The Rest Falls Away (26 page)

What could her aunt want to meet about?

Her decision was made when Lady Melly poked her head in her bedroom. “I'm attending tea at Winnie's. She and Nilly were hoping you'd come too, so we could discuss seating arrangements for the wedding. I haven't seen Rockley for a few days, Victoria. Is he ill?”

Apparently her mother didn't see the red rims of her own daughter's eyes, nor the black circles underscoring them. “Not that I know of. He's been very busy. And, unfortunately, I promised Aunt Eustacia I would visit today. It's been nearly a week.”

She really did have to tell her mother.

Every day she didn't, she risked its appearing in the papers before Lady Melly knew. It wasn't fair to her mother that she might be blindsided. The Society ladies would have a field day at her expense if that happened.

“Mother, I have to tell you something. Rockley and I had an argument. We…” Her voice trailed off when she saw the stricken look on Lady Melly's face.

“Well, surely you can mend the fence, Victoria! You cannot ruin your future over one small argument!”

One small argument.

“I wanted you to know in the event you heard any rumors,” she added lamely.
Blast.
She could single-handedly take down three vampires; why couldn't she tell her mother the truth?

“Well, I expect you to speak with him at the Mullingtons' ball next week and fix things! No excuses, Victoria. It's the duke's fiftieth birthday and everyone will be there. Including you.”

Victoria nodded. She had no choice, and Phillip probably wouldn't attend anyway. He hated those affairs. And if there was even a hint of a rumor he was eligible once again…well, he would be cornered before he took three steps into the room.

“Now, I will see you tonight. We leave at seven thirty. Be ready. And put something over those black circles under your eyes, Victoria. You look horridly exhausted.”

But in the end Victoria didn't go to Aunt Eustacia's. She sent a message back, after her mother left, that she was obligated to spend the day making calls.

And she spent the rest of the afternoon in her room.

That night she had no choice but to attend a musicale with Lady Melly. The only redeeming factor was that it was sure to be an early night, which would allow her to sneak out of the house and do what she had come to think of as patrolling for vampires.

The musicale was just as unexciting as the one she'd attended at the Straithwaites'. Perhaps more so, since this time Rockley didn't make an appearance.

Neither, unfortunately, did any vampires.

It was after midnight when Grantworth House had settled to sleep, and Victoria slipped out the back door.

Barth, her trusty mode of transport, was waiting just around the corner, and as had become their habit, he merely nodded as she climbed into the hackney. He knew his duty by now and drove the carriage to a dangerous part of town. It varied each night; Victoria didn't care. She trusted Barth to know the best places to go and to deliver her to them.

The cobbled streets were damp from a light summer rain, glistening like gray teeth in the moonlight. Victoria left the hackney and told Barth to come for her in two hours.

As the carriage trundled off, she walked to the center of the empty street and stood there, looking around. Daring any danger to accost her.

Everything was silent. Gray and black and silent.

She favored this section of the city—wherever it was. She didn't care and didn't need to know—because the street lamps had either burned out or not been lit tonight. It was the perfect breeding ground for vampires…or other thieves who needed to be taught a lesson. She wasn't particular.

After the first night of patrolling by herself, dressed in men's clothing, Victoria had elected to wear her split skirt on subsequent trips. Garbed as a woman, she attracted more attention from those who wanted to prey on the weak.

But tonight it appeared that the streets were devoid of any dangers for men or women.

She walked down the center of the road, bold and quick, watching for anything that might move in the shadows. Feeling for any faint chill over the back of her neck.

Nothing.

Nothing until she rounded the corner of her third block and saw the shift in an alley. And the back of her neck chilled.

Her lips stretching in a nasty smile, Victoria started toward the shadowy movement. She had her stake in hand, hidden in the folds of her cloak, and she walked along nonchalantly. She passed the alley, her movements nearly shouting innocence and temptation.

She expected him or her to charge out and attack her, but when nothing had happened after half a block, she stopped and turned to look behind. No one was there. The coolness at the back of her neck had eased.

