The Mammoth Book of Vampire Romance

by Trisha Telep

  In that, Victoria could not help but agree, for the former had exceedingly putrid breath that accompanied non-stop raptures over his bloodhounds and the latter spoke nary a word at all but spent his time leering down the bodice of her gown and treading upon her toes.

  But at that moment, her mother’s manipulations came to fruition. Victoria felt the presence of Phillip behind her before he even spoke. Perhaps it was the smell of the lemon-rosemary pomade he favoured, or perhaps it was merely that prickle of awareness, of attraction, that hummed between them. At any rate, she turned slowly – so as not to appear too eager, yet be sure he knew that she was delighted to see him – and immediately found his gaze behind his black mask.

  His dark eyes were hooded by heavy lids that always gave him an appearance of deep contemplation, yet coupled with underlying humour and sensuality. “That is quite a magnificent coiffure Your Majesty,” he said, removing his soft, feathered hat as he bowed. “It’s a wonder that your slender neck can carry the weight, especially with all those jewels and other ornaments therein.”

  “Indeed, Sir Robin of the Hood,” she replied. “I hope that you haven’t any designs on relieving me of any of said jewels, under the guise of lightening the load on my poor little head.”

  “Jewels? Nay, my fair Queen,” Phillip said, his eues glinting wickedly from behind the mask. “It is not jewels that I seek from you.”

  Victoria could feel her mother’s barely suppressed delight at this exchange, even as her own cheeks warmed beneath the mask and her stomach gave a delicious flutter.

  Phillip, savvy as he was, took that moment to break off their little sally and turn to bow at Circe and Aphrodite, both of whom had eyes shining with delight and fingers twittering silently with expectation. “Good evening, my ladies,” he said, again flourishing his cap. “How lovely you both look this eventide. I do hope you might forgive this outlaw if he claims the Queen for a waltz – as she refuses to part with her jewels.”

  “Oh, but of course,” replied Lady Melly, fairly shoving Victoria at Rockley.

  Fortunately, Phillip had become familiar with Lady Melly’s enthusiasm due to past exchanges, and he caught Victoria’s arm before she – and her mass of skirts – stumbled over his boots. “Shall we?” he asked, cupping her fingers intimately around his warm, muscular arm.

  As he drew her towards the dance floor, where a country dance had just ended, Victoria passed a golden-haired man dressed as a medieval lute player. Though he wore a mask the colour of well-brewed tea, topaz eyes glittered through the holes and caught Victoria’s gaze.

  A little shiver tingled over the back of her shoulders and she felt a quick, funny twist in her middle. She knew him. The knowing heat in those eyes, the little lift at one side of that full mouth.

  Sebastian Vioget.

  What on earth was Sebastian Vioget doing here?

  This time, Victoria did stumble over her blastedly heavy skirt as Phillip drew her into a smooth embrace, very correct, with the proper amount of space between them, and launched them into the three-count step.

  Even as she was fully aware of the imprint of Phillip’s hand at the back of her waist and the comforting feel of his fingers around hers, Victoria couldn’t keep her attention from following the masked lute player. He was dressed in an emerald shirt with gold tunic over it, making it easy to follow the shine of his garb as he moved smoothly through the clusters of people.

  The last time she’d seen Sebastian Vioget had been at the Silver Chalice, a pub that he owned and operated in the unpleasant, dangerous neighbourhood of St. Giles. His clientele consisted mainly of vampires, although a few brave – or unwitting – humans also patronized the place.

  Somehow, Sebastian had recognized the fact that Victoria was a Venator and he’d made his fascination clear. Then there had been that moment in his private office . . .

  “My dear, you seem rather quiet tonight,” Phillip said, breaking into her thoughts. “I do hope that my appearance didn’t set you off any plans you might have had to add to your dance card, though I must confess, I would have battled my way through any of your admirers to claim my waltz tonight. Or, dare I hope – waltzes?”

