The Rest Falls Away (32 page)

She didn't reply. Her aunt was right that she should have been concerned with this before now.

“I'll give you a tonic. If you drink it regularly, it will keep you from having a baby. Victoria…”

The way Eustacia said her name brought Victoria's face up to look at her.

“Lilith has not forgotten that you and Max retrieved the Book of Antwartha. I know it's safely hidden at St. Heath's Row, but Lilith will not rest until she gets the book in her possession. It may seem that in the last two months undead activity has waned. It may appear that you are not needed, that Max and I can handle any threats that come along. But do not be fooled. You are a Venator and have been forever marked as one. Never forget you have dealt Lilith a great defeat—for she will not forget. She will not rest until she has exacted her revenge.”

 

+ + +

Evening fashions were not conducive to hiding wounds on one's arm, so Victoria found herself in quite a quandary that night. Verbena helped her to pull on the longest pair of gloves she owned, melon-colored ones that extended past the elbow, but there was a great expanse of bare skin exposed, due to the flimsy puffed sleeves that barely covered the edges of her shoulders.

“You will have to keep your wrap about your arms at all times,” Verbena clucked. The dressing had been removed, and true to Aunt Eustacia's word, the cut had already begun to heal and was hardly sore at all. But the long red gash was still quite noticeable, so Victoria wrapped her shawl around her upper arm twice, letting the rest of it swag gently across the base of her spine and over her right arm. “Under no circumstances can you take that wrap from your arms.”

Phillip had sent word he would be at his club for the evening, and wouldn't be attending the dinner dance at which Victoria was expected to make an appearance. She considered crying off, but felt it would be better to attend for a short while in order to appease her mother, and return home before midnight.

Thus she was greatly surprised when, as she was leaving the dance floor after a country dance, she saw Max striding across the room toward her.

Victoria excused herself from her dance partner, the younger son of an earl, and hurried to meet him. “I'm sure you aren't here to partake of Society at its best,” she said by way of greeting.

“Lilith's minions are on the move. There's to be another group attack tonight,” he told her, casting his glance about the room. “I do not wish to ruin your evening, but it would likely save some lives if you were to accompany me. Can you get away?”

“Yes, of course.” She was already walking toward the main entrance of the house.

“I don't see the marquess. Don't you need to tell him you are leaving?”

“He is not here this evening.”

Max easily kept in stride with her as she made her way up the sweeping flight of stairs. “Where is he?”

“At his club.”

“Which one is that?”

“Bridge and Stokes, I believe, although why it matters to you I—What is it?”

He'd grabbed her arm, nearly jerking her off her feet near the top of the steps. The butler eyed them curiously, but she ignored him, for when Max spun her about to look at him the expression on his face sent a sick feeling worming into her stomach.

“The raid tonight is to be at a particular gentlemen's club.”

Their eyes met and he needed say nothing more. She was already pushing past the gawking butler and a cluster of people arriving at the dance.

He caught up with her outside, where she was trying to spot the Rockley carriage in the long line of vehicles around the circular drive. She had no time to wait for the valet to call for it. “Are you certain you want to come? What if Rockley recognizes you?”

“I'm going.”

“Then get in here.” He flung open the door of a black carriage, one she was more than familiar with, and lent her a hand to climb in.

Victoria scrambled to her seat, and had barely settled when the coach started off. Her long skirts were tangled among their four legs, and her wrap had slid to bare her cut arm.

“Here.” Max tossed her a large bundle of cloth, and when she sorted through it she found a shirt, trousers, a coat, and a long strip of cloth. “Verbena gave them to me when I came to find you.”

Victoria looked down at the clothing and back at him.

“You can't fight in a ball gown, Victoria, and you needn't pretend modesty to me. I've no interest in watching you undress in a carriage— unlike your friend Sebastian Vioget, who would likely offer to assist you.” With that he tilted his head back against the top of his seat and closed his eyes. When she didn't move, he snapped, “Be quick about it.”

