by Колин Глисон
Or perhaps his memory of her had been so perfect—although how a young woman harping on him could be considered perfect, she wasn't sure—that the reality of who she was today, grown into a young lady, did not meld with what he remembered. Perhaps she was a disappointment.
At least he hadn't tried to entice her into a secluded alcove and thrust his tongue down her throat and his hand into her bodice, as Viscount Walligrove had done at the Terner-Fordhams' dinner party two nights earlier. Victoria had dealt with the lecherous man and his bloated lips quite neatly. He hadn't known what came at him when she used some of the kalaripayattu moves Kritanu had taught her. Combined with the added strength from her vis bulla, Victoria's defense techniques had left the viscount in a heap on the floor, with a black eye, a broken nose, and a sprained ankle.
Perhaps he'd think twice about groping an innocent girl in the future.
"We are going to have to see about procuring a different maid for you, Victoria," continued Lady Melly in a completely different vein. "That girl—Verbena—is much too careless in her work. Look at you—your hair is already falling down, and we haven't even arrived at the Straithwaites' yet!" She leaned toward Victoria, her hand reaching toward the thick curl that rested over Victoria's shoulder.
"Mother, please." Victoria moved quickly out of reach; though that meant huddling further into the corner of the seat she shared with Lady Melly and crinkling her silk skirts even more. "I have no need to replace Verbena. She arranged my hair this way purposely; I wanted to try a different style. Perhaps we'll start a new fashion." She smiled, even as she toyed with the offending lock of hair to make sure it still covered the four red marks on her neck.
"Hmph." Lady Melly settled back in her seat. "I can't say as I like the style for myself, but there is something to be said for being an Original. If you need to be an Original in order to catch Rockley's eye, then so be it. And I suppose the Straithwaites' musicale is one of the better places to debut a new style, if there is one."
Victoria couldn't argue. Lord Renald and Lady Gloria Straithwaite were distant cousins of Lady Melly, and every year they displayed the substantial musical talents of their four daughters at a performance carefully choreographed to show them at their finest. The eldest had made a successful match last Season, and the Straithwaites clearly intended to continue the trend.
Because the Straithwaite daughters were triply endowed—with talent, funds, and curves—the musicale was fairly well attended by the marriage-seeking bachelors of the ton.
Shortly after arriving at Stimmons Hall, Victoria found herself seated in the ballroom. Tonight, however, though there would be music, there would be no dancing. The rows of chairs and the few settees along the side walls made it clear that all attention was to be focused on the four Straithwaite sisters.
She couldn't help but crane her neck to see if perhaps Rockley had elected to attend, but she did not see his dark head anywhere. Victoria settled in her seat to peruse the elegantly lettered program that had been rolled up and tied with pale pink ribbon. When she unscrolled it, she understood why. By the time one sat down and opened the program, it was too late to make an excuse to leave.
Ten pieces were listed.
Ten.
Victoria stifled a groan. She appreciated Mozart and Bach as much as anyone, but to sit through ten different pieces—each with three movements—was just too much for her. She cast a covert glance at the other attendees to see if there were any other shocked faces, but there weren't.
She was just going to have to suffer through it.
At first Victoria listened. She truly tried to listen. She sat primly next to her mother, taking as much time as possible to arrange her delicate skirts in gentle folds over her knees and the chair. Then she clasped her hands neatly in her lap, with her reticule tucked under her fingers. She could feel the outline of a small glass vial in the little pouch, which reminded her of the screeching pain in her neck when Max had poured his salted holy water on the bite. Verbena had somehow acquired a small bottle and filled it for Victoria so she would have her own.
Seething over Max's supercilious comments, and the pain he'd inflicted on her without warning, occupied Victoria's mind for approximately three movements of one of Mozart's quartets. It was only when she realized she'd gone beyond crumpling her reticule with annoyance and on to mangling her silk skirt that she knew she would have to think about something not quite as inflammatory as Max.
Maybe there would be a vampire here tonight and she would have an excuse to slip out of the room. Victoria held her breath and concentrated on the sensations at the back of her neck.
It didn't feel the slightest bit cool.
Or… maybe another lecherous gentleman would try to take advantage of one of the young ladies, and Victoria would be able to teach him a lesson.
She tried again to listen. And she succeeded in paying attention to each of the four Straithwaite daughters and the array of instruments they played throughout a Bach piano concerto. For the whole three movements, she managed to follow the melody and its ebbs and flows… and Victoria felt that was quite an accomplishment.
But then she looked down at the program and realized that the musicale was not even half over.
And her neck was still warm.
Submerging a sigh, she commenced to thinking about Rockley.
It was a delicious pleasure to recall the way they'd glided smoothly over the dance floor, his strong arms holding her just close enough to be proper, close enough that she could feel his warmth and smell the slightly smoky tang of his jacket. The way he looked at her from those heavy eyes made her want to close her own and slip into the memory.
She definitely wanted to kiss him. She knew that a kiss shared with the marquess would be nothing like the one Viscount Walligrove had imposed upon her. Fantasies about kissing might not be appropriate thoughts for a young lady, but then again, most young ladies didn't wear ash stakes in their hair and seek out vampires.
