The Rest Falls Away (22 page)

Aunt Eustacia nodded once. To Victoria's relief, she asked for no further details. Instead she commented, “If you should have occasion to meet him again, it would not be remiss if you were to attempt to establish some level of cooperation. It could be to our benefit.”

With that, Victoria knew she needn't put off visiting the Silver Chalice any longer.

She would go tonight.

+ 15 +

Miss Grantworth Acquires the Headache

It wasn't quite as easy
getting to the Silver Chalice as Victoria had envisioned it.

She'd forgotten her fiancé was taking her to the theater that evening. And she'd rather been looking forward to seeing the latest rendition of Master Shakespeare's
The Taming of the Shrew.

She told herself that the odd squirming feeling in her middle had nothing to do with the fact that she would see Sebastian again. It was because she hoped Phillip wouldn't question her when she feigned a headache immediately at the end of the play.

That way she could see the program, but then be required to return home immediately, instead of arriving late to a post-theater ball or taking a stroll through Covent Gardens. The curtain rose at seven-thirty and the theater normally let out by eleven.

If Barth were there with his hackney by midnight, that would give Victoria plenty of opportunity to pay a visit to the Silver Chalice and return home in time to get several hours of sleep before her wedding gown fitting.

Perfect.

And it actually worked according to plan. There weren't even any vampires at the Drury Lane Theatre, nor did even the slightest chill skitter across Victoria's neck during the trip there and back. In fact, there had been a dearth of vampires since the fights at Redfield Manor, and Victoria began to wonder if she and Max had fairly cleared out a good portion of Lilith's army. Perhaps the vampire queen had gone into hiding and was licking her wounds, or, better yet, perhaps she'd left the country.

“Are you certain there is nothing I can do for you?” asked Phillip as he led her up the walk to Grantworth House. He was clearly disappointed at having their evening cut short, but he'd handled it with grace and concern, as she'd known he would.

“Thank you, darling, but a bit of rest and Verbena's peppermint tea is all I need. I am sure to be fresh as a daisy tomorrow,” she told him. “And I had best be so, for Madame LeClaire is attending me for a gown fitting.”

Jimmons had opened the door for them, and Phillip followed Victoria over the threshold. “Now that, my lovely, is something I would pay dearly to see.” His smile, warm and crooked, told her that he knew it was only a matter of time before he would have his desire fulfilled.

Glancing about as if to assure himself that Jimmons had retreated, Phillip took her shoulders, and under the gentle pressure of his fingers she stepped toward him. Her breasts brushed the buttons of his coat, the folds of her skirt jutted around and between his trousers, and one foot slid between his.

Another guiding movement from his fingers, and she came closer and had to draw in her breath because they were close, touching at hip, thigh, and foot. And then mouth. Warm, slick, tender, he kissed her.

If she'd truly been suffering from a headache, Victoria was sure it would have flown as easily from her head as all other thought actually did.

“I know you aren't feeling quite the thing,” he murmured near her lips when they paused, foreheads heavy against each other, “but I can't resist.” His nose slid against hers as he dipped to kiss her again.

When he finally set her away from him, just as carefully as he'd drawn her near, Victoria opened her eyes. She had to blink in order to focus, and was deliriously pleased to see that his normally half-lidded eyes were even droopier. He looked as though he wanted to slip back into her arms with the same ease and comfort of sliding into a feather bed. But warmer. More inviting.

“Good night, Phillip,” she heard herself say as he stepped away, still holding her hand. Her palm, then fingers, then the very tips of them, slid through his grip as he released her. The door was behind him. Still looking at her with those half-closed eyes, meaningful and determined, he reached for the knob, turned it, and slipped out into the night.

“Well, if that wasn't a kiss of true love, I don't know what is.”

Victoria spun to see Verbena standing at the bottom of the staircase—lud, she hadn't even heard her approach!—with a decidedly wistful expression on her face. “Love's not necessary to a well-matched marriage,” Victoria said firmly, “but it certainly doesn't hurt. Now, is Barth here?”

