she was accustomed to dealing with vampires, many of whom reflected the manners of the age they’d grown up in. Which meant she might only think he was stupid. He frowned.
“Problem?” Marc asked, glancing over as he made the connection that would cross the beltway surrounding the city of Houston. Bush Intercontinental Airport was north of the city, while the house that Christian had purchased was just west of the city center, about thirty-five miles south of the airport, and all of it clogged with traffic.
Christian gave him a questioning look.
“You looked . . . pensive.”
He smiled broadly. “Thinking of beautiful women, and all I can do with them.”
Marc laughed. “The best kind of problem there is. You—”
Christian cut him off with a raised hand as Natalie’s intriguing voice sounded in his ear.
“Lord Anthony’s in a meeting right now, Mr. Duvall, but he did say you should come on by later tonight. How does 12:30 a.m. sound to you?”
“That sounds perfect.” He didn’t add that pretty much anything she said would sound perfect. That would have been too much, too fast, and the art of seduction, when done well, was slow and subtle.
“I’ll put your name on his schedule. Do you need directions?”
“I don’t, but thank you, Natalie. À toute à l’heure.”
“Oh!” she said, sounding flustered for the first time. “Well. Bye-bye then.”
Christian was still smiling when he disconnected the call and looked around. Marc had gotten off the highway, but Christian didn’t recognize the neighborhood. He’d visited Houston a handful of times in the last few months, mostly to look at houses. He’d been to Anthony’s estate house once, too, and had known immediately that it wasn’t what he wanted for himself when he became Lord of the South.