The Rest Falls Away

Chapter Three Miss Grantworth Miscalculates

"Our lovely debutante has scored the attention of the most elusive bachelor in London!" squealed the Duchess of Farnham in a decidedly unduchesslike tone as she poked over the tray of tea treats. "Rockley could not take his eyes off her all night at the Roweford dinner party!"

"He was on her card a second time, but Victoria disappeared for some ridiculous reason and he could not claim the dance," Melisande complained. She lifted her favorite, a blackberry scone, and scooped clotted cream over it. "He appeared quite disappointed. I could not find her anywhere, and when she came back, she told me some foolish story about helping one of the other girls look for her cloak." Tsking, she took a genteel bite of the scone, dabbing at the cream that stuck to the corner of her mouth. "I reminded her that her only concern ought to be landing a good husband… and these other girls are nothing but competition!"

"Was that not the night that Mr. Beresford-Gellingham disappeared?" asked Petronilla, eyeing the plate of tea cakes and biscuits mistrustfully, as if one were about to leap into her hands and force its way down her slender throat. "That is the third incident in less than a month!"

Winifred, the duchess, had forgone Melly's technique of nibbling in favor of the one-step process; thus her mouth was full of lemon-basil biscuit, and she resorted to nodding vehemently. When she swallowed and washed the last dry crumb down her throat with tea, she said, "He disappeared and has not been heard of since! No one seems to have a clue as to where he has gone off to."

"And those horribly disfigured people with the Xs on their chests!" Melly gasped. "Left to die near the wharves! I cannot imagine what might be causing such devastation."

Petronilla leaned forward, her blue eyes sparkling and her voice low. "There is only one thing that can cause that kind of destruction. Vampires!"

Winnie jerked back in her seat and inhaled a mouthful of biscuit crumbs that set her to coughing. Her chins and jowls wobbled and trembled as she stared bug-eyed over the rim of her teacup.

"Don't be ridiculous, Nilly," Melly told her. "Despite my mad aunt's propensity for carrying holy water and pressing garlic on anyone who will take it, there is no such thing as vampires. You have been reading too many gothic novels."

"Surely the Runners would stop them if there were vampires," Winnie managed to choke out. "Perhaps I ought to consider wearing my cross again."

"The Runners couldn't stop them," Petronilla told her calmly. "Vampires have superhuman powers. They are stronger than the strongest man, and they have an allure that cannot be resisted." She smiled complacently and copped a dreamy look. "According to Polidori's book—and everyone knows he is the expert on vampires—a vampire can seduce a woman with a mere look. From across the room."

"Nilly, have you been into the sherry this afternoon? There are no such things as vampires!" Melly exclaimed. "You are frightening Winnie, and the servants will think you daft if they hear you fantasizing about evil creatures that don't even exist. We have much more important things to worry about—such as how to push Rockley's interest in Victoria. I don't expect that he will darken the door of Almack's, but perhaps we will see him at another event this week."

Winifred eagerly seized upon the change of subject. "He will be attending the Dunsteads' ball tomorrow night. If you haven't been invited, I can arrange for that."

"We have been invited and plan to attend. And this time I will not let Victoria out of my sight until she has danced two dances with the marquess!" Melly said with determination.

"We will help you," Winnie said, sipping her unsweetened tea. Sugar tended to add unwanted pounds to one's hips if one didn't take care. "If there are vampires lurking in the darkness, the last thing we want is Victoria coming face-to-face with one!"

"Miss Grantworth… at last the opportunity to collect my lost dance."

Victoria turned at the sound of the warm, mellow voice and found herself face-to-face with the Marquess of Rockley. He wore a gently flirtatious smile, and his blue, heavy-lidded eyes glinted with satisfaction.

"My lord," she replied, returning his smile, "how kind of you to remind me of my abominable manners from the other night."

He must have appreciated her sense of humor, for he offered his arm and responded, "How else would I goad you into seeking my forgiveness? After all, begging off merely because your elderly aunt was feeling unwell… well, one might believe it was only a handy reason for abdicating your dance."

