The Rest Falls Away (13 page)

At first she thought it was Max.

But no. Not Max. No, this gentleman was most definitely not Max.

“Good evening, gentlemen.”

The dulcet voice, flavored ever so slightly with a Parisian accent, belonged to a handsome man who immediately struck her as being an intriguing mixture of gold and bronze—from his tanned skin and amber eyes to his blond-tipped auburn hair and the chocolate-colored waistcoat and fawn breeches that were clearly stitched by a tailor of immense talent.

He sat next to Victoria, very close; she wondered if men normally sat this near to each other at their private clubs. His leg touched hers under the table and it felt uncomfortable. Yet she didn't move hers away.

She made certain her voice matched his tenor when she replied, “Good evening, sir.” When men were alone, did they require to be introduced before they conversed? Or did they simply have the freedom to talk without such formalities?

“You appear to be newcomers to the Silver Chalice. Since it is so difficult to find, we don't often have the pleasure of new faces. Have you come for any particular reason?”

Was he warning them off or merely attempting to be friendly? Victoria didn't know the appropriate way to respond, so she decided to be direct. The sooner she learned whether the inn would be helpful to her, the sooner she could get Verbena back to Grantworth House. “We are looking for information.”

At that moment the server reappeared and slammed two metal tankards down in front of them. The ale sloshed out onto the table, slapping onto the man's wrist and the edge of his sleeve. “Damn, Berthy, can you not have a little care? This is Alençon lace!”

“Ye shouldn't wear such fine things in a place like this,” Berthy snapped, swishing away with a twitch and a twaddle.

The man whipped out a handkerchief and dabbed at the lace edging of his cuff. “If she weren't so damn good at her job, I'd toss her into the streets.”

Good at her job?

Toss her into the streets?

Victoria wasn't sure which statement surprised her more, but she chose to focus on the latter. “Do you own this place?”

“Indeed I do, though I'm not always proud to admit it. Among other establishments, might I add. Sebastian Vioget…sir. At your service.” He extended a hand, his attention focused on her so heavily Victoria nearly forgot to offer her own.

“Victor—Grant…son. Victor Grantson,” she repeated more smoothly. His fingers closed around hers, swallowing them tightly for longer than she thought necessary. Or perhaps it was just the discomfort of knowing that her slender hand, even cased in black gentleman's gloves, must feel much more fragile than most hands he'd shaken.

“And what kind of information might you be looking for here?” His attention did not lessen in intensity, and Victoria felt as though he were looking deep into her mind. The only thing that kept her from being apprehensive was the certainty that he wasn't a vampire.

He most definitely wasn't a vampire…yet that did not explain the odd pull he had for her. It was not unlike the sensation she'd felt just before the Guardian vampire sank his fangs into her neck.

Victoria resisted the urge to shake her head, but she did shift slightly away from Sebastian Vioget under the guise of reaching for her mug of ale. Should she come right out and tell him what she was looking for?

Why not? Boldness in words and actions were the hallmarks of a successful Venator, although there were times when one must sit back and plan. “I am looking for the Book of Antwartha.”

“And why would you think to find information about such a thing here? An old book would be found at Hatchard's or Mason's. You have come to the wrong place.” He leaned toward her, so close she could see the dark flecks in his golden eyes, and so near she could feel some kind of energy heavy in the air between them.

“I did not say it was an
old
book,” Victoria replied, “though it is apparent that, despite your admonishments, I have indeed come to the right place.”

He laughed then, a low, rumbling, self-deprecatory chuckle. “Indeed. In fact, I may be able to help you in your quest…but first, may I make a suggestion?”

She nodded, wary now that the glint of humor in his eyes seemed to have become focused on her.

“Wearing ill-fitting trousers and a hat does nothing to obscure your gender, and in fact calls attention to it. You have fooled no one.”

+ 8 +

In Which an Unexpected Visitor

Throws a Wrench in Miss Grantworth's Plan

“Perhaps it wasn't my intent
to fool anyone,” Victoria replied. “Perhaps I've come to the conclusion trousers are much more comfortable than skirts.”

