As Shadows Fade gvc-5 Page 2

  “But, Victoria,” Melly continued, “Tretherington House! It’s grander than Westminster, or so they-”

  “If you’re so enamored with Tretherington House, why don’t you set your eyes on him yourself?” asked Victoria. “Then you can be Lady T. You might just as well, Mama, for I don’t believe Jellington will ever come up to snuff.” She rarely called her mother that informal name, but something prompted her to really look at her parent tonight. Perhaps Lady Melly’s incessant desire to see Victoria married-again-stemmed from her own loneliness of widowhood.

  Her mother was a fine-looking woman for her age. With the same dark, curling hair she’d bestowed upon her daughter and a more curvaceous figure, not to mention a more outgoing personality, she’d had her own share of admirers since her husband’s death. One of them, in fact, had been the vampire that Duchess Winnie had been stalking with her ungainly stake that night in Rome.

  Victoria had relieved the duchess of her hunt, slaying the Conte Regalado herself. And shortly thereafter, she’d used her aunt Eustacia’s special gold medallion to relieve Lady Melly, Duchess Winnie, and Lady Nilly of their memories of that particular occasion.

  “I?” Lady Melly looked as though Victoria had suggested she dye her hair green. “But of course not. And, to be sure,” she added coyly, looking at her beau, who was eyeing her from across the room, “Jellington has already proposed to me. Six times.”

  Victoria gaped at her. “Why on earth haven’t you accepted? We could be planning your wedding.”

  Melly tapped Victoria lightly with her folded fan. “But it’s so much more fun to plan yours, my dear. What about Mr. Killington? You already have a title, and he-”

  “Has no hair, and breath so bad I’d swear it’s rotting his teeth. No, thank you, Mother,” Victoria replied, back to the formality.

  “You aren’t serious about that Monsieur Vioget, are you? He hasn’t asked you to marry him, has he?” Melly’s horror had gone from dying her hair green to shaving it all off and dashing through Almack’s naked.

  “As a matter of fact, he has,” Victoria said breezily. “Excuse me, Mother. I think I see…” And she let her voice trail off as she hurried away, grinning at her mother’s dismay.

  To be fair, Sebastian hadn’t actually asked her to marry him. But that didn’t bother Victoria one whit. After what had happened with Phillip, who, like most of London, had been unaware that vampires existed-let alone of his wife’s calling as a Venator-Victoria had realized that she would never marry again. She couldn’t put someone she loved in danger as she had done to Phillip-although men like Sebastian and Max were already in danger by virtue of who they were.

  Just as she was.

  But she’d also recently realized that, as Illa Gardella, and the last of the direct line from Gardeleus, the first Venator, it was incumbent upon her to continue that direct lineage. Certainly, there were far-flung branches of the Gardella family throughout the world, where Venators born to the family legacy were called… but the most powerful of them, and the leader of the vampire hunters, descended only from the direct line. Aunt Eustacia and her brother, Victoria’s grandfather, had been the last two directly descended Venators. But he had declined the legacy, passing his powers on to Lady Melly, who had also chosen not to be a Venator, and who now lived in blissful ignorance of the undead.

  Victoria had received two generations’ worth of Venator skills, and now that Aunt Eustacia was gone, there was only Victoria.

  “Why, Victoria, how lovely you look tonight!” exclaimed Duchess Winnie. Victoria blinked, wondering why she hadn’t noticed her before nearly running into her, for the duchess had chosen a frock in a bright tangerine hue. It blazed like a beacon among the softer pinks and blues and greens of the other attendees.

  And right smack in the middle of the duchess’s massive bosom was an equally massive silver cross.

  Victoria stared at the pendant. She knew the duchess had been known to carry garlic and to wear crosses in an effort to stave off potential vampire attacks, but this was absurd. Duchess Winnie, like the rest of London Society, didn’t know that the undead even existed beyond the fertile imagination of John Polidori. His story, The Vampyre, had taken London by storm a few years ago, and from that had evolved the fashionable superstition of vampires.