Her gown was not easily removed, but Victoria struggled through and managed to unhook the flat copper hooks that held the bodice together in the back. When she pulled the gown up and over her head, the fabric wafted in a cloud of gauze over the interior of the carriage, brushing Max's stoic face—but he did not shift or give any indication that he felt it.

With her gown off, Victoria was dressed only in a light chemise and corset. It would be impossible to remove the stays without assistance, so she pulled the man's shirt over the fitted undergarment.

She couldn't pull it down over her generous bosom, cupped up and pushed together as it was. Victoria must have made a sound of frustration, for Max said, “Do you need assistance? I'm so sorry I did not think to bring your maid.”

Her attention snapped from her bosom to him, but he was still relaxing, eyes closed as if nothing more urgent than a picnic were on the agenda.

“In a moment.” She would have to take the corset off and bind her breasts in order to get the shirt on. For a moment she considered remaining in her gown…but that was ridiculous. Not only would she not be able to fight, but she would stand out unacceptably in the club. If she even got in.

She turned around on her seat, presenting as much of her back to Max as possible. “Can you…I can't unlace my…my corset.”

There was a pause, then she heard him stir behind her. The back hem of the shirt moved, and she resisted the urge to pull it down in front. If she did, he wouldn't be able to reach up under it and unlace the corset.

His hands were quick and impersonal, and he managed to move them up and under the shirt and untie the laces, loosening them from top to bottom. She kept expecting to feel his fingers—would they be warm or cool?—brush over her skin, but they did not.

Victoria felt the garment give way as each row of laces loosened, and she held it to the front of her chest as it began to sag from behind. When he was finished, Max did not linger. She felt him move away, heard him settle back into his seat without a word.

Victoria wrapped herself with the strip of cloth Verbena had thoughtfully provided, awkward and rushed, allowing the shirt to slip almost completely from her shoulders as she did so. Her wounded arm ached faintly with the odd angle, but she was not about to ask Max for any more help.

“Are you nearly finished? I'm getting a crick in my neck.”

“Almost.” The collar buttons fumbled under her fingers because of her haste, but at last the shirt was done, the trousers were pulled on, and her coat was shrugged into.

“There are shoes on the floor,” Max said, still without moving.

At last she was ready. “I'm finished. Thank you.”

Max opened his eyes. “You have to do something about your hair.”

Victoria yanked the pins from the intricate curls and whorls Verbena had spent an hour arranging, knowing her only option was to take it down and smooth it back.

“Do you have anything I can tie it with?” she asked, using her fingers to scrape it into a long, low tail at the nape of her neck.

Max, who seemed prepared for any eventuality, produced a thin leather cord from under the same seat the salve had been stored in, and, ordering her to turn, helped her bind and braid it. Their fingers clashed, and his cool ones brushed her neck as he helped her stuff the long tail down the back of her shirt.

By the time they were finished, the carriage was rolling to a stop.

“Here we are,” Max said, slamming a hat on top of her head. “If Rockley sees you, the game is up. Otherwise…you can pass for a man.”

So much for Sebastian's opinion that she was unable to hide her gender while dressed in men's clothing.

Max tossed three stakes her way, and as she shoved them into her coat she saw him pocket a gun and slip a small dagger into his boot. Then she followed him out of the coach.

Victoria had barely had the chance to wonder how Max intended to gain admittance to the private gentlemen's club with the small, discreet Bridge & Stokes sign when he approached the doorman.

“Guests of the Marquess of Rockley,” he told him coolly. Victoria edged up the steps to stand next to him. Her neck was still warm.

The doorman allowed them to step into the foyer of the narrow building, effectively turning them over to the butler. “May I help you?”

“We are here as guests of the Marquess of Rockley,” Max said again. “Maximilian Pesaro and his companion.”

Victoria wanted to kick Max. What in the blazes was he doing? If Phillip saw her…!

