Gardella Vampires - Rises The Night Part 15

The message couldn't have been clearer if he'd written it.

Victoria realized her fingers were trembling. "I see Mr. Starca.s.set has returned with a beverage for me," she said to Sara. She refused to look at Max, for fear someone else might read the murderous expression that would surely be on her face. "And I simply must take another look at that painting. Please excuse me."

"It will be our pleasure." Max's under-the-breath comment went straight to her ears as she hurried away.

Deep breaths. Victoria took deep breaths and made herself slow down. She would not allow him to see that he'd upset her.

And of course he'd upset her. He'd disappeared nearly a year ago, and now she found him happily ensconced with his fiancee in the bowels of the Tutela! Surely he could not be ignorant of his fiancee's father's involvement; he was, after all, a Venator.

As she reached George, who, luckily, had appeared with a drink for her just as she returned, Victoria recognized there were two explanations for Max's involvement with Sara Regalado and his conduct tonight.

Either he was acting a part, as she was, in trying to infiltrate the Tutela; or he had changed alliances and as a result had cut off all interest and communication with Aunt Eustacia and Wayren. If it were the first, Victoria did not understand why he would not have been in contact with them. There were discreet ways to do it; surely Max would know how. If he had joined the Tutela, the protectors of the vampires, then he must have denounced his position as a Venator.

That she couldn't believe. Not even for an instant.

But there was a third possibility.

Everything could be exactly as it seemed, no more, no less: He'd fallen in love with Sara Regalado and was planning to marry her.

Victoria had to endure George Starca.s.set's clumsy attempts to kiss her during the carriage ride back to her villa. She wanted to plant him back in his seat with a well-placed shove calculated to give him whiplash, but she refrained from so blatantly using her Venator powers. Instead, she chose to "accidentally" grind her sharp heel into his toes hard enough to deflate any other amorous ideas he might have. Not only did it cool his ardor, but it would likely keep him from dancing for a week.

What she really wanted to do was. .h.i.t someone. Preferably Max.

After she'd had a chance to reflect on the situation, Victoria had come to the only conclusion she could: that he was playing a role, and that as soon as they had a moment to talk privately, he would clear it up.

It was the only explanation that made sense. Max was a Venator, the most powerful one after Aunt Eustacia. He would never betray them.

And as for Sarafina Regalado? Victoria would not believe Max had fallen in love with that fairy-headed chit. If he ever deigned to allow himself to be distracted by a woman, it would be someone... different. Having come to her conclusion, Victoria a.s.sumed that Max would be as anxious to make the truth known to her as she was to receive it, so she hovered near one of the ballroom entrances in hopes of catching his eye and hinting for him to leave. But he did not glance her way even once, and he seemed perfectly content to mingle among the guests, with or without Sara clinging to his arm.

When at last she had run out of excuses for Portiera and Placidia as to why she did not move from her spot, she allowed them to maneuver her to a cl.u.s.ter of young Italian men-the equivalent of the rakes and rogues that made their way through the ton in London-and present her to them.

For a short time, Victoria allowed herself to be lulled by the pleasure of being nothing more than a young, attractive woman interacting with young, attractive men. She'd forgotten what it was like to be concerned only with providing witty comments or flashing demure smiles.

This was the life she'd given up: a simple one, where the biggest worry was what gown to wear to which event, whether her dance card would be filled, and whether, once wed, she would provide an heir and a spare. It was filled with gossip and parties and little else.

Oh, and blissful ignorance.

Yes, that was definitely part of the life she'd given up.

Portiera and Placidia's handsome friends were complimentary and charming and falling all over themselves in an effort to speak with Victoria, to retrieve a drink for her, a biscotto, an antipasto, a walk on the terrace to steal some air. As an English widow, she was unusually attractive to them, in particular to one of the elder of the group-though he couldn't have been more than thirty-Barone Silvio Galliani.

"Perhaps I could convince you that some fresh air would be delightful, Mrs. Withers," he suggested, elbowing another, less bold compet.i.tor out of the way. "The gardens at Villa Regalado are particularly beautiful in the moonlight."

Italy flavored his English, admiration glinted in his dark eyes, and his smile was compelling enough to send a little twinge into her belly. When she acquiesced and he took her arm, she felt the fine cloth of his jacket and the sinewy muscle underneath it.

"Have you known the Regalado family for long?"

Victoria asked him as they strolled along the cobblestone terrace.

"For many years," he replied. "I am the contessa's cousin. Was I not truthful when I claimed that the gardens are most beautiful by moonlight? Do you see those roses there?"

She looked at the creamy white blooms, made silvery by the moon. "They are beautiful, but seem to be blooming rather late in the season."

"Indeed, they are! I dabble a bit in the breeding of flowers, and this one is one of my own creations. I named it Sara in the Moonlight-Sare nel chiarore della luna-but perhaps I was rather hasty in choosing a name." He cast a meaningful look at her. "Its delicate color reminds me of your beautiful English skin, and the silver glaze from the moon is the same as the shine in your dark hair. Il chiarore della luna di Emmaline would perhaps be a more fitting name. Bmmaline's Moonlight."

Victoria felt the sway of his charm. After all, she'd never been described as a rose. "I am most complimented," she replied, walking on. "You must be very close to Sara and her family to name a rose after her."

