Rises the Night

Chapter 15 Lady Rockley Receives a Set-down

Victoria looked at George and smiled as though it were nothing out of the ordinary to be introduced by a false name.

To his credit, he did nothing but bow and raise her hand for a brief kiss, but moments later, after all the introductions had been completed and Victoria managed to excuse herself before he said something awkward, he made his own excuse to follow her.

"Perhaps you will permit me to escort you to find something to drink," George said, taking her arm firmly.

When they got out of earshot of the count and his companions, George pulled Victoria off to the side and looked down at her. "I do not know what serendipitous happening has brought us together so soon after my arrival in Italy, but whatever it was, I am most grateful."

"You made no mention of traveling to Italy when we bade farewell," Victoria commented, wondering why he wasn't asking her about her assumed name. Perhaps he was merely being as polite and circumspect as the time he'd found her stalking vampires on the midnight streets of London. Perhaps he was merely an unsuspicious person.

But could there be another reason? While surprised, he did not look as startled as she had been when Regalado had turned to introduce them.

"I had not planned to make my way to Italy at that time, to be sure… but I must confess, I felt it highly regrettable that you had to leave England just as we were becoming better friends." He squeezed her elbow as though to add an extra layer of meaning to the word. "And after some thought, I realized it would be a good time to return to Rome to check up on some business interests I had here. I felt sure that since we were both in the same country I would be able to ascertain how to find you and to pay a call. I had no idea that happenstance would bring us to the same social event only two days after my arrival." His smile was wide and boyish, and with the two deep, curving dimples that framed it, along with the deep cleft in his chin, he looked even more youthful.

"How very fortunate." Her lie was accompanied by a smile that was just as false. She had to find a way to dislodge George so that she could pump Regalado about the Tutela. And then another uncomfortable thought occurred to her. "How did you happen to come here tonight?"

Surely it wasn't because he was interested in the Tutela. Surely it was a coincidence.

But there had been vampires and Polidori—a Tutela member—at Claythorne. And she wasn't altogether certain that Sebastian wasn't a Tutela member since it was possible that his father was.

Then another just as black thought opened in her mind. Sebastian had said it would be imprudent for him to attend the party at the Regalado villa. Was that because he knew that Starcasset was going to be here? And he didn't want to be recognized for some reason?

"Polidori mentioned to me when we were at supper that night at Claythorne… that night… that if I ever visited Rome, I should be certain to acquaint myself with his friend Conte Regalado. He seemed to believe that the count and I would find each other exceedingly amiable." He squeezed her elbow again. "And I have found it to be true. Regalado and I have much to discuss."

Victoria decided to chance it. "Has he spoken to you of the Tutela?"

"The Tutela? Why… not that I recall. What is that?"

"I am not sure," she replied blandly, casting her glance around the room. "I just happened to hear the word mentioned and was curious." And that was when she saw Max.

"Well, I would be most pleased to ask about it if you don't wish… Lady Rock—Mrs. Withers, is something the matter?"

He—Max—was standing across the room from them as though he'd just walked in, greeting a cluster of people. Just as tall, just as dark-haired and arrogant-looking as he'd been a year ago. He was smiling as he shook their hands.

"No, indeed," she replied to George, only a moment after he'd posed the question and it had sunk in. "Except perhaps that I am a bit thirsty. Would you…?" She allowed her voice to trail off as she slanted him the convenient look that branded her a helpless female.

"Of course, of course, madam," he replied, appearing a bit flustered. "I have delayed you in your quest for a beverage, and I must apologize. I shall fetch a tea for you, or would you prefer a glass of that wine they call Chianti?"

"Tea would be lovely, or lemonade," Victoria replied, trying to keep her attention from spanning back to where Max stood.

As soon as George started toward the tables where drinks were poured, she pivoted in the opposite direction and began to make her way through the loose clusters of people in the ballroom. She was about halfway across the room when Max saw her.

He had not expected it; that was clear by the poleaxed expression that flashed over his face, gone as quickly as it appeared. He did not hold contact with her eyes, but returned his attention to the cluster of people in which he was gathered. Someone said something amusing, and the group, including Max, responded with laughter.

