The Rest Falls Away (6 page)

“Hmmm,” said Victoria as she slipped her fingers around his arm, “I didn't realize my excuses were so transparent. Perhaps next time I'll be forced to invent a fatal disease or something of that nature.”

“It is my hope, Miss Grantworth, that you won't be inventing any further excuses for missing a dance with me, as I assure you I am not about to tread on your toes, despite the fact that my feet are thrice the size of your own.”

“Ah, you have found me out…'twas for that very reason I made certain I was not available when your dance came up. The rumors of black-and-blue marks on the feet of the other debutantes…well, they are quite frightening. Alas, I shall have to chance the tenderness of my toes, as you have caught me dead to rights.” Laughing, she tightened her fingers around his arm, surprised at how solid and warm it felt, even through her gloves and his fine woven jacket. Looking up at him, she again felt a hint of familiarity, as if she had met him previously.

“It appears to be a waltz, Miss Grantworth.…Lady Melisande, do you permit your daughter to waltz?” He was looking over her shoulder.

Victoria turned back to her mother and Duchess Winnie, who'd both been watching her banter with Rockley while wearing complacent smiles.

“Of course, Lord Rockley, of course,” trilled Lady Melly. “My lord, I hope you will enjoy your dance!” Her eyes gleamed.

“She certainly does,” muttered Victoria as Rockley swept her away.

She bumped gently against his tall form as they turned, and he looked down at her with a knowing smile. “She certainly does what, Miss Grantworth?”

“Hopes you will enjoy your dance with me; but I am certain you are no more hard of hearing than I am. It must be difficult, now that you, the elusive Marquess of Rockley, have announced you are seeking a bride. All of the matchmaking mamas have lined up, conniving and scheming to bring you into their fold.”

They stepped onto the dance floor in the ballroom of the Duke and Duchess of Dunstead's home. With a fluid, practiced motion, Rockley slipped his arm around and behind her, pivoting Victoria to face him. “You cannot imagine being in such a predicament?” He grasped her fingers, and they stepped into the time of the music.

“No, I truly cannot.” She looked up and found his eyes fastened quizzically on her.

“But are you not in the very same position? Being put on display for all of the young…and not so young bucks,” he added with a rueful smile, “looking to wed and father an heir? Surely you must feel the same pressures our society imposes on all of us who are gentrified and also unwed.”

The dull ache of the ring through her navel was a reminder of the biggest pressure of all. She'd executed two vampires since receiving her
vis bulla—
one at the Roweford ball (causing her to miss a second dance with Rockley, to her dismay) and one during an intermission at the Drury Lane Theatre. Both stakings had been frightening and exhilarating at the same time. The most difficult aspect, however, had been creating a reason to slip away and do her duty. Fortunately, Aunt Eustacia had been in attendance at both events and had been able to help her make her escape.

Victoria returned the marquess's smile. “I may feel the pressure, but I have no intention of succumbing to it.”

He looked startled. “You do not wish to wed? Does your mother know this?”

“It isn't that I do not want to marry; that I definitely intend to do,” she explained truthfully as he twirled her around the floor. “It's that I have no intention of being
rushed
into making a decision that will affect me for the rest of my life.” Especially since she'd just made such a decision in accepting the Gardella Legacy.

But that was different.

It wasn't as if any other woman—or man—crowding the ball tonight would have such a choice to make.

The surprise in his face evaporated. “I can certainly understand that sentiment, Miss Grantworth. I'm not certain your mother, who is, at this moment, watching us with a definitely plotting expression on her face, would agree with you, but I can fully relate.”

Victoria smiled up at him, a burst of pleasure trilling through her at the joy of being spun gently across the floor by the Marquess of Rockley, no less. Surely Rockley was the handsomest, most charming, and wealthiest unattached man at the ball. And he was looking down at her with quite obvious interest.

“Miss Grantworth, I have a confession to make.”

“Oh?” She raised her eyebrows delicately.

Every time she looked at him, she felt a gentle churning in her stomach—an expectant, pleasant churning.

