by Колин Глисон
"Ye ken put that away; ye won't be needin' it, now, sirrah. All we wan' is yer valyables."
"I have nothing of value, so let me pass," she told them, not attempting to hide her woman's voice.
She saw the jolt of recognition in the man straddling the walkway—the moment he realized she was not a foolish' dandy stumbling home from the faro tables, but a defenseless woman. Even in the spare light from the dirty street-lamp, she saw his lips stretch in a smile, saw the gap in front where a tooth might once have grown.
"Oh, ye mightn't have nothin' in yer pockets, but ye got somethin' else we want," the first man said from behind her. He was no longer poking her with what she'd assumed was the tip of a knife. Apparently, despite her weapon, he did not feel the need for one of his own anymore.
All the more fool he was, and that became apparent when he reached for her.
The moment his fingers closed over her upper arm, Victoria reacted. She whipped easily from his grip and spun, knife flashing. Her hat slipped off, and the braid she'd loosely pinned up fell and swirled about her shoulders as she brought the blade down along his sleeve, then made a point of withdrawing it. The man squealed when she sliced, but her next move was hampered by a shove from behind.
The large man from the front sent her reeling, and when she kicked back around, he was ready for her, half-crouched, knife in hand. "Feisty one, she is." He laughed. "And to think we almost let 'er walk on past." He lunged and Victoria ducked, slamming her head into his gut hard enough to knock the breath from him.
She pulled away, slicing with her knife, readily controlling the berserker that simmered inside her. Whipping the hair from her face, she came back around to grab the first man by the scruff of the neck. With a great heave she sent him tumbling toward his partner and watched as they rolled onto the ground.
The big one sprang to his feet with surprising agility, coming at her now with the taunting grin wiped from his face, replaced by fury. "Ye little bitch."
The arc of her knife in the air gave him pause, and she held him off when she positioned it at the corner of his chin, standing there much too close for the ease of her nose, for the man stank to high heaven. "Be off with you now. I've more important things to do than tussle with the two of you fools."
The smaller man slunk into the shadows from whence he'd come, but the larger man stood his ground.
An approaching carriage, turning from one dark street onto this one, crunched over the bricks. Victoria's instincts sharpened when the back of her neck cooled, but she did not take her attention from the man who accosted her.
The man shifted, as if readying himself to launch, just as the carriage slowed alongside them. The chill over her nape was sharper now, definitely connected to the arrival of the carriage. Victoria's fingers tightened over the knife when its door opened. Before she could react, a man jumped out, landing with two solid feet onto the uneven ground.
He was dressed in well-tailored clothing, more like one who resided on Hanover Square than here in St. Giles. His face was half-shadowed by the tall, brimmed hat, but she could see the impression of a long nose and square chin.
He spun, brandishing a pistol, and pointed it at the other man. "Oughta blow your brains out," snarled the newcomer, "attacking a woman on the streets!"
A vampire? Speaking in a vaguely familiar voice and lecturing a hoodlum?
Surely not.
The chill was definitely raising the hair on her neck, heightening her senses, but this man wasn't an undead. She knew it… yet… her senses were still on alert.
Then Victoria saw the faintest shift of shadow, gray-black moving into ink black, behind the carriage.
Ah.
Stepping back from the altercation in which the newcomer's cloak was whipping and churning about as he advanced on the bandit, she reached into her pocket and grasped her stake, then replaced the knife.
She turned and saw the faint glow of red eyes between two wooden buildings across the road—barely enough room for a man to walk through shoulder-square. Her pulse notched up and she smiled there in the night, slipping in front of the parked carriage and across the street… into the narrow space.
She heard an alarmed shout behind her, as if the newcomer had seen her walk into the dark alley… but she ignored it.
As she moved deeper into the slender opening, Victoria stepped on something that shifted and scuttled beneath her foot, sending her off balance, bumping into the brick wall. At least it was furry and squirming, not eight-legged and crunching. Her next step landed her boot in something soft, squishy, and putrid, and when she took one more step, she realized that the red eyes had vanished, and that the back of her neck was warming.
