The Rest Falls Away

Chapter Nineteen The Marquess Cuts In

Something pulled at her, nudging her into semiconsciousness. It was too difficult… she couldn't drag her eyes open.

"Victoria!"

There it was again—that hissing voice, bothering her.

Then suddenly she came awake, remembered the Guardians and the Imperial, Sebastian and his coach.

But even with her eyes open, she saw nothing. Blackness. The voice was closer, but she didn't know whose it was… it was too low. She made her mouth move. "Here."

Something was covering her, wrapped around her so that she couldn't move and could barely breathe. No wonder she hadn't wanted to wake up… it was much too difficult to try to draw in air under this heavy cloth. But she had to.

Stealthy movement told her someone was coming toward her. Then hands were moving, pulling at the knots, stripping the ties away, and finally plucking the stifling woolen cloth from her face.

Victoria had never felt anything so wonderful as those deep, clean breaths of air… despite the fact that they were laced with the stench of rotting fish. She was not complaining.

"Max. How did you get here?" she asked, even as she pulled herself to her feet, checking for stakes. They appeared to be in a warehouse, and based on quiet lapping sounds below, not to mention the odors, it was near the wharves.

"They're coming back for you anytime; let's go," he said, grabbing her arm. "The sun will rise in less than an hour, so they will hurry."

He led the way out of the room and she followed, shaking off his grip and trying to figure out how he'd found her. She must not have been unconscious for long if the sun hadn't risen yet.

Once outside, Victoria took in greater breaths tinged with the scent of seaweed and salt. Much better.

A hackney was waiting around the corner from the warehouse, and Victoria recognized it as Barth's. She looked at Max, but he was already answering her. "When you didn't show up at your meeting place, Barth came and found me. I learned the rest from Sebastian. Climb in."

He stepped in after her, and the hackney took off with an enthusiastic lurch. Barth was just as ready to call it a night as Victoria.

"They were taking me to see Lilith," Victoria told him. "Why did they leave me there? Why didn't they just take me right to her?"

"I can only guess, Victoria, since I wasn't there and am not, unfortunately, privy to their plans… but I would assume it was because they weren't certain of her location or whether she was quite available to… eh… receive you."

She settled back in her seat, thankful that for whatever reason, she hadn't been brought face-to-face with the queen of the vampires whilst unconscious and wrapped up in a heavy black cloth. She would meet Lilith someday, but Victoria truly hoped it would be more on her terms than on Lilith's.

The last thing Victoria wanted to do was attend the party celebrating the Duke of Mullington's fiftieth birthday. But she had no choice.

Her mother was in a fine fettle, for she'd realized that it had indeed been over a sennight since the Marquess of Rockley had called on his betrothed. Victoria had been avoiding the subject and hiding in her room, trying to figure out just what to tell her, but that had only added fuel to the fire of her mother's concern. There was no way on earth Melly was going to allow the engagement to be broken. Rockley was too fine a match to let go. He'd asked for Victoria, and her mother was going to see to it that he would take her.

Thus, on a sticky summer evening, Lady Melly herded her daughter to the Grantworth carriage and watched with a tapping foot as the groom helped her climb aboard. She clambered in after her and settled on the seat across the way.

"Your maid did a fine job dressing your hair this evening, Victoria," she commented. "Though she seems rather obsessed with those sticks in your coiffure. Why does she not use feathers or beads instead of those Chinese objects?" The ones tonight were painted with pink-and-green swirling designs, Verbena's own creation, of which the maid was quite proud.

"She likes to try different styles," Victoria replied, hoping to stave off a long lecture. "I think it looks rather unique."

Fortunately Melly seemed to accept the comment, and turned her attention to fussing with her own gown and fan and indispensable, digging the thick white invitation from its depths and reviewing it once again, and murmuring to herself that it was quite a feat for Duke Mullington to have actually attained the age of fifty, with all of his sins and vices.

Her daughter forbore to mention that his sins, great as they might be, were nothing compared to those of others socializing about London.

