The Rest Falls Away (10 page)

Asking for permission to be excused was a moot point, for Lady Melly nearly pushed them away and turned to speak with an acquaintance.

Victoria, feeling her face warm from embarrassment, looked up at the marquess and said quietly, “It is no secret how my mother feels about your thirst. Indeed, I fear that she might be willing to send you to the desert in order to ensure you are not quenched.”

“Indeed. I feared she might drag me from my seat to yours if I did not find my own way quickly enough.” There was laughter in his voice.

Victoria bumped into his arm as he tugged her gently around a corner, following the others out of the ballroom, and looked up at him, mortification heating her face. “Oh, dear…I spoke only in fun, my lord! My mother is indeed like a sharp-toothed bulldog. I shall call her off immediately—”

“Miss Grantworth, I was only jesting. It gives me great pleasure that not only did I have the serendipity to see you two nights in a row, but more so that I was able to make it through the crowd to your side and sweep you away before any of your other beaux might do so.”

His words were light, but as they strolled through an entryway into the dining room, she read a different expression in his eyes. Under those half-mast lids that on another man might have made him look lazy or insouciant, Rockley looked at her with a heavy concentration that made her feel almost faint…nearly as light-headed as the vampire had, just before he bit her last night.

At that thought, Victoria reached up quickly, grabbing at the curl that hung just-so over her shoulder, to make sure it was still in place covering the four red marks. She pulled it straight with neryous fingertips, then let it spring gently back into a concealing corkscrew that had been pinned into place by Verbena.

And she realized he'd asked her a question. And was awaiting an answer.

“Too many to count, then, Miss Grantworth?” His voice leveled, and even over the rising noise from the other musicale attendees, she could hear its different inflection. “Apparently I should have resisted the urge to visit Tattersall's today, and instead made my presence known at Grantworth House.”

“My mother and I would have welcomed you most graciously had you chosen to attend us today.”

“I am well aware your mother would have done so…but I fear the question is more complicated than that, Miss Grantworth. You told me quite directly you are in no haste to marry, and while I find that refreshing and a bit off-putting…I should rather know for certain how difficult it would be should a gentleman wish to urge you along that path.” They'd stopped walking now, and were standing near a cluster of people crowding the tables of food and drink. Three dozen people milled about, but for all of that, when Victoria looked up at Lord Rockley, she felt as if they were alone.

His arm had clamped her wrist close to his body as they walked, but now he allowed it to slide free as he turned toward her, standing with his back to the room as if shielding her from the crowd.

Victoria felt a large, beaming smile work itself out from inside. “Lord Rockley, I would have been
particularly
delighted had you called on Grantworth House today.”

The austerity in his face lessened. “I am pleased to hear that, Miss Grantworth.” He reached for her hand and slipped it around his arm. “Shall we find that lemonade I've been promising you?”

As they stood in line to wait for lemonade, Rockley nudged her gently with his elbow as if to gain her attention. She looked up at him, suddenly overwhelmed by a feeling of comfort and pleasure. Here was a kind, handsome man who appeared to be interested in her as a potential wife…and whom she felt the urge to come to know better.

To
kiss
, even.

He was a man of which her mother would approve—no, a man Lady Melly would
thrust
upon her daughter.

A man who had remembered her for more than seven years.

“You appeared to have been entranced by the music,” he said with a fond smile. “I must admit, I would have been hard-pressed to sit for such a long period of time, only listening to Mozart and Bach.”

“Ah.” Victoria smiled back at him. “That is the explanation, then, my lord.”

He handed her a white teacup filled with lemonade. “Explanation for what?” Cupping her elbow, he gently steered her away from the tables and toward a pair of chairs at the other end of the room.

“Your tardiness in arriving at the famous Straithwaite Musicale. I'm sure the three eligible sisters were devastated that you missed most of their performance.”

“They might have been, but that is not my concern, Miss Grantworth. You see, I have a reasonable excuse for arriving here so late.”