The vampire had gone.
The sensation at the back of her neck was gone too.
Frowning in the dark, Victoria stopped and listened and felt. Deep breaths, as Kritanu had taught her, deep breaths to heighten her awareness, and to calm the singing of her nerves.
Nothing. She felt and heard nothing.
Unwilling to believe that her chance for a fight had disappeared, Victoria waited still longer, and contemplated. This was the second time in two nights that she'd found vampires, after months of nothing.
Last night she'd had the unsettling experience of being unable to kill one, or kill what she'd thought was a vampire. And tonight the one she stalked had simply slipped away, silent and quick, leaving her with stake in hand and an odd feeling of unfinished business.
She listened and felt again. Still nothing.
As Victoria turned to take the four or five steps that would bring her from the alley, she heard a shout coming from the street.
"Madam! Miss!"
It was the carriage owner, the one who had taken it upon himself to save her from the thugs. Again she thought his voice was familiar. She stepped back into what passed for illumination on this dark night, out of the alley, then darted across the street and around the carriage. "I am here."
He spun and faced her, and their recognition was simultaneous.
"Mr. Starcasset!"
"Lady Rockley!"
Victoria could not believe her misfortune. Her would-be savior was her good friend Gwendolyn Starcasset's brother. And he was staring at her with understandable shock and concern, frozen, as if unable to think what to do.
As would any other member of the peerage, if they found a widow just coming out of mourning alone in the most dangerous part of London in the middle of the night, not to mention garbed in men's clothing.
Despite the awkwardness of the situation, Victoria could not help but be amused at how the man must be struggling to find something polite to say, so she stepped in to help him. "Mr. Starcasset, thank you for your assistance," she told him demurely. She would not offer an explanation for her presence here.
He appeared to accept her lead. "Madam, may I escort you… home?" His attention moved from her to the street corner and back again, as though expecting to see another vehicle, or some other person or attendant. "Surely you must be… chilled?"
He'd removed his hat, which, unlike Victoria's, had somehow not become dislodged during his interaction with the thug. Now she could see more of his handsome, though boyish face; one, that, with its strong chin and long narrow nose, reminded her uncomfortably of Phillip.
But George Starcasset, heir to the Viscount Claythorne, had more rounded cheeks, was golden-haired instead of dark-haired, and his eyes, though not a deep blue, were a lighter hue than the heavy-lidded ones belonging to her husband. Although she could not see them well in the low light, Victoria was aware that they were the color of an angry ocean, for Mr. Starcasset had trained them upon her many times since they had met.
"I am not chilled, thank you, sir, and there is my hack as we speak." She'd heard the creaking, and rumbling of Barth's carriage as it careened down the streets several moments before it actually appeared.
"A hack? Madam, I cannot allow you to take a hack home in the middle of the night. Please allow
me the pleasure to escort you to St. Heath's Row."
Victoria should be used to being called madam, but she was not. It made her eyes water because she bit her tongue instead of saying what she truly felt. The title might have been important to another woman, and certainly she didn't begrudge the comfort and wealth she'd attained by marrying Phillip, but she'd have forgone all of it if she could still have him. And every time someone used the title, it reminded her of her loss.
For before Phillip, she had merely been miss.
Unexpectedly, her eyes dampened. Mr. Starcasset must have noticed, for he reached for her arm, guiding it firmly around his, and said comfortingly, "This has been a trying night for you, I'm certain, Lady Rockley. Please allow me to see you home in the comfort of my carriage."
"Very well, Mr. Starcasset. Thank you for your insistence." Victoria gave a wave to Barth, who had slid bravely from his seat and was not troubling to hide the stake in one hand and the pistol in the other. If nothing else, he was prepared for any eventuality, including protection provided by the large crucifix that dangled from his neck.
She turned to climb into the offered carriage and, in doing so, brushed against Starcasset.
