by Колин Глисон
"Thank you, sir," she replied. "I am not known as an excellent correspondent, but I shall endeavor not to disappoint you. And when I return, we shall have to discuss this idea you have of courting me." With a smile that she realized was rather more flirtatious than she'd intended, she withdrew her fingers and nodded for Filbert to open the front door.
"Farewell, Gwendolyn. I shall notify you immediately upon my return."
Victoria saw that the Starcasset siblings were safely in their ornately sprung carriage before the tall, broad man named Oliver opened the door of her own.
The door closed behind her, she sank down in her seat and realized she was not alone.
"Sebastian? Blast it, how on earth did you get here? And in your shirtsleeves again!"
There he was, lounging in the corner of the seat across from hers. She hadn't noticed him when she climbed in because she was looking at her seat, and he had been prudent enough to keep his feet off the floor—where she would certainly have spied them as she climbed in.
If nothing else, the man had a talent for appearing unexpectedly—and looking utterly casual about it.
He sat with his legs extended along the length of the seat, his back propped against one wall of the coach. His curly-brimmed hat sat in his lap, held in place by two elegant hands. His dark jacket had been removed and was hanging from a hook above his feet. He smiled lazily at her as she arranged her gown primly on her seat, lurching slightly as the carriage started off.
"At least he is not as reckless as Barth is," Victoria muttered.
"Who? Ah… your new driver. Yes, he is a right accommodating fellow, this Oliver. Oh, yes, I was very pleased to get his name and a good portion of his pedigree while we were at it. It was no difficult task to send him off to speak to the other carriage's driver whilst you were exchanging fond farewells with your paramour, George, who, I am quite certain, is devastated by your leaving England. And as it was, Oliver's earnest discussion with the Starcassets' footman allowed me the opportunity to avail myself of the extra seat in your carriage." His lips closed, settling in a complacent smile, as the carriage made a gentle turn.
"Surely you too aren't here to bewail the fact that our courtship will be on hiatus for several months whilst I am in Italy?" Victoria replied, trying to keep from looking at those lips. She remembered well enough what they felt like; she didn't need to be reminded of their shape.
With him in it, the carriage seemed much smaller than it really was, and if she had been paying closer attention, rather than reflecting on the unexpected visit of the Starcasset siblings, she would have noticed the sharp smell of cloves that laced the air as soon as she'd stepped foot in the carriage.
She didn't even begin to wonder how he knew she was leaving for Italy at this time. He certainly must have an idea as to why she was going, for he'd found Polidori's notes, but his timing, as always, was disgustingly perfect. It was a boon for him that she had sent Verbena ahead with the bulk of her luggage and some furnishings, in order to get her cabin arranged on the ship; otherwise, he would have had to find a way to get rid of her too. The bloody thing was, he would have succeeded.
"Courtship? That's a rather strong word for what I had in mind."
He must have chosen his position in the carriage purposely so as to keep his face in as much shadow as possible. Again. She needed to make a point of meeting him sometime in full daylight.
"Whatever it is you had in mind," she replied coolly, "will have to be interrupted while I am gone. Unless you planned on finishing it during the ride to the docks?"
Her gentle taunt surprised her as much as it surprised him, if the widening of his eyes and sudden grin were any indication.
"Well, now," he said, swinging his feet to the floor and sitting upright. "That wasn't particularly the reason I slipped into your carriage, Victoria… but if you insist, I'm more than happy to oblige."
"I was merely attempting to understand why you would have invaded my carriage as I was leaving the country. I did not mean to suggest that I would go along with it."
His eyes were no longer shadowed; now she could see their rich amber, and the interest that glittered there. "Of course you did not, Victoria. At least, with your words. The rest of you says otherwise… However, I am sorry to inform you that despite my extreme interest in picking up where we left off last summer… in a very similar setting," he added, gesturing to include the interior of the carriage, "I did not invade, as you call it, your carriage for that reason. I did not want to call on you for fear of being seen—"
"By whom?"