He laughed again, and under the table his leg shifted against hers. It was warm and heavy, and Victoria moved away. He looked at her, a knowing smile his only response.

“Since we've covered the niceties regarding my choice of clothing,” she said, feeling more confident now that she didn't have to maintain the unfamiliar guise of a gentleman, “will you tell me who can help me find the Book of Antwartha?”

“If you would be so kind as to keep your voice more temperate, I may be able to be of assistance. But as I can see it won't be possible for you to moderate your tones, I fear we must go somewhere we can speak more comfortably.”

The thought of going anywhere with this man made Victoria uncomfortable, in a warm, improper sort of way.

Perhaps it was just because Phillip had kissed her earlier today that she kept noticing how Sebastian Vioget's mouth moved. And its shape.

And how close it was to her.

Just then someone turned the corner from the bottom of the same staircase she and Verbena had descended then paused, standing a short distance from their table. Even though he wasn't facing them, she recognized his tall, dark figure…perhaps because she'd half expected to see it anyway.

Max.

Victoria swiftly turned away to hide her face. “Do you have a place in mind?”

“Excuse me for a moment,” Vioget said, standing abruptly. “If you would be so kind as to walk through that door, I will join you shortly.” He drew her attention to a narrow entrance Victoria hadn't noticed earlier. It was quite obscured to the casual observer, for it was nudged into the corner of an alcove. “It is unlocked.”

Victoria watched as Sebastian moved easily and quickly, but without appearing to hurry, directly toward Max. An uneasy feeling churned in her stomach, but she stood as directed, hoping to slip out before Max saw her. If Sebastian was right, and her disguise was so patently false anyone would see through it, it would ruin all her plans if Max merely looked in her direction.

Something tugged at her sleeve as she stood, and Victoria pivoted. She had completely forgotten about Verbena! How could the girl have so easily slipped her mind, sitting there next to her?

The answer was clear when she turned and saw that during her conversation with Sebastian, the maid had adjusted her chair closer to another nearby table and appeared to be quite companionably sitting with three other people, including the vampiric piano player.

“Is that not your cousin Max, speaking with Mr. Vioget?” asked Verbena. Her breath smelled like the ale she'd ordered, and the sparkle in her eyes told Victoria she'd been having a grand time.

“Yes, it is, though he is not really my cousin. I must leave before he recognizes me. Tell your friends farewell and come with me.” Victoria stood, gripping her cane-stake, and moved quickly through the door Sebastian had pointed out. Verbena followed.

Even as she curved her fingers around its rough edge to pull it closed behind them, Victoria paused to look back. Sebastian and Max stood talking in the same place Max had been standing since he came into the room.

Their conversation consisted of short bursts of speech shifting from one to the other, with little animation or expression on the part of either man. Max was the taller of the two. Neither appeared to be on the offensive, yet neither appeared to be particularly agreeable toward the other.

As they parted with curt nods and without handshakes, Victoria slipped back behind the door. Closing it after her, she turned to find Verbena leaning against one gray brick wall, still holding her tankard of ale. Or was it Victoria's mug? It was full enough it appeared not to have been touched.

They were in a hallway with a curved brick ceiling and sconces studded every fifteen paces or so. Before Victoria had the chance to explore further, the door opened again and in came Sebastian.

“Your friend can wait without,” he said, glancing at Verbena. “She will be quite safe with Amelie and Claude.”

Victoria would have declined, but Verbena was already starting toward the door. “I would prefer it, my la—lord,” she said quickly. “Amelie is the piano player and she has already fed tonight, so I am not afeared of her.”

“No harm will come to her if she is with Amelie,” Sebastian repeated. “And what I am about to tell you is meant only for the ears of a Venator.”

Victoria started, then quickly recovered. Had Max seen her after all, and told him who she was?

“I will be safe as a bug,” Verbena told her with a bright smile, and against her better judgment Victoria nodded her assent.

