Колин Глисон: The Rest Falls Away

With love to Steve (here it is!),

Holli and Tammy

I cannot thank Marcy Posner enough for taking me under her wing and working with me for the last two years. And a world of thanks to Claire Zion for taking a chance on me and Victoria's story, and for always seeming to verbalize my ideas before I do! Tina Brown has been fantastic with everything from answering simple "newbie" questions to providing support and keeping everything flowing so smoothly.

My sisters at the Wet Noodle Posse are also top on my list to thank. I've never met a more supportive, loving, talented group of women.

Without Holli and Tammy, I would have been floundering on chapter one for months. Thank you for being there, every single week, and for all of your support and guidance and those darn questions you kept asking! Also many hugs and gratitude to Mom, Jennifer, Linda, Kelly, Diana, Wendy, Jana, and Kate, for being there during this story and countless others. I love you all!

Thank you to my husband and children for putting up with all the times I'm at the computer, or lost in thought trying to work out a plot problem. And thanks to Mary Kay—you know why. And finally, most important, I thank my Creator, without whom none of this would be possible.

His footsteps were soundless, but Victoria felt him moving.

She grasped the bark of the oak, pressing her body into the tree as if it could suck her into safety. But all she felt was unyielding roughness. She couldn't stay here.

Crouching, curling her fingers around a heavy stick, she eased from the safe shadow of the tree and into the liquid silver of moonlight. The sharp snap of a twig beneath her boot sent her bolting on now-silent feet into another nearby shadow…

She could hear him breathing.

And feel the reverberations of his heartbeat.

It thumped loud, steady, strong, pumping into her ears, pulsing through her body as if it were her own organ.

Victoria moved again, her skirts flapping around her ankles as she dashed away from the sound of her pursuer. She tore through the underbrush, dodging from tree to tree and leaping over fallen logs as though she were a mare given her head.

His solid footfalls came closer and faster as she ran.

A branch tore at her face. Brush snagged her skirts.

She ran and ran and ran in the white moonlight, clutching her stick, and still he came, his heartbeat as steady as his tramping feet.

Before she realized it, Victoria stumbled down a small incline and splashed into a creek. The prop of the stick kept her from falling as she slogged through the thigh-high water, her skirts becoming leaden, weighing her down, slowing her until she could barely take another step.

A cry of rage from behind tore her attention as she staggered up the small incline on the other side of the creek.

As she climbed out, she turned and saw him standing there on the opposite bank. She couldn't see his face… but his eyes gleamed in the dark, and fury and frustration emanated from his body. But he did not follow her.

He did not cross the running water.

Victoria jolted awake, her heart thrumming madly in her chest.

Sunlight, not moonbeams, blazed through the window.

A dream. It had been a dream.

She smoothed a hand over her face, damp with perspiration, and brushed away the tendrils of hair that had escaped her thick braid.

The fifth dream. It was time.

Her bed was high off the floor, and her feet thumped onto the Aubusson rug as she launched herself from under the coverlet, in desperate need of the chamber pot. Heedless of immodesty, Victoria pulled her sweat-soaked chemise up and over her body and felt the relief of cool air on her clammy skin.

Five dreams in less than a fortnight. That was the sign. She would go to Aunt Eustacia today.

The remnants of the dream dissolved, replaced with a hum of anticipation and a tingle of apprehension. Victoria looked at herself in the tall, cloudy mirror. The warning had come.

Today she would learn just what that warning portended.

Vampires.

The Gardellas were vampire hunters.

Victoria was going to hunt vampires.

"Victoria, dear…" Lady Melisande's gentle voice held the barest hint of reproach. "You may commence with pouring."

Victoria blinked and realized that her mother had been sitting with her hands folded perfectly in her lap, whilst their two guests waited with empty teacups. "Of course, Mother. I apologize for my woolgathering," she added as she raised the ivory teapot. Her mother's favorite, brought from Italy by her mother when she wed with Herbert, Lord of Prewitt Shore, was painted with images of Roman cathedrals.

Fortunately, the two guests at hand were Lady Melly's oldest and dearest friends, and they would not be offended by her daughter's lack of attention.

Three weeks ago, Victoria's biggest concern had been which gown to wear to an evening's event. Or whether—heaven forbid!—her dance card might not fill up.

Or even whether she would land a suitable husband during her debut.

But now… how on earth was she going hide a wooden stake on her person? One couldn't just slip it into one's glove! Or down one's bodice!

"Not to worry, my dear Melly. I'm sure the chit is just a bit distracted, with her coming-out in less than a fortnight." Lady Petronilla Fenworth smiled gently at Victoria as she retrieved her steaming cup. Of the three matrons, she bore the sweetest disposition; one that matched her delicate, angelic face and tiny frame. She reminded Victoria of a china doll. "After waiting in mourning for nearly two years, I am certain she is finally in raptures that she is to debut at last!"

"Indeed she is," replied Victoria's mother, the celebrated beauty of the trio. "I have great hopes for her on the mart, for though she is two years older than most of the others, she is certainly beautiful enough to catch the eye of a marquess… or even perhaps a duke!" She looked fondly at her eldest daughter, who had replaced the teapot and now tried to appear interested in the ensuing conversation.

Lady Winifred, who was the other of Melisande's lifelong friends, leaned forward to select a biscuit with plump fingers. She looked up, her eyes sparkling with excitement. "My sister by marriage tells me that Rockley will be seeking a wife this year at last!"

"Rockley!" The other two elder women repeated the name in unison, their tones bordering on a squeal, as if they were the eligible misses instead of Victoria. Since both ladies had been married for nigh on a quarter century (at least until Melisande had been widowed a year earlier), it was quite unnecessary and rather… earsplitting.

"Victoria, did you hear what Winifred said?" her mother repeated, grasping her hand. "The Marquess of Rockley is seeking a bride! We must ensure he is invited to your coming-out. Winnie, will your sister by marriage be attending?"

"I shall see to it—and that she insist her husband bring Rockley. Nothing would please me more than to see our dear Victoria steal the heart—and purse—of the elusive Marquess of Rockley." Winifred, who had been widowed a decade earlier and was childless, had fairly adopted Victoria as her own. Betwixt Petronilla, Winifred, and, of course, Melisande, Victoria had three full-time mothers worrying about her marriage prospects.