Sebastian, a rakish grin on his face, and not one whit of surprise that the parlor was becoming overcrowded with members of two elite groups—the ton and the Tutela—strode easily into the room and went directly to Victoria’s side.
“Hello, my dear,” he said, bending over to place a kiss that screamed intimacy on her cheek. “You look lovely today.”
She was tempted to pull away, just to showcase the effrontery of it, but the look on her mother’s face was too much a work of art to destroy it. Lady Melly looked as though she’d swallowed a biscuit whole, and Lady Winnie, who was swallowing gamely and trying not to cough, probably had.
“Sebastian,” she said, giving him a sincerely melting smile. His was a friendly face, and at least she had no illusions about what he wanted from her.
She patted his properly gloved hand and gestured to a chair next to her. “Would you care to join us for tea before we take our ride?” Her voice was full of charm and invitation, but the look she sent him was pointed. They’d made no plans for a ride, or any other activity, but he was sharp enough to follow her lead. “I do realize it is a bit early for tea . . .”
If he sat down instead of taking her subtle cue to leave, she’d never kiss him again.
“Of course I should. We can ride later,” he said, sending her a disarming smile that, nevertheless, sent a little pang through her. Perhaps she should have let him coax her into bed last night. “I can always enjoy tea. And with such esteemed company.” He gave a little bow, then he turned to look at her, his eyebrows raised innocently. “You haven’t announced our wonderful news yet, have you, dearest?”
She was going to stake him again—and this time in the heart, mortal or not. Lady Melly’s breath was coming in short, wheezing pants, and her fingers had somehow curled around Victoria’s wrist in a death grip.
Before Victoria could extricate herself from that conundrum, there was a knock at the parlor door. All heads turned. The door opened, and Lettender’s long face appeared. “My lady, we have another visitor. He . . . er . . . wishes to speak with you.”
Victoria tensed, then felt suddenly jittery. Max, of course. He was the only person missing from this odd arrangement. “Please, show him in,” she said.
The butler stepped in and opened the door. The visitor followed him. “Mr. Bemis Goodwin. Of the Magistrate’s Bow Street Runners.”
Mr. Goodwin was tall and dark-haired. He had a face as sharp and angular as Max, but the arrangement of his features, though just as haughty, wasn’t nearly as attractive. His chin and nose were matching jutting points, his cheekbones like slanted plateaus, and his lips thin and red. But his eyes: they were sharp and dark and darted about as if determined to miss nothing. They flitted around, skittering over the little gathering, and finally settled onto Victoria.
“Lady Rockley, I require a word with you.”
“Thus, Lady Rockley, you were the one to find the remains of Miss Forrest,” said Mr. Goodwin. For the third time.
“As I have explained now twice, sir, yes, I came upon her unfortunate remains.”
“But there were others who had begun the search before you. They were, so to speak, ahead of you.” His eyes were narrow and black. She fancied they gleamed like those of a snake, ready to strike. Yet, they were intelligent. “So how could you know just where to look if they had not found her?”
Leaving the others in the parlor, Victoria had taken Mr. Goodwin to the marquess’s study, thinking she was making an escape. But the demeanor which pervaded the whippetlike man and his questions annoyed and unsettled her. “Are you suggesting that I somehow knew where Miss Forrest was before I discovered her?”
“You seemed to locate her quite easily.”
“She was beneath a tree, half hidden by a rock, near the creek. Anyone could have found her.” Victoria settled back in her chair and forced her fingers to uncurl. Ridiculous that he should rouse her as he had. The man was just doing his job.
The Bow Street Runners were the only sort of police-detectives in London, for Victoria’s countrymen had long been leery of giving up their freedoms by formalizing a police force. In fact, London was the only city in Europe without a formal police force. Certainly, there were the few members of the Night Watch, and a constable for every parish, but their responsibilities were only to report criminal activity if they witnessed it. The Runners were responsible for investigating any grievous crimes—such as murder or rape—and bringing the felons to the magistrate. They were also able to help victims of other crimes, such as fraud or robbery, to recover their losses—at their discretion. Regardless, it was unfortunate the Runner would be unable to help in this particular instance.
Vampire crimes weren’t recognized by the magistrate.
“Is there anything else I can help you with, Mr. Goodwin?” Victoria asked, ready to end the conversation.
As if recognizing her change of demeanor, he stretched his lips in a smile. “You came upon the mauled and destroyed body, and you had the presence of mind to call for assistance, Lady Rockley. Immediately. Apparently the sight of her torn flesh and spilled blood had little effect on you.”
“It wasn’t a pleasant sight, but I am not one to be overcome by feminine vapors.”
“What do you think happened to Miss Forrest?”
“I’m certain someone of your expertise would have come to the same conclusion as I: it appears that she was attacked by something bent on killing her.”
Mr. Goodwin’s eyes narrowed. “A vampire, perhaps?”
Victoria caught herself in midbreath, then exhaled slowly and evenly. “A vampire?”
“Do you believe in vampires, Lady Rockley?”
“I fail to see how my belief—or nonbelief—in the supernatural is relevant to the investigation into Miss Forrest’s death, Mr. Goodwin. I’m certain you must investigate every aspect of the situation, which is why it doesn’t follow that you’re wasting my time and yours asking me such questions.” The edge of her vision began to waver and she drew in an even breath through her nose.
Mr. Goodwin stood. He took up his black hat with long fingers and placed it precisely on his scalp. “Thank you, Lady Rockley. I wish you a good day.” He started to turn, and then slowly swiveled back to face Victoria, who had stood. “What happened to your husband, Lady Rockley?”
She felt her heart give an unpleasant little lurch. “He died at sea,” she replied automatically.