The Rest Falls Away

Chapter Twenty-One Wherein the Marchioness Proves Herself an Excellent Storyteller

Victoria felt better when she reinserted her vis bulla the next day. It took a little bit of jimmying and tugging to get the silver hoop back in place, but she managed it with a bit of help from Verbena, and once that was done she finished dressing.

She was pleasantly sore from the activities of the night before, and, so far, quite delighted with her new marital status. Over breakfast she and Phillip ate kippers and eggs, sausages and biscuits, preserves and clotted cream. And then they boarded his traveling coach, which had already been loaded with their trunks, and embarked on a two-week honeymoon.

When they returned, she was rosy-cheeked and no longer sore.

On the morning after their return, Phillip left St. Heath's Row early to take care of some business in town with his solicitor and banker. Victoria worked diligently if reluctantly on her correspondence, but was saved from an entire afternoon of tedium by a missive from Aunt Eustacia inviting her for tea.

"You look lovely, my dear marchioness," said her elderly aunt when Kritanu showed Victoria into the sitting room. "Rested and quite happy."

Victoria bent to kiss her aunt's uncommonly soft, unlined face. "Indeed I am, Aunt. But I am also quite desirous of returning to the task at hand."

"We are delighted to hear that," drawled Max, who was standing across the room.

"Max. I never did thank you for agreeing to attend the wedding," Victoria replied. She had expected him to be there, and as part of her new position, she'd decided she was no longer going to allow him to nettle her. Her happiness made it much easier for her to pity his dark moods and what could only be great loneliness.

He bowed. "I was happy to be of assistance."

Perhaps he too had decided to be less combative.

"And how was the wedding trip?" Max continued, standing until Victoria took her seat. "I trust the marquess is well and has given no indication he plans to revisit the Silver Chalice."

Perhaps not.

"We haven't spoken of that evening since it occurred," Victoria told him, keeping her voice mild.

"Victoria, I realize it is your first day back from your honeymoon, but I felt it necessary to contact you," interjected Aunt Eustacia. "We've learned that a group of vampires has planned a raid of sorts on Vauxhall Gardens early in the morning. Despite Max's expertise, we felt there should be two Venators in order to keep them from succeeding."

Victoria felt the thrill of the fight tic in her heartbeat, but then she recalled. "I am bound to attend the theater with Phillip tonight. But… what time would I need to be ready?"

"Midnight, of course," Max said from the corner. "I am certain that you could invent some reason for returning to your home earlier rather than later in the evening. Having just returned from your honeymoon."

Victoria did not allow the flush to warm her cheeks; she stopped it cold. "Indeed, you are right. It will be no hardship to entice my husband to return home early. Of course, I might be otherwise occupied for a time…"

Max nodded, his eyes dark and cool. "Of course. Do you think you could perhaps adjust your schedule so that I could pick you up at midnight? So that too many people aren't killed before we arrive?"

"You don't have to pick me up," Victoria reminded him, wondering where her resolve had gone. "I can meet you there."

"I will pick you up. You would never locate me in Vauxhall."

"I will have to find a way to leave the house without Phillip knowing."

"I should expect him to sleep quite well after such an evening," Max said mildly. "Or perhaps you could assist him… with this." He reached in his pocket and pulled out a small vial. "If you are concerned that he might awaken and find his wife missing."

Victoria caught it when he tossed it lightly through the air. "What is it?" But she already knew. It was a drug. Max was suggesting that she drug her husband.

"It is called salvi. Protection. Safety. It comes in quite handy."

"As long as you aren't caught administering it and forced to drink it yourself." Victoria looked at the small vial, then glanced at Eustacia, who'd been unusually silent during their exchange. It was almost as if she'd realized her intervention would be useless.

Could she actually drug Phillip?

Was it necessary?

If she didn't would he awaken to find her gone? If she wasn't beside him, where she'd become quite used to sleeping in the last two weeks, would he seek her out in her own bedchamber?

