"I believe they would suffer terrible burns, but they would be unlikely to die unless overexposed."
"And what of flame?" Victoria asked, remembering last summer, when she and Max had been trapped with vampires in a burning building. "Would that also burn them?"
Polidori brushed crumbs from the corner of his mouth. "Flames from a fire do not harm a vampire, at least"—he gave a gentle laugh—"in my imagination."
And in reality as well. Victoria thought it quite interesting that Polidori seemed to have an accurate knowledge of the bloodthirsty creatures.
"Dr. Polidori is lately returned from Italy." Sebastian's comment was directed to Miss Berkley.
"Italy? I have never been, but I have heard that Rome and Venice are lovely cities. Where in Italy did you travel?" asked Gwendolyn.
"I spent much of my time in Venice with Byron, until several months ago, when we parted ways. He felt he did not need the personal services of a physician any longer." he added with a self-deprecating smile. "I traveled throughout the country and then returned to England near the beginning of the year."
Victoria's attention was drawn from the physician-turned-author to Mr. Starcasset, when he leaned closer and said, "I shall promise you, Lady Rockley, that the gentlemen will not leave you ladies long alone in the parlor after dinner. I am hoping you might partner me in a game of whist this evening, as my sister claims you are a devilish good player!"
"Does she indeed?" Victoria replied, trying to recall if she had ever played whist with Gwendolyn. She didn't believe she had; so now she wondered whether Mr. Starcasset had her confused with some other lady, or whether he was merely attempting to make an attachment to her. Smothering a smile, she turned back to him with a demure look and said, "I should be quite pleased to be your partner in whist, if you will agree to sing when Gwendolyn sits at the pianoforte. She has spoken quite often of your pleasing voice!"
He smiled down at her, his teeth wide and white, and his eyes warm. "I think I must call you on that exaggeration, madam, as Gwendolyn scarcely allows any of her siblings to sing whilst she plays… but I will happily make the attempt, if all for your hand at cards."
Indeed, Starcasset made quite well on his promise, ushering the men from their cigars and brandy back into the parlor with the ladies less than thirty minutes after they had separated following the end of the meal. A rousing game of whist ensued, with he and Victoria partners, playing across from Miss Berkley and Mr. Vandecourt.
Victoria, who was not known for her excellence at cards, despite Starcasset's claims to the contrary, managed to keep from embarrassing herself… even when Sebastian happened to stroll along behind her and peer over her shoulder as though to ascertain whether her mediocre playing was due to lack of good cards or skill.
It was also possible he was using the opportunity to look down the bodice of her gown, as he stood behind her for quite a long enough time, but since he already was acquainted with exactly what it covered, she rather doubted he would need to stare quite so long.
Victoria felt her face warm at the memory that this man behind her—who, by all outward appearance, was a stranger to her… had actually had his long-fingered hands on her bare skin. And she had allowed it.
"I believe I am quite finished with whist," she said calmly, as the last hand of the second game ended and she stood from her seat. "Perhaps Gwendolyn and her brother will entertain us at the pianoforte."
The Starcasset siblings obliged her request, and their lovely duets soon ebbed into a more rousing set of country songs. The others joined in with the singing, and imbibed more brandy and sherry, and soon Gwendolyn's fair cheeks were flushed, Miss Berkley was fluttering her eyelashes quite noticeably at Sebastian, and Victoria was feeling cheerier than she had for months.
But when she saw the way Mr. Vandecourt hovered near Gwendolyn, solicitously assisting her to rearrange the pillow on which she sat, and the way his expression softened when he looked at her, Victoria felt a wave of loneliness. It had been that way with Phillip. So kind, so thoughtful, so handsome… she had lost him so very quickly.
Even once she moved beyond this grief that would rear up when she least expected it, grabbing her by the throat when she thought she'd kept it at bay, she would not be able to think about finding a husband or having children. She'd never be able to be like Gwendolyn, happy to be in love, planning a family life, looking forward to the next Season.
Thus was the life she'd chosen, and Victoria was not bitter about it. She'd done it for the right reasons, and the freedoms she received, the things she learned, the ability to rely upon and protect herself were compensation enough.
But there were times, like now, seeing her happy friend, that she realized how deep the sacrifice had been.
"Lady Rockley, is something the matter?" asked George Starcasset, who had stepped away from the pianoforte to move to her side. "May I offer you a breath of air on the patio? You look a bit warm."
"No, thank you, sir," she replied. "I fear it is simply that I am fatigued from the ride from London. I believe I will excuse myself and say good night."
"Of course. Perhaps you will feel better in the morning. Good evening."
