by Колин Глисон
He had made his confessions… harmless they were. Did she owe him the same?
Sebastian's words haunted her. Does he know that it means his love walks the streets at night? That she must mingle with those from the dark side to learn their secrets? That she kills every time she raises her weapon? That she has a strength he cannot hope to possess?
How could he understand? It had taken her weeks to understand, and she was called to this duty.
He was so good, so proper. How could he be married to a woman who stalked evil? Who was violent… who killed? He could never accept that in a wife—he should not have to.
He couldn't understand her world. Aunt Eustacia, and Max, and Kritanu… even Verbena and Barth… they understood. They were all a part of that world, that life.
Phillip was not, and could never be.
She drew a deep breath, knowing what she would do.
A heavy knot settled in her middle as she began to consider life without Phillip. A life that consisted of lurking in dark streets, in subterranean pubs, the need to always hunt and kill. The end of dancing and laughing and no hope of having someone to love, someone to care for her.
Perhaps that explained Max: his demeanor, the undercurrents of anger, and his ripping sarcasm. He was so alone. Victoria had believed it was by choice. Perhaps she was wrong.
Perhaps she had no choice either.
A loud slam from below, and the sound of pounding footsteps rushing up the stairs, caused her to turn toward the door to her bedroom.
Shouts; they sounded like Jimmons, and even Verbena, and suddenly her door flew open, slamming into the wall.
Phillip.
"Victoria!" He stood there, tall and wild, his cloak whirling about him and his hair falling over his brow. "You are here, and safe!"
She was so aghast she did not move even to close her jaw; Verbena and Jimmons and Maisie the housekeeper were standing in the doorway, all speaking at once, explaining how it had happened that Phillip had made his way up here.
"Send them away," he said to her, striding toward her where she remained in bed, her blankets pulled over her nightgown. "I am your betrothed; we are to be married in three weeks… send them away!"
She had never seen him like this, the unruffled and proper Phillip in such a stir. "Go ahead; you may go." She waved at Jimmons and Verbena. Then, amazingly, considering the situation, she had a logical thought. "Is Mother up and about?"
"She will be now," replied Verbena.
"Keep her from me, then. Tell her whatever you wish, but keep her from here until the marquess leaves."
"But it is not proper—" began Maisie.
"Go. Please. It will be fine if no one speaks of this."
Only after they left did Victoria allow herself to look at Phillip. The knot in her stomach had twisted tighter. She had thought to have more time to decide what to do… how to respond to Phillip. How to tell him she could not marry him.
But her decision was made. It was the right one.
"Victoria, Victoria." He stood next to her bed, hands behind him, as if trying to keep himself from reaching for her. "I am so sorry, but I could not wait. I needed to make sure you were here, were safe."
"Phillip…" She shook her head, closing her eyes for a moment. What could she say? "Phillip, I am fine. You see me; I am safe. I only had the headache."
Where had that come from? She hadn't planned to continue her charade.
He looked at her from above, standing over her, his blue eyes sharp but still wild. "Victoria."
"Phillip, sit down. Here." She smoothed her hand over the French-knotted coverlet, making a space for him next to her hip.
"I don't know if I… should." He looked at her, and she saw something in his gaze she'd never seen before. "If it's proper."
Victoria laughed; she couldn't help it. "Phillip, don't be absurd… you are already here, in my bedchamber. In three weeks I will be in yours." Their eyes met and her mouth dried. Had she really said that? That lie?
He sat, his solid weight heavy on the edge of the bed, tilting her toward him. Through the layers of blankets his leg touched hers.
"In three weeks. I don't know that I can wait so long." He reached over, touched her unbound hair, and let his hand trace her cheekbone before curling it back next to him. "But I must know, where did you go last night, Victoria? Are you in some kind of trouble?"
"I wasn't feeling well," she told him. Why was she still lying? She had to let him go.
"Victoria, I love you and you will be my wife, but one thing I cannot tolerate is dishonesty." He was angry, an emotion she'd never seen in him before. True anger, layered with a sort of desperate concern. But not frightening. No, this was an anger she could live with. "What were you doing in St. Giles last night? Tell me the truth."
Then her tears burst forth. Everything she had held back in the last weeks, since she had had those dreams. Since she had learned of her calling.
Racking sobs, shaking, and trembling—the results of fear she'd submerged so deeply when fighting for her life—everything poured out of her into Phillip's shoulder, for he'd gathered her close, the bedsheets falling away as he wrapped his arms around her.
"Victoria, Victoria," he crooned, smoothing his hand over her head, down over the tangled curls of her hair, bumping along her spine. "My God, Victoria, what is it? I will fix it; just tell me. I will make it right. I am not without resources; I will use them all if I must."
When she pulled away from his drenched coat, he had a handkerchief ready to mop her face and wipe her nose, as if she were a child. She felt like a child being cared for. For the first time in almost two months she felt like she didn't need to be in charge. In control.
The strong one.
She had never loved Phillip more than she did in that moment.
"Thank you," she said with the soft hiccup of her last sob.
He dropped the handkerchief and grabbed her shoulders. "What is it? Tell me. I cannot bear to see you like this."