The liquid was nearly clear; just the faintest blue tinged the thin, watery fluid. She would have to. To protect him, she not only had to lie to him… but drug him as well.

For she could not chance his awakening and putting himself in danger again.

Never again.

"I am feeling quite exhausted," Victoria murmured into Phillip's ear as they sat in the box he'd let at the theater. "I would much rather be in bed… wouldn't you?" She dipped the tip of her tongue into the innermost part of his ear—quickly, like a tease—then moved away and returned her attention to the stage. Prim and proper she was then, with her hands folded neatly in her lap.

Phillip shifted next to her in a manner that told her he, too, was thinking of things other than the play… which she was rather enjoying. "We can slip out during the next intermission—ah! What perfect timing," he amended, as the actors exited the stage.

Victoria clung to his arm as they pushed through the bustle of people leaving their boxes to mingle and be seen.

Phillip handed her into the carriage and climbed in after her. Instead of sitting on the seat across, he settled next to her and drew her near, kissing her with promise.

"My dear, your neck is so cold! Are you quite comfortable?" he asked, pulling away.

"I am not chilled, but oh, Phillip! I left my indispensable in our box; I'm certain of it! And it has Aunt Eustacia's brooch in it… Could you hurry back in and retrieve it for me?"

"Of course, my darling. You wait here—I won't be above a minute!"

She hoped that wasn't true, and waited until she saw him hurry back into the theater before she slipped the stake from a hidden pocket in her underskirt and climbed quietly out of the carriage—hoping the groom wouldn't hear her.

The walkway was crowded, more with carriage grooms and hackney drivers than theatergoers. Victoria wasn't certain where the vampire was, but she followed her instinct and hurried around the corner. The street was darker here, and not so busy—but when she approached the third hackney in the row, she knew she'd come to the right place.

A deep, muffled groan came from inside, and seeing that the driver was missing, Victoria flung open the door.

The vampire was a woman and, from the looks of it, had just finished feeding—or, at least, had already started. She was dressed in a dark cloak, and her brown hair was arranged quite prettily in an intricate coiffure, complete with gemstones and ribbons. In fact, if it weren't for the bright red blood trickling from the corner of her mouth, and the odd-colored eyes, she would have looked like an innocent society miss.

"How nice of you to join us," she greeted Victoria. Quick as a flash she lunged forward and grabbed at her. It took little effort for her to draw Victoria into the hackney—mainly because Victoria did not resist.

But once Victoria was sprawled, half in, half out of the carriage, she took matters into her own hands and scrambled to a seat on the opposite side.

That was when the vampire saw the stake.

She drew back in fear, and her red eyes widened. "Venator!"

"Pleased to meet you," Victoria told her as she slammed the stake into her chest.

Poof! She was gone, and Victoria was alone with the man she presumed was the driver of the hackney, based on the less than elegant clothing he wore.

She shifted his body to examine the bite and determine whether he was still alive and able to be saved. The bite was deep and still running with bright red blood. She felt the other side of his neck, trying to find a pulse… but her hand came away wet. The vampire had already been there too.

If they had come out of the theater a few moments earlier, she might have sensed the vampire sooner, in time to stop this.

But there was nothing she could do for the man. He was already dead.

When Victoria opened the hackney door, she froze, then quickly shut it. Phillip was standing on the street, calling for her.

Damn and blast!

She peered out the window, waiting for him to pass by so she could sneak out and hurry back to their carriage.

As soon as he went beyond the hackney, she did slip out and rush back… but just as she rounded the corner, she realized she was leaving Phillip alone—where another vampire could easily appear.

The back of her neck remained warm, but she still paused at the corner, peering around to watch for him.

To her relief he came back into view, striding along as if to hurry back and search in a different direction. She made her way to the carriage, where Tom, the groom, rushed up to her in relief.

"My lady! Where did you go?"

She did not answer, for at that moment Phillip came around the corner and caught sight of her.

