Колин Глисон - When Twilight Burns

Her story was interrupted as the carriage approached that of another high-strung vehicle. As was expected, the Needletons stopped in order to greet the others. It was Gwendolyn and her earl, Brodebaugh. He seemed vaguely attentive to his adoring fiancйe, but kind enough to agree with her when she pressed him for his thoughts on the weather. This was the first time Victoria recalled meeting him-although, according to Gwendolyn, he’d attended the Straithwaite musical the summer of their debut. They exchanged pleasantries for a short time. When the Needleton carriage was ready to move on, another conveyance had approached, and the conversation was extended. Victoria waved to Gwendolyn as Brodebaugh drove away, wishing she’d invited herself to ride back with them, for she didn’t anticipate extricating herself any time soon.

For now that word had spread from carriage to rider to curricle that the Marchioness of Rockley was in the Needleton vehicle, everyone seemed to converge on their path.

Victoria’s mouth was tired of smiling and her palms were sore from the score of her nails biting through her cotton gloves. She was just about to suggest that they return to the Grantworth home when someone screamed.

They all turned to look toward the terrified cry, which had been cut off in a sort of bubbling way. It had come from the direction of a far distant clump of thick bushes and grass that had not yet been subjected to Mr. Nash’s attentions. Victoria bolted to her feet, causing the carriage to sway-but she caught herself before she hurtled out of the vehicle like a madwoman. Miss Needleton looked up at her in astonishment, for apparently it had never occurred to her that she might be of assistance.

Of course it wouldn’t. Women of the ton let everything be done for and about them. Victoria remained standing, however, as Mr. Needleton and several other men leaped from their vehicles, dashing toward the cry of distress.

“Oh, my,” Miss Durfingdale squeaked rather belatedly, and Victoria, who had nearly forgotten her existence, looked at her in surprise. Was she knocked for six by the scream, or the equally amazing speed at which the men had moved?

“Perhaps they may need assistance,” Victoria said, lifting her skirts to climb carefully down from the carriage- an unusual feat for a woman, but one that she was well accustomed to performing. “If she is in distress.”

Miss Needleton’s mild protestations ringing in her ears, Victoria hurried as quickly as she could through the tall grasses in the wake of the men. As soon as she was out of sight of the carriage, she thrashed through the brush, heedless of her new muslin day dress, and found herself running down a small incline. At the bottom, a creek trickled beneath scattered trees. Ahead of her, she heard the men running and calling to each other, but she remained silent as she ran pell-mell down the creek bank. There’d been no other cries from the victim, and at last Victoria came to a rushing halt when she reached the small stream.

Panting, she looked around for some sign of trouble, but saw nothing but dappled sunlight over the smooth stones scattered in the creek. Just then, a splash of pink caught her attention behind a massive, felled tree trunk.

It took her only a moment to reach the crumpled figure, and when she did, Victoria gasped in shock. Blood spattered the grass around her, staining the pink gown that had caught her attention. When she turned the young woman over, Victoria stared down at the horror.

The victim’s bodice had been torn away, and the flesh of her chest and over her collarbones was marked with three large Xs, gouged into her skin. Fresh blood seeped through the fabric and oozed from her wounds. But what caught Victoria’s attention were the four small marks on the girl’s blue-white neck.

Vampire bites. Fresh ones.

In the middle of the day.

Despite the horrible fate of Miss Belvadine Forrest (as the victim’s name was revealed to be), it turned out to be morbidly beneficial to Victoria. For, as a result of the traumatic discovery, she simply did not feel up to attending the Burlington-Frigate dinner party that night.

Lady Melly accepted the excuse with watery eyes and a tremulous smile. Armed with yet another fresh topic on which she would be the ultimate source, she took herself off to the dinner party in full regalia.

Victoria, meanwhile, took herself gratefully back to St. Heath’s Row.

As the carriage pulled past the iron gates into the generous Rockley house, she glanced past the stables to the small family chapel cloaked by a cluster of maples. Almost two years ago, she’d hidden the Book of Antwartha there to keep it safe from Lilith, and now Briyani reposed in the same building until he was buried.

Vampires couldn’t scale the stone walls surrounding the house, for the stone was stamped with crosses in honor of St. Heath, who, apparently, had died upon one (although the story was rather muddied, and no one other than her husband’s family, the de Lacys, had ever heard of St. Heath, so there was no way to verify its accuracy). Another, larger, cross sat at the top of the iron gateway, splitting only when the gate was opened. And then of course, there was the fact that the chapel itself was too holy for any undead to enter.

Her groom helped her alight from the carriage, and Victoria hurried up the sweep of steps to the tall double doors. Her first order of business would be to send a message by pigeon to Wayren, in hopes of finding a way to notify Max about Briyani’s death, and also to let her know about the events at the park today. The reality of a vampire attack in daylight gave Victoria a heavy, rolling feeling in her stomach. Vampires just weren’t able to move about in the sunlight. Their flesh burned instantly, peeling away. Even a powerful vampire like Lilith the Dark couldn’t stand pure sunlight.

And that reminded her of the copper ring Sebastian had retrieved. He hadn’t offered it to her, nor had he indicated what he planned to use it for. But either way, she would feel much more comfortable if it were placed somewhere in the Consilium for safekeeping. After all, he’d teased her with the fact that she should show him gratitude for locating it-

“My lady,” intoned her very proper butler, Lettender, as Victoria crossed the threshold into the vast foyer, “the master awaits you in the parlor.”

His words brought her to a surprised halt. “Pardon me?”

“The master has arrived. He awaits you in the parlor,” replied Lettender with agonizingly even tones, as though he regularly made such an announcement.

Her mouth suddenly dry and her palms springing moisture, Victoria pivoted slowly toward the twin doors of the sitting room. Absurdly, she’d never noticed before, but a wooden lotus blossom had been stamped in the center of each panel, its design a simple relief in an otherwise austere expanse of creamy white.

It shouldn’t be that much of a shock; she’d known her husband’s heir would arrive someday soon. She just… it had been a very long, trying day.

And she wasn’t quite ready, yet, to meet the man who would take Phillip’s place.

Victoria drew in a long, slow breath and reached for the glass doorknob. It was cool, even through her gloves, and she turned it.

Stepping in, she turned so as to ensure her skirts had made it completely through, and closed the door. She wanted no witnesses to this meeting.

She looked over.

He must have seen her carriage arrive moments ago, for he stood at one of the tall, narrow windows that faced the half-circle drive. His back was to her; perhaps he hadn’t heard the door open and close… or perhaps he was merely preparing them both for the inevitable.