The Rest Falls Away

Chapter One Miss Victoria Grantworth's Two Debuts

Vampires.

The Gardellas were vampire hunters.

Victoria was going to hunt vampires.

"Victoria, dear…" Lady Melisande's gentle voice held the barest hint of reproach. "You may commence with pouring."

Victoria blinked and realized that her mother had been sitting with her hands folded perfectly in her lap, whilst their two guests waited with empty teacups. "Of course, Mother. I apologize for my woolgathering," she added as she raised the ivory teapot. Her mother's favorite, brought from Italy by her mother when she wed with Herbert, Lord of Prewitt Shore, was painted with images of Roman cathedrals.

Fortunately, the two guests at hand were Lady Melly's oldest and dearest friends, and they would not be offended by her daughter's lack of attention.

Three weeks ago, Victoria's biggest concern had been which gown to wear to an evening's event. Or whether—heaven forbid!—her dance card might not fill up.

Or even whether she would land a suitable husband during her debut.

But now… how on earth was she going hide a wooden stake on her person? One couldn't just slip it into one's glove! Or down one's bodice!

"Not to worry, my dear Melly. I'm sure the chit is just a bit distracted, with her coming-out in less than a fortnight." Lady Petronilla Fenworth smiled gently at Victoria as she retrieved her steaming cup. Of the three matrons, she bore the sweetest disposition; one that matched her delicate, angelic face and tiny frame. She reminded Victoria of a china doll. "After waiting in mourning for nearly two years, I am certain she is finally in raptures that she is to debut at last!"

"Indeed she is," replied Victoria's mother, the celebrated beauty of the trio. "I have great hopes for her on the mart, for though she is two years older than most of the others, she is certainly beautiful enough to catch the eye of a marquess… or even perhaps a duke!" She looked fondly at her eldest daughter, who had replaced the teapot and now tried to appear interested in the ensuing conversation.

Lady Winifred, who was the other of Melisande's lifelong friends, leaned forward to select a biscuit with plump fingers. She looked up, her eyes sparkling with excitement. "My sister by marriage tells me that Rockley will be seeking a wife this year at last!"

"Rockley!" The other two elder women repeated the name in unison, their tones bordering on a squeal, as if they were the eligible misses instead of Victoria. Since both ladies had been married for nigh on a quarter century (at least until Melisande had been widowed a year earlier), it was quite unnecessary and rather… earsplitting.

"Victoria, did you hear what Winifred said?" her mother repeated, grasping her hand. "The Marquess of Rockley is seeking a bride! We must ensure he is invited to your coming-out. Winnie, will your sister by marriage be attending?"

"I shall see to it—and that she insist her husband bring Rockley. Nothing would please me more than to see our dear Victoria steal the heart—and purse—of the elusive Marquess of Rockley." Winifred, who had been widowed a decade earlier and was childless, had fairly adopted Victoria as her own. Betwixt Petronilla, Winifred, and, of course, Melisande, Victoria had three full-time mothers worrying about her marriage prospects.

She was more worried about whether the small crucifix she sometimes wore about her neck would be enough to deter a salacious vampire.

According to Aunt Eustacia, it would; but as Victoria had yet to come face-to-face with one of the creatures, she wasn't completely convinced. In fact, that had become her biggest source of distraction in the last days—when would she see her first vampire?

Would one simply leap out of the woodwork one evening? Or would she have some kind of warning?

A sharp rapping on the parlor door drew the tittering ladies' attention from discussions of Rockley's physique and his income. "Yes, Jimmons?" asked Melisande when the butler peered into the room.

"I am in receipt of a summons for Miss Victoria to Lady Eustacia Gardella's home. Her ladyship's carriage awaits the young miss, if she agrees to attend her aunt."

Victoria set down her teacup with a sharp clatter. More training. And a chance to ask more questions of her aunt.

"Mother," she said as she rose rather more abruptly than she'd intended. Fiddlesticks. The last thing she wished to hear was a lecture regarding the smooth, graceful movements a lady must adopt.

Especially since Aunt Eustacia's assistant, a man named Kritanu, had spent the last two weeks teaching her to move with quick, precise actions. And how to fell a man with the perfect kick. How to take an attacker by surprise by dodging and leaping in a most unladylike manner. Her mother would expire on the spot if she had seen the way Victoria had learned to strike with her arms, legs, and even her head. "I would attend Aunt Eustacia, if you will excuse me."

Melly looked up at her, her round face a version of Victoria's own narrower, more elegant one. "You have grown quite attached to my aunt in these last weeks, my dear. I am sure it gives the elderly lady great pleasure to have your company. I do hope she does not feel slighted when the Season begins and you are dancing at balls or attending the theater every night."

