Rises the Night

Chapter 16 In Which a Small Italian Parlor Experiences Much Activity

Victoria wasn't surprised to find Sebastian waiting at the villa when she returned. It just seemed to follow with the rest of the way things had been going. When she came in to find him awaiting her in the cushion-sized parlor, she had a brief moment of regret that she hadn't taken George up on his hints to be invited in.

It was only a brief moment, however, and was replaced with the more fervent wish that she'd allowed Silvio to take her home, and to come in with her. The presence of the attentive and handsome Italian baron would have wiped the expectant smile off Sebastian's face.

As it was, Victoria's hand itched to wipe it off. She truly wasn't fit for company, as her mother would say. But that was the risk Sebastian had taken, showing up here uninvited. Sending her off alone tonight. Not telling her everything he knew.

He was asking for it.

"I hope I didn't keep you waiting too long," she said by way of greeting.

He'd shed his coat and gloves before she arrived, unknotted his cravat, and unbuttoned the two buttons of his collar. For that presumption alone, she ought to be annoyed. "Not at all, ma chère … in fact, I thought it would take you quite a bit longer to extricate yourself from all of those salivating young bucks you were sure to meet. Or was it a worthless evening?"

"I had to fight off George Starcasset's attempts to kiss me in the carriage on the way home."

"Should I be pleased they were only attempts? And gratified that my attempts of the same were successful?"

"And I survived a stroll in the moonlight with Barone Galliani. Not that that was a hardship."

"Galliani?" His smile thinned for an instant; then it was back, cool and sensual.

"A friend of yours?"

"Not particularly. Other than deciding to save yourself for me… how was your evening?"

"Oh, did I save myself for you? I had no idea. My evening, such as it was, was full of surprises. I'm just trying to ascertain whether you knew about all of them, or just some of them."

She was pacing the room, which consisted of ten strides in one direction, turn, and ten in the opposite. If she were careful, she could keep from brushing against the arm of the wider chair.

Sebastian watched her for a moment, then, with an insouciant grin, selected the narrower seat and sank into it in a blatant show of rudeness whilst she remained pacing. "I can think of other, more pleasant ways to blow off steam," he commented. "If you come over here."

She stopped pacing. "Unfortunately for you, that is the last thing I'd like to do right now. Did you know that George Starcasset would be there tonight?" She stood to the side of his chair looking down at him. His shirt gaped open in a long, narrow vee, and she could even see the sprinkling of golden and bronze hair peeking through. The intimate view made her stomach tingle in that special way, and she had to think about looking away before she did.

Right into his hot amber eyes.

"Come here, Victoria," he said, and reached out to tug her into the chair. "This has gone on long enough; and I can tell you are in no mood for prevaricating, even if you don't realize it."

She fell—let herself fall, to be truthful—across the hard edge of the chair, sprawling across his lap. One arm curled around the other side of the chair, finding a grip on the edge of the back, and her hip jutted into the side over which she'd tipped. Her other hand found its own place to hold on just behind Sebastian's ear… but she wasn't thinking about the smooth wood under her fingers, nor the shiny but worn brocade upholstery.

No, she was kissing Sebastian with the same fervor she'd seen in his eyes moments before she closed her own.

The twinge in her belly sparked sharply and shot low as he released the arm he'd yanked and slid the cup of his thumb and forefinger up under each breast. She arched into his hands and adjusted herself on his lap so that she sat on one hip, legs bent. She could feel the rhythm of his thumbs over her nipples sending shivers through the thin material of her gown, and the warmth of his chest, textured with hair, under her hands.

Victoria pulled his shirt apart, opening it so she could see those broad, golden shoulders. He liked the feel of her fingers spread over the hair on his chest: She could tell by the way he closed his eyes and let his head sink back against the chair. His skin tasted warm and a little salty, smelled like clove and rosemary and man, and she could even feel the pulse thumping in his neck beneath her lips.

When she would have brought her hands farther down, to pull up the rest of his shirt, he caught at them, opening his eyes with a lazy smile. "What's the hurry, my dear? We've both waited a long time for this." Grasping her shoulders, he pulled her forward for a long, slippery kiss, sliding his hands over the tiny sleeves at the uppermost part of her bodice and pulling them down.

With them went the front of her gown, and her breasts tipped out from her low corset, loose and warm and trembling.

A year ago Victoria would have been mortified at the thought of straddling a man in the parlor, her gown being pulled down to her waist as Sebastian worked the buttons at the back. But she was not an innocent, and neither was Sebastian a proper gentleman.

And he'd been right: She was in no mood to feign disinterest. She needed something tonight—something after everything that had happened in the last weeks.

