Rises the Night

Chapter 13 A Wager Is Made

After her interlude with Sebastian, Victoria stubbornly stayed away from all areas of the ship's deck when the stars and moon were out, confining her strolls to sunlit ones.

It was odd seeing him every day, including during those daytime walks around and between the masts and other objects fixed to the deck. She was used to having him appear unexpectedly—not being seated across from her at a meal. He acted as though he barely knew her, politely bowing and calling her Mrs. Withers whenever they came in contact, and spreading his charm evenly among the four other females on the ship. The captain's wife and her sisters were duly charmed.

Victoria preferred him at a distance. It was easier to keep hold of thoughts of Phillip and how much she'd loved him and how recently she'd been widowed when she saw Sebastian only in passing.

But the fact was, she had thought of Sebastian, and quite often. It was hard to banish the reminder of his muscular body pressing her against the rail, and near impossible to forget the kisses they'd shared—particularly when his sensual mouth was curved in that welcoming smile whenever she walked in the room. His intentions were clear to her, at least; she hoped Aunt Eustacia hadn't read them as well.

And the fact was, Victoria did wonder what would be the harm in giving in to what they both wanted. He'd made it clear that he had no interest in anything other than a mutually beneficial dalliance, which was all she wanted, or could allow herself to engage in, anyway. And there was no possibility of a baby to result from any liaison she might wish to embark upon, as Victoria had been provided a medicinal potion when she was married to Phillip to prevent pregnancy. It was an old tradition of the Gardellas; for no one, least of all Victoria, wished to have a Venator carrying a child.

If she were going to see what it was like to take a lover to whom she was not married or had no other attachment, Sebastian would be a rather logical choice. At least he understood and accepted her life. He was aware of her obligations, and didn't have that overbearing sense of protectiveness that any other man would have. He wouldn't need to be lied to; nor would she need to hide her vis bulla from him; nor would he expect anything more from her in the way of marriage.

He was attractive and charming, and he made her feel a bit reckless, even for a Venator. There was, of course, the whole issue as to whether she could completely trust him. But, trustworthy or not, he was a fine kisser, among other things, and she was a Venator and could take care of herself.

It was certainly something to consider.

Other than trying to avoid Sebastian—and thus her confused, tantalizing feelings about him—during the course of the voyage, Victoria had little to do.

At first, she tried to keep sharp by practicing her kalari-payattu in the small chamber she shared with Verbena, but it was much too small. She kept kicking one or other of the beds, and at one point slammed her elbow into the wall when she misjudged a spin.

That sent her searching for another place on the ship that might accommodate a bit more movement. More accurately, it sent Oliver to search for such a space for her. He did manage to locate a storage room that, because the trip was less than a fortnight, was not being completely stuffed with supplies that would have been needed for a longer voyage.

So Victoria practiced there, sometimes with Kritanu and other times without, while Oliver sat just outside the door in case anyone tried to come in. It would have been exceedingly embarrassing for one of the shipmates to barge in on Victoria wearing loose pants and a tuniclike shirt, as she was spinning and kicking throughout the room.

One day she had been practicing for well over an hour, using the crates scattered throughout the room as part of her moves. She spun and kicked, launched herself up onto one of them, whirled with the momentum of her movement, and' leaped down and across the room onto another one.

Victoria was perspiring and her hair had begun to straggle from its braid, plastering to her face and neck. She whipped around and snatched up a machete she'd been using in her battles with Kritanu in days past, and when she turned back around, she saw the door to the room opening.

It was, of course, Sebastian.

"How did you get in here?" she asked, huffing and puffing. She stood on one of the crates across from the door and swiped a hand over her damp forehead. Her sword dangled from a loose grip. She would not even think of how she must look, with damp patches along the sides of her shirt and the loose, unfeminine trousers. And her feet, wearing only light stockings.

"Your man Oliver, of course. He and I have had several conversations during your practices—a matter of gaining his trust, you know. So today I suggested that it might be acceptable to allow me to watch for a bit."

He walked over and picked up Kritanu's matching machete. "Learning to fence, are you?"

"The skill is called ankathari, and it is much more lethal than a Frenchman's pretty fencing pirouettes and parries. Notice the inflexibility and width of the blade. Our weapons are much more serious than those slender, bendable ones you use."

"Oho! So you wish to challenge me to a duel, do you? I am pleased to accept." He swung the sword, whistling it through the air, then put it aside as he stripped off his coat and cravat. She tried not to notice as he unsnagged the two buttons of his collar and rolled up his sleeves, showing skin tanned the color of toffee.

"There is padded gear there, if you wish to wear it." Victoria nodded her head toward the pile of armor that Kritanu would normally don during their sessions.

Sebastian considered it, then looked at her. "You do not wear it?"

"No. But I—"

"—am a Venator. Yes, yes, I am aware of that." He stepped into the center of the room. "I'll take my chances." He looked up at her, where she still stood. "Do you not wish to duel with me? Or are you finished practicing for the day?"

"I'll duel with you." She jumped down, landing flat-footed on the ground. "There is little else to do on this ship."