"Hmmm," said Victoria, slipping her fingers around his arm, "I didn't realize my excuses were so transparent. Perhaps next time I'll be forced to invent a fatal disease or something of that nature!"

"It is my hope, Miss Grantworth, that you won't be inventing any further excuses for missing a dance with me, as I assure you that I am not about to tread on your toes, despite the fact that my feet are thrice the size of your own."

"Ah, you have found me out… 'twas for that very reason I made certain I was not available when your dance came up. The rumors of black-and-blue marks on the feet of the other debutantes… well, they are quite frightening. Alas, I shall have to chance the tenderness of my toes, as you have caught me dead to rights." Laughing, she tightened her fingers around his arm, surprised at how solid and warm it felt, even through her gloves and his fine woven jacket. Looking up at him, she again felt a hint of familiarity, as if she had known him another time.

"It appears to be a waltz, Miss Grantworth… Lady Melisande, do you permit your daughter to waltz?" He was looking over her shoulder.

Victoria turned back to her mother and Duchess Winnie, who'd both been watching her banter with Rockley whilst wearing complacent smiles.

"Of course, Lord Rockley, of course," trilled Lady Melly. "My lord, I hope you will enjoy your dance!" Her eyes gleamed.

"She certainly does," muttered Victoria as Rockley swept her away.

She bumped gently against his tall form as they turned, and he looked down at her with a knowing smile. "She certainly does what, Miss Grantworth?"

"Hopes that you will enjoy your dance with me; but I am certain that you are no more hard of hearing than I am. It must be difficult for you, now that you, the elusive Marquess of Rockley, have announced you are seeking a bride. All of the matchmaking mamas have lined up, conniving and scheming to bring you into their fold."

They stepped onto the dance floor in the ballroom of the Duke and Duchess of Dunstead's home. With a fluid, practiced motion, Rockley slipped the arm she clung to around and behind her, pivoting her to face him. "You cannot imagine being in such a predicament?" He grasped her fingers, and they stepped into the time of the music.

"No, I truly cannot." She looked up and found his eyes fastened quite quizzically on her.

"But are you not in the very same position? Being put on display for all of the young… and not so young bucks," he added with a rueful smile, "looking to wed and father an heir? Surely you must feel the same pressures our society imposes on all of us who are gentrified and also unwed."

The dull ache of the ring through her navel was a reminder of the biggest pressure of all. She'd executed two vampires since receiving her vis bulla: one at the Roweford ball (causing her to miss Rockley's second dance, to her dismay) and one during an intermission at the Drury Lane Theatre. Both stakings had been frightening and exhilarating at the same time. The most difficult aspect, however, had been creating a reason to slip away and do her duty. Fortunately, Aunt Eustacia had been in attendance at both events and had been able to help her make her escape.

Victoria returned the marquess's smile. "I may feel the pressure, but I have no intention of succumbing to it."

He looked startled. "You do not wish to wed? Does your mother know this?"

"It isn't that I do not want to marry; that I definitely intend to do," she explained truthfully as he twirled her around the floor. "It's that I have no intention of being rushed into making a decision that will affect me for the rest of my life." Especially since she'd just made such a decision in accepting the Gardella Legacy.

But that was different.

It wasn't as if any other woman—or man—crowding the ball tonight would have such a choice to make.

The surprise in his face evaporated. "I can certainly understand that sentiment, Miss Grantworth. I'm not certain that your mother, who is, at this moment, watching us with a definitely plotting expression on her face, would agree with you, but I can fully relate."

Victoria smiled up at him, a burst of pleasure trilling through her at the joy of being spun gently across the floor by the Marquess of Rockley, no less. Surely Rockley was the handsomest, most charming, and wealthiest unattached man at the ball. And he was looking down at her with quite obvious interest.

"Miss Grantworth, I have a confession to make."

"Oh?" she asked, raising her eyebrows delicately.

