The Rest Falls Away (2 page)

“Under your skirts, my dear. Slip it into the knee garter under your skirts,” Aunt Eustacia told her. She had a face lined with age, but glowing with beauty and intelligence, as if every bit of happiness from all of her eighty-some years shone at one time. Her hair, still blue-black, she wore scraped back into an intricate mass of coils intertwined with seed pearls, white lace, and jet beads. It was a coiffure more appropriate for a girl Victoria's age than for an aging woman. Yet Aunt Eustacia carried it well; as well as she wore her high-necked gown of blood-red taffeta.

She nodded. “Why do you think I gave you the garter? Be quick; your mother is bound to return at any moment!”

“Under my skirts?”

“You must be able to access your weapon quickly and easily, Victoria. It will be well hidden, and with practice you will learn to slip it easily from underneath and have it in your hand when you need it.”

Aunt Eustacia did not wait for her to move. She twitched at Victoria's skirts, exposing the ivory lace garter tied just below her knee, then watched as her niece slipped the stick between lace and flesh.

No sooner had they finished than the door opened, and Lady Melisande burst in, followed by her two twittering companions. “'Tis time, Victoria. Come, come!”

“You look lovely, my dear girl. Absolutely breathtaking!” Petronilla gushed, peering at herself in the mirror from behind Victoria and fussing with an immovable curl of her own.

“Rockley is below,” crowed Winifred, bumping into Victoria's elbow as she edged past her to reach for a papery-white clove of garlic that sat amid jewelry, scent bottles, and ornate combs. “What on earth is this?” she asked, straightening to bring it close to her pince-nez as if to confirm that it was, indeed, garlic.

Glancing at Eustacia in the mirror, Victoria forced a smile and leaned conspiratorially toward Winifred and Petronilla. “Aunt Eustacia brought it for me,” she said in a low voice. “She claims it will protect me from vampires.” Deliberately, she drew one eyelid down in a slow wink. Then, making a point of glancing over her shoulder as if to be sure her great-aunt wasn't listening, she took the garlic from Winifred. “I'll just leave it here.”

Petronilla and Winifred nodded, wide-eyed with suppressed humor, and cast amused glances at Aunt Eustacia. Victoria was the only one who saw the elderly lady wink back at her.

“I cannot wait to introduce you to Rockley!” Lady Winnie burbled as they filed out of the room. “He's danced with Lady Gwendolyn Starcasset more than once in the last week, but he hasn't met
our
beautiful debutante yet! Wouldn't it be a coup if you were to snatch him right from under her nose?”

At the top of the long, curving staircase, Victoria stopped, standing out of sight of the party below. It was the goal of every matron to have such a crush; the ladies Melisande, Petronilla, and Winifred must be in raptures about the number of people crowding the Grantworth home. Despite the fact that Melly was Victoria's mother, the other two had insisted on sponsoring her as well. As Winifred was the Duchess of Farnham, her reputation sealed the bargain.

Victoria stood alone, waiting to be announced, neryous and expectant. Tonight was more than her coming-out into Society…it was also her debut as the newest vampire hunter in the ancient Gardella family. Not only must she charm and delight the rich, handsome bachelors and gain the interest of the
ton,
but she must somehow find and stake her first vampire.

Here. In the midst of her come-out.

“Announcing…Miss Victoria Anastasia Gardella Bellissima Grantworth.”

Victoria started down the stairs, slowly and regally, her gloved hand sliding along the smooth wooden banister.

She took her time, scanning the crowd of upturned faces, looking for ones she knew…and one that did not belong. Aunt Eustacia assured her that as part of the Legacy, as a Venator, Victoria harbored an innate sense and would recognize the presence of a vampire in normal human form.

As she neared the bottom of the staircase, she felt it: the cool wisp of something over the back of her neck, a breeze, a chill…where there was nothing moving the air. Unable to control her reaction, she turned quickly to look over her left shoulder, behind the staircase…into the shadows where a cluster of guests stood, watching her.

But before she could fully assess the situation, she reached the foot of the stairs. Her her mother slipped a hand into the crook of her arm and guided her to meet a group of distinguished men and women. The formidable Lady Jersey, the Duke and Duchess of Sliverton, the Earl and Countess of Wenthwren, and several others whose names were familiar to her.

