Microsoft Word - The Mammoth Book of Vampire Romance.doc (43 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 rob me of my jewelled 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.

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“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  heart rate. Odd, how she felt little fear or consternation in facing  the 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 to do just 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

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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 will 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 accompanyingsmile 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 a 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’ retiring 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 Great-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

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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 barrelling 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 chere
, 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. “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

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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 towards 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 from 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 one stake from its loop beneath a flounce and began to move quickly down the corridor. Her gown rustled, causing her to curse the fact that she’d entertained 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 tight, 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

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Sebastian had disappeared, blast it, but she couldn’t worry about him now.

She gripped the stake hard in her hand, listened again and closed her fingers around the cool doorknob. 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.

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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, and 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 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 levelled  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.

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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

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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, 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.”