  Victoria smiled up at him, but felt a twinge of guilt. She’d had to forestall or interrupt their dances more than once when duty called for her to locate and stake a vampire. “Waltzes? I would be most delighted to grant you those, in the plural, insofar as I can trust you won’t try to rob me of my jewelled hairpieces. Such stories I’ve heard about you, Sir Robin Hood, and your quick fingers.”

  His eyes glinted appreciatively. “As I have been so bold as to proclaim, Your Majesty, it isn’t your jewels that I hope to obtain.”

  “Something more valuable?” she asked, suddenly forgetting about Sebastian Vioget and vampires and anything other than the man looking down at her.

  “Something eminently more valuable – and enjoyable.”

  It was at that exceedingly inopportune moment that Victoria felt a telltale chill over the back of her neck. As she was well aware, that cold prickle wasn’t due to any sudden draft or change in temperature. It was her Venator sense telling her that a vampire was in the vicinity.

  Blast.

  Ignoring the sensation for the moment, Victoria looked demurely away from Phillip’s warm gaze. He’d already kissed her once and he’d made it quite clear he intended to do so again.

  “Is that so?” she replied, automatically moistening her lips before she realized how closely he was watching her. The warmth bloomed in her cheeks again and she felt a rise in her heart rate. Odd, how she felt little fear or consternation in facing the demonic undead, but when confronted with a mere man who was besotted with her, she felt more than a bit out of her element.

  “I daresay you must be quite warm in that heavy gown” Phillip said, tightening his arm around her waist. “Perhaps a turn on the patio would be in order? I believe the moon is quite lovely.”

  She wanted nothing more than to do just that, except perhaps something a bit more private where they might share another kiss. But duty had reared its ugly head and Victoria couldn’t ignore the chill of an undead. Nor could she waste any more time for fear the vampire would have the chance to woo his or her victim away.

  “I should love to see Lady Petronilla’s gardens, for they are always quite lovely in June. But when I tripped earlier, one of my flounces tore. I might visit the retiring room first, to see if it can be repaired.”

  Disappointment clouded his eyes for a moment, but Victoria continued with a gentle smile. “It will be quite dark in the gardens and I don’t wish to cause any further damage to the flounce before it is repaired.”

  At the mention of the dark garden, and her accompanying smile that told him she fully intended to take advantage of it, Phillip relaxed a bit. “Perhaps you might be a bit thirsty? I shall find some lemonade while you have your gown repaired.”

  Victoria smiled with delight. At their very first meeting, Phillip had brought her a cup of lemonade when he learned that her dance card had filled up before he could claim a second turn and it had become a sort of a jest between them. “Indeed, I would greatly appreciate that.”

  The waltz ended a few bars later, thankfully, for Victoria had delayed long enough. As soon as she and Phillip reached the edge of the dance floor, she slipped from his grip and started to move herself and her ungainly gown in the direction of the ladies’ retiring room. But as soon as he turned away, she changed direction and made her way through the crush of costumed people.

  Still fairly inexperienced at understanding her Venator sensibilities, Victoria wasn’t certain how near the vampire was, or even how many there were. Max and Great-aunt Eustacia had assured her that eventually she would be able to tell, but for now, the chill merely signified that an undead was in the proximity.

  And since a vampire couldn’t enter a home uninvited, Victoria presumed he or she had arrived under a mask of some sort, pretending to be one of the invitees, which would make it
even more difficult to identify the villain.

  She’d pushed her way between a milkmaid juggling two – thankfully empty – pails and a doublet-garbed Romeo when she suddenly came face to face with the golden-haired lute player.

  “Why, my dear Venator,” he murmured, slipping his hand around her arm in the crowd. “How delighted I am that you should have followed me so quickly. Shall we slip away to finish the discussion we began at the Chalice?”

  “Sebastian,” she replied, tugging her arm discreetly away so as not to draw attention. If her mother saw her'tête-à-tête with a man who not only wasn’t the Marquess of Rockley, but was also without a title at all, she’d come barrelling over to separate them immediately. “What are you doing here?”