Dancing at balls, attending the theater, stalking vampires.

Without a doubt, Victoria was going to be an extraordinarily busy debutante.

On the night of her debut—which, due first to the death of her grandfather, and then to the death of her father, had been delayed two years after she had attained the age of seventeen—Victoria sat at her dressing table looking every inch the proper young miss.

Her ink-black hair, a mass of wild curls, had been piled high at the back of her head and pinned to within an inch of its life. It would not dare shift or sag, regardless of the alacrity with which its mistress might dance, curtsy, or otherwise hare about.

Jet beads and the palest of pink pearls had been woven into her curls, and the black beads shone and sparkled when she turned her head, whilst the pearls glowed with the same pale hue of her gown. Matching gems hung from her ears, and a rose-colored necklace of pearls and quartz encircled her neck. Dangling from the front was, instead of a cameo brooch, a small silver crucifix.

Victoria's gown bore the faintest tinge of pink, and fell in diaphanous pleats from under her bosom to the tips of her shoes. The skirt was flowing and very nearly sheer; underneath she wore two more layers of translucent ivory. The dress's low, square décolletage left a rather large expanse of creamy white skin exposed, from choker necklace to the very tops of her breasts. And her gloves, long and virginal white, went past her elbows, nearly touching the tiny puffed sleeves.

Indeed, Victoria appeared every bit the demure, ingenuous debutante that she was… except for the solid wooden stake she held in her hand.

It was the circumference of two of her fingers and nearly the length of her arm from wrist to elbow. One end was sanded smooth, and the other whittled to a needle-sharp point. It was too thick to weave into her coiffure, much too long to fit in the small bag that dangled from her wrist.

"Under your skirts, my dear. Slip it into the knee garter under your skirts," Aunt Eustacia told her calmly. She had a face lined with age, but glowing with beauty and intelligence, as if every bit of happiness from all of her eighty-some years shone at one time. Her hair, still blue-black, she wore scraped back into an intricate mass of coils intertwined with seed pearls, white lace, and jet beads. It was a coiffure more appropriate for a girl Victoria's age than for an aging woman. Yet Aunt Eustacia carried it well; as well as she wore her high-necked gown of blood-red taffeta.

"Why do you think I gave you the garter? Be quick; your mother is bound to return at any moment!"

"Under my skirts?"

"You must be able to access it quickly and easily, Victoria. It will be well hidden, and with practice you will learn to slip it easily from underneath and have it in your hand when you need it. Now be quick!" Aunt Eustacia did not wait for her to move; she twitched at Victoria's skirts, exposing the ivory lace garter tied just below her knee, and watched as her niece slipped the stick betwixt lace and flesh.

No sooner had they finished than the door opened, and Lady Melisande burst in, followed by her two twittering companions. "'Tis time, Victoria! Come, come!"

"You look lovely! Absolutely breathtaking!" Petronilla gushed, peering at herself in the mirror from behind Victoria and fussing with an immovable curl of her own.

"Rockley is below," crowed Winifred, bumping into Victoria's elbow as she edged past her to reach for a papery-white clove of garlic that sat amid jewelry, scent bottles, and ornate combs. "What on earth is this?" she asked, straightening to bring it close to her pince-nez as if to confirm that it was, indeed, garlic.

Glancing at Eustacia in the mirror, Victoria forced a smile and leaned conspiratorially toward Winifred and Petronilla. "Aunt Eustacia brought it for me," she said in a low voice. "She claims it will protect me from vampires." Deliberately, she drew one eyelid down in a slow wink, and, making a point of glancing over her shoulder as if to be sure her great-aunt wasn't listening, she took the garlic from Winifred. "I'll just leave it here."

Petronilla and Winifred nodded, wide-eyed with suppressed humor, and cast amused glances at Aunt Eustacia. Victoria was the only one who saw the elderly lady wink back at her.

"I cannot wait to introduce you to Rockley!" Lady Winnie burbled as they filed out of the room. "He's danced with Lady Gwendolyn Starcasset more than once in the last week, but he hasn't met our beautiful debutante yet! Wouldn't it be a coup if you were to snatch him right from under her nose?"

At the top of the long, curving staircase, Victoria stopped, standing out of sight of the party below. It was the goal of every matron to have such a crush; the ladies Melisande, Petronilla, and Winifred must be in raptures about the number of people crowding the Grantworth home. Despite the fact that Melly was Victoria's mother, the other two had insisted on sponsoring her as well; and as Winifred was the Duchess of Farnham, her reputation sealed the bargain.