When he kissed one of her breasts it was a soft, gentle buss, so delicate that it was barely more than his breath; but it made her tighten up, and little bumps erupted, radiating from where he touched her. He did it again, gently nuzzling, and sent the same sensations coursing through her. Like a lazy wave, lapping gently, insistently, through her, unfurling warmth and liquid down where she straddled him, her gown caught and stretched under her knees.

Her head tipped back, and she steadied herself with hands on solid, square shoulders. They were warm and smooth and solid. He kissed her again, his mouth harder now, his lips wet and hot against her nipple. His breath spread wide over her breast as he breathed deeper and rougher, his fingers clamping her skin more closely now.

Victoria felt herself straining below; the warm burning between her legs where it pressed against him. She rocked a bit, he groaned, and she rocked again.

"And I always thought our first time would be in a carriage," he murmured, working her gown and shift up from the hems so that they bunched around her waist, and skimming his fingers over the tops of her thighs under the bundle of silk, lace, and linen.

Reaching behind her, he fitted his hands under her skirts and around the back of her hips, drawing her forward, closer, so that she fell against him in the chair. Her breasts pushed into his chest and he moved to touch the top of her head, tilting it to the side so he could kiss the long tendon that stretched from jaw to shoulder. Her vampire bites were long healed, but the sensitivity in her neck was still sharp; sharper than before she was bitten, and when he closed his mouth over the smooth skin, she felt everything focus there.

So different from the ugly, evil fangs that drew out her life force, yet frighteningly similar. Everything slowed as Sebastian nibbled and bit and licked, long and smooth, from ear to shoulder and back. Victoria was shaking, wanting to twist away from the intensity, yet wanting to push herself into him, wanting more. Her eyes had closed, her hands fallen from their grip on the chair; she was lost in the tailspin of pleasure.

Then he slipped his fingers down and beneath her skirts again; they found their way through the slit in her drawers, where she was hot and pounding and wet. They brushed over her swollen flesh and she seized up, catching her breath at the opulence. How had she forgotten this? Pleasure surged from one of her centers to the other, from his lips and tongue to his fingers, stroking and sliding. His palm cupped her from the front, pressure built, and yet his rhythm did not waver.

She felt his breath faster against her breasts, heard it rasping in her ear as his mouth fell away from her skin.

Skillful, oh, his fingers were skillful… teasing her to the edge, then drawing aside to let her slip back; then back in, gently probing, slick and sure, until finally he let her go over.

Victoria caught herself before she cried aloud; some part of her remembered they were in the parlor, and she buried her face in his shoulder as the orgasm shuddered through her.

So long. It had been so long.

She was weak and lazy and alive. Her fingers shook along with her breath, and she realized his hands were moving at his own waist and she put her attention to helping him.

When she would have removed his shirt, he stopped her, pushing her hands to the bulge in his trousers, and murmured, "No, here, if you please," with a bit of strained, wry humor in his voice. "Victoria."

"This is an efficient way to distract me from my question," she whispered into his ear, working to unfasten his breeches. When she slipped her hands inside, she found him hot and ready, heavy under her fingers.

"About George? You already suspect the answer." His breathing was definitely off.

"You knew."

"Let's not let George come between us," he murmured coaxingly.

"How about Max?" she asked.

"Max too?" His fingers stilled. "So that is what this is about."

"What?" It took a moment, but the haziness of desire spiraled away when she saw the serious look on his face.

"Your easy capitulation. Did you talk to him?" He kept his fingers closed around the stays caging her ribs, just below her breasts, but they were still, and his mouth distant and thin.

"He's getting married to Regalado's daughter. Don't tell me you didn't know that."

"I didn't." Sebastian looked at her, his expression dark as he slipped his palms up under her breasts again. "I understand now, and it is fortunate that I have no qualms about seizing an opportunity that falls in my lap. Literally." His smile had an unfamiliar edge to it.

With a sudden movement he pulled her back to him for a hot, rough kiss that brought more out of her than he'd taken before. Her breath hitched and she kissed him back, caught up in the emotion, renewed desire pulling down through her belly. His hands were more insistent on her breasts…

And then something changed.

He slowed, caught back his breathing, gentled his kiss, let his warm hands settle at her waist. "Apparently I am not the opportunist I thought I was," he said ruefully, shifting and setting her off his lap.

Victoria stood there, suddenly chilled, her gown at her waist, her shift bunched up underneath her skirts, her breasts jiggling with the movement of her breath and his sudden release.

Sebastian rose, then, his billowing shirt brushing against her torso. He looked down at her as he refastened his trousers. "I can't decide if it's because you expect him to walk in on us at any moment, or because you're angry at him. Or both. Likely both."

The last vestiges of arousal fell away. "You are addled!" She yanked up her bodice to cover her breasts.

"Most likely I am," he replied, tucking his shirt in. "But I'd rather be addled than be manipulated."