Just as she turned to walk back to the alley, a black carriage, high sprung and elegant, wheeled around the corner. Victoria turned to look, for it was unusual to see such an expensive coach in this part of town.

The carriage eased to a stop in the street in front of her. Its two black horses rolled their eyes, the only pure white in the gray of night, and stamped their feet. The driver did not look at Victoria as he sat unmoving.

Then the door opened.

“Victoria.”

It was Sebastian, and he was beckoning to her. Only his gloved hand was visible, but she recognized his voice and the way he said her name.

She stepped toward the carriage, walking up to the door, and looked in. Sebastian sat alone inside, leaning forward from his seat just enough to stretch his hand out to offer her assistance climbing in.

“Come. You won't find anyone to hunt tonight, my lovely Venator.”

“Why is that?” She stood directly in front of the door, hands on her hips, suddenly unaccountably angry.

“Come for a ride with me. We can enjoy the full moon and I will tell you all about it.”

“Unless there's a vampire in there that's ready to die, I'll walk. Thank you.” She turned and started away.

He moved so quickly she had no time to react. He was out of the carriage and had his arm wrapped around her waist, whirling her back toward the vehicle in what seemed like an instantaneous movement. She stumbled over a stone that marked the edge of the road, falling toward the vehicle. Her hands slamming into the wall were the only things that kept her from landing in the mud.

“So you're in the mood for a fight, are you?” Sebastian said in her ear as his hands planted on either side of hers. “That's the word on the streets. It's been the talk at the Chalice.”

She whipped her arms out, knocking his hands away, and turned. He was right there, so close she could count every eyelash and smell cloves on his breath. “You're no match for me,” she hissed. She didn't understand where this anger was coming from. She just knew she needed an outlet.

“Try me.”

She moved, but he was fast, and he caught her wrists, one in each hand, and pulled them straight down so her arms were extended past her hips. Victoria struggled, but before she could break his grip he placed a foot next to hers and yanked her to the side. She lost her balance, and he picked her up and shoved her into the carriage.

Sebastian was up and inside before she could scramble to her feet, locking the door. He pounded a long walking stick on the ceiling for the driver to start just as Victoria sprang up from the floor.

“Have a seat, my dear,” he said, looking up at her standing over him as if she'd just called for tea. “If you want to fight, I'll fight. You appear to be in need of some kind of…release. Or…you can take a seat safely over there.”

Victoria sat. She was breathing hard, and a little shaken at how easily he'd bested her. Well, not bested her exactly—he'd caught her off guard, but she was not subdued. Not by any stretch of the imagination.

“What do you want?”

“That, my dear, is a dangerous question to ask. Are you quite certain you want my answer?”

She considered him, the way his eyes gleamed and a half smile curved his lips. And decided she wasn't ready to have the answer. So she asked a different question: “What did you mean that I wouldn't find anyone to hunt tonight?”

“I mean that the undead have made themselves scarce on the streets the last few nights because of the rampage you've been on. They've all been biding their time at the Chalice, padding my pockets.” He smiled. “So I thought I might find you walking the streets, frustrated at your lack of success.”

“Rampage? Hunting and staking vampires is what Venators do. No different from what Max has been doing for years.”

“Pesaro is known for his cold and calculating kills, true, but apparently your particular technique of late has sent the undead scurrying. It may have something to do with the fact that you still have in your possession the Book of Antwartha and are one up on Lilith; I am not certain. I just know that the vampires have been more wont to drink kegged blood than fresh in the last few nights.”

“So you've come to take me to the Chalice, so I can hunt there?”

A look of horror washed the charm off his face. “Absolutely not!” And then when he saw the faint smile she'd allowed, he laughed. “Touché, my dear.”

“Why do you want to protect the vampires?” asked Victoria, feeling a bit less restive. A little more relaxed.

“I don't protect vampires.”

“By offering them a safe place to congregate, you certainly do.”

