When Twilight Burns

Page 21

Victoria drew herself up, moving slightly away from Sebastian and aware that her neck was moist from his ministrations. “It was Verbena’s doing, not mine.”
“Blame it on the maid, shall we.”
“And who chose your flowing black cape? Surely you wouldn’t have made such an unfortunate choice. Besides, I rather like my costume,” she added.
“As do I,” said Sebastian. His voice was as easy and smooth as the thin fabric, and to her shock and surprise, she felt his hands smooth along the sides of her hips and . . . down. . . .
“Sebastian,” she breathed, and stepped away, her silk-stockinged leg lunging out from the slit. She turned to face the two men, who were standing at angles to each other.
“Perhaps you could save it for later,” Max said agreeably. “There’s not a carriage in sight.”
Victoria glared at him from behind her mask. He’d never missed an opportunity to comment on the fact that Sebastian had seduced her in a carriage—although how he had ever found out that bit of information, she’d never been able to learn. “It’s more than a bit risky for you to be here. Do you think that even though you wear a mask and hat, Sara wouldn’t recognize you?”
“Ah, that. No disguise can obscure true love.” He was laughing now, sardonically but also with real humor. It was a rare sight, and one that made her distinctly uncomfortable. “Your theory is wrong, Victoria, for I passed directly next to Sara, and she flickered not an eyelash.” He turned to Sebastian. “And how did you find Vauxhall? Such a convenient place for an assignation.”
Sebastian looked at him, and then his mouth tightened. “I was not the one engaged in an assignation.”
“Ah.” Max inclined his head in full mockery. “A case of mistaken identity, perhaps. I was fairly certain—but never mind. Victoria and I had a pleasant chat in your absence.”
“I do hope I’m not intruding.”
Victoria was both grateful for the interruption and startled as she realized that James Lacy, the Marquess of Rockley, had somehow approached, unnoticed. Unerringly, he’d found her—despite the fancy mask and her solitary arrival. Unfortunately, she knew just who to blame for that happenstance. She considered—and immediately rejected—the option of prevaricating, but knew it was useless. Her mother would find another way to manipulate them together. Thank God Lady Melly hadn’t planned to attend tonight, although she’d obviously found a way to communicate with James about Victoria’s costume.
The fact that the three men with whom she was acquainted had found her, recognizing her so quickly and easily when she’d taken such pains to remain anonymous, gave Max’s criticism new credibility. She hoped that George hadn’t seen through her disguise as easily.
“Good evening, my lord,” Victoria said when she realized her two other companions had not responded, and made a brief curtsy. James was dressed as a medieval knight, complete with woolen hose—which had to be stifling in the warm summer evening—and a loose tunic, belted and boasting a wooden sword.
“Perhaps you would grant me this waltz,” James said, giving a disjointed bow. She noticed that he’d positioned himself so that he was between Sebastian and herself.
“I certainly would—”
“But she’s already promised it to me.”
Victoria could not have been more surprised if Lilith had walked into the room and asked to be staked. She might have expected Sebastian to make such a statement— and if the strangled look on his face was any indication, he had intended to—but not Max.
Max? Dance?
Max? Engage in social frivolities? It was just as well that Victoria couldn’t speak right away, for that gave James the opportunity to respond. “But is there another spot on your dance card, Mrs.—er, Lady Rockley?” And before she could respond, he plucked it out of her hand, complete with the tiny pencil and its silvery blue ribbon. “But there is nothing written on here,” he began.
Max smoothly relieved him of his possession and glanced at it. “Indeed there isn’t.” Victoria couldn’t see his brows raise in that way he had, but she knew they did, beneath his mask. “My mistake.” He returned the dance card to James, adding, “Be my guest, my lord. We shall return.”
Max directed Victoria none too gently to the dance floor. “Do close your gaping mouth,” he said. “People will begin to think I’ve dragged you out here.”
“But you have. I never thought you would be one to engage in—”
“Social frivolities?”
Had she said those words aloud?
Max positioned her firmly, his hand at her waist, his legs nearly brushing hers. Their hands clasped, glove to glove, and were angled properly, bent and apart from their bodies. Very correctly, in fact. And the first steps into the waltz, which brought them fairly into the center of the room, he executed so smoothly and perfectly between the other dancers that she could not help but look up at him in surprise. Again.