Victoria did her proud, glowing mother justice: She curtsied and smiled and allowed her gloved hand to be raised and kissed, all the while slipping her attention from the matters at hand and skimming it around the room.

It was a vast area, the foyer of Grantworth House. Four ceiling-high triple-fold doors at the top of a five-step landing had been thrown open to the ballroom. Lamps and candles glinted in every corner, on every surface, from every sconce. The room's pillars were surrounded by potted leafless saplings painted white and hung with glittering garlands. A six-piece orchestra was arranged in one corner of the ballroom, nearly hidden by a cluster of white trees; and a long table decorated with bowls of white roses held punch and other refreshments for the partygoers. Beyond the expanse of the gleaming pine dance floor, three sets of French doors opened onto the terrace. Late

May's welcome breeze filtered in, and would have carried the heady scent of lilacs and forsythia if the air hadn't already been heavy with French perfumes and floral waters.

“Do you sense the presence?” Aunt Eustacia had come from behind Victoria, and she hissed in her ear as she drew her from Melly's side. “Do you feel it?”

“Yes. But how can I—”

“You will. You will find a way to corner the creature. You are Chosen,
cara.
You are Chosen because you have the skill, the knowledge, and the strength. All you must do is listen to yourself.” Eustacia's eyes glittered like the jet beads woven into Victoria's hair. Her gaze was filled with intensity, certainty, and Victoria suddenly felt the heaviness of the responsibility she'd taken on. Tonight was her first test. If she passed it, her aunt would reveal all to her.

If she didn't…

That did not bear thinking about. She would succeed. She had spent the last four weeks learning how to fight and strike at a vampire. She was as prepared as she could be.

“Good evening, Miss Grantworth,” said a dainty woman approximately her own age. “I am Lady Gwendolyn Starcasset, and I was hoping to make your acquaintance. I'd like to congratulate you on a lovely debut. The white-washed trees hung with silver garlands are a beautiful touch.”

Gwendolyn was daintier and smaller than Victoria, with honey-blond hair and golden eyes. A smattering of freckles were sprinkled over her shoulders and across her back; but the front of her bosom was lightly powdered so as to hide the ones there. She had a charming dimple that settled to the right of her mouth when she smiled, as now.

“Good evening to you, Lady Gwendolyn. Thank you for your compliment, but I can take little credit for the decorations. That is my mother's doing. She is much more comfortable with these sorts of things than am I.”

Because Victoria had been in mourning for two years, after her grandfather's and then her father's deaths, and the Grantworth family had spent an inordinate amount of time in the country at their Prewitt Shore estate, she knew very few young ladies her age. Of course, that dearth in friendships could have had to do with the fact that Victoria preferred to spend time riding about the countryside or at Regents Park on her mare, or reading books instead of making calls and genteelly sipping tea.

Feeling a renewed shiver over the back of her neck, Victoria took a moment to look out over the crowded room. Where was he?

“So now you can join the rest of us eligible misses and parade around at balls and the like, searching for a husband,” added Miss Starcasset.

Victoria stopped scanning the room, surprised at her new acquaintance's bluntness. “I do rather feel like a prime bit of horseflesh that is being trotted to and fro. I didn't think any of the other debutantes would share such an opinion. Finding a husband is an important task—or so my mother tells me.”

“As does mine. And not to say that I shouldn't want to marry and bear an heir; it's just the manner in which we're paraded about. But I daresay, there are several gentlemen whom I wouldn't mind being noticed by at all.” Gwendolyn's dimple appeared. “Rockley, for one. Or Gadlock, or Tutpenney—despite his unfortunate name.”

“Tutpenney?”

“Believe me, he looks better than his name sounds.” Gwendolyn sighed and added, “And I was greatly looking forward to dancing with the Viscount Quentworth before the tragedy.”

“Tragedy?”

“Did you not hear?” Gwendolyn grasped her gloved arm, and Victoria looked down at her, surprised to see that the woman's eyes had widened in worry. “He was found dead on the street near his home. It looked like he'd been attacked by some animal that mauled his neck and shoulders. But there was a strange marking on his chest that couldn't have been left by an animal.”

