The Rest Falls Away (20 page)

“—And my gravest anger.”

That was Max, of course, standing tall and forbidding in the open door of the parlor. Verbena stood goggle-eyed and spasmic-haired behind him, and behind her was Jimmons, the red-faced butler, who should not have allowed the visitor entrance without warning. Although, knowing Max, Victoria acknowledged she wasn't terribly surprised the butler had been unable to stop him.

Max stepped fully into the room, dressed all in black, including his shirtwaist—Victoria didn't even realize they
made
black shirtwaists—and shut the door smartly behind him, nearly pinching Verbena's inquisitive nose.

“Just what did you think you were doing, Victoria?” He stalked toward her.

“Max—” Aunt Eustacia began, but Victoria overruled her.

“Saving your life…or have you so easily forgotten?” She stood, moving toward him, her upturned face to his furious one.

“Saving my…Victoria, if you had shared your information with me
prior
to the moment when it nearly cost me my life, the saving of it would not have been a factor! In fact, we would have determined the best way—”

“—for
you
to obtain the book, while I sat home and tended to my fripperies and furbelows, no doubt!”

“Of course not! It would have been a team effort, with a plan—”

“Easy words from the man who did not share
his
information with me either! What kind of team effort did you have in mind, Max?”

He opened his mouth to respond, but Eustacia had had enough. She shot out of her chair at Victoria's last words and placed herself quite straitly between the two of them, a hand out in either direction. “Sit down, both of you,” she ordered in a thunderous voice that Victoria had never heard before.

She sat. And so did Max. But, she noticed, he didn't look the least bit cowed.

“Let me make this clear,” she said, spearing each of them with her eyes in turn. “The two of you are our only real hope here in England, and you must learn to work together, or we will find ourselves splintered by dissension. Now, I am not going to discuss further what happened last night…except to congratulate you both. And to breathe a great sigh of relief. We have the Book of Antwartha, and Lilith does not. You executed three Imperial vampires, Max, and that, I believe, is a one-night record. The most I ever did was two in one night,” she added with a twitch of a rueful smile. “And numerous other Guardians, I am aware. Thanks in part to your resourceful maid.”

Victoria nodded in agreement. She had expressed the very same gratitude to Verbena, which, must have, in part, caused the maid's newfound officiousness.

“What is to be done with the book now that we have it?” asked Max easily, as if the outburst and scolding had never happened.

Before Aunt Eustacia could respond, a proper knock came at the parlor door and Jimmons opened it to peek in. Victoria nodded, and he widened the opening and said, “It is too early for calls, but the gentleman would not be dissuaded from being announced, Miss Victoria. The Marquess of Rockley.”

A blush suffused her face before she could stop it, and without looking at Max or Aunt Eustacia, Victoria replied, “Please show the marquess in, Jimmons. I expect this shall not be the first time he calls outside of normal polite hours.”

From the expression on his face, Max dearly wanted to say something…but before he could, the door opened again and Rockley came in.

Victoria rose eagerly, but managed to catch herself before rushing to Phillip's side. Their engagement was not yet announced; it would be unseemly for her to act so until after this evening's ball. But a great part of her yearned to put her arms around him, to bury her face in his chest and lose herself in his normalcy…in the nonvampiric, stake-less, well-lit comfort of
normalcy.

He, too, seemed to need to restrain himself from touching her; but when he saw the other occupants of the room, Phillip stiffened into a more formal persona and took an offered seat not so far from the one in which Max sat.

“I am sorry to call so early,” he said after the appropriate introductions—or, in Max's case, reintroductions, “but I heard what happened last night and I came to be certain all was well.”

Victoria stared at him. How could he know about what had transpired?

But Phillip was still talking, his bluish-gray eyes serious and concerned. “Is your mother here? Is she safe?”

And then she began to understand. “My mother is fine. She is sleeping well upstairs, and I do believe she has put the whole event from her mind.” Literally. “What and how did you hear of this?”

