As Shadows Fade

But… She smiled at herself in the mirror. Looking like this certainly couldn’t hurt.

After all, even Illa Gardella had other weapons besides stakes.

One Wherein the Marchioness Is Without an Escort

Victoria made certain that her back was to the hallway as she spoke to Verbena. “He’s not doing well, not at all,” she said to her maid. “It has been a most difficult year for him, losing Aunt Eustacia and then his nephew… and now…” She allowed her voice to trail off, and smoothed the rich red gown Verbena had helped her don moments before.

She felt rather than heard the cat-footed presence behind her and looked meaningfully at Verbena.

“Poor Kritanu,” the orange-haired maid was quick to respond. “An’ him losin’ his hand that way… I jus’ don’t know… Mona says he ain’t been eatin’ much and I ’eard him walkin’ the halls jus’ th’other night, my lady. Jus’ walkin’ and walkin’.”

Kritanu, the elderly man who was Victoria’s martial arts trainer and who had been Aunt Eustacia’s lover and companion for more than fifty years, had suffered several losses in the past several months-the most recent being that of his hand. It had been cut off when he and Sebastian had been captured by a group of Lilith’s minions. Sara Regalado, the leader of the group, had also maimed Sebastian-cutting off the small finger of his left hand.

Kritanu and Max had been close friends for years, ever since Kritanu’s nephew, Briyani, had become Max’s martial arts trainer. Briyani had been brutally murdered by the vampires a few weeks before Kritanu’s injury.

Victoria shook her head as she pulled on the stain-free pink gloves. “I’m quite worried about him,” she added for good measure. “I don’t know what to do. I just hope…” Again her voice trailed off, as if she didn’t want to be overheard.

“Another party tonight?” asked Max as he came into the front hallway. “Ah, the busy life of the dowager Marchioness of Rockley.” It was hard to tell whether he was coming or going, for he insisted on staying in the servants’ quarters at the rear of the house, and therefore rarely made use of the front entrance.

He was sorely underdressed by Society’s standards, as was his way-his white shirt was rumpled and his neck cloth slightly askew. The dark breeches and coat he wore were well made but certainly not recently pressed, nor were they at the height of fashion. Tonight, his thick, dark hair was pulled back into what Victoria had come to think of as his pirate look-in a short club at the base of his skull, the hair sticking out from the leather thong like the stiff bristles of a brush. With his swarthy skin, dark brows, and angular features, he wouldn’t be considered handsome as much as striking. Imposing. His dark eyes barely glanced over her, as if terrified that by lingering they might be trapped.

“Indeed. Duchess Winnie-of course you’ve met her,” Victoria added with a little laugh.

Max had indeed met Duchess Farnham, one of Victoria’s honorary aunts and a bosom friend of her mother, when the duchess had tried her hand at staking a vampire during a visit in Rome. That vampire had been the Conte Regalado, and had been intent on wooing Victoria’s mother. Victoria still smiled at the memory of the duchess brandishing a stake the thickness of her wrist.

Although, at the time, she’d been doing everything but smiling.

“The duchess is hosting a dance tonight, and of course I dare not miss it. Especially now that the new Marquess of Rockley has suddenly disappeared. All of London is abuzz with that choice bit of gossip,” she said.

Upon his arrival from America to assume his title, Victoria’s deceased husband’s heir had become the victim of vampires. An undead impostor had been introduced into the ton in his place, and had later met the pointed end of Victoria’s stake. As there was no body to be found, the new Rockley had been given up as mysteriously disappeared-a fact that both intrigued and worried the peerage.

“Is Vioget keeping you waiting? No doubt he is still fussing with a new knot on his neck cloth.” Max sounded supremely bored.

Victoria made a great show of pulling on the lacy shawl that would do little good against a chill in the air-but it was a hot, humid evening in early August and she needn’t worry about being uncomfortable. “Oh, no. Sebastian isn’t my escort this evening.”

“Indeed?”

Though she was turned half away, Victoria felt Max’s gaze score over her. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw his expression. He was decidedly displeased.

She wasn’t certain if it was because he’d noticed her gown or because Sebastian wasn’t attending her. In any event, it didn’t matter. A displeased Max was exactly what she wanted.

“Indeed.” She started toward the door. “Good evening, Max.”

“Surely you don’t plan to attend without an escort.”

She paused, then glanced back at him. “Are you volunteering for the honor? You’d have to change…” She raised a brow, looking at him dubiously. “And you might even have to dance.”

“Where’s Vioget? Foolish of him to allow you to go alone.”

“Ah, yes, the man should be protecting his interests, shouldn’t he?” Victoria replied coolly. That had been Max’s plan: that she should be with Sebastian-in all ways-because, as a born Venator, Sebastian would be able to understand the dual sides of her life and also assist her in the fight against vampires.

Max himself had been one of the most fearsome of Venators, called by choice and not by the blood of the Gardella family legacy, as the other Venators were. But he’d given up his powers in order to destroy a rising demon who threatened to take over Rome.

By relinquishing his powers, Max had also severed the thrall that Lilith had imposed upon him years ago. He’d been freed of her influence, but she was still obsessed with Max. She was certain to be after him again, after she recovered from her recent setback at the hands of Victoria and the other Venators.

But it wasn’t so much himself that Max worried about, but Victoria, as he’d admitted during a moment of weakness.

She’ll be after me again… and again. And she’ll use you, Victoria. She’ll use you to get to me. I wish I could lock you up, and know you’d always be safe… and I know that can’t bloody well happen. But I won’t be part of it. I won’t make it any damn worse than it has to be. I can’t do it.

Angry with what she perceived as an illogical argument, Victoria had called him a coward then-a word she could never have imagined attributing to Max. But to her surprise, he’d accepted it. Owned it. And walked away.

The last thing he said to her was an acknowledgment of her insult:

When it comes to risking your life, yes, yes, godammit, yes, I am, Victoria. I’m a damn bloody coward.

And now here they were. Two weeks later. Stalemated.

“Good night, Max,” she said, opening the door and stepping out into the balmy evening. Her carriage waited, the footman holding its door open. She didn’t look back as the servant helped her into the vehicle, but she felt the weight of Max’s stare on her back as if he’d been there, touching her himself.

The Duchess Farnham knew how to give a party, and the ton lapped it up. Even when her event was merely a dance instead of a ball, she did it with style and elegance. And when the duchess gave a dance, there were, of course, fewer invitations extended, making them all the more sought after and bragged upon.

Thus when Victoria arrived at Farnham Hall, her sleek midnight blue carriage waited in a long snaking line of arrivals, crossing in front of another long snaking line of carriages passing by the residence in hopes of catching a glimpse of who had been gifted with an invitation this time. The stagnant air and summer heat in the enclosed carriage made her feel sleepy and bored, and she tugged open one of the small windows.

She didn’t feel odd about arriving without an escort, for she was as close to the duchess-hence the affectionate, if informal, nickname of Duchess Winnie-as if she were her niece. And also, Victoria’s mother, Lady Melly, would already be in attendance, likely with her own escort and longtime beau, Lord Jellington.

Lady Melly, Duchess Winnie, and their other bosom friend, Lady Petronilla, were fairly inseparable, their heads always together, flinging gossip about with great abandon and plotting weddings as if the world were about