Every time she looked at him, she felt a gentle churning in her stomach—an expectant, pleasant churning.

"We once met long ago… and I have not been able to forget you."

"It does feel as though we've met," she replied. "I have been wondering on that myself… but I must confess that I do not recall when or where it was."

"Your forthrightness pains me, Miss Grantworth, but I must tell you the story. Perhaps it will stir your memory. Some of my father's holdings abutted Prewitt Shore, your family estate, I believe. And one summer many years ago—I was perhaps sixteen—I was riding one of the stallions from the stable. One that I was not, of course, supposed to ride," he added with the hint of a proud smile, "but, of course, I was a daredevil and I did. I came barreling across a meadow, not realizing I had strayed onto the lands of our neighbor, and—Ah, but you do remember now, don't you?"

Victoria's face had lightened with a smile. "Phillip! I knew you only as Phillip; you did not tell me you were the marquess's son!" The image was with her; it had been buried in the recesses of her mind, that summer when she was but twelve, but now it came back as though it were yesterday: a sturdy, dark-haired young man flying across the fields on a hot summer day. "You jumped over the fence and your mount landed, and so did you—on the ground in a tumble!"

He laughed ruefully, his square jaw softened by the movement. "Indeed, and I suffered for my boldness. But I met you, the pretty, dark-haired girl who rushed to my aid and made certain I was cared for. And you even chased down Ranger, the stallion, so that he would not return to the stables without me and tell the tale of my deceit. If I recall… once you were sure that I wasn't gravely injured, you spent the next ten minutes chastising me for my foolishness. The image of you standing above me, calmly holding the reins of that large chestnut gelding, and flaying me with your tongue, has stayed with me always."

Victoria looked away demurely. "I must have been quite bold to speak so to a man I did not know."

"Indeed, and it was your boldness and your fearlessness that intrigued me. I have not forgotten you, Miss Grantworth, for you made quite a lasting impression on that young man. And," he added as the dance music came to a close, "it has become clear that you have lost none of your boldness, nor your opinions, nor your originality… for I am quite certain that there is not another debutante in this room, or in the ton, that is as unconcerned about finding a husband as you are."

"And I have never truly forgotten the young man who rode with such carefree abandon in a manner that I only dreamed of doing. I envied you that. And I can hardly comprehend that you are the same boy that I knew for a few weeks! The marquess's son—I would never have known it."

He smiled down at her, and warmth returned to her face. "Someday, perhaps we will ride together, Miss Grantworth. And you can try your hand at leaping over fences and bounding across fields. I promise, I will tell no one."

"And that is a promise on which I will hold you to your gentlemanly word."

When they finished dancing, Lord Rockley returned her to her mother and Lady Winnie. "I am rather thirsty; perhaps you are as well. May I provide you with some lemonade, Miss Grantworth? And, of course, Lady Melisande and Your Grace?"

"Oh, do not trouble yourself, Lord Rockley," Victoria's mother warbled. "But I am sure Victoria would love something to drink."

Victoria gave Lord Rockley a surreptitious wink, but slipped her hand from his grasp. "I'm sorry, my lord, but I see my next dancing partner approaching. Perhaps you will be thirsty later?"

"Of course, my lady. I'm certain I'll have a thirst for the remainder of the evening." His eyelids swept to half-mast and he gave her a meaningful smile as he captured her gloved hand and lifted it to his lips.

Lord Stackley was Victoria's partner for the quadrille, and he led her through the paces with alacrity, if not with skill. Despite the fact that he stepped squarely on her feet twice during the first set with all of his solid weight, Victoria barely noticed. The vis bulla was not only good for fighting vampires… it was protection against clumsy gentlemen!

After Lord Stackley, she danced with Baron Ledbetter. Another quadrille. And then with Lady Gwendolyn's eldest brother, Lord Starcasset, Viscount Claythorne.

But it was during another waltz, with the tall and gangly Baron Truscott, that Victoria felt a familiar chill lift the hair at the back of her neck. Until that moment she had almost forgotten the fact that there were things to worry about other than whether her toes would be mangled before the night was over.

