And so it went. The mathematics professor who tried to coerce Voss into dropping his breeches for him in a dark corner was deterred by the threat of exposure to his wife and father. The priest who couldn’t remember where he’d put the consecrated hosts after a serious drinking bout was induced to give Voss the highest marks in Latin, even when he refused to attend class.

The most attractive of women fell prey to his seduction as well, long before he had the ability to enthrall them with his vampiric eyes. The wife of his science teacher, the sister of one of his classmates who’d been promised to another—even the mistress of the city’s mayor—all found themselves sharing a bed with him.

And that was even before he finished at Eton.

When he became Dracule and realized that each one of his “brothers” had the penultimate secret of a life-threatening Asthenia, Voss found it an amusing pastime to learn what it was for as many of them as possible. He used whatever method it took—deduction, trickery or bribes—and for this reason he found himself all but ostracized by the rest of the Draculia. They simply didn’t trust him.

The ostracization was unfair, if not highly amusing to Voss, for he’d rarely sold the information or otherwise utilized it. Nor did he intend to—unless his own life was at stake. The collection of knowledge had become a personal triumph. Some men collected horses or women or wine. Voss collected information.

He was rich, titled, handsome, powerful, could bed any woman he wanted whenever he wanted and he was never going to die. What else was he to do with his infinite amount of time?

What else?

Voss pursed his lips as the carriage trundled along. His companions were conversing about some twilight horse race in which he had no interest, while he must consider wooing a Woodmore sister out from under the Earl of Corvindale’s nose.

Just another challenge. Just another puzzle.