  Little did most of London know that vampires weren’t like the mysterious, elegant Lord Ruthven portrayed in Polidori’s work, but bloodthirsty demons who tore into humans with no remorse. Victoria had seen the remnants of vampire attacks, and it wasn’t pretty.

  “That is a lovely cross,” she ventured to the duchess.

  Winnie clapped her hand over the ornament. “I’m taking no chances,” she said in a low voice, her row of chins wobbling as she looked over the guests. She leaned closer to Victoria, bringing with her a subtle whiff of… garlic. Tinged with hyacinth. “The rumors about Rockley’s disappearance claim that it was a vampire that took him. If the Marquess of Rockley can be attacked in his own home by one of those creatures, then no one is safe.”

  Victoria looked at her. “Where on earth did you hear such a thing?” The Venators took great pains to keep the rest of the world ignorant of the undead in order to protect them. And when someone did see or hear something they shouldn’t, Aunt Eustacia’s special gold medallion was used to hypnotically remove the offending memories.

  “Why, from Nilly’s new friend,” said the duchess. “He told us in the utmost confidence.”

  “Lady Nilly’s friend?”

  “Ah, but I’ve forgotten! You already know him, Victoria, and in fact, here they are. Nilly!” The duchess waved, the underside of her arm jiggling enthusiastically as the bracelets at her wrists jingled.

  Victoria turned to see the slender, flat-bosomed, pale-as-a-wraith Lady Nilly approach with her new friend.

  He had blond hair, round cheeks, and a cleft in his chin. Dressed as befit his station, he looked elegant in a boyish way, although, as Victoria had cause to know, he was a few years older than her own twenty-one.

  “Good evening, Victoria dear,” trilled Nilly. She seemed to be clutching his arm as though she were afraid he’d fly the coop.

  But she was in no danger of that, for the man bowed deeply to Victoria and took her hand, raising it to his lips. “How enchanting to see you again, Lady Rockley.”

  “I don’t know how I could have forgotten that you two have met,” said the duchess with exaggerated surprise. Victoria noticed the waggle of her eyebrows as she looked conspiratorially at Nilly.

  “Indeed we have,” Victoria replied, then turned to the gentleman. “George Starcasset. I certainly didn’t expect to see you again.” Her voice was glacial.

  No, she certainly hadn’t. The last time she’d seen George, he’d been ushering two hostages, in the form of Max and a bloody, one-handed Kritanu, out of the room where Victoria had slain a group of vampires. George was a member of the Tutela, the secret society of mortals that protected and served the undead.

  “I’m certain you didn’t,” he had the grace to say. And when she looked at him, she saw a bleak sincerity in his eyes that had replaced the bravado she was used to seeing there. “But I needed to see you. Will you dance with me?”

  Victoria would have rather taken a spin around the ballroom with Beauregard, the great vampire who’d tried to turn her undead, than George. But Lady Nilly and Duchess Winnie looked as though they were about to explode with pleasure at the handsome, albeit boyish, young man who was not only titled but also wealthy, and who was clearly attempting to charm Victoria.

  She could see no gracious way out of the mess, so she took his arm. And at the very least, she could lecture him about spreading rumors of the undead among unsuspecting ladies of the ton. The last thing she needed was Duchess Winnie out trying to stake a vampire again, and Lady Nilly inviting one into her bedchamber. She was under the impression that vampires were romantic.

  “What are you doing here?” Victoria demanded as George spun her into his arms.<
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  “My God, you look lovely tonight,” he replied, unable to keep the bald admiration from his voice. He stepped them into the waltz, still looking at her as though every other thought had evaporated from his head.

  Victoria knew from past experience that he was easily distracted, and that he wasn’t the most efficient of villains. The two times he’d tried to capture her, he’d been abysmally inept with aiming a gun, binding with ropes, and other nefarious activities. She had absolutely no fear of him. Not even an inkling. The biggest emotion he raised in her was flat annoyance, which was what she felt now.

  But before she could open her mouth to speak again, he looked up from her half-exposed bosom and into her eyes. The admiration was gone, replaced by fear.

  “I’m in trouble, Victoria. I need your help.”