“You needn’t look so bloody shocked,” he said as they whirled past another couple. “I may dislike dancing, but I’m quite good at it.”
Indeed. And as he eased them in and around the other couples as if they were cogs within a well-oiled watch-works, without hesitation, without lurching or shifting, or even coming within inches of anyone else, she realized she’d been foolish to expect anything other than grace and timing from a man who fought like Max. After all, a man who could glide through the air could surely navigate the dance floor.
In fact, gliding through the air was something she had been unable to fathom ever doing, after having spent only one day practicing her qinggong under Kritanu’s direction. She wondered if Max knew about that. She realized she was gripping his shoulder more tightly than she needed to, and eased her touch.
“If you dislike dancing, why are we out here?” she asked impertinently.
“How else can we talk without being overheard?”
She looked up, realizing again how tall he was. She wasn’t a short woman, and she barely reached to Max’s broad shoulder. But he was looking down at her, and she could discern the expression in his eyes. He didn’t look as though this social frivolity was much of a hardship at all. Victoria felt suddenly breathless and flushed, so she spoke. “Did you have something you wished to tell me?”
“I had rather hoped the opposite. What have you done about that Bow Street Runner?”
She didn’t bother to ask how or what he knew of Mr. Goodwin’s second visit and ensuing interrogation. “I’ve set Barth and Oliver on the task to spy on the man and find out what they can. Charley followed him today when he left, and returned with his direction. Now Oliver and Barth are taking turns watching him.”
Barth was Verbena’s cousin, and the hackney driver who habitually took Victoria to the unsavory parts of town when she was hunting vampires. After all, she could hardly take the Rockley carriage—or any other carriage that might be identified as hers. And Oliver, who was Barth’s friend and the bane of Verbena’s existence, had traveled to Italy with Victoria and her maid. He was a large man who more often than not was cowed by Verbena’ssharply wagging finger and tart tongue—though she barely reached to his elbow.
“But he is a legitimate Bow Street Runner? Not that it matters; they’re so bloody corrupt anyway.”
She nodded as he directed them through an unexpected, complicated maneuver between two other couples—one of which was completely out of step with the music—and felt the surprise of cooler air over her leg when her skirt swirled wide and open. “When Charley followed him, he returned to the magistrate’s office. Someone will need to make inquiries about him, however, to see what else we can learn.”
Max nodded, used gentle pressure at the center of her back to ease them into a spin, and Victoria nearly gasped aloud as she came face-to-face with Sara Regalado. Max’s hands tightened on her, and they twirled again, away from Romeo and Juliet, who were waltzing in a much more structured manner.
“I wonder,” he said after a moment, breaking into her enjoyment of the elegant flow of their steps and the confident touch of his hands guiding her movements, “if it has occurred to you that the new marquess might be our daytime vampire.”
“James?”
“James, is it? Such familiarity with a man to whom you have no attachment.” He managed, somehow, to lift his chin while looking down at her, annoying and arrogant even behind the mask.
“Of course it’s occurred to me,” she replied. It was at least partly true. “And it’s also occurred to me that it could be you as well.”
Ah! She’d succeeded in surprising him—she saw it in the sudden glint in his eyes and felt it when one of his steps wasn’t quite as perfectly smooth as the previous. “After all, for all I know, you’ve been captured by Lilith, turned undead, and have come to London for some nefarious purpose—drinking the special elixir, of course, so that you can move about in daylight and so that I cannot sense your vampirism.”
“Very good, Victoria.” He nodded gravely, but there was reluctant humor in his eyes. And she swore she saw his lips twitch. “But I suggest you might keep a closer eye on the man. He recognized you rather quickly and easily tonight, without knowing that you are, indeed, a huntress. Unless, of course, he does know who you are.”
“I rather think it was the hand of my mother that assisted him in his recognition of me.” She lifted her chin, but looked over his shoulder. James Lacy was standing near the edge of the dance floor, where they’d left him. “He knows no one else here, and acts otherwise indifferent to me.”
“Are you trolling for compliments? There’s not a man in this room who’s indifferent to you, Victoria. Particularly in that gown.”
She looked up at him, startled by his tone. “Then you must include yourself in that group.”
He gave a little laugh, rare humor lighting his eyes again. “If you consider the fact that I’ve wanted to wrap my hands around your elegant little neck since that moment two years ago when you mistook me for a vampire then, yes, I am most definitely not indifferent to you.”