Gwendolyn had Victoria's full attention now. “What kind of markings? And how would you know of this? Surely your mama or father wouldn't have told you this.”

“No, of course you are right. But my brothers aren't terribly prudent about their topics of conversation once they've had a few glasses of brandy, and I'm not so shy about listening in on their talks. That's the only way I get to learn anything interesting.” She looked at Victoria from under her sandy eyelashes as if to read her reaction.

“If I had older brothers—or any brothers—I would likely do the same,” Victoria told her with relish. “As it is, I must rely on my Aunt Eustacia—whom most everyone believes is batty in the head, but who is really quite…enlightening. What kind of markings?”

“Oh, yes…the markings were three Xs on his chest. And I don't believe he was the first victim with this kind of mark—” Gwendolyn likely would have continued, but she was interrupted.

“Victoria,” came a shrill voice laced with barely concealed excitement, “may I make an introduction?”

“I'll excuse myself for now, Miss Grantworth,” Gwendolyn told her. “The Duchess of Farnham is heading this way to collect you, and there is Lord Tutpenney, looking ever so lonely. Enjoy the rest of your coming-out.”

Victoria turned to see Lady Winifred beaming an expectant smile in her round, dimpled face. “May I present my sister by marriage, Lady Mardemere, her husband, Lord Mardemere…and his cousin, Lord Phillip de Lacy, Marquess of Rockley.”

The persistent chill over the back of her neck eased. Victoria felt a sudden burst of warmth spread over her skin, from cheeks to neck to bosom. She held off the urge to look down and see if her skin had colored darker than her pale pink gown.

“My pleasure, Miss Grantworth,” Lady Mardemere was saying. “What a lovely turnout for your debut! Your mother must be very pleased.”

“She is indeed,” Victoria replied before turning to curtsy for Viscount Mardemere. “I have hardly had the chance to meet everyone myself.”

And then she was looking up into the deep-set, dark eyes of the Marquess of Rockley.

Lady Gwendolyn had not exaggerated.
Well-turned
did not begin to describe the man who stood before her, raising her gloved hand to his lips. He stood as tall as any man in the room, his rich brown hair gleaming with strands of gold as he tipped his head to press a kiss to the back of her hand. “If you have not yet greeted everyone, may I dare hope there might be a dance left on your card?” His voice matched his looks—clean, calm, smooth—but his eyes carried a different cadence. Something that made her feel very warm. And also, he seemed faintly familiar. Had they met?

“There is indeed a dance still available, but it is one of the later ones. After supper…if you intend to stay so long.” She looked at him from under her lashes. Victoria did not know where her boldness came from, but it did not appear to dismay the marquess.

“I shall be at a loss to occupy myself until then since you will surely be otherwise engaged,” he replied, “but wait I shall.”

Just then the chill returned to the back of her neck, and Victoria felt the weight of someone watching. Watching
her
.

Pulling her hand from Rockley's grip, she spun abruptly to look, skimming her gaze over the crowds and pausing at a small cluster of people across the room.

“Victoria?” She dimly heard the surprise in Lady Winifred's voice, echoed by a low rumble from Rockley: “Miss Grantworth? Is everything all right?”

There.
He was there…

A dozen or so of the peerage stood under the downward curve of the staircase Victoria had descended, half-shadowed in the candlelight, faces bent toward one another, talking, laughing, gesturing.

She saw him. He was watching her even as he bent to talk to the slim blond woman next to him. Tall and dark, he exuded power with the mere inclination of his head as he smiled down at his companion. She beamed up at him, openly delighted with his attention, and smoothed her hand along his forearm—helpless and ignorant of the danger she faced.

Just as ignorant as Victoria would have been only weeks ago.

“Yes, yes,” she forced herself to say brightly as she returned her attention to Rockley and then Lady Winifred. “I thought for a moment I had seen my mother beckoning to me.” A limp excuse, but since she had offered the apology, courtesy demanded it would be accepted. “Please pardon my distraction, Lord Rockley.” She suddenly realized he was holding her hand again. “It has been my greatest pleasure to meet you. I will look forward to our dance later this evening.”