Victoria stood alone, waiting to be announced, nervous and expectant. Tonight was more than her coming-out into Society… it was also her debut as the newest vampire hunter in the ancient Gardella family. Not only must she charm and delight the rich, handsome bachelors and gain the interest of the ton, but she must somehow find and stake her first vampire. Here. In the midst of her come-out.

"Announcing… Miss Victoria Anastasia Gardella Bellissima Grantworth."

Victoria started down the stairs, slowly and regally, her gloved hand sliding along the smooth wooden banister.

She took her time, scanning the crowd of upturned faces, looking for ones she knew… and one that did not belong. Aunt Eustacia assured her that as part of the Legacy, as a Venator, Victoria harbored an innate sense and would recognize the presence of a vampire in normal human form.

As she neared the bottom of the staircase, she felt it: the cool wisp of something over the back of her neck, a breeze, a chill… where there was nothing moving the air. Unable to control her reaction, she turned quickly to look over her left shoulder, behind the staircase… into the shadows where a cluster of guests stood, watching her.

And then she was at the foot of the stairs, her mother slipping her hand into the crook of her arm and turning her to meet a group of distinguished men and women. The formidable Lady Jersey, the Duke and Duchess of Sliverton, the Earl and Countess of Wenthwren, and several others whose names were familiar to her. Victoria did her glowing mother justice: She curtsied and smiled and allowed her hand to be raised and kissed, all the while slipping her attention from the matters at hand and skimming it around the room.

It was a vast area, the foyer of Grantworth House. Four ceiling-high triple-fold doors at the top of a five-step landing had been thrown open to the ballroom. Lamps and candles glinted in every corner, on every surface, from every sconce. The room's pillars were surrounded by potted leafless saplings painted white and hung with glittering garlands. A six-piece orchestra was arranged in one corner of the ballroom, nearly hidden by a cluster of white trees; and a long table decorated with bowls of white roses held punch and other refreshments for the partygoers. Beyond the expanse of the gleaming pine dance floor, three sets of French doors opened onto the terrace. Late May's welcome breeze filtered in, and would have carried the heady scent of lilacs and forsythia if the air hadn't been heavy with French perfumes and floral waters.

"Do you feel it?" Aunt Eustacia had come from behind Victoria, and she hissed in her ear as she drew her from Melly's side.

"Yes. But how can I—"

"You will. You will find a way to corner the creature. You are Chosen, cara. You are Chosen because you have the skills. All you must do is listen to them." Eustacia's eyes glittered like the jet beads woven into Victoria's hair. Her gaze was filled with intensity, certainty, and Victoria suddenly felt the heaviness of the weight she bore. Tonight was her first test. If she passed it, her aunt would reveal all to her.

If she didn't…

That did not bear thinking about. She would succeed. She had spent the last four weeks learning how to move and strike at a vampire. She was as prepared as she could be.

"Good evening, Miss Grantworth," said a dainty woman approximately her own age. "I am Lady Gwendolyn Starcasset, and I was hoping to make your acquaintance. I'd like to congratulate you on a lovely debut. The white-washed trees hung with silver garlands are a beautiful touch."

Gwendolyn was daintier and smaller than Victoria, with honey-blond hair and golden eyes. A smattering of freckles were sprinkled over her shoulders and across her back; but the front of her bosom was lightly powdered so as to hide the ones there. She had a charming dimple that settled to the right of her mouth when she smiled, as now.

"Good evening to you, Lady Gwendolyn. Thank you for your compliment; but I can take little credit for the decorations. That is my mother's doing. She is much more comfortable with these sorts of things than am I."

Because Victoria had been in mourning for two years, after her grandfather's and then her father's deaths, and the Grantworth family had spent an inordinate amount of time in the country at their Prewitt Shore estate, she knew very few young ladies her age. Of course, that dearth in friendships could have had to do with the fact that Victoria preferred to spend time haring about the countryside—or at Regents Park—on her mare, or reading books instead of making calls and genteelly sipping tea. Regardless, she felt more than a little delighted to have the chance to converse with a girl her own age.

Feeling a renewed shiver over the back of her neck, Victoria took a moment to look out over the crowded room. Where was he?

"So now you can join the rest of us eligible misses and parade around at balls and the like, searching for a husband."

Victoria stopped scanning the room, surprised at her new acquaintance's bluntness. "I do rather feel like a prime bit of horseflesh that is being trotted to and fro. I didn't think any of the other debutantes would share such an opinion. Finding a husband is such an important task, or so my mother tells me."

