The Rest Falls Away

Chapter Nineteen The Marquess Cuts In

Something pulled at her, nudging her into semiconsciousness. It was too difficult… she couldn't drag her eyes open.

'Victoria!'

There it was again—that hissing voice, bothering her.

Then suddenly she came awake, remembered the Guardians and the Imperial, Sebastian and his coach.

But even with her eyes open, she saw nothing. Blackness. The voice was closer, but she didn't know whose it was… it was too low. She made her mouth move. 'Here.'

Something was covering her, wrapped around her so that she couldn't move and could barely breathe. No wonder she hadn't wanted to wake up… it was much too difficult to try to draw in air under this heavy cloth. But she had to.

Stealthy movement told her someone was coming toward her. Then hands were moving, pulling at the knots, stripping the ties away, and finally plucking the stifling woolen cloth from her face.

Victoria had never felt anything so wonderful as those deep, clean breaths of air… despite the fact that they were laced with the stench of rotting fish. She was not complaining.

'Max. How did you get here?' she asked, even as she pulled herself to her feet, checking for stakes. They appeared to be in a warehouse, and based on quiet lapping sounds below, not to mention the odors, it was near the wharves.

'They're coming back for you anytime; let's go,' he said, grabbing her arm. 'The sun will rise in less than an hour, so they will hurry.'

He led the way out of the room and she followed, shaking off his grip and trying to figure out how he'd found her. She must not have been unconscious for long if the sun hadn't risen yet.

Once outside, Victoria took in greater breaths tinged with the scent of seaweed and salt. Much better.

A hackney was waiting around the corner from the warehouse, and Victoria recognized it as Barth's. She looked at Max, but he was already answering her. 'When you didn't show up at your meeting place, Barth came and found me. I learned the rest from Sebastian. Climb in.'

He stepped in after her, and the hackney took off with an enthusiastic lurch. Barth was just as ready to call it a night as Victoria.

'They were taking me to see Lilith,' Victoria told him. 'Why did they leave me there? Why didn't they just take me right to her?'

'I can only guess, Victoria, since I wasn't there and am not, unfortunately, privy to their plans… but I would assume it was because they weren't certain of her location or whether she was quite available to… eh… receive you.'

She settled back in her seat, thankful that for whatever reason, she hadn't been brought face-to-face with the queen of the vampires whilst unconscious and wrapped up in a heavy black cloth. She would meet Lilith someday, but Victoria truly hoped it would be more on her terms than on Lilith's.

The last thing Victoria wanted to do was attend the party celebrating the Duke of Mullington's fiftieth birthday. But she had no choice.

Her mother was in a fine fettle, for she'd realized that it had indeed been over a sennight since the Marquess of Rockley had called on his betrothed. Victoria had been avoiding the subject and hiding in her room, trying to figure out just what to tell her, but that had only added fuel to the fire of her mother's concern. There was no way on earth Melly was going to allow the engagement to be broken. Rockley was too fine a match to let go. He'd asked for Victoria, and her mother was going to see to it that he would take her.

Thus, on a sticky summer evening, Lady Melly herded her daughter to the Grantworth carriage and watched with a tapping foot as the groom helped her climb aboard. She clambered in after her and settled on the seat across the way.

'Your maid did a fine job dressing your hair this evening, Victoria,' she commented. 'Though she seems rather obsessed with those sticks in your coiffure. Why does she not use feathers or beads instead of those Chinese objects?' The ones tonight were painted with pink-and-green swirling designs, Verbena's own creation, of which the maid was quite proud.

'She likes to try different styles,' Victoria replied, hoping to stave off a long lecture. 'I think it looks rather unique.'

Fortunately Melly seemed to accept the comment, and turned her attention to fussing with her own gown and fan and indispensable, digging the thick white invitation from its depths and reviewing it once again, and murmuring to herself that it was quite a feat for Duke Mullington to have actually attained the age of fifty, with all of his sins and vices.

Her daughter forbore to mention that his sins, great as they might be, were nothing compared to those of others socializing about London.

Victoria's gown was spring-green silk, a bit heavy for such a warm night, but fashion was fashion. Silk looked and felt expensive, and, according to Lady Melly, Rockley's betrothed must be dressed appropriately. For she was still the fiancee of the marquess, and Melly would ensure she looked every inch of it. Small pink and white rosebuds, trimmed with dark green leaves, blossomed in the lace along her bodice, at the cap sleeves on her arms, and along the furrows of trim near the bottom of the skirt. Now, in the coach, Victoria held a crocheted pink wrap bundled in her lap, and a matching pink indispensable. Her gloves were dark green.

Victoria knew she looked well; if only she felt it. It was all she could do to listen to her mother prattle on about how she must act if she saw Phillip—no, she must think of him as Rockley again—at the ball; how she must be demure and polite and a hint mysterious so as to recapture his attention— if it were indeed waning.

Of course, Lady Melly didn't understand what Victoria had been trying to tell her—his interest hadn't waned so much as evaporated. Poof!

The ride to the Mullingtons' seemed both interminable and much too brief. Victoria was weary from a week of forays into the night, and the events of early this morning in Sebastian's coach and at the hands of the Imperials and Guardians had left her feeling a bit off.

In fact, although she dreaded what would happen when she came face-to-face with Rockley, she was rather relieved to be thrust into what promised to be an evening of normalcy, when she could eat and drink, dance and flirt, gossip and jest with people who didn't have red eyes and long fangs.

Or angelic golden features and very naughty kisses.

Verbena had outfitted her with her stakes, of course, and there was the chance that a stray vampire might show him- or herself at the ball… but it was unlikely, for Mullington House had formerly been an abbey and bore religious relics and symbols throughout, including at the entrance gate. Along with what Sebastian had told her about the vampires holing up in the Chalice due to Victoria's aggressive hunting, she felt certain that it would be an uneventful night. But she was prepared nevertheless.

Sebastian. Victoria felt alternately ill, confused, and uncomfortably warm when she thought about him and what had transpired. He'd kissed her bosom! And she'd let him… enjoyed it, in fact. Quite enjoyed it. Quite, quite enjoyed it.

Even now, at the memory, a gush of warmth reminded her how dangerous and warm and titillating it had been to have those moist lips brushing over her private skin. How, even as it had been happening, she'd struggled with the right and wrong of it. And that it had been no hardship at all to kiss him back.

Had he really delivered her to those vampires?

She couldn't believe he would do that… yet it had happened so smoothly. And… the thing that bothered her most—the things, actually—were, first, that he did not deny it; and second, that he seemed to know they'd arrived just before the carriage had stopped. Just about the time Victoria felt the telltale chill at the back of her neck and sensed that they were in trouble.

'Victoria, stop your woolgathering. We've arrived, and you haven't arranged your shawl!'