He looked relaxed and well. Handsome and aristocratic, with his olive skin and high cheekbones, long, straight nose, and square-angled chin. His dark hair had grown long enough to be pulled back, but tonight was not and fell nearly to his shoulders. Certainly he didn't appear as though he'd experienced any travail or other casualty. Nothing, by the looks of him, that would account for his lack of communication for nearly a year.

Victoria knew she couldn't simply barge into the group and accost Max, nor even insinuate herself into the conversation with the four or five men with whom he was speaking. He glanced once more in her direction, and she could see the expression in his eyes from where she stood: dark, cold, flat.

"Mrs. Withers! I have been searching all over for you. I was wondering where you had gotten off to. May I call you Emmaline?"

"I was searching for you as well, Sara, and of course you may call me Emmaline," Victoria replied. How might she use Sara to accomplish what she needed to?

"Splendido! Now, I must introduce you to amore mio. He has just arrived."

Of course. Victoria wasn't surprised at all. Why should she be? Along with vampires, her life had become full of coincidences and unexpected arrivals. Sebastian appeared regularly as if out of thin air. George Starcasset simply happened to attend her first social function in Rome. So why would Max not be the beau of her new acquaintance, the daughter of one of the most powerful men in the Tutela?

"Cam, may I introduce you to my new friend, Mrs. Emmaline Withers," Sara said, sliding her arm proprietarily through Max's. "She has recently arrived from London. Emmaline, may I present fidanzato mio, Maximilian Pesaro."

Her fiancé?

He gave the barest of bows; really, it was more insolent than polite, flickered an impersonal glance over Victoria, and said, in Italian, "London, you say? And whatever would induce you to leave such a charming city?"

"Do not be offended, Emmaline. Max simply hates London," Sara interjected. "He had to spend several months there last year and says he couldn't wait to return."

"Indeed? Well, I am certain there will be no need for him to return ever again if he despises it so much. But did you not go with him? And how did you find London?"

"Alas, I had not yet had the pleasure of making the acquaintance of my fiancee when I was there," Max said in his deep, smooth voice. Very, very easy. Nonchalant. "That happened shortly after my return."

"May I be among those who wish you congratulations on your impending marriage," Victoria replied. "When is the happy date?"

"It cannot come soon enough," Max said, looking down at the beaming Sara, who gazed up at him as if he were a bonnet she just had to have. She did not even reach his shoulder; she was so petite, yet soft and curvy. Her blond hair, unusual in Italy, must have been what attracted him; that, perhaps, and the long-lashed brown eyes in a sweet, heart-shaped face. "It is unfortunate that you won't be able to attend, Mrs. Withers, as I'm certain your travel plans will soon take you from our fair city."

The message couldn't have been clearer if he'd written it.

Victoria realized her fingers were trembling. "I see Mr. Starcasset has returned with a beverage for me," she said to Sara. She refused to look at Max, for fear someone else might read the murderous expression that would surely be on her face. "And I simply must take another look at that painting. Please excuse me."

"It will be our pleasure." Max's under-the-breath comment went straight to her ears as she hurried away.

Deep breaths. Victoria took deep breaths and made herself slow down. She would not allow him to see that he'd upset her.

And of course he'd upset her. He'd disappeared nearly a year ago, and now she found him happily ensconced with his fiancee in the bowels of the Tutela! Surely he could not be ignorant of his fiancee's father's involvement; he was, after all, a Venator.

As she reached George, who, luckily, had appeared with a drink for her just as she returned, Victoria recognized there were two explanations for Max's involvement with Sara Regalado and his conduct tonight.

Either he was acting a part, as she was, in trying to infiltrate the Tutela; or he had changed alliances and as a result had cut off all interest and communication with Aunt Eustacia and Wayren. If it were the first, Victoria did not understand why he would not have been in contact with them. There were discreet ways to do it; surely Max would know how. If he had joined the Tutela, the protectors of the vampires, then he must have denounced his position as a Venator.

That she couldn't believe. Not even for an instant.

But there was a third possibility.

Everything could be exactly as it seemed, no more, no less: He'd fallen in love with Sara Regalado and was planning to marry her.