"Victoria! Where did you go? And what is that on your gown? Is that blood?" He stared at her, appalled.

"Let us get in the carriage and I will tell you." It was nearly eleven, and if she was going to be ready for Max, they needed to get started.

Phillip helped her into the carriage, and Victoria took her seat, thinking quickly. "Did you find my indispensable?"

"No, there was nothing in the box. Victoria—"

"Oh, my dear, here it is! It was under the cushion all along!" she said, retrieving her little pouch. "I am so sorry for sending you on such a goose chase."

"Yes, just as you were last week when you thought you left your shawl at the inn where we dined."

"I can't imagine how I've become so fiddle-minded!" Victoria said, and because she recognized that he was only so patient and able to be distracted for so long, she said, "I did not mean to give you a fright, Phillip, but I saw an acquaintance of my mother's and hurried out to greet her. I walked with her and her husband to their carriage—just a few down from ours—and she bade me come in and greet her daughter, and as we climbed in, the door of the carriage slammed into her husband's nose, and it began to bleed quite dreadfully. He was so embarrassed that he bled on my skirt. I couldn't just rush off… so I stayed until I was certain he did not feel at fault. I am so sorry I did not tell Tom that I was leaving!"

"Well, I hope that you don't just hie off again without telling someone. First, it is not safe—there are many miscreants lurking about, waiting for an opportunity to rob an unsuspecting straggler… and second, you are a marchioness now and not only have a position to uphold, but you are very valuable and worth quite a bit of money to someone nefarious—and much more to me. I want you to be safe."

"Of course, Phillip. I won't do such a thing again." And she meant it. Next time she'd plan better.

They snuggled together, during the rest of the way home, as newlyweds were wont to do. Victoria plotting how she would slip the salvi to Phillip, and Phillip thinking about how he was going to slip something into Victoria.

It was a quarter past midnight when Victoria rapped lightly on Max's coach.

The door swung open and she climbed in without help. To her surprise Max, who lounged in the corner of one seat, didn't say anything about her tardiness.

Instead, he knocked on the ceiling for Briyani to go, and the carriage started off.

Victoria sat silently across from him, trying not to think about how she'd betrayed her husband.

She'd added the salvi, which Max had assured her was tasteless and odorless, to Phillip's glass of scotch, then brought it to him after they made love.

Curling up in the large feather bed next to him, Victoria pretended to fall asleep whilst waiting for the drug to take effect.

"Did you use the salvi?" Max's question snapped her back to the present… but not away from the guilt.

"Yes. I had no other choice to ensure his safety, did I?"

He looked at her. "You did have a choice, Victoria… and you know that I believe you made the wrong one."

Anger boiled inside her, topping off the simmering of guilt. "And you know that your opinion means little to me."

"A fact which wounds me deeply."

"Do you know what I think?"

Max inclined his head, and in the low light she could see one eyebrow lift. "I am certain you are about to tell me."

She continued. "I think you are jealous. Purely, simply jealous, and that is why you have nothing nice to say."

"Jealous?"

"Yes, jealous of what I have with Phillip. What you don't have and never will because you are so cold and cruel." The words tumbled out, almost as if she didn't know what she was saying—but she did know, and she knew she wanted to wound him, just as he'd wounded her by rubbing salt in her already tender heart. Her guilty, tender heart.

It frightened her, the way she felt—the strength of the emotions roiling inside her—because… she feared, deep inside, that perhaps Max was right after all.

Perhaps she'd made a mistake.

Max sat like stone for the remainder of the carriage ride to Vauxhall Gardens.

When they arrived he gave instructions to his driver, paid the four shillings for himself and Victoria to enter the gardens, and, with the barest of glances at her, started along the winding pathway.