"As does mine. And not to say that I wouldn't like to marry and bear an heir; it's just the manner in which we're reviewed. Although there are several gentlemen whom I wouldn't mind being reviewed by at all." Gwendolyn's dimple appeared. "Rockley, for one. Or Gadlock, or Tutpenney—despite his unfortunate name."

"Tutpenney?"

"Believe me, he looks much better than his name sounds." Gwendolyn sighed and added, "And I was greatly looking forward to dancing with the Viscount Quentworth before the tragedy."

"Tragedy?"

"Did you not hear?" Gwendolyn grasped her gloved arm, and Victoria looked down at her, surprised to see that the woman's eyes had widened in worry. "He was found dead on the street near his home. It looked like he'd been attacked by some animal that nearly mauled his head from his neck. But there was a strange marking on his chest that couldn't have been left by an animal."

Gwendolyn had Victoria's full attention now. "What kind of markings? And how would you know of this? Surely your mama or father wouldn't have told you this."

"No, of course you are right. But my brothers aren't terribly prudent about their topics of conversation once they've had a few glasses of brandy, and I'm not so shy about listening in on their talks. That's the only way I get to learn anything interesting." She looked at Victoria from under her sandy eyelashes as if to read her reaction.

"If I had older brothers—or any brothers—I would likely do the same," Victoria told her with relish. "As it is, I must rely on my aunt Eustacia—whom most everyone believes is batty in the head, but who is really quite… enlightening. What kind of markings?"

"Oh, yes… the markings were three Xs on his chest. And I don't believe he was the first victim with this kind of mark—" Gwendolyn likely would have continued, but she was interrupted.

"Victoria," came a shrill voice laced with barely concealed excitement, "may I make an introduction?"

"I'll excuse myself for now, Miss Grantworth."

Gwendolyn told her. "The Duchess of Farnham is heading this way to collect you, and there is Lord Tutpenney, looking ever so lonely. Enjoy the rest of your coming-out."

Victoria turned to see Lady Winifred beaming an expectant smile in her round, dimpled face. "May I present my sister by marriage, Lady Mardemere, her husband, Lord Mardemere… and his cousin, Lord Phillip de Lacy, Marquess of Rockley."

And suddenly, the persistent chill over the back of her neck eased. Victoria felt a sudden burst of warmth spread over her skin, from cheeks to neck to bosom. She held off the urge to look down and see if her skin had colored darker than her gown.

"My pleasure, Miss Grantworth," Lady Mardemere was saying. "What a lovely turnout for your debut! Your mother must be very pleased."

"She is indeed," Victoria replied before turning to curtsy for Viscount Mardemere. "I have hardly had the chance to meet everyone myself." And then she was looking up into the deep-set, hooded eyes of the Marquess of Rockley.

Lady Gwendolyn had not exaggerated. Well-turned did not begin to describe the man who stood before her, raising her gloved hand to his lips. He stood as tall as any man in the room, his rich brown hair gleaming with strands of gold as he tipped his head to press a kiss to the back of her hand. "If you have not yet greeted everyone, may I dare hope there might be a dance left on your card?" His voice matched his looks—clean, calm, smooth—but his eyes carried a different cadence. Something that made her feel very warm. And… he seemed familiar to her in some faint way.

"There is indeed, but it is one of the later ones. After supper, if you intend to stay so long." She looked at him from under her lashes. Victoria did not know where her boldness came from, but it did not appear to dismay the marquess.

"I shall be at a loss to occupy myself until then," he replied with a meaningful look, "but wait I shall."

And then she felt the chill return to the back of her neck, and the weight of someone watching…

Pulling her hand from Rockley's grip, she turned abruptly to look, skimming her gaze over the crowds and pausing at a small cluster of people across the room.

"Victoria?" She dimly heard the surprise in Lady Winifred's voice, echoed by a low rumble from Rockley: "Miss Grantworth? Is everything all right?"

There. He was there… A dozen or so of the peerage stood under the downward curve of the staircase Victoria had descended, half-shadowed in the candlelight there, faces bent toward one another, talking, laughing, gesturing.

And then she saw him. He was watching her even as he bent to talk to the slim blond woman next to him. Tall and dark, he exuded power with the mere inclination of his head as he smiled down at his companion. She beamed up at him, openly delighted with his attention, and smoothed her hand along his forearm—helpless and ignorant of the danger she faced.

Just as ignorant as Victoria would have been only weeks ago.

"Yes, yes," she forced herself to say brightly as she returned her attention to Rockley and then Lady Winifred. "I thought for a moment that I had seen my mother beckoning to me." A limp excuse, but since she had offered the apology, it would be accepted. "Please pardon my distraction, Lord Rockley," she said, smiling up at him, suddenly realizing he was holding her hand again. "It has been my greatest pleasure to meet you. I will look forward to our dance later this evening."