  Two

  Wherein Our Heroine’s Services Are Engaged

  “I find it exceedingly ironic that you should ask me, of all people, for help,” Victoria replied. She tried to keep the sarcasm from her voice, but, based on the abashed look on George’s face, she didn’t quite succeed.

  Yet he forged on, showing a resilience she would never have expected of him. And for once, he wasn’t looking down the front of her bodice. “Daresay it’s mad, but there’s no one else who could be of assistance.”

  Victoria concentrated on the waltz for a moment, if only to keep from laughing outright at his presumption. He’d spent the last year trying to capture her for a variety of villains, including vampires and a demon. And that was after he had sneaked into her bedchamber-and bed-one night and tried to kiss her. Of course, he’d been foxed at the time, and goaded on by a mischievous Sebastian… but still. Despite her concentration, she wasn’t able to keep a smile in check.

  “Should be the last person in the world to turn to for help,” George muttered, “after you killed my sister, but there’s nothing for it.”

  “That’s what I do to vampires, George. I stake them,” Victoria reminded him drily. “And you-you protect them, and serve them. I cannot imagine how you think I might, or should, assist you.”

  “They’re all gone, y’know,” he told her. “Since you ruined Lilith’s plan to kill King George, she’s gone away and taken them-most of them-with her.” His lips twisted grimly. “There’s where I need your help.”

  “What? Is there a vampire that hasn’t gone with Lilith that you’d like me to chase away?” Victoria thought she was making a jest, but when his face dissolved into shock, she realized her flippant comment had hit the mark. “Is that it? Truly?”

  George tightened his hand at her waist, pulling her toward him to redirect their path from a collision with another couple. “Sh’won’t leave,” he admitted. “I was… er… attached to her a bit, but her demands are getting too much. Need her gone.”

  “Her demands? For drawn curtains to keep out the sunlight? And for fresh blood, of course. Does she have you snaring rabbits or catching mice? Visiting the butcher?” Victoria felt the giggle bubbling up inside her and swallowed it back as she thought of George running to and fro betwixt the butcher and the attic to check mousetraps. It was so unusual in her world, in the battle of mortals versus the undead, that she encountered a situation in which she found amusement.

  Then her eyes narrowed and all humor fled. “You’d best not be bringing her humans, George. If you are, I’ll kill you myself.” It was a bluff; of course she wouldn’t kill George. He was a human-a member, albeit an insufferable one, of that race she was charged with protecting, no matter what the cost. “No, perhaps I’ll tie you up and set her on you.”

  He swallowed and managed an uncomfortable smile. “Too late for that, Victoria.” He released her hand to pull the tall, starched collar of his shirt away from his neck. Beneath were four angry red bite marks. Fresh enough that the inside of his collar was smeared with dark red.

  “Aside of that, only brought her two people-” He must have felt Victoria tense up beneath his hands, for he continued quickly. “They were willing. I swear it! Wanted to see what it was like, y’know.” He leaned forward, a sudden leer showing his teeth. “Y’dear friend Lady Fenworth wanted to go, Victoria.”

  “Lady Nilly?” Victoria didn’t doubt it for a moment. The twittering old lady had been fascinated by vampires-or at least the romantic legend of them-since Polidori’s book.

  George seized the opportunity to press further. “If y’don’t help me, I’ll take her to visit Maybelle.” He seemed to think his pronouncement a perfect occasion to examine Victoria’s dйcolletage more closely.

  “Maybelle?” Victoria missed a step and nearly trod upon George’s foot-something she hadn’t done since her first year out in Society, when she was putting all of her Venator strength behind her sharp, little heel into the toe of the obnoxious Lord Beetleton. She didn’t feel the need to do so in this case, although it was a close call. George was still ogling her cleavage.

  “You aren’t perhaps speaking of Miss Maybelle Felicity-Underwood, who was rumored to have run off to Gretna Green with her fifth cousin?” she said, poking George in the back of the neck with a sharp fingernail.

  “The very same,” replied George. Now he had the grace to meet her eyes, and as the music tinkled to an end, he kept his arm around her waist, drawing her off to the edge of the dance floor. “Lots of rumors as of late ’bout people running off, see? Better say that than to put about that they were lost at sea, hmm, Lady Rockley?” This was the first time he’d used her title, and it was purposeful.