Victoria had to endure George Starcasset's clumsy attempts to kiss her during the carriage ride back to her villa. She wanted to plant him back in his seat with a well-placed shove calculated to give him whiplash, but she refrained from so blatantly using her Venator powers. Instead, she chose to "accidentally" grind her sharp heel into his toes hard enough to deflate any other amorous ideas he might have. Not only did it cool his ardor, but it would likely keep him from dancing for a week.

What she really wanted to do was hit someone. Preferably Max.

After she'd had a chance to reflect on the situation, Victoria had come to the only conclusion she could: that he was playing a role, and that as soon as they had a moment to talk privately, he would clear it up.

It was the only explanation that made sense. Max was a Venator, the most powerful one after Aunt Eustacia. He would never betray them.

And as for Sarafina Regalado? Victoria would not believe Max had fallen in love with that fairy-headed chit. If he ever deigned to allow himself to be distracted by a woman, it would be someone… different.

Having come to her conclusion, Victoria assumed that Max would be as anxious to make the truth known to her as she was to receive it, so she hovered near one of the ballroom entrances in hopes of catching his eye and hinting for him to leave. But he did not glance her way even once, and he seemed perfectly content to mingle among the guests, with or without Sara clinging to his arm.

When at last she had run out of excuses for Portiera and Placidia as to why she did not move from her spot, she allowed them to maneuver her to a cluster of young Italian men—the equivalent of the rakes and rogues that made their way through the ton in London—and present her to them.

For a short time, Victoria allowed herself to be lulled by the pleasure of being nothing more than a young, attractive woman interacting with young, attractive men. She'd forgotten what it was like to be concerned only with providing witty comments or flashing demure smiles.

This was the life she'd given up: a simple one, where the biggest worry was what gown to wear to which event, whether her dance card would be filled, and whether, once wed, she would provide an heir and a spare. It was filled with gossip and parties and little else.

Oh, and blissful ignorance.

Yes, that was definitely part of the life she'd given up.

Portiera and Placidia's handsome friends were complimentary and charming and falling all over themselves in an effort to speak with Victoria, to retrieve a drink for her, a biscotto, an antipasto, a walk on the terrace to steal some air. As an English widow, she was unusually attractive to them, in particular to one of the elder of the group—though he couldn't have been more than thirty—Barone Silvio Galliani.

"Perhaps I could convince you that some fresh air would be delightful, Mrs. Withers," he suggested, elbowing another, less bold competitor out of the way. "The gardens at Villa Regalado are particularly beautiful in the moonlight."

Italy flavored his English, admiration glinted in his dark eyes, and his smile was compelling enough to send a little twinge into her belly. When she acquiesced and he took her arm, she felt the fine cloth of his jacket and the sinewy muscle underneath it.

"Have you known the Regalado family for long?"

Victoria asked him as they strolled along the cobblestone terrace.

"For many years," he replied. "I am the contessa's cousin. Was I not truthful when I claimed that the gardens are most beautiful by moonlight? Do you see those roses there?"

She looked at the creamy white blooms, made silvery by the moon. "They are beautiful, but seem to be blooming rather late in the season."

"Indeed, they are! I dabble a bit in the breeding of flowers, and this one is one of my own creations. I named it Sara in the Moonlight—Sarè nel chiarore della luna—but perhaps I was rather hasty in choosing a name." He cast a meaningful look at her. "Its delicate color reminds me of your beautiful English skin, and the silver glaze from the moon is the same as the shine in your dark hair. Il chiarore della luna di Emmaline would perhaps be a more fitting name. Bmmaline's Moonlight."

Victoria felt the sway of his charm. After all, she'd never been described as a rose. "I am most complimented," she replied, walking on. "You must be very close to Sara and her family to name a rose after her."

"Si, I have known her since she was young. A bit frivolous at times, but a nice enough girl. Pretty in her own way."

"It sounds as though the family is quite pleased about her pending nuptials. Have you met her intended?"

"Many times. Pesaro is quite the gentleman and seemed to become rather quickly attached to young Sara. It was only a matter of a month, perhaps half again, and they were announcing their engagement. Of course, when one finds true love, time means nothing." He was looking at her again with that same intense look. Did he really think she was going to fall for it?

"Does the conte approve of such a quick decision for his daughter's marriage?"