Nor did they have the strength and ability to instantly cut a grown man to his knees.
It was a heady power.
The only thought that marred her enjoyment of the memory of her dance with Rockley was the way he'd looked at Max.
And that thought brought her back to brooding about the master vampire slayer. His arrogance and sharp tongue grated on her nerves. And the way he looked at her when she even breathed the mention of a ball or dinner party, as if being a Venator and having a social life were mutually exclusive options… Her fingers crinkled her skirts again.
She felt a sharp elbow in her side, and turned to look at her mother, who was frowning and glaring down at Victoria's hands. She smiled at Lady Melly and made her fingers release the poor cloth and tried once again to focus on the music.
The seventh piece out of ten. More than half done. But… she looked closer at the list. There were four movements to each of the last three selections, instead of three.
Victoria closed her eyes and then reopened them. She looked down at the list and counted again, and saw that indeed she'd been correct.
Vampires seemed to be making their way through Society events; why couldn't one be attending the Straithwaite musicale?
There was no question that the music was beautiful; it was, and it was elegantly presented. The musicians were lovely to look at, each dressed in a different shade of blue: ice, robin's egg, cornflower, and sapphire. But one could listen to a trilling piano and a singing violin, viola, and cello for only so long without wanting to get up and walk around. Or stake a vampire.
Disappointment had her looking back down at the program again, willing the musical sisters to begin playing Mozart's Piano Concerto in D Minor, the last piece on the list.
At that moment, Victoria felt a shift of air over the back of her neck. It was cool. She straightened in her seat, no longer drowsy and bored. At last. Something to occupy her mind!
She tried to look around without appearing to do so. Then she realized the coolness was go
ne. And she saw that the shift in the air had merely been the faint lifting of breeze through an open window, which someone had blessedly had the sense to open.
Victoria stilled, waiting, breathing with long, slow breaths so she could focus all of her attention on the barometer at the back of her neck. Surely she'd felt something cool. It wasn't just the breeze.
But nothing changed.
When the Straithwaite sisters at last began the final selection in the program, Victoria felt a change behind her—as if someone were looking at her. The hair at the back of her neck tickled, sending shivers down one arm.
It wasn't a vampire, no. She didn't sense that. It wasn't an uncomfortable feeling. It was…
Victoria dropped her program and, ignoring her mother's frown, bent to pick it up, turning to look behind her as she did.
It was Rockley, standing at the back of the room, obviously a late—very late—arrival to the musicale. Victoria didn't know whether to be annoyed that he hadn't had to sit through the whole program, or delighted that he was there. Of course, there was no reason to believe he was there because she was.
Victoria looked at the three unmarried Straithwaite sisters with new eyes. Was he here to court one of them? They were all beautiful, even though the youngest was rather young, at just sixteen, to be debuted. And they were wealthy—much more so than Victoria was.
Now she was not only bored, but annoyed as well.
Then the last movement of the concerto ended. The string musicians pulled their bows away from their instruments for the last time. The pianist pushed back the bench and stood to join them in perfectly choreographed curtsies.
Everyone was applauding and standing up, at last. Victoria assumed it was from relief that the show had ended. But when she would have stood, Lady Melly snatched at her arm and pulled her back down into her seat.
"Rockley is here," she hissed into her ear.
"I know that, Mother."
"He's coming this way, Victoria. Remain seated. I am sure he will make his way to us."
But what if he didn't?
Then… "Lady Grantworth," came the smooth voice from behind her. It sent lovely prickles down her spine and sounded warm and familiar. "How lovely you look this evening. I trust you enjoyed the musicale?"
Then suddenly he was there, in front of her, standing in the small space between the rows of seats. Victoria didn't hear her mother's response to his question; she presumed it was one designed to take his attention off herself and direct it onto her daughter. "Miss Grantworth," he said with a bow and a delicious smile. "I find that I still have quite the thirst from last evening. Would you care to accompany me for some lemonade?"
Looking up at him from her spot on the red velvet chair, Victoria felt a smile of relief and pleasure relax her face. He was looking at her as if they were old friends… perhaps more than old friends. When he offered his hand, she stood, and he pulled her up. The cloth of their gloves slid against each other with a dull friction, but she was certain that wasn't the only reason her hand felt suddenly warm. "I am terribly thirsty," she replied, slipping her hand around his arm. It felt comfortable, as if it belonged there. "Lemonade sounds lovely, Lord Rockley."
Asking for permission to be excused was a moot point, for Lady Melly nearly pushed them away and turned to speak with an acquaintance.
Victoria, feeling her face warm from embarrassment, looked up at the marquess and said quietly, "It is no secret how my mother feels about your thirst. Indeed, I fear that she might be willing to send you to the desert in order to ensure that you are not quenched."
"Indeed. I feared she might drag me from my seat to yours if I did not find my own way quickly enough."