Victoria's gown was spring-green silk, a bit heavy for such a warm night, but fashion was fashion. Silk looked and felt expensive, and, according to Lady Melly, Rockley's betrothed must be dressed appropriately. For she was still the fiancee of the marquess, and Melly would ensure she looked every inch of it. Small pink and white rosebuds, trimmed with dark green leaves, blossomed in the lace along her bodice, at the cap sleeves on her arms, and along the furrows of trim near the bottom of the skirt. Now, in the coach, Victoria held a crocheted pink wrap bundled in her lap, and a matching pink indispensable. Her gloves were dark green.

Victoria knew she looked well; if only she felt it. It was all she could do to listen to her mother prattle on about how she must act if she saw Phillip—no, she must think of him as Rockley again—at the ball; how she must be demure and polite and a hint mysterious so as to recapture his attention—if it were indeed waning.

Of course, Lady Melly didn't understand what Victoria had been trying to tell her—his interest hadn't waned so much as evaporated. Poof!

The ride to the Mullingtons' seemed both interminable and much too brief. Victoria was weary from a week of forays into the night, and the events of early this morning in Sebastian's coach and at the hands of the Imperials and Guardians had left her feeling a bit off.

In fact, although she dreaded what would happen when she came face-to-face with Rockley, she was rather relieved to be thrust into what promised to be an evening of normalcy, when she could eat and drink, dance and flirt, gossip and jest with people who didn't have red eyes and long fangs.

Or angelic golden features and very naughty kisses.

Verbena had outfitted her with her stakes, of course, and there was the chance that a stray vampire might show him- or herself at the ball… but it was unlikely, for Mullington House had formerly been an abbey and bore religious relics and symbols throughout, including at the entrance gate. Along with what Sebastian had told her about the vampires holing up in the Chalice due to Victoria's aggressive hunting, she felt certain that it would be an uneventful night. But she was prepared nevertheless.

Sebastian. Victoria felt alternately ill, confused, and uncomfortably warm when she thought about him and what had transpired. He'd kissed her bosom! And she'd let him… enjoyed it, in fact. Quite enjoyed it. Quite, quite enjoyed it.

Even now, at the memory, a gush of warmth reminded her how dangerous and warm and titillating it had been to have those moist lips brushing over her private skin. How, even as it had been happening, she'd struggled with the right and wrong of it. And that it had been no hardship at all to kiss him back.

Had he really delivered her to those vampires?

She couldn't believe he would do that… yet it had happened so smoothly. And… the thing that bothered her most—the things, actually—were, first, that he did not deny it; and second, that he seemed to know they'd arrived just before the carriage had stopped. Just about the time Victoria felt the telltale chill at the back of her neck and sensed that they were in trouble.

"Victoria, stop your woolgathering. We've arrived, and you haven't arranged your shawl!"

Oh, yes, the shawl. She must arrange her shawl.

Victoria stood as straight as she could in the carriage, tilting her head so her hair nearly brushed its roof. She drew the wrap around her shoulders, then let it slip just so to her elbows. The coach staggered as it moved ahead in the line of vehicles waiting to unload the guests, causing her to lurch to one side. She readjusted her wrap and waited, feet spread in an unladylike manner to give her stability.

"Sit down, Victoria," her mother said impatiently.

"I'll stand. We are almost to the head of the line." She was suddenly too jumpy to sit and wait passively. Her stomach twisted and leaped. She knew Rockley would be here tonight. He might have avoided his other societal obligations in the last two weeks, but he would be here. The Mullingtons were distant cousins.

At last she alighted from the warm carriage and into the humid air. The sun had nearly set, sending a pink glow radiating from the horizon, but night's blue-gray tint had already colored the rooftops and stone walls in the distance. Sconces and lamps sent a warm yellow glow over the brick walkway to the grand entrance of the home, open to guests.

When they were announced, Victoria swept her eyes over the crush of guests below the sweeping foyer staircase. She did not see Phillip, thank heaven. Perhaps he hadn't arrived yet. Or perhaps he wasn't going to come at all.

Gwendolyn Starcasset was there, and she greeted Victoria as though she were a long-lost friend. Perhaps she was; Victoria hadn't thought about it recently, but she and Gwendolyn had shared some enjoyable conversation at past events. "How good it is to see you, Victoria!" said the diminutive blond. "I have missed standing on the sidelines with you and discussing the best way to make our picks from the eligibles. But you, of course, have made the match of the Season, so you mustn't worry about that any longer!"