"He is very pleased. He and Pesaro have extensive business dealings, which is how I believe he came to meet Sara. Now, my dear Mrs. Withers, enough talk about Sara and her beau… let us talk about yours. I noticed quite a bit of interest from that English boy back in there. Tell me true, and do not break my heart… is he of special interest to you, or is there the possibility that another might attract your attention?"

"My attention is not attached to anyone at this time, barone."

"Then I may count myself as a fortunate man." Barone Galliani's brilliant smile flashed in the moonlight. "It would make me very happy if you would call me Silvio. Would you care to take a turn along the pathway yonder? I should be happy to show you some of my purple sweet-peas."

"I would be very happy to see them, but I fear I must find my way back into the ballroom. I do not wish Placidia and Portiera to worry on my absence. They may be preparing to leave."

He was clearly disappointed, but he acceded to her wishes and escorted her inside. Just as they came back into the ballroom from the terrace, Victoria saw the tall figure of Max striding toward the opposite door.

He was leaving the room, and she was going to follow him. This would be her chance to catch him alone.

She told Silvio that she must excuse herself for a moment, and made her way through the people chatting and drinking without appearing to be in a hurry. She even paused at the drink table to dash down an unladylike gulp of lemonade, then continued on her way. By the time she reached the exit, nearly ten minutes had elapsed.

The doorway through which Max had disappeared was not the one through which she'd originally entered the ballroom; instead of leading to an entry foyer, it led into a spacious, curve-ceilinged hall lined with doors and alcoves, studded with shoulder-high pillars topped with marble busts. In keeping with Regalado's theme, several of them also sported nipples.

Victoria paused at one of the doors, unsure whether Max had gone this way to meet someone else, to obtain some solitude from the demanding social event, or, perhaps, to seek her out.

There was silence in the hall, then, from a distance, the rumble of a low voice followed by a low, delighted feminine squeal. Someone had taken the opportunity for a tryst.

Victoria moved along, wondering if she dared to open one of the doors. Max could be anywhere; he could be in a completely different area of the villa. But if he'd slipped out in order to create an opportunity for them to meet, he should be nearby. Waiting for her. He must have seen her come back in from the terrace and must know she was behind him.

A doorknob turned, and Victoria scooted into the shadow of one of the busts, tucking herself behind it, wishing she were as petite as Sara. With a low whoosh the door opened, and the rustle of skirts told her that a woman was coming along the hall.

Victoria held her breath, but the woman rushed along back to the ballroom with nary a glance. It was Sara Regalado.

An ugly feeling stirred in Victoria's belly. She stepped from behind the pillar and waited.

The door opened again, and out strode Max. His thick hair was rumpled and the collar of his shirt was crooked. Other than that, his hawkish features made him appear cool and removed, his elegant cheekbones as though they were carved from ice. He looked down his long, straight nose at her, standing there in the hall, and said, "You again?"

He would have brushed past her, but she planted herself in the center of the passage. "What's going on, Max?" she asked in a low voice.

"Whatever do you mean?" he asked, flicking at what had to be an imaginary speck on his coat sleeve. "Perhaps you've caught me in an awkward position, but after all, she is my fiancee."

"Why haven't you been in contact with Aunt Eustacia?"

His look was bland as porridge. "I've been busy. Wedding plans and such. You know how distracting they can be."

She felt as though he'd slammed her in the stomach. "Yes," she breathed.

He waited a beat, then said, "Is there anything else?"

"No."

"Very good, then… er, Mrs. Witters, was it? Will you permit me to return to my fiancee? I hope your journey back to London is comfortable—and imminent." As she stepped back, he walked past her, tall and dark, and she could not miss the air of annoyance that accompanied him.

Now, hours later in the carriage across from George, who'd enthusiastically offered to see her home when the Tarruscelli sisters weren't ready to leave, Victoria still seethed.

She simmered and stewed, but beneath the anger was emptiness, disbelief, fear. Arrogance and rudeness were nothing new where Max was concerned, but it was the blithe put-off when she'd asked him about Aunt Eustacia that really bothered her. He loved her aunt like a mother, a mentor, a teacher, and a liege. For him to dismiss her boded nothing good.

Surely it wasn't what it seemed. Surely it wasn't that he'd fallen in love and denounced the Venator world and duty.

Or that he'd joined the Tutela.

She'd never believe it.