"Si, I have known her since she was young. A bit frivolous at times, but a nice enough girl. Pretty in her own way."

"It sounds as though the family is quite pleased about her pending nuptials. Have you met her intended?""Many times. Pesaro is quite the gentleman and seemed to become rather quickly attached to young Sara. It was only a matter of a month, perhaps half again, and they were announcing their engagement. Of course, when one finds true love, time means nothing." He was looking at her again with that same intense look. Did he really think she was going to fall for it?

"Does the conte approve of such a quick decision for his daughter's marriage?"

"He is very pleased. He and Pesaro have extensive business dealings, which is how I believe he came to meet Sara. Now, my dear Mrs. Withers, enough talk about Sara and her beau... let us talk about yours. I noticed quite a bit of interest from that English boy back in there. Tell me true, and do not break my heart... is he of special interest to you, or is there the possibility that another might attract your attention?"

"My attention is not attached to anyone at this time, barone."

"Then I may count myself as a fortunate man." Barone Galliani's brilliant smile flashed in the moonlight. "It would make me very happy if you would call me Silvio. Would you care to take a turn along the pathway yonder? I should be happy to show you some of my purple sweet-peas."

"I would be very happy to see them, but I fear I must find my way back into the ballroom. I do not wish Placidia and Portiera to worry on my absence. They may be preparing to leave."

He was clearly disappointed, but he acceded to her wishes and escorted her inside. Just as they came back into the ballroom from the terrace, Victoria saw the tall figure of Max striding toward the opposite door.

He was leaving the room, and she was going to follow him. This would be her chance to catch him alone.

She told Silvio that she must excuse herself for a moment, and made her way through the people chatting and drinking without appearing to be in a hurry. She even paused at the drink table to dash down an unladylike gulp of lemonade, then continued on her way. By the time she reached the exit, nearly ten minutes had elapsed.

The doorway through which Max had disappeared was not the one through which she'd originally entered the ballroom; instead of leading to an entry foyer, it led into a s.p.a.cious, curve-ceilinged hall lined with doors and alcoves, studded with shoulder-high pillars topped with marble busts. In keeping with Regalado's theme, several of them also sported nipples.

Victoria paused at one of the doors, unsure whether Max had gone this way to meet someone else, to obtain some solitude from the demanding social event, or, perhaps, to seek her out.

There was silence in the hall, then, from a distance, the rumble of a low voice followed by a low, delighted feminine squeal.

Someone had taken the opportunity for a tryst.

Victoria moved along, wondering if she dared to open one of the doors. Max could be anywhere; he could be in a completely different area of the villa. But if he'd slipped out in order to create an opportunity for them to meet, he should be nearby.

Waiting for her. He must have seen her come back in from the terrace and must know she was behind him.

A doork.n.o.b turned, and Victoria scooted into the shadow of one of the busts, tucking herself behind it, wishing she were as pet.i.te as Sara. With a low whoosh the door opened, and the rustle of skirts told her that a woman was coming along the hall.

Victoria held her breath, but the woman rushed along back to the ballroom with nary a glance. It was Sara Regalado.

An ugly feeling stirred in Victoria's belly. She stepped from behind the pillar and waited.

The door opened again, and out strode Max. His thick hair was rumpled and the collar of his shirt was crooked. Other than that, his hawkish features made him appear cool and removed, his elegant cheekbones as though they were carved from ice.

He looked down his long, straight nose at her, standing there in the hall, and said, "You again?"He would have brushed past her, but she planted herself in the center of the pa.s.sage. "What's going on, Max?" she asked in a low voice.

"Whatever do you mean?" he asked, flicking at what had to be an imaginary speck on his coat sleeve. "Perhaps you've caught me in an awkward position, but after all, she is my fiancee."

"Why haven't you been in contact with Aunt Eustacia?"

His look was bland as porridge. "I've been busy. Wedding plans and such. You know how distracting they can be."

She felt as though he'd slammed her in the stomach. "Yes," she breathed.

He waited a beat, then said, "Is there anything else?"

"No."

"Very good, then... er, Mrs. Witters, was it? Will you permit me to return to my fiancee? I hope your journey back to London is comfortable-and imminent." As she stepped back, he walked past her, tall and dark, and she could not miss the air of annoyance that accompanied him.

Now, hours later in the carriage across from George, who'd enthusiastically offered to see her home when the Tarruscelli sisters weren't ready to leave, Victoria still seethed.

She simmered and stewed, but beneath the anger was emptiness, disbelief, fear. Arrogance and rudeness were nothing new where Max was concerned, but it was the blithe put-off when she'd asked him about Aunt Eustacia that really bothered her. He loved her aunt like a mother, a mentor, a teacher, and a liege. For him to dismiss her boded nothing good.

Surely it wasn't what it seemed. Surely it wasn't that he'd fallen in love and denounced the Venator world and duty.

Or that he'd joined the Tutela.

She'd never believe it.

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.

Previous Top NextHe 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 unb.u.t.toned the two b.u.t.tons of his collar. For that presumption alone, she ought to be annoyed. "Not at all, ma chere ... 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 Starca.s.set'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 Starca.s.set 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 b.r.e.a.s.t.s 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 b.u.t.tons 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 b.r.e.a.s.t.s it was a soft, gentle buss, so delicate that it was barely more than his breath; but it made her tighten up, and little b.u.mps 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.