"What is that you are holding?" he asked, reaching for the hand that still held her stake.
Victoria slid it back under her coat before he could grasp it. "A stick."
"I am certainly glad that I came upon you when I did, madam, for I fear that stick would not have served you well in your defense against those thugs." The carriage jolted as he climbed in after her.
"Indeed." Victoria kept her response to a murmur and, shifting in her seat, slipped the stake into its pocket on the inside of her coat.
The carriage rumbled off, taking Victoria away in a much smoother, more sedate manner than she'd arrived in St. Giles. She and Starcasset sat in silence for a turn, Victoria mulling over the presence of another vampire that seemed to have run away from her… or, the thought struck her, perhaps it had wished for her to follow it.
"Lady Rockley, if I may be permitted to ask, how have you been faring these last months? Gwendolyn tells me you are still receiving only a very few visitors. I think of you often."
"Thank you, Mr. Starcasset. Your sentiments are much appreciated. And as to how I have fared… it has been a long year, but I am of the hope and belief that the worst is over. I told your sister only last week that I am preparing to make a full return to Society."
In the low lantern light that bobbed in rhythm with the cobbled bricks below, his smile was exceedingly warm.. "May I say that I am very pleased to hear this. And I know that Gwendolyn has missed your presence quite abominably at the functions this Season. But now that it is drawing to a close, I am sure you know we are preparing to repair to Claythorne. And if I may not be considered too forward, I do believe it would be a great delight to my sister should you attend us there."
"Indeed. How very kind of you, Mr. Starcasset." Victoria found herself wanting to blush under his warm stare, which made it all too clear that he would be the one most delighted with her presence. "Gwendolyn did speak to me of it."
"We were just talking Wednesday last in regards to our house party, which we make on an annual basis, as a celebration of the beginning of grouse season. Of course, last year you would have been invited, but… oh, forgive me, madam. It was not the best of times for you." He brushed off the lapels of his coat in a rather nervous gesture. "Gwendolyn was musing aloud as to whether you would be able to attend this year. And how felicitous that I should have the opportunity to reiterate the invitation in person!"
Victoria forbore to point out that felicity had played little role in their meeting on the dark, dank streets of St. Giles. Danger and happenstance, perhaps… but not felicity. "I am most honored and have already decided to accept the invitation," she replied. It was time that she at least shed the black clothing she'd been wearing. Of course, she would never be able to wholly embrace the dances and the fetes and the fashions and the teas that were part of Society as fully as she had done before… but perhaps she could find some sort of balance betwixt her two lives.
Or perhaps she would be destined to the loneliness of walking the streets at midnight, instead of riding home with a handsome beau after a long night of dancing.
"I will be delighted to join you at Claythorne," she added with real pleasure.
"Splendid! I shall tell her tomorrow that you have accepted, although"—he coughed genteelly—"I shall not divulge to her the exact circumstances as to how we have met up." His lips stretched in a jovial grin.
"Indeed. I would and do appreciate your reticence in that matter." Victoria smiled back at him, realizing that his grin was so very pleasant as to make anyone want to join him in his humor. She hoped that he would honor his statement and not share with Gwendolyn or any other person of their Society the fact that he had found her walking alone on the streets at night. Although she supposed if he did, few would believe him.
As she settled back in the carriage, it occurred to her to wonder, then, just exactly what had taken the Viscount Claythorne's heir himself to those same dangerous streets during the same dark night.
Chapter 4
In Which Verbena Has Her Way
" 'Tis long past time to see ye in a color other than black." Verbena clucked as she tied Victoria's stays. "Ye cudda gone to half mournin' six months ago and been wearin' that pretty pearl gray. Even when ever'one was mournin' for Princess Charlotte, God rest her soul, they went to grays after six months. But no, no, you woulden and can't say't I blame ye, what with losin' the marquess so horribly, but my lady, yer skin's been missin' the pretty colors like yeller an' that peach. It's right to be liven your cheeks up a bit."