"Thank you for your assistance with the Tutela," she said frostily. "I hope that you'll remember tonight with fondness, for there won't be a repetition of it anytime soon."

His lips twitched to one side as he grabbed up his coat, gloves, and cravat. "You are so very predictable, Victoria, donning the spurned-woman facade."

"Spurned woman?" She laughed in real delight. "I would say not. You left me with little to regret, and I wager I'll sleep better tonight than you." She raised a brow and looked at him meaningfully.

"If you keep that up, I'll be happy to rectify the situation." He turned to go, his hand on the parlor door, and slanted her a last look. "Or I'll call on the Tarruscelli twins."

Victoria regretted telling Sebastian about Max's appearance at the Regalado villa, not so much because of the way it inexplicably ended their intimacy, but because she still cringed inside when she thought about what it could mean.

She wanted to keep that information to herself so she could turn it over in her mind and somehow make sense of it. She felt as if once she told Aunt Eustacia, or anyone, it would be too late to take it back; it would be real. And it would worry her aunt needlessly, for Victoria just did not believe Max had turned from the Venators.

And she also believed—knew, deep inside—that Max would seek her out. If he was playing a role, which was what she had to believe, despite all evidence to the contrary, he wouldn't take any chance of their being overheard or seen. They could have been noticed in the hall beyond the ballroom; he was being overly discreet… which was nothing less than what she'd expect of Max.

Even though he infuriated her, Max didn't make mistakes. He was deliberate and careful and very, very dangerous.

As for Sebastian's odd accusations… Victoria put those off to the fact that she could never understand what made Sebastian tick at any time, let alone when he was in the throes of passion. There was no love lost between the two men for reasons she did not know, but which appeared to be part of a long history. Apparently the mere mention of Max's name was a douse of cold water to Sebastian.

So certain was Victoria that Max would call on her or send some kind of message now that he knew she was in Rome, she remained in the villa for the next two days, refusing even to leave to visit Aunt Eustacia at the Gardella villa. She didn't want to miss him if he came.

She did not explain to her great-aunt that she'd seen Max. Not yet. She wanted to make sure… she wanted to wait until they could speak again in private.

But he did not contact her.

She did, however, have to greet George Starcasset when he called on her the day after the party, bearing flowers and a glitter in his eyes. They sat and took tea in the cramped parlor, chatting inanely about London Society and their friends back home. It was thirty minutes before she could get rid of him.

The following day, when he called, she was "not at home."

The third morning after the party at the Regalado villa, the Tarruscelli sisters brought Sara Regalado to call on Victoria.

"We were certain you'd fallen ill," gushed Portiera. "We'd hoped you'd come to tea yesterday and were so disappointed when you did not attend."

"We missed you so very much at tea yesterday, we were quite convinced that you'd been stricken with some ache in the head or some other illness," said Placidia in her sister's wake.

"I was feeling rather under the weather," Victoria admitted, watching as Oliver and Verbena attempted to arrange the minuscule parlor for three guests plus their mistress. "I had such a lovely time at your father's party, too, Sara."

"I hope you are feeling quite the object today," Max's fiancee said in her imperfect English.

"I am feeling much more the thing, thank you very much." In truth, she was feeling worse every hour that went by that she hadn't heard from Max.

Unless… perhaps Sara was unwittingly to deliver the message.

Indeed, it seemed possible, when the young woman continued and said, "We were hoping you would join us in our box at the opera tomorrow evening. We four will be escorted by my father and Maximilian, as well as Barone Galliani, on whom you seem to have made quite an impression." She smiled without a bit of malice and continued, "My cousin appeared to be so smitten with you that he has threatened to change the name of the rose he created for me!"

"I'm certain your fiance was overjoyed," Victoria could not resist saying.

Sara looked at her quizzically. "Maximilian? Why, he has not a jealous bone in his body; he could not care if Silvio named twenty flowers after me. And if he should change the name for someone as lovely as you, my new dear friend, well, I should not be adirato at all. For I have my Maximilian to name flowers after me himself."

Victoria had to turn an unladylike snort into a fit of coughing. The vision of Max tending to a rosebush, let alone naming it for a chit of a girl, was ludicrous.

When her coughing subsided, amidst a flurry of "oohs" and "ohs!" (from the Tarruscelli twins, their mirror-image moles twitching accordingly) and clapping on the back (from the dainty Sara, who wielded quite a lusty clap), Victoria smiled through watery eyes and accepted the invitation. If nothing else, it would give her another opportunity to see Max and scrutinize what he was up to.

No sooner had her visitors left than Victoria, who had planned to steal away for some training practice, was called back to the parlor.

Aunt Eustacia had arrived.