“He's been waiting just around the corner for the marquess to leave,” Verbena replied. “Are you certain I cannot go with you tonight?”

“No, I thank you, Verbena, but I will go alone. Barth will deliver me safely and I'll be home before dawn. You'll need to be here in case my mother asks for me. She was concerned when I left the theater, as I told her I wasn't feeling well. Now, I had best be on my way if I hope to get any sleep tonight.”

“Barth will wait while you change your gown.” “No, but I will take my dark red cloak. Its hood will help to hide my face.” In the event that Max was also at the Silver Chalice.

When she alighted from Barth's hackney forty minutes later, Big Ben had just struck half past midnight. Under the heavy cloak, Victoria held the pistol she'd remembered to bring this time—there would be no Verbena to come to the rescue tonight. She also had three stakes in various locations on her person, her indispensable—which held a vial of salted holy water—and a large cross tucked into her relatively high bodice. That last had been at Verbena's insistence, for if she was not allowed to go, she would ensure that her mistress was well protected.

Well-protected she would be from vampires. And armed with the pistol, she would be safe from other predators.

But for some reason, when she thought about Sebastian Vioget, she was not altogether certain how secure she would be.

The Silver Chalice had more empty tables than it had the last time Victoria had been there, but since there'd been only one at that time, and there were three this time, she did not think it was any indication of a dearth of business.

Under the cloak's hood and the low coil of her hair, Victoria's neck bristled with chill as though an arctic wind blasted it. At the bottom of the steep stairs she paused to glance around, looking for anyone she knew.

Amelie, the platinum-haired pianist who'd sat with Verbena the last time, was at her place to the left. She bore the same melancholy look Victoria remembered from before, and played the same sad, drawn-out music. Max was not here, and neither, as far as she could see, was Sebastian.

Drawing back the hood of her cloak, Victoria stepped from the shadows near the stairs and started toward a table. Berthy, the rude serving woman, remembered her, even though Victoria had been dressed in man's clothing the last time. Apparently Sebastian had been right about its not hiding her gender. Berthy sloshed by with two hands full of tankards and gave Victoria a nudge that resulted in a splash on her cloak. “He said to come to the back rooms.”

Victoria didn't waste the energy wondering how Sebastian knew she'd arrived. Perhaps he'd told Berthy to give her those instructions regardless of when she came. She started toward the brick wall where the door was, then changed her mind and selected a seat at an empty table with three chairs.

On her way back to the bar, Berthy paused by Victoria's table just long enough to ask, “Wot's it to be?”

“Cider,” replied Victoria to the back of her head. But Berthy nodded, and she knew she'd heard her.

Letting her attention wander the room, Victoria amused herself by identifying which patrons were undead and which were mortal. To her surprise it was fairly evenly split, and there were even tables at which the two kinds mixed. Why a mortal would willingly interact with an undead was something she couldn't comprehend. It was rather like the fly sitting down for tea with the spider: likely to be dangerous and messy.

When Berthy swooped back by, her hands full again, Victoria watched as she slammed down two tankards at a table with vampires. Something too opaque to be red wine slopped over the sides and ran down onto the table. Victoria felt the hair on the back of her arms rise, and she looked away as one of the undead drank eagerly.

Placing the cider in front of Victoria, Berthy gave her what appeared to be a smile and leaned close enough to say, “Makin' him come to ye, eh? 'At's the way to teach 'em.” And then she was gone.

Hiding her smile in the wide metal mug, Victoria took a sip of the fermented drink. Not bad. She'd remembered her coins this time, and pulled out a farthing to leave on the table for Berthy.

Just then Max—dressed in black, of course—appeared from around the corner of the descending stairs. As Victoria had done, he looked around the room, and, recognizing the inevitable, she raised her hand to draw his attention.

He didn't appear surprised to see her. In fact, the speed with which he made his way to her small round table betrayed the fact that he'd been searching for her. Eustacia must have told him.