Victoria knew better than to attempt a word when her maid was in lecture mode. Likely Verbena had been saving it up the last nine or ten months and wouldn't be dissuaded from saying her piece regardless of what her mistress might wish to interject.
"All I can say is, I'm glad I talked ye into leaving all them black and gray gowns back at home. This is a house party, and ye should have fun. Ye deserve it, my lady. Ye deserve it." Her impossibly hued orange hair was gathered into two springy bunches, one below each ear, and stuck out like fistfuls of stiff netting.
Their eyes met in the mirror, one pair a sparkling, good-humored blue, the other thick lashed, almond shaped, and serious. "But I'm glad't'see," Verbena added more gently, "that ye didn't leave off your vis bulla. What would we do wit'out ye, and the other Venators?"
Verbena, whose cousin was Barth the hackney driver, had recognized Victoria's vampire-hunting amulet immediately after she'd begun wearing it more than a year ago. How she knew of vampires and Venators when the rest of London was blissfully ignorant, Victoria was uncertain; but it was a relief that her maid, who also inexplicably knew how to treat vampire bites and was not frightened of visiting places like the Silver Chalice, was aware of her secret. Having one's maid in on the most intimate details of one's life, especially when it involved much sneaking around and wearing clothing belonging to the opposite gender, was a great serendipity.
Victoria shook her head, drawing in a breath that was more restricted now that she'd been laced into her stays. "I feel better when I am wearing the vis; that is certain. Though I don't expect to have need of it whilst here at Claythorne. To be sure, I would not have agreed to leave London had Aunt Eustacia not assured me she would send for me were there any threats to be contained. I've seen only one vampire, other than the one I killed, and found no sign of any others since that night I met Mr. Starcasset."
"Yer Aunt Eustacia is one smart lady," Verbena said, digging carefully through the pile of gowns so as not to muss them. "Though that butler of hers, Charley… he sure does know how to keep his mouth shut. Can't say I haven't tried to get'm to talk to me about the goin's-on there, but his lips are's tight as a clam's. And that friend o' hers, Mr. Maximilian Pesaro. He's a right fascinatin' Jemmy, too, if I do say. Frightenin'ly handsome, in a bo
ld sort of way." She shivered. "If I didn't know better, I'd almost think he was a vampire; he's got the elegant, dangerous look o'one."
"You aren't the first to think that of him," Victoria replied dryly. She stood, pushing away from the bleached-wood dressing table, and turned to what was sure to be the difficult task of refusing to let Verbena dress her in bold carmine or bright jonquil for her first dinner at Claythorne. "He is a formidable Venator; that one thing is certain. I can't say that I understand why he left so quickly after Phillip died, but my aunt says he was needed in Rome. Though it wasn't as if he were needed here. I think I shall wear the navy gown tonight, Verbena."
"Wavy? My lady, that's near's bad as the black! Wouldn't this lovely mulberry color be more fittin'? See how't brings out that dusky sort o' rose color in yer cheeks? And next to yer black curls? An' it makes yer lashes look darker'n a boar's-bristle brush." She thrust the preferred gown in front of her mistress. "Well, that Mr. Pesaro cert'nly helped ye last summer, when ye were tryin' to keep Lilith from gettin' th' special book she wanted. Maybe he'd decided he'd stayed too long here and needed to get home."
"Perhaps," Victoria commented, rather wondering what it would be like the first time she saw Max again. She felt that the animosity that had simmered beneath their politeness and forced proximity might have eased quite a bit, after all that had occurred, even though she was still annoyed that he'd left London so suddenly.
After all, she'd seen the impressive Max brought under the control and thrall of Lilith, showing a weakness she never would have attributed to him… and he had seen Victoria learn how to fight like a Venator and grow from an average debutante into a fierce, brave vampire hunter.
The gown of Verbena's choice was fluttering down over Victoria's shoulders before she realized the moment to stop it had passed. "Not the mulberry!" she exclaimed in vain. " 'Tis too bright!"