Victoria Gardella: Vampire Slayer (2 page)

Victoria smiled up at him, but felt a twinge
of guilt. She’d had to forestall or interrupt their dances more
than once, when duty called for her to locate and stake a vampire.
“Waltzes? I would be most delighted to grant you those, in the
plural…insofar as I can trust you won’t try to relieve me of my
jeweled hairpieces. Such stories I’ve heard about you, Sir Robin
Hood, and your quick fingers.”

His eyes glinted appreciatively. “As I have
been so bold as to proclaim, your majesty, it isn’t your jewels
that I hope to obtain.”

“Something more valuable?” she asked,
suddenly forgetting about Sebastian Vioget, and vampires, and
anything other than the man looking down at her.

“Something eminently more valuable…and
enjoyable.”

It was at that exceedingly inopportune moment
that Victoria felt a telltale chill over the back of her neck. As
she was well aware, that cold prickle wasn’t due to any sudden
draft or change in temperature…it was her Venator sense telling her
that a vampire was in the vicinity.

Blast.

Ignoring the sensation for the moment,
Victoria looked demurely away from Phillip’s warm gaze. He’d
already kissed her once, and he’d made it quite clear he intended
to do so again.

“Is that so?” she replied, automatically
moistening her lips before she realized how closely he was watching
her. The warmth bloomed in her cheeks again and she felt a rise in
her heartrate. Odd, how she felt little fear or consternation in
facing a demonic undead…but when confronted with a mere man who was
besotted with her, she felt more than a bit out of her element.

“I daresay you must be quite warm in that
heavy gown,” Phillip said, tightening his arm around her waist.
“Perhaps a turn on the patio would be in order? I believe the moon
is quite lovely.”

She wanted nothing more than that…except
perhaps something a bit more private where they might share another
kiss. But duty had reared its ugly head, and Victoria couldn’t
ignore the chill of an undead. Nor could she waste any more time
for fear the vampire would have the chance to woo his or her victim
away.

“I should love to see Lady Petronilla’s
gardens, for they are always quite lovely in June. But when I
tripped earlier, one of my flounces tore. I might visit the
retiring room first, to see if it can be repaired.”

Disappointment clouded his eyes for a moment,
but Victoria continued with a gentle smile, “It shall be quite dark
in the gardens, and I don’t wish to cause any further damage to the
flounce before it is repaired.”

At the mention of the dark garden, and her
accompanying smile that told him she fully intended to take
advantage of it, Phillip relaxed a bit. “Perhaps you might be a bit
thirsty? I shall find some lemonade while you have your gown
repaired.”

Victoria smiled with delight. At their very
first meeting, Phillip had brought her a cup of lemonade when he
learned that her dance card had filled up before he could claim a
second turn, and it had become sort of a jest between them.
“Indeed, I would greatly appreciate that.”

The waltz ended a few bars later, thankfully,
for Victoria had delayed long enough. As soon as she and Phillip
reached the edge of the dance floor, she slipped from his grip and
started to move herself and her ungainly gown in the direction of
the ladies tiring room. But as soon as he turned away, she changed
direction and made her way through the crush of costumed
people.

Still fairly inexperienced at understanding
her Venator sensibilities, Victoria wasn’t certain how near the
vampire was, or even how many there were. Max and Aunt Eustacia had
assured her that eventually she would be able to tell, but for now,
the chill merely signified that an undead was in the proximity.

And since a vampire couldn’t enter a home
uninvited, Victoria presumed he or she had arrived under a mask of
some sort, pretending to be one of the invitees. Which would make
it even more difficult to identify the villain.

She’d pushed her way between a milkmaid
juggling two, thankfully empty, pails and a doublet-garbed Romeo
when she suddenly came face to face with the golden-haired lute
player.

“Why, my dear Venator,” he murmured, slipping
his hand around her arm in the crowd, “how delighted I am that you
should have followed me so quickly. Shall we slip away to finish
the…discussion…we began at the Chalice?”