He sent her a melting smile and a short bow. "I will be awaiting the pleasure with great impatience."

At that moment, Victoria felt rather than saw the tall, dark-haired man and his companion moving from their position under the staircase. The back of her bare neck was cold, and her fingers began to tingle. They were walking toward the doors that led to the terrace, the slim blond woman looking up at him with a soft, glowing smile. If they went outside…

Victoria started across the room, weaving quickly betwixt and among the crush, slipping past people who wanted to stop and talk. "Pardon me," she said when a particularly formidable-looking matron attempted to block her path. "I must catch my… my aunt before she retires for the evening."

Because he towered above the rest of the partygoers, Victoria was able to track his movements as the couple wended toward the French doors. They were most certainly planning to step outside to catch a breath of air.

Victoria slipped out onto the terrace, hoping her mother hadn't noticed the beeline she'd made across the ballroom. It would be rather difficult to explain deserting her own debut to wander on the terrace.

And even worse for that tiny blonde if Victoria did not intervene.

Hurrying on silent feet, she clung to the shadows of the noisy, well-lit house as she scurried across the brick terrace. Listening for the murmur of voices, she paused near a statue of Aphrodite, peering around its cold stone base to see if she could spot the man and his intended victim. She had to hurry; he wouldn't waste any time for fear of being discovered.

Then she remembered, and slipped her hand under the silky, flowing skirts to tug free the wooden stake she'd slipped into her garter. Gripping it the way Eustacia had taught her, Victoria left the protective shadow cast by the statue and hurried along the main path, listening intently.

And then she heard a throaty murmur, followed by a husky laugh. Turning to the right, she moved silently toward them and at last came to the end of the path. The couple stood under the canopy of a branch heavy with lilac blooms. The blond woman was looking up at the man, all innocence and delight; and he smiled down at her. Even though it was not directed at her, Victoria felt the power of his beckoning smile. She tightened her fingers on the stake and moved closer.

She was near enough now that she could see the rise and fall of the woman's bosom, and the sharp curve of her target's high cheekbone. He looked like an arrogant aristocrat, standing tall and dark with his handsome face and square-jawed chin.

What would it feel like to slam the stake into his chest? Would she have to shove it through clothing and bone? How hard would she have to push? Or because the heart was his weakness, was it unprotected and easy to penetrate?

She touched her crucifix, praying that she would have the strength. She would have only one good chance.

She couldn't wait any longer. He was smoothing his hands along the woman's bare arms, and she was smiling up at him, curving toward his body. They looked as though they were about to kiss; but Victoria knew better.

At any moment his face would change… his eyes would turn a burning red, and his canine fangs would grow, ready to sink into the pure white flesh of the woman.

Now. She must move.

Gripping the stake, Victoria launched herself from the shadows, arm high above her shoulder, her eyes focused on the broad chest of the vampire. And just as she moved, as she was ready to thrust that stake home, the woman's mouth opened with a flash of white.

Stunned, Victoria managed to pivot at the very last moment, whirling toward the tiny blonde, whose eyes glowed red and canines shone lethally. It happened so fast that the vampire did not have the chance to recover from her surprise. Using the force of her sudden change in direction, Victoria slammed the stake into the woman's bosom.

It drove into her skin with sickening ease. Victoria felt a minor resistance, a small pop, and then the weapon slid in. It was like shoving a wooden pike into a bowl of sand.

The vampire froze, her mouth open in shock and pain… eyes wide and glowing red. And then, suddenly, with a small poof! the woman disintegrated. She crumpled into dust and was gone.

Just like that.

Victoria stood, panting, staring at the place where the vile creature had been.

She had done it.

She had killed a vampire.

Her knees wobbled. Her breath shook. She looked at her stake to see if there was any blood on it.

It was clean.

"You were going to stake me, weren't you?" came a chill voice.

Victoria looked up and saw that the man was glaring down at her with a decidedly unkind expression. "I…" What did one say to the victim one had just saved from being bitten by a vampire?

"You thought I was a vampire."

Victoria forbore to point out that it was an honest mistake; with his gleaming black hair and sharp-planed face, he looked dangerous and untrustworthy. "One would think you would be a bit more gracious, since I just saved your life," she replied stiffly.

His laugh was sardonic. "That would be a fine day… one that I needed a girl to save my life. From a vampire." He laughed harder.

At that moment, Victoria noticed that he was holding something in his hand. Was that a… stake? "Who are you?" she asked.

"I am Maximilian Pesaro, master vampire executioner."