Victoria bumped into his arm as he tugged her gently around a corner, following the others out of the ballroom, and looked up at him, mortification heating her face. "Oh, dear… I spoke only in fun, my lord! My mother is indeed like a sharp-toothed bulldog. I shall call her off immediately—"
"Miss Grantworth, I was only jesting. It gives me great pleasure that not only did I have the serendipity to see you two nights in a row, but more so that I was able to make it through the crowd to your side and sweep you away before any of your other beaux might do so."
His words were light, but as they strolled through an entryway into the dining room, she read a different expression in his eyes. Under those heavy lids that on another man might have made him look lazy or insouciant, Rockley looked at her with a heavy concentration that made her feel almost faint… nearly as light-headed as the vampire had, just before he bit her last night.
At that thought, Victoria reached up quickly, grabbing at the curl that hung just so over her shoulder, to make sure it was still in place, covering the four red marks. She pulled it straight with nervous fingertips, then let it spring gently back into a concealing corkscrew.
And she realized he'd asked her a question. And was awaiting an answer.
"Too many to count, then, Miss Grantworth?" His voice leveled, and even over the rising noise from the other musicale attendees, she could hear its different inflection. "Apparently I should have resisted the urge to visit Tattersall's today, and instead made my presence known at Grantworth House."
"My mother and I would have welcomed you most graciously had you chosen to attend us today."
"I am well aware that your mother would have done so… but I fear the question is more complicated than that, Miss Grantworth. You told me quite directly that you are in no haste to marry, and while I find that refreshing and a bit off-putting… I should rather know for certain how difficult it would be should a gentleman wish to urge you along that path." They'd stopped walking now, and were standing near a cluster of people crowding the tables of food and drink. Three dozen people milled about, but for all of that, when Victoria looked up at Lord Rockley, she felt as if they were alone.
His arm had clamped her wrist close to his body as they walked, but now he allowed it to slide free as he turned toward her, standing with his back to the room as if protecting her, shielding her from the crowd.
Victoria felt a large, beaming smile work itself out from inside. "Lord Rockley, I would have been particularly delighted had you called on Grantworth House today."
The austerity in his face lessened. "I am pleased to hear that, Miss Grantworth." He reached for her hand and slipped it around his arm. "Shall we find that lemonade I've been promising you?"
As they stood in line to wait for lemonade, Rockley nudged her gently with his elbow as if to gain her attention. She looked up at him, suddenly overwhelmed by a feeling of comfort. Here was a kind, handsome man who appeared to be interested in her as a potential wife… and whom she felt the urge to come to know better. To kiss, even. A man her mother would approve—no, thrust upon her. A man who had remembered her for more than seven years.
"You appeared to have been entranced by the music," he said with a fond smile. "I must admit, I would have been hard-pressed to sit for such a long period of time, only listening to Mozart and Bach."
"Ah." Victoria smiled back at him. "That is the explanation, then, my lord."
He handed her a white teacup filled with lemonade. "Explanation of what?" Cupping her elbow, he gently steered her away from the tables and toward a pair of chairs at the other end of the room.
"Your tardiness in arriving at the famous Straithwaite Musicale. I'm sure the three eligible sisters were devastated that you missed most of their performance."
"They might have been, but that is not my concern, Miss Grantworth. You see, I have a reasonable excuse for arriving here so late."
Victoria took a sip of the lemonade, pleasantly surprised that it was perfectly tart and chilled enough to be refreshing. She looked at him from over the top of her cup, and when their eyes met she felt her knees weaken. "Truth to tell, my lord, I am more than a bit envious that you had such an excuse; for if I had one, I would have arrived just as you did."
"As always, Miss Grantworth, I find your honesty refres
hing and amusing… but don't you wish to know the reason for my tardiness?"
Victoria considered him for a moment. He had a very pleasing smile, especially when his lips turned up just like that at the corners, ever so slightly. Now that she'd been reminded of the memories they'd come flooding back, and she recalled him smiling at her that way the day after they'd first met, when he brought her forget-me-nots in thanks for her help in chasing down his mount. The first time she'd received flowers from a man.
Victoria thought she might still have the pink satin ribbon he'd tied them with. She smiled up at him, as much at the memory as from the question he'd just posed. "Of course I am interested in the reason for your tardiness, my lord, if you should like to tell me."
"The reason that I arrived nearly two hours after the musicale began was that it took me that long to discover where a certain young lady was going to be tonight."
Victoria felt the rush of heat sweep over her, surely coloring her fair skin. "Indeed?"
"Indeed. Miss Grantworth, may I call on you Thursday?"
"I wish that you would."
Apparently, the young man from years ago was not the least bit disappointed in the woman she'd become.
Chapter Six
In Which Miss Grantworth Stands Her Ground
"Did you dance with your marquess last night, Victoria?"
She looked up from the stake she was whittling into a lethal point. Max sat in a large chair, drinking something the color of topaz, and studying what appeared to be an ancient map of tunnels on a table next to him. He didn't even look up as he spoke. Aunt Eustacia and Kritanu had left the parlor moments earlier to retrieve a book and tea, respectively.