Victoria took a sip of the lemonade, pleasantly surprised that it was perfectly tart and chilled enough to be refreshing. So often the beverages at these events were little more than lukewarm.

She looked at him from over the top of her cup, and when their eyes met, she felt her knees weaken shamefully. “Truth to tell, my lord, I am more than a bit envious you had such an excuse, for if I had one, I would have arrived just as you did.”

“As always, Miss Grantworth, I find your honesty refreshing and amusing…but don't you wish to know the reason for my tardiness?”

Victoria considered him for a moment. He had a very pleasing smile, especially when his lips turned up just like that at the corners, ever so slightly. Now that she'd been reminded of the memories, they'd come flooding back and she recalled him smiling at her that way the day after they'd first met, when he brought her forget-me-nots in thanks for her help in chasing down his mount. The first time she'd received flowers from a man.

Victoria thought she might still have the pink satin ribbon with which he'd tied them. She smiled up at him, as much at the memory as from the question he'd just posed. “Of course I'm interested in the reason for your tardiness, my lord, if you should like to tell me.”

“The reason I arrived nearly two hours after the musicale began was that it took me so long to discover where a certain young lady was going to be tonight.”

Victoria felt the rush of heat sweep over her, surely coloring her fair skin. “Indeed?”

“Indeed. Miss Grantworth, may I call on you Thursday?”

“I wish that you would.”

Apparently, the young man from years ago was not the least bit disappointed in the woman she'd become.

+ 6 +

In Which Miss Grantworth Stands Her Ground

“Did you dance with your
marquess last night, Victoria?”

She looked up from the stake she was whittling into a lethal point. Max sat in a large chair, drinking something the color of topaz and studying what appeared to be an ancient map of tunnels on a table next to him. He didn't even look up as he spoke. Aunt Eustacia and Kritanu had left the parlor moments earlier to retrieve a book and tea, respectively.

“If you are speaking of Lord Rockley, I'm sure it will delight you to learn I did not.”

“Pity.”

Victoria considered the stake for a brief, delicious moment, then regretfully rested it on the table. She had four new polished ash stakes, each to be painted a different color so they could complement her various gowns. Verbena had suggested ivory, pink, pale green, and sky blue, and was advocating further decoration using flowers, feathers, and beads.

“I didn't dance with him because we attended a musicale, and there was no dancing. But he has asked to call on me.” She didn't care if she sounded like a petulant child.

For the first time Max looked up at her. His expression was forbidding. “You are playing dangerously, Victoria.”

“Hunting vampires is playing dangerously. Being courted by a rich, handsome man is not. And in either case, I am well able to take care of myself.”

Max's gaze dropped pointedly to the side of her neck, where the four red weals had begun to heal. “Your ability to take care of yourself has yet to be conclusively proven. However, that is not what I meant. You are playing dangerously with the marquess and his attentions.”

“Why do you begrudge me the pleasure of the company of a perfect gentleman?” Victoria asked. They had begun using each other's familiar names almost immediately after the incident with the Guardian vampires. It felt ridiculous to be formal with someone who hunted the undead in tandem with her. “Is it because you never move in the circles of Society, so you look down upon anyone who does?”

He settled back in his chair and looked at her. The golden liquid in his glass streamed in the light, shifting as he gently moved his wrist in small, circular motions, as if he were thinking how to respond. “Victoria, you completely misunderstand my motivations. I begrudge you nothing. If I had my way, you would have nothing to worry about but the next ball and whether to allow your marquess two dances in one night. But surely you realize you cannot go on the way you have been.”

“I do not understand what you mean.” There was a shift in the air now, and the discomfort that always seemed to snap between them had ebbed into something lethally serious.

“I see that you do not.” He appeared genuinely surprised. “Victoria, you cannot think to marry the marquess, so why do you continue to play with his affections? It's clear he is smitten with you. Perhaps not in love, but at least smitten.”