He shrugged, spreading those well-formed hands that looked as though they'd never done a day's work. "By anyone. I don't know who or what is still lurking about, and I thought it would be best if we continued, for all intents and purposes, not to know each other."
"I think it is merely an excuse for you to find mysterious ways of suddenly appearing." Victoria glanced out the window. "We are nearly to the docks. If you have something you wish to say to me, now would be a good time to stop prevaricating and do so, please, Sebastian."
"I do love to hear you ask so prettily. Perhaps if I declined, you might be consigned to beg? I thought not." He settled back against the seat. "I neglected to tell you something else I learned about Polidori when I took care of things. He wore the brand of the Tutela. He was a member of the Tutela."
"Brand?"
"A symbol printed on the skin. It is called a tattoo, and it is made with ink and cannot be obliterated. He had the symbol of an ornate T intertwined with a snake on his upper arm, the historical symbol of the Tutela. The hound that is on the amulet is the symbol of the new movement rising in Italy."
"Now I understand. The vampires and demons were after Polidori because he left the Tutela, and because they were afraid he would tell their secrets. Perhaps he knew more about Akvan's Obelisk than he'd written in his notes."
"I would think." He glanced out the window, then back to her. "I was not informed that he was a member of the Tutela when I was first asked to assist him in getting back to England. It wasn't until later, when I disposed of the body, that I discovered it."
"But that means he could very well have been the one who dropped the amulet at Claythorne."
"I would think so… unless there were other Tutela members there. But if so, they would not have been so frightened of the vampires. And there is one more thing. I suspect, although I am not certain, that Byron might also be one of them."
"Lord Byron… yes, that might make sense. Byron and Polidori were so close, and then suddenly they are no longer friends, and Polidori leaves Italy."
"An acquaintance with Byron could be the entrée you need to find the Tutela, for that can be the only reason you are going to Italy. Unless it is to visit with your colleague Maximilian."
She looked at him. "Do you know anything about Max?"
"I know quite a lot about the man… what precisely would you like to know?"
"Your obtuseness does not become you," she snapped. She could smell fish, the approach of the sea, and hear the caw of seagulls. Because of the nature of their journey, Aunt Eustacia had booked them passage on a cargo ship headed directly to Italy, rather than a packet that would take them from Dover to Normandy and require an overland trip across the Continent. She felt it would give them anonymity from any Tutela members, and make it less likely that they would be followed or otherwise interrupted during their journey.
"My aunt has not heard from Max for months. I don't know how or where you get your information, but if you have heard anything about him, I wish you would tell me."
"Always wanting something from me, aren't you?" Then the last vestiges of humor vanished from his face. "I wondered why it wasn't he who was handling the problems with the Tutela. I have heard nothing, but that does not mean there is nothing to hear. You fear he is dead?"
"I don't know. My aunt says he has been silent for more than eight months. Well, we are here," Victoria said, looking out the window. "Than
k you for giving me this information, Sebastian. I will take your suggestion and start with Byron when I reach Venice. You could have sent it in a note, rather than troubling yourself to visit me personally."
Again that smile. "But it is so difficult for me to resist an excuse to see you."
She sent him a withering glance, then looked away, working hard to ignore the deep, squirming sensations in her belly. "I'm sure you were pining away all the last year during your convenient disappearance."
"No… I was allowing you to grieve."
Those words, simple and stark, made her look back up at him. He'd moved closer, it seemed; perhaps he was sitting on the edge of his seat, perhaps he was leaning forward… or perhaps the carriage had merely shrunk again.
He did not appear to be waiting for her response, or holding his breath for her to react. He was just looking at her as though to fill his eyes with her countenance. She realized with a start that her fingers were trembling and, glancing down, she clasped them together in her lap. "I certainly did not expect such sensitivity from you," she said, keeping her voice even.
Suddenly she didn't want to go. It would be lonely there in Venice, with no one but Verbena and Oliver with her, and Aunt Eustacia, of course; but she would not be living with her aunt. They must pretend not to know each other, for fear the Tutela would identify Victoria as a Venator.