“The word was that her carriage had been stolen, with her in it. That was the only news, and it was not until early this morning that I heard. I am glad she is here, and well. And you…Miss Grantworth, you must have had an awful night of it.” Because they had not yet announced their betrothal, he used her formal title, but there was no mistaking the personal, intimate way he spoke it.

Max shifted in his chair. “If you heard of the carriage being stolen only this morning, I wonder why the news that Lady Melly was arrived home safely did not also reach your ears.” He smiled pleasantly.

Phillip returned the smile. Pleasantly. “You've found me out, Lord—er—Mr. Pesaro. It was merely an excuse to assure myself that Miss Grantworth was suffering no ill effects from what must have been a terribly trying night.”

Victoria covered Max's short bark of laughter with her response. “How kind of you, my lord.” She sent him a smile that matched the intimate timbre of his voice. “I can assure you, although my evening was difficult in more ways than one can imagine, I am feeling quite the thing now that it is morning and the sun is high in the sky.”

Phillip looked at her, then at Aunt Eustacia, and glanced over at Max before returning his attention to Victoria. “I am certain that after last night's frightening experience, you will need to rest and take your time preparing for the ball tonight. I am hopeful that this evening will be just as exhausting, but in a more pleasant way. We will have much help in celebrating our news.”

“News?” Max asked delicately, springing to the bait. “Another ball? Celebrating what?”

“Why, our engagement, of course,” Phillip replied blandly. “Victoria and I are to be married in one month's time.”

+
14
+

Whereupon an Alliance is Suggested

Victoria wore a gown of
the palest of icy purple, with dark violet rosebuds and lace trimmings along the flounces of her skirt. Verbena dressed her hair in all manner of intricate coils and braids, made all the more labyrinthine by its corkscrew nature, and anchored it at the very top of her head. Two strands hung free, one on either side of her face, curling from her temples to rest over her collarbones.

Sparkling behind them were clusters of amethyst and diamonds hanging from her ears. A large, square amethyst rested in the hollow at the base of her throat, tied there by a white velvet ribbon.

She carried a small indispensable of pearlescent silk, into which was tucked a faded pink satin ribbon, and draped a thin Alençon lace shawl around her elbows.

She did not carry a stake. Or holy water. Or even wear a cross, except one tucked deeply into her bodice…and dangling from her navel.

Tonight she was not a Venator.

Tonight Victoria was the betrothed of the Marquess of Rockley.

Perhaps it was an impetuous decision, but Victoria wanted one night to enjoy being a woman in love with a handsome, charming, wealthy man. She wanted one night when she did not have to consider how a vampire might enter the ballroom, or how she might make a quick exit…or even whether the breeze at the back of her neck was a gust of summer wind or the sign of an undead.

She wanted to be normal.

Nevertheless, she had brought a stake and had hidden it with her cloak in the family parlor. Just in case.

Phillip had never looked more handsome as he led her to the dance floor after their betrothal was announced by his closest relative—his deceased mother's brother—halfway through the ball. He swept Victoria gracefully into his arms and they began the first waltz of the second set, surrounded by a combination of beaming and surprised faces.

At first they were the only couple on the dance floor. Through five measures, Victoria felt the weight of half the
ton's
gaze on her, assessing the wife-to-be of the Marquess of Rockley, one of the most sought-after bachelors of Society. He looked down at her as if she were the only woman he'd ever seen—or would see—as they turned around the oblong dance floor in an elongated triangular path.

By the time they'd come near the edge of spectators three times, other couples had begun to ease their way out to take their own turns to the waltz, and Victoria did not feel so much like a trophy on display.

Phillip lifted his gaze periodically to meet the eyes of friends, family, and acquaintances as he guided her through their paces, but his attention always returned to her. It made Victoria feel warm and tingly, the way he looked at her with promise and steadiness. She smiled, turning her face up and looking only at him, trusting that he would direct her through the steps without her having to notice where they were going or near whom they were stepping.