  She didn’t know much about Sebastian – particularly whether or not he should be trusted – but one thing she did know was that he wasn’t the vampire she sought.

  “Why, I’m attending a masquerade ball, the same as you, I presume. What a delight to see you here, ma chere, although I must admit that your costume could be considered in poor taste considering the fact that Her Majesty met a most unpleasant end. According to my Grandfather Beauregard, it was rather a bloody incident.”

  She drew back a bit. Was that some sort of warning? A renewed prickle lifted the hair at the back of her neck, reminding her that she had other business to attend. “Why are you here?” she asked again.

  Those sensual lips smiled knowingly, lifting his mask a bit. “Perhaps I came simply because I knew that you would be here, and I find that masks, though obscuring, can also be quite freeing.” His hand slid through the crook of her arm, easing her flush against his side – or at least as flush as he could, with inches of skirts, crinolines and panniers between them. “I noticed that you extricated yourself from Lord Rockley quite directly, as soon as you recognized me.”

  She realized he’d begun to guide them through the crowd, away from the dance floor and towards the rest of the house. Since that was the direction she wished to go anyway, she allowed him to think he was in charge.

  After all, with her vis bulla strength, she could snap his grip and stop him in his tracks at any given moment, as the lascivious Mr Bendleworth had discovered a week ago when he tried to lure her into a dark corner.

  Aside from that, since she didn’t trust Sebastian as far as she could throw the well-padded Duchess of Farnham, Victoria felt it might be best to keep an eye on him for a bit. Especially if there was a vampire about.

  As they pulled free of the party-goers and found themselves moving into the house’s grand entrance, Victoria’s neck grew colder, confirming that she was heading in the right direction.

  Suddenly, she heard a low cry from one of the rooms beyond and she pulled free of Sebastian’s grip. Heart beating, she slipped one stake from its loop beneath a flounce and began to move quickly down the corridor. Her gown rustled, causing her to curse the fact that she’d entertained her mother’s costume suggestion instead of dressing the way she wished: as Diana, in a flimsy, light gown. She would have even been able to put stakes in a bow quiver and wear it over her shoulder.

  Victoria reached the only door that was closed tight, certain this was where the soft cry had come from. Her neck was still cold, but there was silence. A quick glance behind told her that Sebastian had disappeared, blast it, but she couldn’t worry about him now.

  She gripped the stake hard in her hand, listened again and closed her fingers around the cool doorknob. Then she heard it again. A low, pained cry from the other side of the door.

  Victoria twisted the knob and eased it open quickly and quietly. Inside, the room was dark, lit only by a fire needed more for its illumination than warmth. Shadows danced, black and red, and she darted her gaze around quickly.

  There. In the corner, the shapes of a man and woman entwined.

  Entwined?

  Victoria paused, her stake poised and, forever after, she would be grateful for that hesitation. For as she looked more closely, she saw that not only were there no burning red eyes, or long white fangs on either of the two figures, but that one of them was dressed in the long white gown of Circe.

  Mother?

  And the other was the tall, slender figure of Lord Jellington, Lady Melly’s erstwhile beau.

  Victoria sucked in her breath and fairly stumbled back out of the room, deliriously grateful that they’d been much too engaged in – whatever they were doing – to have noticed her presence.

  Her mother.

  No wonder she wanted Victoria married off. Then she would no longer have a daughter to chaperone and could go about her own business.

  Victoria hurried back down the hall and then paused, waiting to feel the temperature at the back of her neck. Yes, the chill was still there.

  A broad, curving staircase rose out of the foyer in front of her. Perhaps . . .

  Victoria gathered up her bothersome skirts and hurried up the steps, stake gripped in one hand and slippers silent on the treads. As she rose, her neck became slightly more chilled and she smiled in pleasure. Hopefully, she was on the right path and would soon dispatch the nuisance of the undead . . . and then be able to return to Phillip, lemonade and the moonlight.

  Once at the top of the stairs, she hesitated for a moment, and then moved smoothly along to the left. Most of the doors were closed, for they led to bedchambers, but she paused next to each one to listen and feel.