“Sebastian,” she replied, tugging her arm
discreetly away so as not to draw attention. If her mother saw her
tête-à-tête with a man who not only wasn’t the Marquess of Rockley,
but was also without a title at all, she’d come barreling over to
separate them immediately. “What are you doing here?”

She didn’t know much about
Sebastian—particularly whether or not he should be trusted—but one
thing she did know was that he wasn’t the vampire she sought.

“Why, I’m attending a masquerade ball…the
same as you, I presume. What a delight to see you here,
ma
chér,
although I must admit that your costume could be
considered in poor taste…considering the fact that her majesty met
a most unpleasant end. According to my Grandfather Beauregard, it
was rather a bloody incident.”

She drew back a bit. Was that some sort of
warning? A renewed prickle lifted the hair at the back of her neck,
reminding her that she had other business to attend to. “Why are
you here?” she asked again.

Those sensual lips smiled knowingly, lifting
his mask a bit. “Perhaps I came simply because I knew that you
would be here…and I find that masks, though obscuring, can also be
quite…freeing.” His hand slid through the crook of her arm, easing
her flush against his side—or at least as flush as he could, with
inches of skirts, crinolines, and panniers between them. “I noticed
that you extricated yourself from Lord Rockley quite directly, as
soon as you recognized me.”

She realized he’d begun to guide them through
the crowd, away from the dance floor, and toward the rest of the
house. Since that was the direction she wished to go anyway, she
allowed him to think he was in charge.

After all, with her
vis bulla
strength, she could snap his grip and stop him in his tracks at any
given moment, as the lascivious Mr. Bendleworth had discovered a
week ago when he tried to lure her into a dark corner.

Aside of that, since she didn’t trust
Sebastian as far as she could throw the well-padded Duchess of
Farnham, Victoria felt it might be best to keep an eye on him for a
bit. Especially if there was a vampire about.

As they pulled free of the party-goers and
found themselves moving into the house’s grand entrance, Victoria’s
neck grew colder, confirming that she was heading in the right
direction.

Suddenly, she heard a low cry from one of the
rooms beyond, and she pulled free of Sebastian’s grip. Heart
beating, she slipped the stake from its little loop beneath a
flounce and began to move quickly down the corridor. Her gown
rustled, causing her to curse the fact that she’d listened to her
mother’s costume suggestion instead of dressing the way she wished:
as Diana, in a flimsy, light gown. She would have even been able to
put stakes in a bow quiver and wear it over her shoulder.

Victoria reached the only door that was
closed tightly, certain this was where the soft cry had come from.
Her neck was still cold, but there was silence. A quick glance
behind told her that Sebastian had disappeared, blast it, but she
couldn’t worry about him now.

The stake gripped hard in her hand, she
listened again, and closed her fingers around the cool door knob.
Then, she heard it again. A low, pained cry from the other side of
the door.

Victoria twisted the knob and eased it open
quickly and quietly. Inside, the room was dark, lit only by a fire
needed more for its illumination than warmth. Shadows danced, black
and red, and she darted her gaze around quickly.

There. In the corner, the shapes of a man and
woman, entwined.

Entwined?

Victoria paused, her stake poised, and
forever after, she would be grateful for that hesitation. For as
she looked more closely, she saw that not only were there no
burning red eyes or long white fangs on either of the two figures,
but that one of them was dressed in the long white gown of
Circe.

Mother?

And the other was the tall, slender figure of
Lord Jellington, Lady Melly’s erstwhile beau.

Victoria sucked in her breath and fairly
stumbled back out of the room, deliriously grateful that they’d
been much too engaged in…whatever they were doing…to have noticed
her presence.

Her mother.

No wonder she wanted Victoria married off.
Then she would no longer have a daughter to chaperone and could go
about her own business.

Victoria hurried back down the hall and then
paused, waiting to feel the temperature at the back of her neck.
Yes, the chill was still there.

A broad, curving staircase rose out of the
foyer in front of her. Perhaps….

Victoria gathered up her bothersome skirts
and hurried up the steps, stake gripped in one hand and slippers
silent on the treads. As she rose, her neck became slightly more
chilled and she smiled in pleasure. Hopefully, she was on the right
path and would soon dispatch the nuisance of the undead…and then be
able to return to Phillip, lemonade, and the moonlight.