As Truscott spun her around, not nearly as elegantly as had Rockley, but with some efficiency, Victoria scanned the dancers and the others in the room. She would not make the same mistake as before, assuming the predator was the one who looked most like she'd expected a vampire to look: tall, dark, and arrogant.

After a moment she was fairly certain that a man with brown hair and a rather hooked nose, who stood with a young woman she didn't recognize, was the vampire whose presence she'd felt. She kept one eye focused on the couple as Truscott managed their way betwixt and between the other dancers. As long as they remained in the room, the young woman was safe. It would give Victoria time to extricate herself from Truscott and figure out a way to get the vampire alone.

She couldn't exactly stake him in the middle of the ball.

It was a curious thing: Vampires were not allowed to enter the home of someone who hadn't invited them, or someone acting for the owner of the home. Gatherings such as this ball at the Dunstead home were by invitation, and only to the members of the ton, of course. So how did a vampire manage to get himself or herself into the ball?

She supposed it was due to the comings and goings of servants and staff, and the masses of people invited to events such as this. There were many ways to be "invited" into a home… for something as simple as delivering a bouquet of flowers or the side of beef to be served for dinner. And once the invitation was extended, it was permanent as long as the homeowner did not change.

Victoria was thankful when the dance ended, but dismayed when Truscott manipulated their exit from the dance floor to be near the tables filled with drinks and cakes… completely across the room from where the vampire stood, watching.

Watching her.

Victoria realized with a start that his cold eyes had focused on her. Unblinking. Tugging at her from across the room.

He curled one side of his mouth in a half smile, still staring at her. A little nod. And then he slipped his arm around the woman next to him and began to lead her away.

A challenge.

If the chill on the back of her neck had merely raised her nape hair, it was now standing straight up. And ice was forming.

"Lord Truscott, I must excuse myself," Victoria said quickly, pulling her arm from his grasp and ignoring the glass of lemonade he was offering her. "I… I believe my gown has a loose ribbon, and I must… see to it."

"But Miss Grantworth—"

"Please excuse me." She slipped away, hurrying as quickly as she could without drawing attention to herself as she pushed through people edging the dance floor. It would be faster to move through the dancing couples, but that would only cause a stir. Pray God her mother or her two cronies didn't see her!

She kept her eye on the vampire's dark head, which was more difficult than when she'd been stalking Maximilian, for this man was only average height, and got lost among some of the other partygoers. The couple walked through an alcove, strolling at a comfortable pace, and turned down what appeared to be a hallway.

Victoria's skirts wrapped around her ankles, and would have been flapping if they'd been made of something heavier than light chiffon. Bending quickly, she slipped her hand under the hem of her skirt and pulled the narrow wooden pike from its garter on her calf.

The stake felt solid and comfortable in her hand. This one was more slender than the one she'd used to stake the vampire at her own coming-out party, but according to Aunt Eustacia, was just as potent as the thicker one. The trick was, she had told her, to find a stake that was light enough to carry and hide easily, but strong enough that it wouldn't break when being stabbed into the vampire's breastbone.

Victoria hurried along the hallway, listening with her ears and her instincts. She wasn't sure which room they had disappeared into… but when the ice at the back of her neck became almost painful in its intensity, she paused outside an ajar door.

He would be expecting her; but stealth wasn't as imperative as skill and cunning. Could he sense her in the same way she could sense him? He must, or how else would he have known her?

She toed the door open and waited. From her vantage point in the hallway, near the wall, she could see into the chamber. It appeared to be a den. A fire burned across the way, and several large sofas flanked a red-and-orange Persian rug. A glimmer of movement caught her eye, and she watched as the faint shadow shifted.

Was the shadow the vampire… or his victim, acting as a lure?

The vampire could be hiding behind the door, waiting for Victoria.

She knew how to solve that. She kicked the door hard, and it swung open, slamming into the wall behind it and leaving the entire expanse of the room to her view.

