"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 refreshing 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.
"If you are speaking of Lord Rockley, I'm sure it will delight you to learn that I did not."
"Pity."
Victoria considered the stake for a brief, delicious moment, then regretfully rested it on the table. She had four new polished ash stakes, each to be painted a different color so that they could complement her various gowns. Verbena had suggested ivory, pink, pale green, and blue, and was advocating further decoration using flowers, feathers, and beads.
"I didn't dance with him because we attended a musicale, and there was no dancing. But he has asked to call on me." She didn't care if she sounded like a petulant child.
For the first time Max looked up at her. His expression was forbidding. "You are playing dangerously, Victoria."
"Hunting vampires is playing dangerously. Being courted by a rich, handsome man is not. And in either case, I am well able to take care of myself."
Max's gaze dropped pointedly to the side of her neck, where the four red weals had begun to heal. "Your ability to take care of yourself has yet to be conclusively proven; however, that is not what I meant. You are playing dangerously with the marquess and his attentions."
"Why do you begrudge me the pleasure of the company of a perfect gentleman?" Victoria asked. They had begun using each other's familiar names almost immediately after the incident with the Guardian vampires. It felt ridiculous to be formal with someone who hunted the undead in tandem with her. "Is it because you never move in the circles of Society, so you look down upon anyone who does?"
He settled back in his chair and looked at her. The golden liquid in his glass streamed in the light, shifting as he gently moved his wrist in small, circular motions, as if he were thinking how to respond. "Victoria, you completely misunderstand my motivations. I begrudge you nothing. If I had my way, you would have nothing to worry about but the next ball and whether to allow your marquess two dances in one night. But surely you realize that you cannot go on the way you have been."
"I do not understand what you mean." There was a shift in the air now, and the discomfort that always seemed to snap between them had ebbed into something lethally serious.
"I see that you do not." He appeared genuinely surprised. "Victoria, you cannot think to marry the marquess, so why do you continue to play with his affections? It is clear that he is smitten with you. Perhaps not in love, but at least smitten."
"I cannot… Not marry him? I fear it is much too early to be discussing such a possibility, but should it come to pass, there is no reason I could not accept his proposal. I realize that, coming from Italy, you may not understand the machinations of Society here in England, but—"
"It has nothing to do with your position in Society." The level tone was gone from his voice; now he merely sounded angry. "Do not be obtuse, Victoria. You are a Venator. You cannot marry. You cannot even take a lover!"
Though she later berated herself for it, Victoria could not stop her gasp at his words. Warmth billowed up her neck and into her cheeks as she responded, "You needn't be crude!"
"Crude? As if being bitten by a vampire isn't the greatest form of crudeness. Victoria, you are a hunter of violent creatures. You cannot allow yourself to be divided or distracted by something so mundane as a husband or family."
Victoria could hear the return of footfalls. She spoke quickly and quietly. "If I choose to love or marry a man, I will do just that. And I'll continue to kill vampires while I do it."
The door opened and Kritanu strode in, carrying a very large tray. He glanced curiously at Victoria, and then Max, likely noticing the tension in their faces, but he said nothing. Placing the tray on the sideboard near Max, he gestured to the teapot and cups. "Please, Miss Victoria, you may pour your tea and perhaps help yourself to a biscuit."
At Aunt Eustacia's home, it was an informal affair, as they were all treated as equals in the fight against Lilith.
"Eustacia will return momentarily. Our guest has arrived."
"Guest?" Victoria asked, assessing Max. Yes, he'd known—just as he knew the purpose for this meeting, and she did not. Why did everyone appear to know everything except for her?
As she poured her tea, adding a dollop of cream, Victoria stewed. Certainly she was the newest Venator, but Aunt Eustacia had made it clear that she was an instrumental part of the group. Why, then, did the rest of them talk about things that she knew nothing about? Keep information from her?
It was Max. He'd said it earlier—if he had his way, she wouldn't be a Venator; she would have turned away the opportunity to wear the vis bulla and help rid the world of vampires. Why was he so set against her? Merely because she was a woman? And young?
Were they testing her? Keeping things from her until she proved herself?
All of the Venators were equally skilled, and all had the innate skills and sensitivities to fulfill the Legacy once they received their vis bullae. Did Max truly believe she thought of nothing but balls and gowns and beaux? When she knew that there were hideously evil creatures wanting to take over the world?
True, many young women her age did think of little but finding a husband; after all, that was what had been drummed into their heads since the moment they were out of leading strings. But surely he'd seen by now that she was more than just another debutante. After all, she'd staked a Guardian vampire as he was biting her!
The door to the room opened and in walked Eustacia, followed by a tall, sapling-slender woman. She appeared to be several decades younger than Eustacia, but older than Max by a decade or more, and she brought with her an unusual, earthy scent. Her pale blond hair, as fine as the most delicate of silk threads, was gathered away from her face in a decidedly unstylish tail that hung down the center of her back. She wore a flaxen gown that looked more like a night rail; it was floor-length and fell straight from her shoulders to her feet, yet still managed to portray the shape of her body. Her gray-blue eyes glinted intelligently in a pale, serious face, and her lips were a surprisingly vibrant color of pink. She looked ethereal and clear-sighted, as if she could see things that others could not.
"You are Victoria?"
"I am, but I am afraid you have the advantage of me." Victoria didn't know whether to stand and curtsy, or remain seated with her cup of tea as the woman moved to stand in front of her. The earthy scent, which was not unpleasing, followed her.
"Victoria, this is Wayren. She is not a Venator, but she is a valuable help to our cause," Eustacia explained. "She has deep knowledge of ancient cultures, legends, and mysticism through her extensive library. She acts as a resource to us when we need her assistance."
"I'm very pleased to meet you," said Victoria, meaning it.
"Hello, Max," Wayren said, turning. Max stood, and although she was a tall woman, he loomed fully a head taller than she.
He took her hand and raised it to his face, gently brushing it with his cheek instead of his lips, then releasing it. "Wayren, how wonderful to see you again. You look well."
"And so do you, Max," she replied with a smile that transformed her face into one of delight and humor. "It has been well over three years since the last time we worked together. Apparently you are no worse for wear."