“We once met long ago…and I have not been able to forget you.”

“It does feel as though we've met,” she replied. “I have been wondering about that myself…but I must confess I do not recall when or where it was.”

“Your honesty pains me, Miss Grantworth, but I will tell you the story. Perhaps it will stir your memory. Some of my father's holdings abutted Prewitt Shore, your family estate, I believe. And one summer many years ago—I was perhaps sixteen—I was riding one of the stallions from the stable. One that I was not, of course, supposed to ride,” he added with the hint of a proud smile, “but, of course I was a daredevil and I did. I came barreling across a meadow, not realizing I had strayed onto the lands of our neighbor, and—Ah, but you do remember now, don't you?”

Victoria's face had lightened with a smile. “Phillip! I knew you only as Phillip; you did not tell me you were the marquess's son!” The image was with her. It had been buried in the recesses of her mind, that summer when she was but twelve, but now it came back as though it were yesterday: a sturdy, dark-haired young man flying across the fields on a hot summer day. “You jumped over the fence and your mount landed, and so did you—on the ground in a tumble!”

He laughed ruefully, his square jaw softened by the movement. “Indeed, and I suffered for my boldness. But I met you, the pretty, dark-haired girl who rushed to my aid and made certain I was cared for. And you even chased down Ranger, the stallion, so he wouldn't return to the stables without me. If I recall…once you were sure I wasn't gravely injured, you spent the next ten minutes chastising me for my foolishness. The image of you standing above me, calmly holding the reins of that large chestnut beast whilst flaying me with your tongue, has stayed with me always.”

Victoria looked away demurely. “I must have been quite bold to speak so to a man I did not know.”

“Indeed, and it was your boldness and your fearlessness that intrigued me. I have not forgotten you, Miss Grantworth, for you made quite a lasting impression on that young man. And,” he added as the dance music came to a close, “it has become clear you have lost none of your boldness, nor your opinions, nor your originality…for I am quite certain that there is not another debutante in this room, or in the
ton,
that is as unconcerned about finding a husband as you are.”

“And I have not forgotten the young man who rode with such carefree abandon in a manner I only dreamed of doing. I envied you that. And I can hardly comprehend that you are the same boy I knew for those few weeks! The marquess's son—I would never have thought it.”

He smiled down at her, and warmth returned to her face. “Someday, perhaps we will ride together, Miss Grantworth. And you shall try your hand at leaping over fences and bounding across fields. I promise, I will tell no one.”

“And that is a promise on which I will hold you to your gentlemanly word.”

When they finished dancing, Lord Rockley returned her to her mother and Lady Winnie. “I am rather thirsty; perhaps you are as well. May I provide you with some lemonade, Miss Grantworth? And, of course, Lady Melisande and Your Grace?”

“Oh, do not trouble yourself, Lord Rockley,” Victoria's mother warbled. “But I am sure Victoria would love something to drink.”

Victoria gave Lord Rockley a surreptitious wink, but slipped her hand from his grasp. “I'm sorry, my lord, but I see my next dancing partner approaching. Perhaps you will be thirsty later?”

“Of course, my lady. I'm certain I'll have a thirst for the remainder of the evening.” His eyelids swept to half-mast and he gave her a meaningful smile as he captured her gloved hand and lifted it to his lips.

Lord Stackley was Victoria's partner for the quadrille, and he led her through the paces with alacrity, if not with skill. Despite the fact that he stepped squarely on her feet twice during the first set with all of his solid weight, Victoria barely noticed. The
vis bulla
was not only good for fighting vampires…it was protection against clumsy gentlemen!

After Lord Stackley, she danced with Baron Ledbetter. Another quadrille. And then with Lady Gwendolyn's eldest brother, Lord Starcasset, Viscount Claythorne.

But it was during another waltz, with the tall and gangly Baron Truscott, that Victoria felt a familiar chill lift the hair at the back of her neck. Until that moment she had almost forgotten there were things to worry about other than whether her toes would be mangled before the night was over.

