The Rest Falls Away

Chapter Thirteen The Marquess Makes an Unwelcome Announcement

A hired hackney—not Barth's—took her home. Victoria kept the Book of Antwartha on the seat next to her in the carriage and tried not to think about Max. As he'd taken great pains to impress upon her, he was more than capable of taking care of himself.

And she knew he would rather she take care of the book, now that it was in their possession, than take a chance on losing it while coming to his aid.

When the hackney reached Grantworth House, Victoria alighted quickly, carrying the heavy bag under one arm and slamming the door of the carriage behind her. The windows of the house were dark except for the one lamp burning in the front parlor window. It was nearly four o'clock; her mother should have arrived home from the ball she'd attended by now and likely was snoring in her bed. Victoria slapped a coin in the hand of the driver and turned to start up the steps to her house.

And felt a blast of chill over the back of her neck.

Bloody hell.

Again?

She groped for the stake she hadn't thought she'd need again this night and turned to look up the street. Now her entire body went cold.

Her mother was home, indeed. But she wasn't in her bed sleeping.

No. The Grantworth carriage sat gleaming green and gold under the street lamp, where it should not be. And the man sitting in the driver's seat, holding the reins of the abnormally still horses, was not the Grantworth groom.

Victoria glanced reflexively down at the bundle she held, then immediately back at the carriage. How many were there? How could she fight them with one hand holding the book? She couldn't put it down.

"Venator!" shouted a voice.

Victoria turned and saw four vampires—Guardians, she judged, based on the fact that their eyes were more ruby than garnet—stepping from behind the carriage. One of them, a tall, crimson-haired woman, had spoken.

"I hope I haven't kept you from your nightly excursions," Victoria replied with a calmness she did not feel. "It took a bit longer than I planned to finish this evening's task." As she spoke, she was looking around, her mind calculating even as she straggled to comprehend that her mother was in the custody of five vampires.

How many of the damned creatures were there in London?

The absurd thought was a testament to her weariness and frustration; but Victoria could not indulge it now. Mother was in the carriage and Victoria had to save her.

The crimson-haired vampire now stood close enough that Victoria could smell her dusky, dusty, dry scent. Taking care not to look her directly in the burning eyes, Victoria readied herself for any sudden moves. The other vampires flanked behind her in a vee arrangement.

"We provided your mother with an escort home this evening," the leader said in an unhurried tone that matched Victoria's. "She is well; we've resisted the urge to feed on her until now, Venator, because we knew that if you succeeded in your task and obtained the Book of Antwartha, you'd need a compelling reason to turn it over to us."

With a flick of her chin she gestured, and the carriage door opened. Lady Melly stumbled out, tangled skirts and all, tripping as she tried to descend the steps. But she was well, unharmed except for the bruises she would likely have on her knees and elbows from the fall.

"I can't give you the book," she said simply. "But I can give you your life… such as it is. If you prefer to keep it, and not to go the way of… oh, a dozen of your colleagues, you'll just toddle off into the night and find another tired Venator to harass." If there were any other Venators in London… tired or not.

In the back of her mind, she heard Big Ben strike four. In sixty minutes or a bit more, the sun would begin to rise…

Could Victoria stall them long enough?

And then a hackney cab turned the corner, bumbling along at an unusually fast clip. Victoria recognized its driver. What was Barth doing here?

But before she could form the question, the cab dashed by without pause, and a splash of water burst from its open window, catching four of the vampires.

Suddenly they were screaming and clawing at themselves wherever the water had touched them. Almost before she grasped the fact that someone—Verbena, perhaps—had dashed a bucket of holy water on them, she flew into motion with her stake.

By the time she'd stabbed two of the undead, the hackney had turned around and come back. Another splash of water drenched the vampire sitting in the driver's seat, and a smaller wave fell onto the last two companions standing in the street.

They were in such agony, it was easy—too easy—to take care of them; but Victoria didn't have the energy even to feel grateful for the simple, satisfying ending to a busy night.

Barth's hackney finally stopped next to her on the street, as Victoria wrapped one arm around her blank-faced, uncharacteristically silent mother and the other around the precious bundle of an ancient tome and worked her way up the steps to Grantworth House.

A frightened Lady Melly was just one of several things Victoria would have to deal with in the morning, not to mention what to do now that she had the Book of Antwartha—and the fact that her engagement was to be announced at a ball that evening.

But for now… she wanted the comfort of her feather bed, and a safe place to hide the book.

And the assurance that Max had survived the night.

As it turned out, handling Lady Melly was much easier than Victoria had anticipated. Verbena, who had indeed flung the holy water on the vampires, prepared and administered a sleeping draft for her that dropped her like a stone.

By the time Victoria woke in the morning, Aunt Eustacia had arrived at Grantworth House. She'd been summoned by Max, who had indeed survived his third Imperial in one night and who had arrived at Grantworth House only moments after Victoria hustled her mother off to bed. He'd come for his own assurances, of course; and once notified by the suddenly important Verbena that her mistress was home, unhurt, and in possession of the object of Lilith's desire, Max slipped off into the night, presumably to seek his own feather bed.

Aunt Eustacia had her own ways of dealing with the shock of vampire victims. Holding a small gold disk etched with a spiral design in front of her niece's face, she spun and swung it until Melly's face grew blank and her eyes unfocused.

"Why," asked Victoria when her great-aunt was finished erasing the memory of red-eyed, long-fanged undead from her mother, "must we do that? Would it not be better for those who aren't Venators to know what the risks are? To know that vampires do exist?"

They were sitting in the parlor of Grantworth House; it was nearing noon, and it was the first moment the two women had had alone.