"I cannot." She drew in a long, hitching breath. "I cannot tell you, Phillip, but I swear it is nothing you can change. Even if you had all the money in the world, and you reigned over this land, you could not change this."
He stared at her for a long moment, his eyes darting from side to side as if to get a better view inside her own gaze. The whites of his eyes were pink, cracked with red. "You must tell me."
"I cannot."
"Last night I came after you. I know it was you, despite the arguments your cousin made. At first I was afraid you were meeting a lover, and I followed you… because I had to know. I had to know if your heart was given to another. I thought even then that if it were, if I just knew it for certain, I would still want to marry you. I would find a way to drive him from your mind.
"But when your hackney—my God, Victoria, don't you know how dangerous it is to use a hackney?—stopped in St. Giles, I didn't know what to think. You wouldn't meet a lover there, no matter who he was. I saw you get out of the hackney and go through a door into one of the most dangerous-looking places I've ever seen. I would not have gone there if I hadn't known I must protect you. I had to use my pistol to convince some of the street men to let me by.
"Your cousin saved my life. I am not sure what happened; it is all quite a muddle in my mind. I just know I left to look for you, and then I woke up at home. How I got there is very unclear. I dreamed about red eyes…
"You see, my darling, I don't understand what happened last night, but I did not come here with accusations or preconceived notions. There is nothing you can tell me that would change the way I feel about you. Please."
She could give him something; maybe it would help him to understand. "Do you believe in destiny?"
He nodded, a bare hint of relief tangible in his face. "Of course. It was destiny that first brought us together years ago."
"Destiny is unchangeable. It's indelible, written in stone. Power and money and resources cannot change it, Phillip. You cannot alter it
. And that is why I cannot tell you, no matter how much you beg, what I was doing in St. Giles last night. Because that is my destiny." A destiny he could not accept—a wife who killed, a world of evil and darkness. Phillip was too much in the light… she couldn't destroy his world.
"Victoria!"
She was shaking her head. "I love you, Phillip. But I cannot."
He looked stricken. "Victoria, with all that I am, I ask you to please tell me. I will not be angry, no matter what it is. But I cannot have this between us if we are to marry."
Now. Her hands frozen under the warmth of the blankets, she drew in her breath and closed her eyes. She would not look at him whilst she said it. "Then perhaps we should not marry."
He was still, so still. Even his breath stopped; she could hear nothing in the darkness of her closed eyes but the faint voices from belowstairs. And the rapid, painful thudding of her heart.
"Victoria." The anguish in his voice opened her eyes. Phillip was not looking at her; he looked out the window at the sunshine pouring on the rooftop of a nearby garret. A blue jay, with its unpleasant squawking song, fluttered to a stop on a nearby tree limb.
"I'm sorry, Phillip."
He stood abruptly, spinning away from the bed, stalking to the door. She watched him through pooling eyes, and he paused at the threshold. "If you change your mind…" He spoke to the door.
"I can't." She forced the words from her throat. She wanted to call him back.
Phillip didn't look at her; he went through the door, closing it with a soft finality behind him.
Victoria didn't understand. She would have slammed it.
Chapter Eighteen
Interlude in a Carriage
Victoria sent a note to Madame LeClaire, canceling her fitting due to illness. The word would be out soon enough, she knew, that the engagement of the Marquess of Rockley had been broken. It would be in the paper within days—either the Society tattletale section, or the announcements; it depended who got the news first.
She didn't have the heart to tell her mother. Not yet. Perhaps in a day or so, when the pain wasn't so raw. Lady Melly was so happy to be bringing a marquess into the family, Victoria didn't have the heart to tell her she'd called it off.
Verbena tsked over her red eyes, but said nothing save, "I'm so sorry, miss. It's not the same, but I felt pretty bad when I lost my Jassie to another woman. Leastwise you know it ain't that."
If that item was supposed to make her feel better, it didn't. Victoria only sent Verbena from her room and stared out the window, watching the screeching blue jay as it visited the tree.
She begged off from attending a dinner party that night; instead, as soon as her mother left to trade gossip and jokes with the other ton ladies, Victoria slipped out of the house from the back door. She was dressed in her split-skirt gown, specially made for hunting vampires.
That night she tracked and staked five undead.
The next night, three more.
The third night she only found one. It felt bloody good when she drove that stake into the vampire's chest.
But it wasn't enough, so she wandered the streets near Covent Garden and allowed herself to be accosted by several mortal criminals. After showing them her pistol and the expertise with which she could kick and punch, Victoria ran them off into the darkness and felt a bit more satisfied.
She didn't return to Grantworth House until after dawn. Then she fell into bed and slept restlessly.
When Aunt Eustacia sent a summons on the fourth day after Phillip burst into Victoria's bedchamber, she considered ignoring it. She didn't feel the need to meet with her aunt or Max, who would certainly be there. She was doing her job hunting and killing the undead; they'd retrieved the Book of Antwartha, which she had hidden at the chapel at St. Heath's Row before she and Rockley broke things off.
What could her aunt want to meet about?