"Indeed." Those two syllables were difficult to bring forth, but Victoria did manage. Why hadn't Phillip posted the announcement in the Times? Why cause her this agony of waiting for that shoe to fall? As soon as it did, she would be ostracized. And then she could stop making these appearances at balls and musicales, and concentrate on hunting vampires.

After all, that was her destiny. That was why she'd given up Phillip.

"My brother George was greatly disappointed to hear that Rockley had claimed your hand. He was quite taken with you at the Steerings' ball."

"And what of your prospects?" asked Victoria, trying to keep from glancing toward the main entrance. She really didn't want to see Rockley anyway. Surely he would cut her, and she would be mortified. Not to mention Lady Melly.

Oh, lud, why hadn't she made sure her mother understood what had happened?

Gwendolyn chattered away about the three eligible men who'd shown interest, until one of them claimed her for a dance. Victoria would have tried to slip off to the room being used as the ladies' lounge, but she did not have a chance. Sir Everett Campington approached and, bowing most elegantly, requested her to join him for the quadrille.

Glad to have something to do other than try not to stare at the main entrance, Victoria agreed and actually found herself beginning to enjoy the lively movement of the quadrille. She and Sir Everett stepped together, then apart, then promenaded down between a row of other couples. Victoria twirled and swirled, curtsied and spun, and realized after a while that she was smiling.

There was only one moment during the dance when she forgot herself, and that was when she and Sir Everett did one particularly enthusiastic spin, linked elbow to elbow. Victoria forgot that she was much stronger than he, and sent her dance partner stumbling across the floor with the force of her movement.

It was when he returned and they linked arms again, this time side by side, that she looked up and laughed in pure pleasure, then executed a turn that sent her facing the cluster of people standing on the edge of the floor. And whirled right past Phillip.

Victoria didn't even stumble. She wasn't sure how she managed that, but she was thankful beyond belief. When the dance ended, Sir Everett looked down at her and asked, "Shall we find Rockley? I'm certain he will want to claim the next dance."

"Oh, I had rather hoped for something to drink," Victoria replied airily, firmly facing in the direction away from where she'd seen Phillip. "I'm not certain whether Rockley has even arrived tonight."

Sir Everett bowed in acquiescence, and if he knew she was lying, he was too gentlemanly to correct her. "Of course, Miss Grantworth. Let us find some punch."

Victoria managed to keep herself very busy for the next thirty minutes. She danced with three other gentlemen, including Gwendolyn's brother, who was just as blond and pretty as his sister. She drank at least six glasses of punch, thankfully, for with all the exertion of dancing on such a hot evening, she was thirsty. And because of those six glasses of punch, she was obligated to visit the necessary twice.

But at last she could avoid the confrontation no longer.

Just as she was turning to walk onto the dance floor with Lord Waverley, a calm voice stopped her in her tracks.

"Waverley, I believe this dance is mine."

She turned, her throat suddenly dry when she tried to swallow. "Rockley." She tried to sound delighted but failed miserably.

Lud, but he looked… handsome, defeated, irritated, tired… familiar. Comfortable. His eyes might be a bit heavier-lidded, the blue in them might be a little colder, his mouth might be thinner. But he was still Phillip. And he was holding out a bent arm for her to take.

She took it, sliding her green-gloved hand around it in a gentle grip. They walked away from Waverley without another word to him or to each other.

It was a waltz. Of course.

He spun her perhaps a bit too quickly, too abruptly, into the waltz position, square in the center of the room, as if to be sure everyone saw them. And they began to dance.

Victoria kept her attention focused over his shoulder; she was afraid to meet his eyes. The irony of the situation didn't fail to amuse her, somewhere deep inside where she couldn't laugh: She had no qualms about facing two, three, even eight deadly vampires… but to look in the eyes of the man she loved took more courage than she had at that time.

After two full turns about the dance floor, he said, "It might be nice if you looked at me, Victoria. Perhaps even smiled a bit. People will begin to talk."

She obliged by looking up, but could not form much of a smile.

"You look very beautiful tonight," he told her, holding her eyes for a moment even as he executed a perfect maneuver around a couple who were out of time with the music. "It's no wonder you had no shortage of dance partners."

One… two—three; one… two—three… There was nothing between them but the count of the music and the sense of unfinished business.

"I expected you to cut me. Why did you ask me to dance?"

