Rises The Night

Page 19

The consequences, as Eustacia said, were obvious.
"Mrs. Withers! How delighted we are that you could attend our little party." An energetic man, with dark hair even more curling and wild than John Polidori's had been, bolted from his seat and moved forward to meet her, keeping his limp as smooth as possible.
So this was Lord Byron, poet and, if all the rumors were true, lover extraordinaire.
He certainly had lovely hair. And a tall forehead. But he was rather short.
And most certainly attached to the ravishing redheaded woman who trailed after him to greet Victoria.
"Lord Byron, I am most appreciative of your kind invitation. I have been here a bit more than a week and was beginning to wonder if I should ever see another party again! How dull it has been, and what a lovely party you have here." She gave a brief curtsy, offered her hand, and smiled at the woman, waiting for Byron to make introductions.
"My love, this is Mrs. Emmaline Withers, a friend of John's. Apparently, she was unfortunate enough to be in attendance at the house party at which he died some weeks ago. Mrs. Withers, this is Teresa, Countess Guccioli. Now! Let us back to our readings!"
With what could only be described as a flourish, the poet turned back to the cluster of chairs where the other seven or eight people sat.
"He is quite loath to be interrupted when he is reading one of his works," Teresa told Victoria with a fond smile. Her English was perfect, but the syllables were lined with a lilting accent. "I am pleased to meet you, Mrs. Withers. I understand you have come to visit my fair country while recovering from your husband's death. I am very sorry to hear of it. Although there are moments when one could wish to be rid of one's own spouse. Nevertheless, I am certain you will find Venezia a lovely place to celebrate being left with a handsome sum and no husband along with it. Now, come this way and let us find you a seat next to one of our handsome young men."
It was fortunate that Eustacia had warned Victoria about the Countess Guccioli, or she might have been utterly offended. Teresa and Byron had been in love and cohabiting for two years, some of the time at the Palazzo Guccioli even while the countess's husband was in attendance. That, said Eustacia, was indicative of one of the great differences between Italian and English views on marriage.
In Italy, one married for one's parents and sought lovers for oneself. One treated one's lover with the respect and fidelity most English reserved for their spouse—at least, on the surface. Thus, Teresa Guccioli was not so very different from many of her countrymen and women, but she had a brash way of expressing it.
Victoria took a seat on a brocade cassock and proceeded to listen with the others for well over thirty minutes while Byron finished the reading of his latest stanzas. She wasn't much for listening to poetry for long periods of time, any more than she was for listening to music and doing nothing, but she managed to sit and appear to be enjoying herself. It wasn't that the stanzas were awkward or uninteresting; it was just that Victoria had a task to complete, and she certainly couldn't go about trying to learn if Byron was a member of the Tutela whilst he was reading about setting suns and the flowing skirts of goddesses.
At last the reading portion of the party ended, and if the rest of the group was as delighted as she was, they did not show it. Everyone stood and began to cluster off into little groups as drinks and lovely little antipasti were served.
Victoria chatted briefly with Teresa before the woman was called away to look at an amateurish drawing by one of her friends. Victoria saw Lord Byron walking out of the room, a definite hitch in his step, and she eased herself toward the entrance.
Where one exited, one must reenter.
And so he did, shortly thereafter, and when he did Victoria caught his eyes.
"Mrs. Withers, I hope you are having a fine time of it here. A bit less stuffy than the ton, do you say?"
"Indeed, there is much frivolity here. I'm having a lovely time."
"I hope you do not mind if I ask you how my friend John was when you last saw him. I was devastated to hear of his horrid passing."
The sparkle in his eyes and the way he gestured with his glass of Chianti belied his sentiment, but Victoria was more than happy to go along. After all, she had a role to play as well. "Dr. Polidori was hale and hearty when I saw him last. We were at a house party at Claythorne, and… well, you heard about the accident. I do not wish to talk about that, for it was quite horrible. But we had a lovely conversation about vampires." She dropped her voice to a near whisper on that last word, leaning closer to him and purposely giving him a view down her low décolletage.
He noticed and, closing his fingers gently around her wrist, stepped backward, his gaze fastened down at her bosom, which, she knew from previous experience, was quite appreciated by the opposite sex. Victoria noticed that behind him was a small curtained alcove. She allowed him to tug her gently behind the curtains as she discreetly whisked away the fichu Verbena had tucked into her neckline. Whatever would help her cause.