As Truscott spun her around, not nearly as elegantly as had Rockley, but with some efficiency, Victoria scanned those present in the vast ballroom. She would not make the same mistake as before, assuming the predator was the one who looked most like she'd expected a vampire to look: tall, dark, and arrogant.

After a moment she was fairly certain a man with brown hair and a hooked nose standing with a young woman she didn't recognize was the vampire whose presence she'd felt. She kept one eye focused on the couple as Truscott managed their way between the other dancers. As long as they remained in the room, the young woman was safe. It would give Victoria time to extricate herself from Truscott and create a way to get the vampire alone.

She couldn't exactly stake him in the middle of the ball.

It was a curious thing: Vampires were not allowed to enter the home of someone unless they were invited by the home owner or someone acting for them—such as a servant. Gatherings such as this ball at the Dunstead home were by invitation, and only to the members of the
ton,
of course. So it was curious—but not impossible—that a vampire had managed to get himself or herself into the ball.

She supposed it was due to the comings and goings of servants and staff, and the masses of people invited to events such as this. There were many ways to be “invited” into a home…for something as simple as delivering a bouquet of flowers or the side of beef to be served for dinner. And once the invitation was extended, it was permanent as long as the homeowner did not change.

Victoria was thankful when the dance ended, but dismayed when Truscott manipulated their exit from the dance floor to be near the tables filled with drinks and cakes…completely across the room from where the vampire stood. Watching.

Watching
her.

Victoria realized with a start his cold eyes were focused on her. Unblinking. His gaze tugged at her from across the room.

He curled one side of his mouth in a half smile, still staring at her. A little nod. And then he slipped his arm around the woman next to him and began to lead her away.

A challenge.

If the chill on the back of her neck had merely raised her nape hair, it was now standing straight up. And ice was forming.

“Lord Truscott, I must excuse myself,” Victoria said quickly, pulling her arm from his grasp and ignoring the glass of lemonade he was offering her. “I…I believe my gown has a loose ribbon, and I must see to it.”

“But Miss Grantworth—”

“Please excuse me.” She slipped away, hurrying as quickly as she could without drawing attention to herself as she pushed through people edging the dance floor. It would be faster to move through the dancing couples, but that would only cause a stir. Pray God her mother or her two cronies didn't see her!

She kept her eye on the vampire's dark head, which was more difficult than when she'd been stalking Maximilian. This man was only average height, and got lost among some of the other partygoers. The couple walked through an alcove, strolling at a comfortable pace, and turned down what appeared to be a hallway.

Victoria's skirts wrapped around her ankles, and would have been flapping if they'd been made of something heavier than light chiffon. Bending quickly, she slipped a hand under the hem of her skirt and pulled the narrow wooden pike from the garter just below her knee.

The stake felt solid and comfortable in her hand. This one was more slender than the one she'd used to stake the vampire at her own coming-out party, but according to Aunt Eustacia, was just as potent as the thicker one. The trick was, she had told her, to find a stake that was light enough to carry and hide easily, but strong enough that it wouldn't break when being stabbed into the vampire's breastbone.

Victoria hurried along the hallway, listening with her ears and her instincts. She wasn't sure which room they had disappeared into…but when the ice at the back of her neck became almost painful in its intensity, she paused outside an ajar door.

The vampire would be expecting her, but stealth wasn't as imperative as skill and cunning. Could he sense her in the same way she could sense him? He must, or how else would he have known her?

She toed the door open and waited. From her vantage point in the hallway near the wall, she could see into the chamber. It appeared to be a den. A fire burned across the way, and several large sofas flanked a red-and-orange Persian rug. A glimmer of movement caught her eye, and she watched as the faint shadow shifted.

Was the shadow the vampire…or his victim, acting as a lure?

The undead could be hiding behind the door, waiting for Victoria.

She knew how to solve that. She kicked the door hard, and it swung open, slamming into the wall behind it and leaving the entire expanse of the room to her view.