“Good evening, Max,” Victoria said as he slid into the chair next to her. “Shall I ask Berthy to bring you an ale? Or would you prefer what they're drinking?” She gestured to the vampires next to them. “It looks a bit thick to be a chianti.”

He leaned toward her, his elbows on the table next to hers, his eyes scanning the room even as he spoke. “I cannot believe you came here alone, Victoria.”

“I'm a Venator, Max, same as you.”

“I don't know what Eustacia has put into your head, but Sebastian Vioget—”

“—is delighted to welcome you to his establishment.”

Max's intensity evaporated. Victoria literally felt it ooze out of him. He was sitting close enough that she felt the ease in his taut muscles, the gentle, deep breath he took. “Vioget. What impeccable timing, as always.”

Victoria glanced at Max. His body relaxed, lean and long, in the chair next to hers. He looked as though his best friend had just wandered up and mentioned the sun was beaming. His smile showed even white teeth and a gentle dent in the skin next to the corner of his mouth…but she recognized the edge to that innocuous smile.

“And who is your lovely companion?” Sebastian slid into the third seat at the table, to the left of Victoria. The three of them sat in a wide vee, with Victoria at the apex, facing the open room.

Before Max could reply, she had to save the moment. “I must have the advantage, then, Mr. Vioget. I am Victoria Grantworth, and I must confess I am aware that you are the owner of this establishment. I saw you the last time I was here.” None of which, strictly speaking, was a lie.

Approval glinting in his eyes, Sebastian reached over and took her gloved hand. “I am very pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Grantworth.” He raised her ungloved hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to it, watching her with his golden eyes. It brought to mind the last time she'd visited the Silver Chalice—when she'd been dressed as a man, and they'd shaken hands, her slender one in his wide-palmed one.

And then she had a flash of memory of that same bronze hand, fingers splayed, brushing over the warm skin of her ivory belly. Her stomach tightened involuntarily, as if he were reaching to touch it again, and their eyes met as he released her fingers. His expression had changed to amber, and she knew he remembered too.

“How about some of that whiskey you keep in the back,” Max said, his voice still low and smooth. But Victoria could feel him scanning her as if trying to read between and under and around the polite words they'd spoken. His unruffled manner merely underscored the power she knew was hidden. The question was whether Sebastian was aware of it.

Sebastian caught Berthy's attention, and somehow she knew what he wanted, for moments later she slammed down the whiskey bottle and two small glasses. This time she did not slosh on his lace cuffs.

“So you have retrieved the Book of Antwartha,” said Sebastian after he tipped his glass back. Light from the wall sconce behind him glowed at the edges of his curling hair, giving him an oddly angelic appearance. “I must offer you my congratulations. It was a bit of a moment, there, Pesaro, when you might not have succeeded.”

Max's arm brushed hers as he tossed back a healthy swallow of the golden liquid. Placing the glass with deliberate care, he watched Sebastian closely, yet his words sounded nonchalant. “Did you know of the protection on the book? That a mortal must not steal it from its rightful owner?”

Sebastian's response was equally as cool. “I had heard something of that nature.” Their gazes met steadily, neither willing to give way.

“Kind of you to have mentioned it.”

Suddenly Victoria's attention was drawn to a cluster of movement near the bottom of the staircase entrance. She glanced over and her heart stuttered to a halt.

No.

No! Impossible!
Still staring at the entrance, she could barely get the words out. “It's Phillip! Rockley! He's
here!”
Victoria grabbed blindly at Max's wrist. “My God, he's here!”

Max had been focused on Vioget. Now he turned to look at her, then toward the entrance, where she was still watching in shock. She felt her nails bite into his warm skin.

The marquess was standing just at the bottom of the staircase. He appeared to be holding a pistol at his side. And he had drawn the attention of more than one of the Silver Chalice's occupants.

How could this be? She had to get him out of here…but she couldn't let him see her! Victoria dragged the hood of her cloak up over her hair and shifted back into the shadows, realizing that she was going to have to ask Max for help. Her fingers were icy. She felt ill. How had he come here? How could it be?