But when the butler turned, ostensibly to call for Phillip, Max shoved her none too gently toward the curl of stairs that swept up from the entrance and into a balcony above. “I'll get Rockley out of here. You go up there and see what you can find,” he said in an undertone.

She dashed up the steps and was just disappearing from sight when she heard the butler return. The voices below were a low rumble, but then she discerned Max's tones pitched loud enough for her to hear him say, “He is abovestairs? I shall go up and find him myself then, thank you.”

Victoria had reached the top of the staircase and now she froze. She heard Max making his way up in her wake, continuing to assure the butler he would locate the marquess on his own.

And just as Max reached the top of the stairs, facing her, two things happened: One of the doors along the hallway overlooking the balcony opened and Phillip walked out…and Victoria felt her neck ice over.

She looked at Max and they both moved at the same time—Victoria turned and hurried down the hall in the opposite direction as Max whirled to face Rockley, who stopped when he recognized him. He was with another man, who appeared annoyed.

“Pesaro? I didn't know you were a member here.” There was no warmth in his voice or his face. Clearly he didn't believe Max belonged there.

“I am not. I came at Victoria's request. She asked me to call for you to return home.”

Victoria, who had moved several steps down the hall and ducked into an open doorway, held back a gasp at his audacity.

It was gratifying, in a matter of speaking, to hear her husband's panic when he replied, “Is she ill? Is she hurt?”

“I am not privy to the details, but she did express a most urgent desire to see you.”

It would have worked. It
should
have worked to get Phillip out of the club before the vampires struck, but they were just a little too late.

Victoria felt the chill at the back of her neck sharpen so suddenly she stiffened in surprise. Still standing in a shadowed doorway, she pulled one of the stakes from her pocket just as her husband's companion opened his mouth.

She saw the flash of white fangs and the sudden glint of red in his eyes. Fortunately the sound she made drew Phillip's attention toward her and gave Max the opportunity to slam his own stake into the vampire behind him.

Phillip, who was peering at Victoria, took several steps toward her and did not appear to notice the
poof.
“Do I know you?” he asked uncertainly.

Victoria, taking care to keep her head angled away and tucked under the hat she wore, felt the presence of another vampire.

“Rockley, get out of here,” Max said angrily. “Get home to Victoria. She's waiting for you!”

She was thankful he drew Phillip's attention from her, and then a loud shout and altercation from below completed the distraction.

“What the bloody hell?” Phillip turned and began to bound down the stairs, Max in his wake, barely touching the steps.

Victoria watched the two men go and knew Max would see to it Phillip was safe. That left her to handle the second floor.

She hurried down the hall, throwing doors open in search of the three vampires she sensed were up there. She found one just beginning to seduce his intended victim with a game of cards, and when she blasted into the room, he barely had the chance to throw down his hand before she staked him.

The sounds of fighting and shouts from below urged her on more quickly. Max was easily outnumbered, if the sensation on the back of her neck was accurate—and it always was. She had to find two more up here, and then she could go down to help.

As it turned out, they found her first, coming down the hallway shoulder-to-shoulder. They appeared to recognize her.

“There she is!” one of them growled, and suddenly he was next to her, grabbing at her arms. Victoria ducked and threw herself at his legs, sending him tumbling onto the floor just as the other one approached.

Using all the strength in her legs, Victoria shoved and slammed the second vampire onto the first one, then vaulted to her feet. One stake in each hand, she whirled and slammed them, one, two, into their chests.

She started toward the stairs and paused, looking down at the fracas below. Max stood in the center of the room using a fireplace poker to stave off what appeared to be two Guardians and an Imperial. Three other vampires stood waiting their turn, unable to get close enough to join the fray. Dark drops of blood flew with each of Max's movements; he was obviously hurt somewhere.

There were no other men in sight. Presumably the club members had taken themselves off…or were lying unconscious somewhere in the back. Phillip was nowhere to be seen.