A wonderful feeling…allowing herself to let go. To not have to be aware of her surroundings. To not have to listen to her instincts and wonder when that chill would creep across her neck, and to not have to calculate how she would slip from the room to do her duty.

“Your aunt and your cousin did not appear to be pleased with our news,” Phillip said after they had been dancing for a moment and there were others on the floor.

“I believe you simply took them by surprise with your announcement. They expressed their overwhelming emotion after you took your leave.”

“I thought perhaps they would have wanted to attend tonight to celebrate with us. I am disappointed that they did not accept the invitation to join us here at St. Heath's Row.”

“Aunt Eustacia does not move about Society all that much anymore,” Victoria replied. “She has come here from Italy in only the last four years, and she does not know very many people. And Max…he chooses not to attend functions such as these. Just as you did…until recently.”

“I cannot fault your cousin for that; although had I known I would find you, I am certain I would have made an effort to fend off the matchmakers much sooner.”

“A lovely thought, Phillip, but I cannot agree. You know I have moved very little in Society for the last two years since I have been in mourning for my grandfather and father. If you had indeed bestirred yourself to move about thus, I fear I would have lost you before I found you.”

“Never. Victoria, there would have been no one but you for me.” He sighed, smiled, and continued, “I fear it is time that I make another confession.”

As she had the first time, she raised an eyebrow. “Another one?”

“Another one. My last, Victoria, so enjoy it.” He tipped his head and looked down at her. “The reason I chose to put myself at the mercy of Society this year is because I knew you had finally ended your mourning and were to come out. I wanted to meet the young girl I'd known long ago and see if she had grown into the woman she promised to be. She had; and I fell in love with her.”

When he looked at her like that, with his shining blue eyes so steady and sure, she felt as though nothing would ever be so certain as Phillip and his presence. As if the reality of vampires and Lilith and the Book of Antwartha didn't have to exist in a world in which she and Phillip lived.

But of course, it could not be. She already knew those evils existed. She had already fought them—and fought them successfully.

While she couldn't leave them behind, couldn't be hypnotized out of them as her mother had been, Victoria knew she could survive the split world as long as she had Phillip waiting for her on the other side.

 

 

+ + +

“Max, I don't recall the last time I saw you so disturbed.”

“Disturbed? That's much too polite a word to describe the way I'm feeling,” he said to Eustacia. He'd been stewing about it since yesterday, when Rockley had blithely announced the news at Grantworth House. “Victoria cannot marry—and a marquess, no less! What has addled her brain?”

“I don't disagree with your sentiment, Max, but the fact remains that there is no law against a Venator marrying anyone, marquess or no.”

“No law but common sense. Of which she apparently possesses none.”

Eustacia had not moved from her chair, but despite her calm, measured words, he saw the concern in her ageless face. She might not rail and stalk as he did, but as she said, she was no more pleased than he.

“We have the Book ofAntwartha,” he continued. “And I will admit that she played a much larger role in its recovery than I had expected…but she likely believes that since we have the book, all threat is now abolished, and she does not have to play at being Venator any longer.” He flicked his finger over the sleek black stake he'd just slipped from his favorite hidden pocket.

“It is no more than I suspected when she was first called—she would find her role exciting and exhilarating for a time, and then become bored with it,” he continued. “And then she would want to return to her simple world of poetry-spouting beaux and pink furbelows and dance cards. This is precisely why women should not be Venators. Present company excepted, of course, Eustacia, as you always are the exception that proves the rule.” He gave a short bow, for he recognized the beginnings of fire in her onyx eyes.

“Victoria has given no indication she believes the threat is over, Max. You must admit you're being unfair. She did save your life during the process of getting the Book of Antwartha, and although it would have been preferable for the two of you to stop trying to cut the other out and work in tandem, you did indeed work together and succeeded. Brilliantly.”