Verbena nearly slammed the door after her in her enthusiasm to return to her newfound friends, and Victoria was suddenly quite alone with Sebastian Vioget.

He reached toward her, and it was all she could do to keep from flinching. The top of her head cooled and suddenly felt much lighter as he swept her hat away.

“I have been wanting to do that since I first saw you,” he told her, dropping it carelessly. “Now, if only…” He reached behind her, and this time she moved, just as his fingers touched one of the pins at the back of her head. She wasn't quick enough, for as she shifted, the pin stayed in his grasp and pulled from her hair.

Sebastian tsked. “I am one of those who thinks it a shame that women must hide the beauty of their hair.”

Victoria felt the pistol in her pocket and pulled it out. She didn't aim it at him, just pulled it out so that he could see it. “That may be well and good, but I'm no longer interested in commentary regarding my clothing and coiffure. If you cannot help me with my quest, I will excuse myself from your presence and find someone who can.”

Sebastian laughed and dropped the hairpin. Victoria felt the heavy mass of hair slip at the back of her head, and she had to resist the need to touch it, to push it back into place. “You are worthy of your legacy, my dear. Now, before we continue, I should like to know your real name.”

She saw no harm in telling him. “Victoria. And I should like to know what makes you think I am a Venator.”

“I know quite a lot about everything. Including the fact that you…Ah, yes, indeed, it is true.”

He was reaching toward her again, and before she could stop him he'd pulled back the high, starched collar of her man's shirt. His hand was not gloved, and it brushed intimately against her bare neck.

Victoria took a measured step back. She was not going to react the way her body wanted to: quickly, jerkily, in panic. She would not let him know how he affected her with his easy way of touching her.

She was a Venator, and she was stronger than he. Whoever he was.

“Are you going to help me, or shall I just leave?”

“And risk your cohort out there recognizing you? Without your hat, you look like a delicate young woman wearing her brother's clothing. Ridiculous, and an affront to your beauty. At least its brim hid some of that flawless skin and the line of your jaw.” He offered her his arm, turning toward the hall that stretched before them. “I'm sure you aren't willing to take that chance. Why, I wonder, did you not want him to see you?”

Victoria didn't take his arm, but nevertheless, she turned to walk along the corridor in the direction he indicated. The passage was wide enough that they could stroll shoulder-to-shoulder without brushing against each other, and for that she was unaccountably grateful. As she walked, the unstable mass of her hair bobbed with the rhythm of each step. “Do you know him?” She purposely did not say his name.

“Max Pesaro? Of course I do. He comes in here occasionally, and I have told him he may patronize the place as long as he doesn't cause a disturbance or hunt my clientele. Just as I have warned my other clients not to hunt their prey in my establishment. See? We all get along famously.”

They walked along the hallway, Victoria holding her cane-stake in one hand and the pistol in the other. She felt confident that she was prepared for whatever threat might come her way.

“In here, my dear,” he said, stopping in front of a door near the end of the hall. There was another option across from this entrance. Both doors appeared identical.

Victoria tightened her fingers on the stake as she stepped over the threshold into a well-furnished room that appeared to be an office. Bookshelves lined one wall. On another was a desk. To one side was a settee and two chairs clustered around a low table, near a fireplace. The polished wood floor was covered with a rug. The only disconcerting thing about the chamber was the fact that there were no windows—and only one exit.

“I see that my study meets with your approval,” Sebastian said. “Please, have a seat.”

“And precisely why have you brought me here? Surely the Book of Antwartha isn't sitting on the shelf there.”

“No, of course not. But it truly was important we are not overheard in our conversation. Because” —he held up his hand to stop her furious response— “I can tell you exactly where the Book of Antwartha is. And how to get it.”

Victoria closed her mouth and sat down. She rested the cane next to her and slid the pistol beside her on the cushion.

“Very good.” He smiled and chose a seat next to her on the settee. He was looking at her very closely. “Now, then, if I give you this information, what will you give me in return?”