"Ah. I see you have found us."

The woman sat on one of the settees, and the vampire stood menacingly behind her. Victoria's heart thumped. Here she was, face-to-face with an undead. No advantage of surprise—and the additional problem of a victim.

Then she heard footsteps hurrying down the long hallway. And her name, called low, with urgency. "Miss Grantworth?"

Good gad. Rockley!

She leaped into the room and slammed the door shut, keeping her attention on the vampire, and her fingers wrapped around her stake. Drawing in a deep, cleansing breath as Kritanu had taught her, she froze in an offensive stance and looked at the vampire.

"Release her," she said, gesturing with her head toward the woman, who'd not moved one whit. Scared stiff, she was.

"I think not," the man purred. He stepped from around the settee and Victoria suddenly, fully understood what Aunt Eustacia meant when she spoke of the allure of the vampire. It crackled in the room, this awareness she felt, an inexorable drawing toward him. As if he held her strings in his hands and was tugging ever so gently.

Without conscious thought, she dropped her hand to her belly and touched the vis bulla through the froth of her skirts. The headiness lessened. Her fingers gripped the stake. He stepped closer.

His eyes, still normal, but gleaming with a fierceness she'd seen only once—in the gaze of a mad dog that had had to be shot—never left hers. A smile curled his mouth.

"So you are the one. A woman Venator."

"You seem to have the advantage of me," she replied coolly. "But that's no matter, as you won't be around long enough to enjoy it."

A low laugh issued from his mouth, and she saw the gleam of fangs. His eyes narrowed, the pupils pinpointing and the irises burning pale pink, then delicate ruby red.

"I've never had the taste of a Venator before. I'm sure it will be most fulfilling. Quite delectable."

Without warning he launched himself toward her, moving with such lightning speed that it seemed as if he'd flown on a breath. His hands closed over her shoulders, taking her by surprise. She dropped the stake, and he laughed when it fell onto his boots. His grip was painful, his sharp nails digging into the soft parts of her shoulders as she struggled against the agony and the fear.

Before you, there have been only three other female Venators in the last century of battle against Lilith. Two of them died hideous deaths shortly after they were inducted into the Legacy and received their vis bullae.

She was damned if she was going to give Max the satisfaction of being the third.

Victoria tipped her head back, then slammed her forehead into the face of the vampire, thanking Kritanu for making her practice this move so many times. She felt the squash of his hooked nose giving way beneath the onslaught, and his reaction to the pain allowed her to jerk from his grip. She lunged to the ground and closed her fingers around the smooth ash stick, but before she could rise, he recovered and sent her sprawling.

Frothy pink skirts wrapped around her legs as she rolled onto her back; then they slid back like skates on ice as she drew her knees to her chest and kicked out with both feet. She caught him in the chest as he rounded on her, and propelled him away into a small table. The table fell over, scattering its contents over the rug. The vampire landed on the floor and she followed him, rolling after him on the rough Persian rug, stake at the ready.

She was just about to plunge it into his chest when something wrapped around her neck from behind: a strong, slender arm, ending in a white glove. Skirts of blue—a color that did not match Victoria's dress—tangled around her feet.

As the arm pulled on her, Victoria slammed her head back, cracking into the woman's face. But the male vampire was reaching for her shoulders again, yanking her down toward his bared teeth.

She kicked out with her feet, blindly, not in the measured way Kritanu had taught her, and felt panic begin to clamp her chest. Two of them! She'd been fooled again!

She felt his hot breath on her neck, felt the tug of his calling, the promise that if she would just relax… just let go… there would be no pain, only pleasure. Ecstasy. Release.

His breath hypnotized her; his burning eyes scored into her, promising.

She vaguely felt a movement behind her, and then the jolt as he pushed someone away, growling in anger. The woman, she thought in the back of her mind. He wants me for himself.

The smooth wood slipped from her fingers. He breathed again, drawing in her strength. Her head swam.

She closed her eyes.