Her decision was made when Lady Melly poked her head in her bedroom. "I'm attending tea at Winnie's; she and Petronilla were hoping you'd come too so we could discuss seating arrangements for the wedding. I haven't seen Rockley for a few days, Victoria. Is he ill?"
Apparently her mother didn't see the red rims of her own daughter's eyes, nor the black circles underscoring them. "Not that I know of. He's been very busy. And, unfortunately, I promised Aunt Eustacia I would visit today. It's been nearly a week."
She really did have to tell her mother.
Every day she didn't, she risked its appearing in the papers before Lady Melly knew. It wasn't fair to her mother that she might be blindsided. The Society ladies would have a field day at her expense if that happened.
"Mother, I have to tell you something. Rockley and I had an argument. We…" Her voice trailed off when she saw the stricken look on Lady Melly's face.
"Well, surely you can mend the fence, Victoria! You cannot ruin your future over one small argument!"
One small argument.
"I wanted you to know in the event that you heard any rumors," she added lamely. Blast. She could single-handedly take down three vampires; why couldn't she tell her mother the truth?
"Well, I expect you to speak with him at the Mullingtons' ball next week and fix things! No excuses, Victoria. It's the duke's fiftieth birthday; everyone will be there. Including you."
Victoria nodded. She had no choice, and Phillip possibly wouldn't attend anyway. He hated those affairs. And if there was even a hint of a rumor that he was eligible once again… well, he would be cornered before he took three steps into the room.
"Now, I will see you tonight. We leave at seven thirty. Be ready. And put something over those black circles under your eyes, Victoria. You look horridly exhausted."
But in the end Victoria didn't go to Aunt Eustacia's. She sent a message back, after her mother left, that she was obligated to spend the day making calls.
And she spent the rest of the afternoon in her room.
That night she had no choice but to attend a musicale with Lady Melly. The only redeeming factor was that it was sure to be an early night, which would allow her to sneak out of the house and go what she had come to think of as patrolling for vampires.
The musicale was just as unexciting as the one she'd attended at the Straithwaites'; perhaps more so, since this time Rockley didn't make an appearance.
Neither, unfortunately, did any vampires.
It was after midnight when Grantworth House had settled to sleep, and Victoria slipped out the back door.
Barth, her trusty mode of transport, was waiting just around the corner, and as had become their habit, he merely nodded as she climbed into the hackney. He knew his duty by now and drove the carriage to a dangerous part of town. It varied each night; Victoria didn't care. She trusted Barth to know the best places to go and to take her there.
The cobbled streets were damp from a light summer rain, glistening like gray teeth in the moonlight. Victoria left the hackney and told Barth to come for her in two hours.
As the carriage trundled off, she walked to the center of the empty street and stood there, looking around. Daring any danger to accost her.
Everything was silent. Gray and black and silent.
She favored this section of the city—wherever it was; she didn't care and didn't need to know—because the street lamps had either burned out or not been lit tonight. It was the perfect breeding ground for vampires… or other thieves who needed to be taught a lesson. She wasn't particular.
After the first night of patrolling by herself, dressed in men's clothing, Victoria had elected to wear her split skirt on subsequent trips. Garbed as a woman, she attracted more attention from those who wanted to prey on the weak.
But tonight it appeared that the streets were devoid of any dangers for men or women.
She walked down the center of the road, bold and quick, watching for anything that might move in the shadows. Feeling for any faint chill over the back of her neck.
Nothing.
Nothing until she rounded t
he corner of her third block and saw the shift in an alley. And the back of her neck chilled.
Her lips stretching in a nasty smile, Victoria started toward the shadowy movement. She had her stake in her hand, hidden in the folds of her cloak, and she walked along nonchalantly. She passed the alley, her movements nearly shouting innocence and temptation.
She expected him or her to charge out and attack her, but when nothing had happened after half a block, she stopped and turned to look behind. No one was there; the coolness at the back of her neck had eased.
Just as she turned to walk back to the alley, a black carriage, high sprung and elegant, wheeled around the corner. Victoria turned to look; it was unusual to see such an expensive coach in this part of town.
The carriage eased to a stop in the street in front of her. Its two black horses rolled their eyes, the only pure white in the gray of night, and stamped their feet. The driver did not look at Victoria as he sat unmoving.
Then the door opened.
"Victoria."
It was Sebastian, and he was beckoning to her; just his gloved hand was visible, but she recognized his voice, the way he said her name.
She stepped toward the carriage, walking up to the door, and looked in. Sebastian sat alone inside, leaning forward from his seat just enough to stretch his hand out. Offering his assistance to her in climbing in.
"Come. You won't find anyone to hunt tonight, my lovely Venator."
"Why is that?" She stood directly in front of the door, hands on her hips, suddenly unaccountably angry.
"Come for a ride with me. We can enjoy the full moon and I will tell you all about it."
"Unless there's a vampire in there that's ready to die, I'll walk. Thank you." She turned and started away.
He moved so quickly she had no time to react; he was out of the carriage and had his arm wrapped around her waist, whirling her back toward the vehicle in what seemed like an instantaneous movement. She stumbled over a stone that marked the edge of the road, falling toward the carriage. Her hands slamming into the wall were the only things that kept her from landing in the mud.