She just hoped Countess Guccioli didn't notice. Dealing with vampires was one thing; having a jealous Italian contessa flying at her was another situation altogether.
"It was so fascinating," Victoria continued, widening her eyes and gently pulling her wrist away. "Vampires! I do believe," she whispered again, forcing him to move closer to hear her, "that Dr. Polidori was quite convinced that they really exist. Imagine that!"
"Indeed," Byron replied. Victoria had never been as grateful for low-cut fashions as she was now. The man was half in his cups and quite distracted by the amount of flesh she was showing since she'd removed the fichu. This, then, was one of the benefits of being a widow as opposed to being an innocent maid.
She was certain she could ask him any question and he would answer.
"It must have been a great annoyance to you when The Vampyre was published and everyone thought that you had written it."
"It was nothing. I soon set it right. Although the story idea was mine, I did not care that John made a hash of it. Patterning Lord Ruthven after me!" He chuckled, stumbling toward her—whether it was purposeful or not, she didn't know—and catching a brief handful of breast.
Victoria closed her fingers over his hand and gently removed it, but kept a tight grip on him, flattening his hand against the bare flesh of her shoulder and upper chest. A much safer area, one designed to keep him from getting too distracted yet not a complete rebuff. It felt odd to have a man's hand on her skin, particularly a man whom she did not know.
But she did not think about it. No one would see, and if it helped her to get the information she needed, she would suffer it.
"I should think you would make a lovely vampire," she told him, giggling in a manner more suited to a new debutante than a vampire-killing widow. "All dark and dangerous… Surely you are not about to spring fangs and bite me in the neck, are you, my lord?"
He grinned lasciviously at her, a thick mop of unruly black hair flopping onto his forehead, mingling with eyebrows and dancing into his eyes. He looked not the least bit dangerous; rather, a bit silly, with his fair skin and too-feminine lips. "And if I were, would you scream and run away… or would you let me?"
"I would let you."
His pupils widened, became black as night, and his fingers convulsed on her bare skin. "Mrs. Withers… you tempt me so."
"But," she said, deftly removing his hand and setting him back gently, shaking her head, "there are no such things as vampires… are there? More's the pity, for I think they are terribly romantic."
"Romantic?" He looked befuddled, as if he wasn't sure how he'd come from being so close to his prey to being set back with nary a bump or a struggle.
"I should love to meet one. A vampire. Do tell me… have you ever met one? Because I am sure, after speaking with Dr. Polidori, that they really exist."
He looked at her, his eyes a bit clearer now. "You would be dearly frightened if you met one, Mrs. Withers, I am certain."
"No, indeed, for why should I? They wish only to survive, and they cannot help that they must live on fresh blood. It is the way they are made." She curved her lips into a promising smile. "I think that it should be quite… erotic… to have two fangs sinking into my neck."
Byron had taken a step back and removed his hands from any proximity to her. He looked as if he expected her to sprout fangs at any moment. "To be honest with you, my dear Mrs. Withers, I would not be surprised if they did exist. But I, unfortunately, have never seen one." He coughed. "I do believe, however, that you are right. John Polidori believed in them too, and I am almost certain that he did meet them. But, I am afraid, I do not know for certain."
Blast. She thought she had made progress!
"Thank you for your poetry readings tonight, my lord," she told him, ready to release him before he reached for her again. "I think I have taken quite a thirst. May I excuse myself to find some more tea?"
"Of course, Mrs. Withers. I would be happy to escort you."
The Countess Guccioli looked none too happy when they emerged from the curtained alcove, but she did not bear down upon them as Victoria expected her to, ready to snatch her lover from a poaching woman's hands.
Instead, she did something utterly unexpected. She turned all of her charm and beauty and coquettishness onto the two gentlemen sitting next to her, and flicked not an eyelash nor the twitch of a nose at her lover. She ignored him.
Victoria watched her in fascination. She had not had very much experience in the womanly arts of flirtation and, apparently Countess Guccioli was a master at it. Poor Byron. He was fairly miserable by the time Victoria was ready to leave… which was two hours later.
She had called for Oliver and the carriage and was stepping out of the villa's door, ready to draw in a deep breath of night air, when she felt a presence behind her.
"Do you leave us so soon, signora?"
"Count Alvisi, is it not a lovely night, with the stars out? And, yes, I am sorry, but I am feeling rather fatigued. I had a gorgeous time this evening."