“Perhaps I find it beneficial to provide a place where they will come and take their ease. Perhaps having that public place where their tongues will loosen and information might flow is valuable to me, as well as others. And there is, of course, money to be made—both from the undead, and from the ones who merely wish to interact with them.”

She raised an eyebrow.

“Some people find it pleasurable to allow a vampire to drink their blood.”

“Pleasurable?”

“You've been bitten by a vampire, Victoria. You know what it felt like just before he sank his teeth into your neck. And how, after he did, you wanted to simply let go and allow him to take you.”

He was looking at her in such a way she felt hardly able to breathe. But she managed to reply, “How do you know I was bitten by a vampire?”

Suddenly Sebastian was on the seat next to her, his walking stick clattering to the floor. His leg pushed into the side of her thigh as he turned to lean over her. Stripping off his glove, he reached for the collar of her cloak and pulled it away. The fresh air rushed over her skin. “Because I saw this the first time we met.”

He traced his bare finger over her neck, following the tendon that led to the small pool at the base of her throat. He dipped his thumb there, filling the soft, elastic indentation as the rest of his hand moved to cup the side of her neck that was not scarred.

She couldn't move away. She could barely breathe as her pulse throbbed in the vee of his hand, making his grip tighten and then loosen in rhythm with her heartbeat.

“Remember this?” he murmured, tipping her head so that she rested in his hand, opening the marked side of her neck to the whole of the carriage, open and vulnerable as he bent toward her.

She closed her eyes and felt it: lips, tongue, teeth; biting, licking, scraping gently over her sensitive skin, coaxing and convincing. She wanted to twist from him, to sigh, to press into him for more.

Her cloak loosened and fell away, her shoulders bare to the top of her low bodice. His weight pressed down on her now, his warm hands—one bare, one gloved—moving over her shoulders. The leather of his covered hand moved like sticky flesh against her skin, the thick seams and buttons rough where they touched her.

Victoria's mouth was still free and she breathed a long sigh. Perhaps she said his name, she wasn't sure. He raised her arms above her head, pushing her wrists into the corner of the carriage where she lay. This brought his face close to hers, his clove breath warm on her chin, his fingers tangling in the hair at the top of her head.

Victoria closed her eyes. She could pull away. She could break his grip—sit up and shove him back to the other side of the carriage for the liberties he was taking…but it felt so delicious, so reckless, so
right
for the way she was feeling.

Phillip—dear Phillip—had made her feel warm and liquid and malleable when he kissed her…but he was gone now, and Sebastian's mouth on her neck evoked a different sort of response…sharper. Deeper and improper, and made her hungry for more of whatever he was offering. Or taking.

“So easy,” he was whispering into her ear. “You are yearning for passion, Victoria. Is your marquess nothing but a cold fish?”

She was too lulled to experience the annoyance his comment should have sparked. “My marquess is no longer my marquess,” she replied in a voice that was not her own.

“Indeed?” Sebastian pulled away so quickly that she opened her eyes. “Well, if that is the case, then I will feel not the least bit of guilt for this incident.”

Despite the fact that her lungs seemed too full to draw in another breath, Victoria replied, “I doubt that guilt is an emotion that ever crosses your mind, regardless of the circumstance.”

He laughed, dropped a brief kiss onto her lips for the first time, and said, “Well, one must at least appear to make the effort.” And then, as if realizing how good her mouth tasted, he kissed her again. Hard and rough were his kisses, and Victoria, as though released from some sort of restriction, kissed him back.

This was nothing like Phillip. In the back of her mind it saddened her, because their passion had been true, without the underlying brutality of the one she shared with Sebastian.

When he moved, releasing her wrists and allowing her hands to delve into his loose curls, she shifted her hips to keep from sliding off the seat, and her foot landed, unbalanced, on the round walking stick. Sebastian pressed his weight into her, as if to implant her into the bench, and matched his hips to hers. A kind of burning tingling between her legs surprised her, and she pushed up closer, wanting more, feeling the hard ridge of him through their clothing.