“I cannot…Not marry him? I fear it is much too early to be discussing such a possibility, but should it come to pass, there is no reason I could not accept his proposal. I realize that, coming from Italy, you may not understand the machinations of Society here in England, but—”

“It has nothing to do with your position in Society.” The level tone was gone from his voice. Now he merely sounded angry. “Do not be obtuse, Victoria. You are a Venator. You cannot marry. You cannot even take a lover.”

Though she later berated herself for it, Victoria could not stop her gasp at his words. Warmth billowed up her neck and into her cheeks. “You needn't be crude!”

“Crude? As if being bitten by a vampire isn't the greatest form of crudeness. Victoria, you are a hunter of violent creatures. You cannot allow yourself to be divided or distracted by something so mundane as a husband or family.”

Victoria could hear the return of footfalls. She spoke quickly and quietly. “If I choose to love or marry a man, I will do just that. And I'll continue to kill vampires while I do it.”

The door opened and Kritanu strode in, carrying a very large tray. He glanced curiously at Victoria, and then Max, likely noticing the tension in their faces, but he said nothing. Placing the tray on the sideboard near Max, he gestured to the teapot and cups. “Victoria, you may pour your tea and perhaps help yourself to a biscuit.”

At Aunt Eustacia's home, it was an informal affair, for they were all treated as equals in the fight against Lilith.

“Eustacia will return momentarily. Our guest has arrived.”

“Guest?” Victoria asked, assessing Max. Yes, he'd known—just as he knew the purpose for this meeting, and she did not.

Why did everyone appear to know everything except for her?

As she poured her tea, then added a dollop of cream, Victoria stewed. Certainly she was the newest Venator, but Aunt Eustacia had made it clear that she was an instrumental part of the group. Why, then, did the rest of them talk about things that she knew nothing about? Keep information from her?

It was Max. He'd said it earlier—if he had his way, she wouldn't be a Venator. She would have turned away the opportunity to wear the
vis bulla
and help rid the world of vampires. Why was he so set against her? Merely because she was a woman? And young?

Were they testing her? Keeping things from her until she proved herself?

All of the Venators were equally skilled, and all had the innate skills and sensitivities to fulfill the Legacy once they received their
vis bulla.
Did Max truly believe she thought of nothing but balls and gowns and beaux? When she knew that there were hideously evil creatures wanting to take over the world?

True, many young women her age did think of little but finding a husband. After all, that was what had been drummed into their heads since the moment they were out of leading strings. But surely he'd seen by now that she was more than just another debutante. After all, she'd staked a Guardian vampire as he was biting her!

The door to the room opened and in walked Eustacia, followed by a tall, sapling-slender woman. She appeared to be several decades younger than Eustacia, but otherwise ageless so that Victoria couldn't tell whether she was older or younger than Max. The new arrival brought with her an unusual, earthy scent. Her pale blond hair, as fine as the most delicate of silk threads, was gathered away from her face in a decidedly unstylish tail that hung down the center of her back. She wore a flaxen gown that looked more like a night rail. It was floor-length and fell straight from her shoulders to her feet, yet still managed to portray the shape of her body. Her gray-blue eyes glinted intelligently in a pale, serious face, and her lips were a surprisingly vibrant shade of pink. She looked ethereal and clear-sighted, as if she could see things that others could not.

“You are Victoria.”

“I am, but I am afraid you have the advantage of me.” Victoria didn't know whether to stand and curtsy, or remain seated with her cup of tea as the woman moved to stand in front of her. The earthy scent, which was not unpleasing, followed her.

“Victoria, this is Wayren. She is not a Venator, but she is a valuable help to our cause,” Eustacia explained. “She has deep knowledge of ancient cultures, legends, and mysticism through her extensive library. She acts as a resource to us when we need her assistance.”

“I'm very pleased to meet you,” said Victoria, meaning it.

“Hello, Max,” Wayren said, turning. Max stood, and although she was a tall woman, he loomed fully a head taller than she.