Victoria kissed her aunt's soft, wrinkled cheek and settled her on the most comfortable chair in the sitting room. She was looking more fragile, she noticed; as though all of the traveling had taken a toll on her. It was odd, for Victoria had expected that returning to her homeland after so many years away from it would have brought a sparkle to her eyes. Instead, they bore a hint of sadness and worry.

"Have you news?" her aunt asked without preamble.

"Sebastian assisted me to attend an event at one of the Tutela leaders' homes," she replied, and explained about Regalado. "I am to attend the opera with him and his daughter and some others tomorrow night. I hope that will give me the opportunity to find out more about the Tutela. I have not been out to hunt for vampires since we arrived in Rome; I was planning to practice my training just now, and go out on a patrol tonight. I know it is important to stay ready and sharp. And I miss it."

Eustacia was looking at her with steely black eyes, as though she knew Victoria was equivocating. "You learned nothing at the villa when you were there?"

Victoria hesitated. "George Starcasset was there, whom I did not expect." Her aunt's eyes sharpened with interest. Victoria drew in a deep breath. "And Max was there."

"Max? Grazie a Dio! Did you speak to him?"

She nodded. "He is apparently engaged to marry Regalado's daughter. He made no mention of the Tutela or of anything related to the Venators. I have been expecting him to contact me, but he has not. I… don't know what to think."

"What did he say to you, exactly?"

Victoria repeated their brief conversations and watched her aunt's expression. It remained neutral, even as she replied, "I would never believe Max has forsaken us. He must be involved in something."

"Of course—he's involved with Sara Regalado. He's in love." Victoria was beginning to wonder if it might actually be true. "He has no time for us anymore. He's been too busy even to let you know he is alive."

Aunt Eustacia slanted her a narrow glance. "I cannot tell you the number of times I had a similar conversation with him last year when you were intent upon marrying Phillip, cara. I told him then as I tell you now: We must trust that he will manage all of his obligations. There is no stricture that says a Venator can't marry."

"But I did not forsake my duty!"

"And you do not know that Max has either, Victoria. For all you know, he's been hunting vampires every night, and finding a way into the Tutela at the same time. Perhaps you will have an opportunity to speak with him tomorrow night at the opera. It is very promising that you have made friends with Regalado's daughter."

"Indeed. And with or without Max, I intend to do what I can to find out more about Conte Regalado and his Tutela. His wife died many years ago, and he is not married. And," Victoria added, recalling the nipples in his painting, "he seems to appreciate women. Perhaps I shall flirt outrageously with him."

Aunt Eustacia nodded. "Very good, cara. I know you shall take care, and I hope that you will have some news to report shortly." She sighed. "I am filled with worry, and Wayren, who has been here in Roma since she left London, shares my concern. Nedas has the obelisk, and it is only a matter of time until he has control of its power. We do not know when or where, although Wayren is studying her books and scrolls to see if she can find any prophecy or description of how or where. At this time, you are the only one we can rely on to find out. The other Venators here in Roma, and even in Italia, are too well-known and would be recognized immediately by the Tutela. Your advantage is that you are a woman, and you are not well-known. When they speak of the woman Venator, they think of me and only me."

"Unless they realized I was a Venator during the events in Venice," Victoria reminded her.

"It is possible, but not probable. You killed the only vampire that named you thus, and the rest of them would not have lived to see you fight so well or so strongly. We must use this advantage as long as we can. Vero, they know that my niece is a Venator, but they do not know who you are and what you look like, or that you are here in Rome. So it is important that you are not seen with me, and that you are not observed fighting a vampire anywhere. For any reason." She looked at her fiercely. "Do you understand?"

"I could not stand by and watch a vampire maul another person," Victoria replied, thinking of the events in Venice. "It is not in my nature."

"You must. You must act like any other female should you come face-to-face with one."

"Aunt Eustacia—"

"Victoria, you will obey me in this. There are some times when an individual sacrifice must be made to protect the greater good. I know." Her eyes saddened. "I know this, Victoria, for I have seen it happen. You must learn to think about the larger event instead of the singular moment in which you breathe."

Victoria pressed her lips together, but nodded. She didn't know if she could stand by and let the worst happen, but she would try if the circumstances called for it.

"We must find a way to stop Nedas. The more information you can obtain, the better we can plan for such an event. Perhaps we will have to find a way to steal the obelisk, if he has already begun to activate it." Aunt Eustacia shook her head. "I will leave you now to your training. I will contact you the morning after the opera; there is no need for you to send for me. I know better how to move with subterfuge here in Roma. And do not worry about Max. All will be fine."

But Victoria did not believe her. She had seen the change as they talked, how the lines had deepened in her face, and the way her eyes had become shadowed, and she knew Aunt Eustacia didn't even believe herself.