  Victoria kept her face devoid of emotion and allowed George to propel her toward the main foyer of the house. His reference to the story Victoria had given out to explain the death and disappearance of her husband, Phillip-that he’d died while on a ship-reminded her of the evil Bemis Goodwin. Goodwin had been a Bow Street runner and the brother of a vampire she’d slain her first year as a Venator. Goodwin had been bound and determined to turn her over to the authorities for murder, and he’d very nearly succeeded in getting her thrown into Newgate.

  The problem in Goodwin’s case-and in any case involving the death of a vampire-was that there was no body to be produced. Only a dusting of smelly ash remained after an undead was staked. Thus, a story had to be created to explain the sudden disappearance of people like Phillip, and then the new (impostor) Marquess of Rockley, along with Gwendolyn Starcasset, George’s sister, and now, apparently, Miss Maybelle Felicity-Underwood.

  “And so you wish me to help rid you of Miss Maybelle, who has now become undead, and who, through someone’s meddling, has dragged her fifth cousin’s presumably good name into the fray. Pray tell, George… how did that come to pass?”

  She stopped at the edge of the ballroom, and glanced at the foyer beyond. Guests were still arriving, despite the fact that there were more than three dozen already here. Firmly she pulled her arm from his grip and stepped away, looking up into his pale blue eyes.

  “Her fifth cousin is a swine and a fool, and is most likely at the bottom of the Thames with the fish,” replied George airily.

  “I suppose that to mean Miss Maybelle partook of a generous portion of his blood before disposing of him. Or did she have you do it?”

  He had the grace to look away. “He was a swine,” George repeated, petulance in his voice.

  “But a man, nevertheless. I happen to know a few of those swine type of men myself.” She looked at him meaningfully. “But I’ve never gone so far as to feed them to the fishes-or the undead.” She pursed her lips, rather enjoying the moment of watching George squirm. Of course what he’d been party to wasn’t amusing at all, and if ever a man deserved a comeuppance, it was George Starcasset.

  In fact, the only reason she hadn’t yet walked away from him and left him to deal with his vampire guest on his own was the very real threat that he might involve Lady Nilly.

  “Did you have something to do with her being turned undead?” she asked again.

  He smiled nervously, his cheeks rounding like crab apples. The softn
ess made him look more like a boy than ever. “Mm… She was curious, and so Gwennie helped… and next thing, she had red eyes and fangs. And,” he added, swallowing, “an attachment to me.”

  Victoria’s brows rose. “And what did dear Sara Regalado have to say of that attachment? The two of you seemed to be rather intimately acquainted when you were escorting her about Town.”

  Sara Regalado had been a powerful member of the Tutela, often to the extent of sacrificing willing and unwilling human life. Her father, the Conte Regalado, had been the Tutela’s leader in Rome before being turned into a vampire and attempting to woo Lady Melly.

  Sara was dead now, but she’d figured significantly in Victoria’s adventures in the last year, initially by befriending her in Rome and then announcing that she was engaged to Max. That engagement had turned out to be a foil Max created so he could infiltrate the Tutela.

  At the beginning of the summer, Sara and George had turned up together in London. This was after disappearing in Rome, during a battle in which Max had killed the evil demon Akvan, who was also their master.

  “Thought it quite amusing, if you must know,” George admitted. “Loved to watch Maybelle feed.”

  Victoria nodded knowingly. Sara had been overly fond of watching the undead drink blood-from both a distance and her own participation. “On you, of course.”

  He looked away, grinding his jaw so hard that his chin shifted and creaked audibly. “Finished with vampires,” he muttered, then looked back at her. “Will you help rid me of her?”

  Victoria looked down at her magnificent gown. Since she’d become a Venator, fashion had been low on her list of priorities… but the frock was new. And the loveliest gown, after her wedding dress, she’d ever owned. And Verbena would scold. She’d hate to tear it, or get it stained. Yet… it had been two weeks since she’d seen a vampire. Her stake fingers were beginning to itch. Not to mention the fact that the whole situation with Max had left her in a constant state of frustration.