Once at the top of the stairs, she hesitated
for a moment, then moved smoothly along to the left. Most of the
doors were closed, for they led to bedchambers, but she paused next
to each one to listen and feel.

The third one door on the left was slightly
ajar, but she was certain the prickling chill at her nape had
become colder. One hand on the door, she eased it open slightly and
peered inside.

A dark figure moved within the shadows of the
room, and Victoria caught her breath. Smiling to herself, she
levered the door open further, started to move in and then realized
her skirts were too wide. The light from the hallway would soon
spill in enough to warn the vampire that someone was there, but he
would likely think she was simply an innocent, helpless girl.

Victoria hid her stake behind the width of
her gown and pushed the door open.

The man turned, and light fell on his
face.

“Sebastian!” Victoria stalked into the room.
“What are you after?”

“So you’ve followed me again, have you, my
dear Venator?” he asked, moving away from a chest of drawers. He
looked as though he was withdrawing his hand from beneath his
tunic, and she suspected he’d just placed something—likely whatever
he’d been searching for—somewhere inside. “A bit more private than
the library downstairs. Did you find your vampire?”

“No,” she replied. “What do you have in your
pocket?”

His smile flashed hot in the low light. “Why
do you not come and look for yourself?”

Victoria was too annoyed to be flustered by
his blatant comment, and she moved into the room with an angry
swish of silk. “I would be delighted to do so,” she said,
approaching him fearlessly.

“My, you are full of courage tonight, aren’t
you?”

“No, indeed,” she said, fully aware that the
back of her neck was still cold, and that somewhere, an undead was
on the prowl. “I’m simply in a hurry, and you keep distracting
me.”

“I distract you, do I?” He stepped closer to
her, so close that her crinolines brushed his cross-gartered hose.
“What a welcome bit of information, Victoria Gardella.”

Before she could react, he reached out and
slid a hand under her chin. He was ungloved, and the feel of his
warm skin on the delicate flesh of her neck had her pulse spiking
high. “I’ve always wanted to distract a Venator.” His voice had
dropped to a murmur, and Victoria felt her breath catch in her
throat.

Nevertheless, she stood firm. “You’ll not
keep me from my purpose, Sebastian. Turn out your pocket so I can
see what it is you’ve taken.”

“Don’t you wish to look for yourself?” he
replied. Even behind the obscurity of the mask, and the low light
from the hall lamps, she could see the beauty of his face. From the
first time she met him, she thought he looked like a golden
angel.

A nefarious golden angel.

“Turn out your pockets,” she said again.

“You’d best do what the girl says, Vioget,”
came a bored voice, “or we’ll be here all night waiting for her to
get to the task at hand.”

Victoria whirled, stepping back from
Sebastian. Just inside the doorway stood a tall, dark-haired man.
He wore a mask that covered the top of his face, but his dark hair
and square chin were exposed…as was the annoyed expression twisting
his mouth. The mask was his only concession to costume; the rest of
his garb consisted of a white shirt, and black coat and
breeches.

“Nice costume, Max,” Victoria responded. “Let
me guess…a villain. No? A vampire perhaps? Indeed, I do believe you
have the look of Lord Ruthven to you.”

“Definitely not Lord Ruthven,” Sebastian put
in. “That fictional vampire was known for a much better grasp on
fashionable attire than Maximilian Pesaro.”

“What are you after, Vioget?” Max asked,
ignoring the comments and moving into the room with his long,
graceful strides. He passed Victoria as though she was no more than
a nuisance of a gnat and stopped in front of the other man, cutting
between her and Sebastian.

“I have the matter well in hand, Max,”
Victoria said, smarting from his reaction. “Perhaps you ought to go
and slay the vampire that’s lurking about here. Somewhere.”

Max barely deigned to glance at her. “I’ve
already attended to that.”

Victoria looked at him, and realized with a
sudden surge of annoyance that he was telling the truth. The chill
at the back of her neck had evaporated in the last few moments,
since she’d come into the chamber with Sebastian.