Lamps of orange, blue, yellow, and red hung throughout the gardens, casting brightly colored circles on the stone path and the booths that offered ham slices, biscuits, and punch. Although she'd never been in the gardens before, she knew there were hidden alcoves and mysterious grottoes throughout the park—the perfect places for an assignation, or for a vampire attack. People strolled about—couples, clusters of young people with their chaperones, and groups of young men looking for adventure. The fireworks display had finished thirty minutes earlier, and the patrons were beginning to head back to their carriages.

It wasn't far into the gardens before Victoria's neck iced over. Definitely at least ten vampires in the vicinity, she guessed. She had dressed in trousers and a man's shirt tonight, needing the freedom of movement.

Max led the way, and just about the time Victoria thought her neck must surely be white with frost, they came upon a group of four undead toying with a septet of young men.

Perhaps both Victoria and Max had an equal amount of temper to vent, for the battle was brief and fairly onesided… all four vampires were staked barely before their intended victims could run for safety.

Since only a few fangs had been bared, and the seven young men were quite in their cups, Max did not feel they needed to be hypnotized out of their memories. Instead he urged Victoria to follow him down a darker path.

As they rounded the corner of a tall, thick bush, three vampires leaped out at them. One of them was carrying a knife, and before she could react Victoria felt a hot, sharp pain down her left arm.

With a cry of fury she raised her right arm and plunged the stake into his chest. She heard two soft pops as Max dispatched the others, and she turned to continue along the path without another word.

Her arm burned, and when she reached over to touch it, the jacket sleeve was damp. The only good thing about the wound was that the scent of blood would attract any other vampires, making it much easier for her and Max to finish their job and get back to the carriage.

And for Victoria to get back into bed with her husband, who slept peacefully and dreamlessly, thanks to his unscrupulous wife.

Anger with herself helped propel her striking arm during the other two short-lived incidents; she and Max were efficient and silent as they finished off the cluster of vampires that had dared to invade Vauxhall Gardens on a night that they patrolled.

On the way back to Max's carriage, Victoria held her wounded arm, which throbbed and stung, radiating pain up into her shoulder. She walked behind Max, who did not bother to shorten his long strides in deference to her shorter ones.

It wasn't until they got in the carriage, each in their own. corners, that he saw her holding her arm. He rapped on the ceiling, and as the carriage jolted into motion he said, "What's wrong with your arm?"

Before she could reply, he sniffed the air, then reached across and pulled her hand away. "You're bloody bleeding through your coat!"

"It worked quite well to attract the vampires. We finished up rather more quickly than I'd thought we would."

"Take off your coat. You're bleeding all over yourself, and probably on my seat as well."

Victoria glared at him, but she did shrug out of her jacket. It hurt like blazes when she tugged the tight sleeve over her arm, and when she bent her elbow to pull the other side off. The white sleeve of her shirt was dark with blood from shoulder to past her elbow. Max took one look in the low light and swore. "Bloody hell, Victoria, why didn't you say something? How did that happen?"

"One of those three who jumped from the trees had a knife, and he caught me by surprise."

Max was cursing under his breath as he rummaged in a small drawer under his seat. He sat back up holding a mass of white cloth, a small jar, and a knife.

With brief, angry movements, he sliced the clean blade down her shirtsleeve, cutting the fabric from her shoulder to her wrist and pulling it away to bare her arm. "Hold still." He sopped at the blood with some of the cloth and, holding it tightly, told her, "Keep this here for a minute. It's starting to slow."

She held the cloth there while he opened the small jar. The smell of rosemary and something else that she couldn't identify filled the carriage, and when Max pulled the cloth away, she allowed her free hand to fall into her lap. "Hold this," he said, slamming the jar into her open palm. He scooped roughly into the jar and slapped some of the cool, thick salve all along the cut, then wrapped white strips of cloth none too gently around her arm. Victoria felt her fingers begin to tingle as the blood was cut off, but she said nothing.

At last, when they were nearly back to St. Heath's Row, Max stuffed the unused cloth and the jar back into the drawer and settled into his seat. "You'd better start thinking of a good story, Victoria, because you're going to have a bloody time of it trying to explain that to your husband."