She didn't wholly trust Sebastian, yet at least they had a kinship of sorts. At least he made her feel… something. Alive. Attractive.
And when he looked at her the way he was doing now, he made her feel as if she were something more than a hunter, a warrior.
"I do not wish to disappoint you, my dear," he said, his voice dry, "but my benevolence was rather more self-serving than you might think."
The carriage had long since stopped, and Victoria could feel the jolts and jerks as Oliver removed the last of her luggage from the vehicle. She heard the shouts, the calls, the thuds of cargo being lifted and set none too gently on the docks.
Victoria looked at Sebastian, saw the way his face had closed, and wondered what he was retreating from this time. Perhaps the intensity of real emotions was too much for him. Arching an eyebrow, she followed his lead and replied, "You? Self-serving? Never say it!"
"Of course. The reason was, of course, that even I could not expect… recompense… for my services and assistance until some worthwhile event presented itself. As it did with Polidori, and now."
Victoria felt the flush starting to creep up from her bosom to her throat. She stopped it by donning an aura of annoyance. "You wish compensation for your information regarding Polidori?"
"Have we not always had such an understanding?"
"You have had the understanding, not I. What is it—do you wish to see my vis bulla again?"
He smiled, such a feral grin that Victoria felt an acute stab in her belly. "I have seen it, and kissed it, as you well know." The words, the reminder, seemed to take up all the air in the carriage. Victoria felt her palms go damp and her face warm. His voice matched his smile. "In fact, my price has gone up."
"You must be utterly joking." She had to pull indignation about her in order to cover up the varied, frightening emotions that ran rampant through her. Words, arguments, logic failed her, and all she could think of to say was, "I am about to get on a ship to Italy!" Her words were barely audible over the screeches of the gulls and the shouts of sailors.
"I will be happy to accept a down payment." He had hardly blinked during the last moments, holding her there with his eyes. "I'm certain, based on your past demonstrations, that it will be no great hardship."
She could have argued, could have mocked him right back, could have become affronted… but she did none of those things. She deliberately chose not to; chose to take matters into her own hands as, in other areas of her life, she'd become used to doing.
Her breathing seemed to swell and fill her as she moved toward him. She leaned off the seat, her hands reaching for his shoulders, fingers curving around the fine linen broadcloth that shaped him.
He tasted like the clove that scented his clothes, and felt soft and slick and dangerous. It wasn't an easy kiss, a delicate buss of lip to lip. It wasn't gentle or tentative. It was hot and needy, the undamming of controlled desire.
When Victoria returned to herself, breaking the connection, she found her face close to his, held by her hands on the back of his head. He looked at her with an odd expression, then gently released her from his embrace around her upper arms.
"That will certainly do as a start." Despite the light words, his voice guttered like a candle flame in a pool of wax. "I shall be looking forward to collecting the balance."
She smoothed his tawny hair, made more wild by her reckless fingers. "You will have to wait a long time for that, Sebastian." And she slipped from the carriage.
Chapter 9
In Which Mrs. Emmaline Withers Annoys an Italian Contessa
Venice, Victoria learned, was not at its most pleasant in the late summer months. Although it was late September when she arrived at last, it was still hot and sunny. The city itself, shaped like a large fish with its tail pointing toward the Adriatic Sea, evoked dreaminess and calm with its bright gondolas easing up and down the canals. But the stench of refuse rising from the water was made worse by the heat.
"I fussed 'bout the smell o' London when it's hot," Verbena complained, checking to make sure Victoria's handbag included a small vial of salted holy water. Ever since her mistress had been bitten by a vampire and had to have the wound treated with salted holy water, Verbena had made it her responsibility to ensure Victoria always carried some. "This city is worse! Why, with the dead fish floatin' in the streets and the muck o' seaweed and that smelly green stuff that grows on top o' the water, I can't know why anyone would live here in the summer! But that Oliver. He says it ain't so bad, and he thinks the city ain't any smellier than a farm is. Well, that's a country boy for ye. He like as left his nose back on the farm in Cornwall."