Victoria bade the others good night and left the revelry still in progress. The last things she noticed as she left the room were Miss Berkley and Sebastian in a'tête-à-tête in the corner by the whist cards, and Mr. Starcasset's gentle blue gaze trailing her movements.
Back in her room, Verbena helped her to prepare for bed. She seemed unaware of her mistress's pensive mood, instead filling what would have been silence with giddy observations about the male species of Claythorne's staff. One in particular seemed to have caught her attention, and Verbena waxed poetically about the underbutler during the entire time it took to unpin Victoria's hair, brush it, and braid it into one wrist-sized plait.
"That will be all tonight," Victoria said, slipping beneath the covers of her bed. "Now take yourself off and see if you can find the impressive John Golon and bat your eyelashes at him a bit."
Despite her relatively early departure from the party downstairs, Victoria was certain she wouldn't find sleep easily. But the next thing she knew she was awakened by a sudden dip on the bed next to her.
She came fully awake and felt the movements of the large body on the mattress as hands groped toward her own person.
"Lady Rockley. Vi'toria."
Along with the low murmuring of her name came a waft of spirits. It was so strong it had Victoria turning away and holding her breath. A hand brushed over her face, and another along her arm… alarmingly close to her bosom.
"Mr. Starcasset? What are you doing here?" Slipping away from his grasp, she slid from the bed and lit a candle. The illumination was enough to show him blundering about in the blankets, then the lifting of his glassy-eyed face.
"V'toria… if I may c-call you that," he said, the syllables meshing into one another in a strange cadence. "I knew it… I knew the signs…"
"Mr. Starcasset, I can't imagine what you are talking about, but you are completely foxed." Victoria nearly had to laugh at the bemused, earnest expression on his face. Perhaps she should be affronted by the man's impropriety, but at the moment he appeared so completely harmless and befuddled that she could almost find the humor in it. The very proper George Starcasset would be mortified if he realized his inebriated self had barged into a lady's bedchamber in the middle of the night.
Certainly it was a common occurrence at house parties such as this one. Victoria had no illusions about the purpose of large parties set on an estate in the country—they were often the perfect excuse and opportunity for illicit trysts. But for some reason she did not picture George Starcasset as one who sneaked about, looking for a chance to tryst.
It simply appeared he had imbibed more than enough brandy after she had gone upstairs. Perhaps the overindulgence was to build up his courage… perhaps it was merely that he'd played too many games of whist.
Or perhaps he got lost on the way to his room. Victoria stifled a soft laugh.
There was nothing left for it. She had to get him out of her room and, hopefully, back to his… or at least to a different area of the house.
A quick glance down reminded her that traipsing around a strange household dressed in a frothy nightgown of little more than French lace and silk was not a prudent thing. With a glance at her late-night visitor, who appeared to have found comfort in her pillows, she pulled a pelisse from the wardrobe where Verbena had hung it, slipped her arms in, and buttoned the three buttons tightly over the bodice. She had to tug on the sleeves of her nightgown to adjust them beneath the narrow sleeves of the pelisse so they didn't bunch up. The cut of the long coat would do little to hide the long silk skirts of her nightgown, but at least her bosom would be covered. Snatching a pair of slippers, she tucked her feet into them and turned back to the bed.
"Come along, dear Mr. Starcasset. I suppose after this I. can call you George… at least for tonight." She giggled and tugged him off the bed. Thanks to her exceptional strength, it was no difficult task to pull him to his feet and sling an arm about his waist. He was beginning to lose track of his eyes; they would focus on her, then suddenly roll up into his head… then come back down and look at her again.
It wouldn't be long before he was out, and so she must move quickly to get him out of there. She could only imagine the horror on his face if he awoke the next morning in her room.
Smiling at the thought, Victoria walked him to the door and out into the hallway. She held the candle in one hand and half lifted, half dragged him with her other arm around his waist.
He was a bit taller than she, and his head began to loll alarmingly. Victoria realized she had no idea where his room was, or even which wing of the house it would be in. So she opted for the safest, easiest route: the library immediately belowstairs.
Thump, thump, thump… She directed him down the sixteen steps and by the time they got to the bottom she was dragging him, as he'd lost the battle with his eyes and neck. His head hung, bobbing easily, and when she peered down to look, his eyes were nearly closed, the lids fluttering as though he were dreaming behind them. His pale blond hair fell in a thick swoop over one temple, and his mouth made the slightest gap. Probably not the way he would want her to see him, Victoria thought, and smiled again, thankful that he would likely not remember much of what occurred. Thus if she said nothing, his pride would be salvaged.