His eyebrows rose and his eyelids lifted. "In the eyes of Society you are still my fiancee, Victoria. I was not about to let you waltz with someone else."

"Then why do we not put an end to what Society thinks, Phillip? There is no sense in prolonging it. You will be free to court whomever you like, and I'll be free to do what I like."

Her unanswered question hung between them until the dance ended. Phillip released her hand and shifted the arm that had been around her waist to allow her to grip his elbow again, then led her off the floor. "Would you care for some fresh air? You look a bit flushed."

She was flushed, and—heaven forbid!—perspiring from all of the activity. "Yes, that would be lovely." She dug out her fan, snapped it open, and began to wave it in hopes of drying the gentle moisture on her bosom.

They paused near the edge of the dance floor to obtain two small glasses of iced tea, or what had been iced tea until the heat turned it lukewarm. Sipping the sweet drink, Victoria allowed Phillip to escort her through the doorless entrances hung with vines of clematis to keep the flies out but let the fresh air in. He brushed aside the leafy, flowering strands and she stepped out into the welcome air.

Instead of stopping on the terrace where the potted gardenias and roses added scent and color to the evening, Phillip drew her along with him past the end of the brick terrace and down one of the four paths that spiked from it.

As his healthy stride slowed to a stroll and he remained silent, Victoria could hold back no longer. "Why have you not posted the announcement in the Times?"

"I have been wondering the same thing about you."

"But… thank you. That's very kind of you to help me save face. But it's no matter to me."

They had walked quite far from the party, and Victoria was just about to speak again when they rounded a bend in the pea-gravel path and came upon a small arbor. A stone bench sat under the archway, and more clematis and climbing roses were tangled in it.

Victoria thought Phillip meant for her to sit when he slid his arm from her grip, but as she moved toward the bench, he pulled her back—and into his arms.

He kissed her… oh, he kissed her. She recognized there the same emotion she'd felt upon seeing him again: familiarity, comfort, and something new… need. It told her all she needed to know.

After a long interval, in which she found her fingers loosening the hair clubbed at the nape of his neck and her belly pulled up against his, Phillip pulled back and looked down at her. "I have missed you. I meant to stay away and let you do what you would tonight, for I have no further claim to you, but in the end, I could not. And it wasn't because of what Society thinks. It was because of what I wanted."

Victoria blinked rapidly. "I've missed you too, Phillip. I checked the paper every day, sure that the announcement would appear. And it never did."

"I thought you would be the one to cry off."

"But I did not. Phillip, you said…" She stepped back and he let the hands clasped at the base of her back release. "Nothing has changed. I cannot tell you what you wish to know."

"I have been thinking—doing much thinking at my club, riding through the park at dawn, in my study." His smile was crooked. "In all of the places that I would be certain not to run into you."

She smiled back. She'd been doing the same… in all the places she was certain not to run into him, like the streets of St. Giles after midnight. The bowels of London.

"You mentioned destiny. Your destiny. You said it was indelible, unchangeable. But Victoria, I do not believe destiny is a fixed thing. There is some choice that comes with it.

"For example. I was destined to love you—I know that is true, for I never forgot you from that summer. I did not even think to seek a wife until this Season… and you were in mourning for two years after you should have come out. As if you were waiting for me, and for the right time. Or as if I were waiting for you… to be ready.

"My destiny is to love you. But I have a choice as to how I can fulfill this certain thing, this destiny. I can love you and be with you, or I can love you from afar. After tonight it became clear to me that I cannot love you from afar. That I must love you with me." He took her hands and raised them, gloves and all, to kiss the backs of them, looking at her over them as he did so.

"Phillip—"

He moved her hands up to press against her mouth. "Victoria. Whatever is your destiny, you do have some choice. You can decide how to handle it, whether to embrace it or fight it. Whether to share it or hide it."

"Phillip, I swear to you… I swear that this thing between us is nothing that I can change and nothing that I can tell you about. But…" It was her turn to press gloved fingers to his mouth to keep him from responding. "But if you will still have me, I can promise you that I will make the choice to balance that part of my life with the life we'll build together. That is the part of my legacy that I can control."

Closing his fingers around her wrist, he tugged her hand away from his mouth. "Then, since there is not and could never be anyone for me but you, Victoria, we will have to let our destinies live together."

And he kissed her.