They faced each other, the length of two machete blades apart. His golden brown eyes pinned her when she looked at him, and she recognized pleasure and challenge there.

"We must have a prize for the winner of this duel," he said, grinning slyly. "You didn't think I would allow such an opportunity to pass, did you?"

Victoria couldn't hold back the huff of a surprised laugh. "Of course not. And, coincidentally, I'm sure you have something in mind."

"A boon. The winner chooses a boon that the other must give freely."

Now she really laughed. "Sebastian, you are utterly predictable!"

Instead of being offended, he grinned in return and nodded. "Of course. When opportunity presents itself, I am most delighted to grab it."

"That means, of course, that you must win in order to collect on your boon."

"You do not appear concerned."

"I'm not." And she lunged at him.

He didn't move except for his sword hand, neatly blocking her machete. "Nor am I."

They parried and teased for a bit, their feet remaining in a stationary position for the most part as their blades slid along each other, clanged each hand guard against the other, then fell away. Victoria held back, wanting to gauge her opponent's skill; for though she wanted to best him, she did not want to injure the arrogant fop who disdained padded armor. Certainly he must be more used to handling an épée or other fencing blade, which was lighter and more flexible, yet he kept pace with her, even as she increased her speed and the power of her lunges and thrusts.

Soon they were dancing about the room in an odd sort of waltz, and Victoria felt herself needing to concentrate to stay with him. He was quick and inventive, and she was by no means outmatching him. In fact, she was beginning to wonder how he kept such pace with her and blocked her so easily. But then she caught his machete at just the right angle and flipped it from his hands, sending it tumbling to the floor.

She barely registered the fact that she had won when he somersaulted, swept up the still-vibrating sword, and came at her, lunging fiercely enough to back her toward one of the crates.

Their blades clashed and clung together as though glued, pausing in midbattle, their faces so close together Victoria could see one golden copper hair from his eyebrow curling out of place and catching in the bangs that had fallen over his forehead. A line of sweat trickled down one temple. He grinned and her stomach dipped.

Then, as if reading the other's mind, they both moved at the same time, and in a frenzy of blades and a dangerous tangle of sliding metal they caught again, stuck, heaved, and then one machete went flying, and the other clattered to the floor at their feet.

Sebastian slammed his foot down on the blade that fell and kicked it aside before she could reach for it. "Victory is mine, my lovely. I shall claim my prize!"

"No victory for you. The battle ended in a draw."

"Indeed. Well, as long as I may claim my boon, I do not much care if you wish to call it a draw."

"But what if my request is that your boon be null and void?"

"But you would not, ma chère. You are not a coward."

Her eyes narrowed but she stepped back, nodding. "Yes, then. Name your prize."

"I wish"—he stepped toward her, capturing her hands before she could react, and tugging her gently in his direction—"an honest answer to the question I am about to ask you."

"No kisses? No viewing of my vis bulla? No lewd propositions? Sebastian, you are frightening me!"

He reached, closing his fingers gently around her chin and lifting it. "If you are disappointed, recall that you still have a prize to collect." He gave a small, affectionate jerk to her chin, then released it, brushing his fingers over her cheek. "I wish to know why you married Rockley—out of familial duty or out of love?"

The question surprised her, and she hesitated. Then: "It was no duty. I loved him." Her voice sounded rusty, and suddenly the room felt stifling. Why would he ask such a question? Why would he care?

He squeezed her hands, then released them and stood waiting. She looked at him in his white shirt, damp in places and veed open to show the sheen of sweat at his throat and bronze-haired chest. She'd mused more than once over the way he reminded her of a golden angel, all tawny haired and golden skinned and tiger eyed. The darkest aspects of his face were slashing brows, of walnut mingled with blond and auburn, and the lashes that framed his eyes. Otherwise, he was all bronze.

But certainly not an angel, particularly when he looked at her as he was now… as though he was expecting her to collapse into a pile of lust at his feet.

"Victoria?" he prompted.

She smiled at him, a smile she'd used only with Phillip… one that she'd learned after discovering how a man's desire worked, and how a woman could use it to her advantage. And pleasure.

She smiled that smile at him; perhaps there was a name for the type of expression it was, but she didn't know it. She stepped up to him, close. She smelled clove, and man, and perhaps some other scent that might have been on his clothing or in his hair… bay… and put her hands on his shoulders. They were broad, wide and solid, and his skin burned damp and warm through the fine, thin shirt he wore.

She could see the gold, copper, and brown of stubble beginning to show beneath the skin of his jaw, and feel the expectancy in his breathing. His eyes were half-closed, but she felt them watching her, heavy. He wasn't smiling.

Victoria drew herself up on her toes, bringing her mouth to his neck, and whispered, "I want to know how you know so much about vampires."

Then she let her heels thump to the floor and stepped back, releasing his shoulders as they sagged with discharged tension. His eyes opened fully.

"How you do tempt a man, Victoria," he said lightly. But his expression belied amusement. "The answer to your question is much more involved than I can or will share at this time, but I will tell you this: Like you, I lost someone I loved to the vampires."

"Your wife? A lover?"

"My father."