She shook her head and replaced Victoria's reticule on her dressing table. "I still don' understand why m' cousin Barth didn't leave his hackney wi' someone else and come with us, instead of sendin' his friend Oliver. He might not be the best driver—Oliver takes a bit more care in my opinion—but he's certainly got his head on straight when it comes to them vampires. Wearin' his cross and carryin' holy water and a stake. He'd'a been a better man-about-town for us than this green'un from the farms."
"Oliver seems a gentle sort, for all his size," Victoria ventured. "Has he been giving you any trouble?"
"Trouble? Not him, no, my lady, trouble's the least thing he gives me. He's too accom'datin' is what he is. Always askin' what's to be done, how can he help. I say he's a green boy from the country and never been to the city before, and it shows." Verbena had moved to stand behind her mistress and began to comb through the long stream of curls. "I shudder to think what'd happen if he actu'lly saw a vampire… he'd prob'ly ask'm in for tea! Hmmph. Now, for yer debut here't'night, we must take care ye're lookin' yer best, my lady. An' I'm puttin' at least two stakes in your hair, just in th' case of runnin' into a vampire. Who knows if they're out 'n' about tonight."
"I haven't felt any sensation of their presence since we arrived," Victoria replied. "Not one cool breeze to the back of the neck except when it comes in from the sea. I'm beginning to wonder if the Tutela is here in Venice at all. And don't you always ensure that I look my best?" Victoria added with a fond smile.
She was in a happy mood tonight, the first time in a long time she felt like enjoying herself at a social event. Their first week in Venice had been slow and frustrating. They'd had to set up the household, announce their presence to any and all English expatriates, and wait for invitations.
In the evenings she'd been forced to sit in the house and practice her kalaripayattu in the parlor, for she didn't know the city well enough to patrol it in search of vampires. And there was the added complication that half of the street
s were not streets but canals.
But at last Victoria had been asked to attend a gathering at none other than Lord Byron's home. She hadn't expected to have such success so quickly: a tea here, a dinner party there, before she made a connection with Byron. But apparently her mention of Dr. Polidori's untimely death had garnered her the entree into Byron's society she needed.
"Y' know I do m' best, my lady," Verbena said. "Not that it's a har'ship to make ye look beaut'ful. Ye've got that lovely skin, like a pret' pale rose, and them big green-brown eyes. An' all this hair! Who could find fault with this hair?"
"There have been times when I've thought of cutting it," Victoria confessed as her maid sectioned off a piece for her coiffure. "It gets in the way when I am fighting."
"Ye can't!" Verbena exclaimed, her blue eyes goggling like cornflowers in full bloom. "I willn't allow it, my lady. I'll find a way to dress't so it cannot fall int' your face. An' asides… if ye cut it, how can I put yer stakes in there? Nothin' to hold 'em up, then, if you cut it all off short! I know as some ladies are doin' it, but I won't let my mistress."
Verbena's chatter did not ease as she finished coiffing and dressing Victoria. This was lovely for her mistress, as it allowed her to sink into a quiet reverie that was pestered only by an occasional too-hard pull on her hair, or a pin stuck in too tightly, or a direction such as, "Now stand," or, "Raise your arms, my lady."
Unfortunately, her thoughts wanted to center on that last interlude with Sebastian in the carriage, and the way he'd looked at her when he'd said, I was giving you time to grieve.
Even now, remembering that look made her stomach feel like a ball of dough being kneaded. Not that she'd ever kneaded a ball of dough, but when she was young, she'd seen Landa, the cook at home in Grantworth House, do it with such verve and enthusiasm that she rather thought it must feel like her stomach.
But she would never stop grieving, not completely. The pain would ease, she would move on with her life—she already had, in a sense—but the grief would never completely go away. It would always mark her, somehow.