  The third door on the left was slightly ajar, but she was certain the prickling chill at her nape had become colder. One hand on the door, she eased it open slightly and peered inside.

  A dark figure moved within the shadows of the room and Victoria caught her breath. Smiling to herself, she levelled the door open further, started to move in and then realized her skirts were too wide. The light from the hallway would soon spill in enough to warn the vampire that someone was there, but he would likely think she was simply an innocent, helpless girl.

  Victoria hid her stake behind the width of her gown and pushed the door open.

  The man turned and light fell on his face.

  “Sebastian!” Victoria stalked into the room. “What are you after?”

  “So you’ve followed me again, have you, my dear Venator?” he asked, moving away from a chest of drawers. He looked as though he was withdrawing his hand from beneath his tunic and she suspected he’d just placed something – likely whatever he’d been searching for – somewhere inside. “A bit more private than the library downstairs. Did you find your vampire?”

  “No,” she replied. “What do you have in your pocket?”

  His smile flashed hot in the low light. “Why do you not come and look for yourself?”

  Victoria was too annoyed to be flustered by his blatant comment and she moved into the room with an angry swish of silk. “I would be delighted to do so,” she said, approaching him fearlessly.

  “My, you are full of courage tonight, aren’t you?”

  “No, indeed,” she said, fully aware that the back of her neck was still cold and that somewhere, an undead was on the prowl. “I’m simply in a hurry and you keep distracting me.”

  “I distract you do I?” He stepped closer to her, so close that her crinolines brushed his cross-gartered hose. “What a welcome bit of information. Victoria Gardella.”

  Before she could react, he reached out and slid a hand under her chin. He was ungloved, and the feel of his warm skin on the delicate flesh of her neck had her pulse spiking high. “I’ve always wanted to distract a Venator.” His voice had dropped to a murmur and Victoria felt her breath catch in her throat.

  Nevertheless, she stood firm. “You’ll not keep me from my purpose Sebastian. Turn out your pocket so I can see what it is you’ve taken.”

  “Don’t you wish to look for yourself?” he replied. Even behind the obscurity of the mask and the low light from the hall lamps, she could see the beauty of his face. From the first time she met him, she thought he looked like a golden angel.

  A
nefarious golden angel.

  “Turn out your pockets,” she said again.

  “You’d best do what the girl says, Vioget,” came a bored voice, “or we’ll be here all night waiting for her to get to the task at hand.”

  Victoria whirled, stepping back from Sebastian. Just inside the doorway stood a tall, dark-haired man. He wore a mask that covered the top of his face, but his dark hair and square chin were exposed, as was the annoyed expression twisting his mouth. The mask was his only concession to costume; the rest of his garb consisted of a white shirt, black coat and breeches.

  “Nice costume, Max,” Victoria responded. “Let me guess – a villain. No? A vampire, perhaps? Indeed, I do believe you have the look of Lord Ruthven to you.”

  “Definitely not Lord Ruthven,” Sebastian put in. “That fictional vampire was known for a much better grasp on fashionable attire than Maximilian Pesaro.”

  “What are you after, Vioget?” Max asked, ignoring the comments and moving into the room with his long, graceful strides. He passed Victoria as though she was no more than a nuisance of a gnat and stopped in front of the other man, cutting between her and Sebastian.

  “I have the matter well in hand, Max,” Victoria said, smarting from his reaction. “Perhaps you ought to go and slay the vampire that’s lurking about here. Somewhere.”

  Max barely deigned to glance at her. “I’ve already attended to that.”

  Victoria looked at him, and realized with a sudden surge of annoyance that he was telling the truth. The chill at the back of her neck had evaporated in the last few moments, since she’d come into the chamber with Sebastian.

  Which meant that the vampire had to have been nearby for Max to have arrived at this room so expediently. Which meant that it had been merely by accident that he came upon her and Sebastian.

  Firming her lips, she pushed herself and her gown between the two men and faced Sebastian. “I’ll check your pocket, then, if you won’t show me yourself.”