"To have the panic spread, as it surely would? To give Lilith that added benefit of frightened humans, weakened by their fears? Or to give untrained, unprepared would-be heroes the false belief that they could kill and hunt vampires as easily as a Venator? To have unworthy ones call for their own vis bullae? No, Victoria, it is much better to keep the knowledge from those who are helpless to work against it. With the exception of a very few," she added as Verbena bustled into the room.

Then her sharp black eyes focused unwaveringly on Victoria. "But it is no use changing the subject, my dear. I understand you have achieved the goal which we had all been working toward. May I offer you my deepest congratulations, my heartfelt thanks, and—"

"—And my gravest anger."

Max, of course, standing tall and forbidding in the open door of the parlor. Verbena stood goggle-eyed and spasmic-haired behind him, and behind her was Jimmons, the red-faced butler, who should not have allowed the visitor entrance without warning. Although, knowing Max, Victoria acknowledged that she wasn't terribly surprised that it had happened.

He stepped fully into the room, dressed all in black, including his shirtwaist—Victoria didn't even realize they made black shirtwaists—and shut the door smartly behind him, nearly pinching Verbena's inquisitive nose.

"Just what did you think you were doing, Victoria?" he snapped, stalking toward her.

"Max—" Aunt Eustacia began, but Victoria overruled her.

"Saving your life… or have you so easily forgotten?" She stood too, upturned face to his furious one.

"Saving my… Victoria, if you had shared your information with me prior to the moment when it nearly cost me my life, the saving of it would not have been a factor! In fact, we would have determined the best way—"

"—for you to obtain the book, while I sat home and tended to my fripperies and furbelows, no doubt!"

"Of course not! It would have been a team effort, with a plan—"

"Easy words from the man who did not share his information with me either! What kind of team effort did you have in mind, Max?"

He opened his mouth to respond, but Eustacia had had enough. She shot out of her chair at Victoria's last words and placed herself quite straitly betwixt the two of them, a hand out in either direction. "Sit down, both of you," she ordered in a thunderous voice that Victoria had never heard before.

She sat. And so did Max. But, she noticed, he didn't look the least bit cowed.

"Let me make this clear," she said, spearing each of them with her eyes in turn. "The two of you are our only real hope here in England, and you must learn to work together, or we will find ourselves splintered by dissension. Now, I am not going to discuss further what happened last night… except to congratulate you both. And to breathe a great sigh of relief. We have the Book of Antwartha, and Lilith does not. You executed three Imperial vampires, Max, and that, I believe, is a one-night record. The most I ever did was two in one night," she added with a twitch of a rueful smile. "And numerous other Guardians, I am aware. Thanks in part to your resourceful maid."

Victoria nodded in agreement; she had expressed the very same gratitude to Verbena, which, must have, in part, caused the maid's newfound officiousness.

"What is to be done with the book now that we have it?" asked Max easily, as if the outburst and scolding had never happened.

Before Aunt Eustacia could respond, a proper knock came at the parlor door and Jimmons opened it to peek in. Victoria nodded, and he widened the opening and said, "It is too early for calls, but the gentleman would not be dissuaded from being announced, Miss Victoria. The Marquess of Rockley."

Warmth suffused her face before she could catch it, and without looking at Max or Aunt Eustacia, Victoria replied, "Please show the marquess in, Jimmons. I expect this shall not be the first time he calls outside of normal polite hours."

From the look on his face, Max dearly wanted to say something… but before he could, the door opened again and Rockley came in.

Victoria rose eagerly, but managed to catch herself before rushing to Phillip's side. Their engagement was not yet announced; it would be unseemly for her to act so until after this evening's ball. But a great part of her yearned to put her arms around him, to bury her face in his chest and lose herself in his normalcy… in the nonvampiric, stake-less, well-lit comfort of normalcy.

He, too, seemed to need to restrain himself from touching her; but when he saw the other occupants of the room, Phillip stiffened into a more formal persona and took an offered seat not so far from the one in which Max sat.

"I am sorry to call so early," he said after the appropriate introductions—or, in Max's case, reintroductions, "but I heard what happened last night and I came to be certain all was well."

Victoria stared at him. How could he know about what had transpired… how?

But Phillip was still talking, his bluish-gray eyes serious and concerned. "Is your mother here? Is she safe?"

And then she began to understand. "My mother is fine. She is sleeping well upstairs, and I do believe she has put the whole event from her mind." Literally. "What and how did you hear of this?"

"The word was that her carriage had been stolen, with her in it. That was the only news, and it was not until early this morning that I heard. I am glad she is here, and well. And you… Miss Grantworth, you must have had an awful night of it." Because they had not yet announced their betrothal, he used her formal title, but there was no mistaking the personal, intimate way he spoke it.

Max shifted in his chair. "If you heard of the carriage being stolen only this morning, I wonder why the news that Lady Melly was arrived home safely did not also reach your ears." He smiled pleasantly.

Phillip returned the smile. Pleasantly. "You've found me out, Lor—er, Mr. Pesaro. It was merely an excuse to assure myself that Miss Grantworth was suffering no ill effects from what must have been a terribly trying night."

Victoria covered Max's short bark of laughter with her response. "How kind of you, my lord." She sent him a smile that matched the intimate timbre of his voice. "I can assure you, although my evening was difficult in more ways than one can imagine, I am feeling quite the thing now that it is morning and the sun is high in the sky."

Phillip looked at her, then at Aunt Eustacia, and glanced over at Max before returning his attention to Victoria. "I am certain that after last night's frightening experience, you will need to rest and take your time preparing for the ball tonight. I am hopeful that this evening will be just as exhausting, but in a more pleasant way. We will have much help in celebrating our news."

"News?" Max asked delicately, springing to the bait. "Another ball? Celebrating what?"

"Why, our engagement, of course," Phillip replied blandly. "Victoria and I are to be married in one month's time."