“Is there?”
He shrugged, lines deep in his face. “It’s a hope I live with every day, that perhaps . . .” He shook his head as if to clear it. “It’s not for us to question our calling.” He looked at Victoria. His eyes were bleary. “If Phillip had drunk from a mortal before you had the chance to slay him, would you still have done it, knowing you’d be sending him to Hell?”
How many times had she wondered the same thing? Countless times, over the last two years, sometimes waking from a deep, twisting slumber, damp and heart pounding, with her fingers curled around an invisible stake. She knew the answer.
“Yes.”
Max nodded. “And that is the difference between you and me—and Vioget. We fulfill our God-given purpose no matter how difficult or painful it is.” He raised his glass to drink again and stopped, his hand in midair.
Their eyes met and, in that moment, a burst of clarity flashed into his. “By God, you didn’t.” He surged to his feet and swayed. Fury darkened his face, fury the likes of which she’d never seen before. He looked carved from stone.
Her stomach tipped and roiled as she pulled slowly to her feet. Guilt was plastered all over her face. She remained silent. She had no words.
He lunged toward her, unsteady from the effects of the quick-working salvi, and bumped into the table. Glasses clinked ominously. “Why?” His chest moved in quick, hard jerks, as if he’d been running for hours.
She couldn’t answer; her mouth was devoid of all moisture. She could barely swallow and her tongue seemed to be glued to the roof of her mouth.
Max slashed out at her, clumsy and slow, and she moved easily out of reach of those strong fingers. “What are you doing tonight? Where are you going?” His words were slurred; the salvi, once it took hold, worked quickly.
Victoria shook her head. “Max, I wanted to pro—”
“My God, Victoria . . .” His voice trailed off, weakening, and he turned away, staggering slightly. “I will . . . never . . . forgive. . . .”
His proud shoulders slumped and she saw his fingers closing into lethal fists. He half fell into the chair he’d recently vacated, the force of his uncontrolled weight shoving it against the wall.
Max looked up, fixing his dark eyes on her in one last look of loathing before he slumped into unconsciousness.
Sixteen
In Which the Marquess of Rockley Acquires a Chaperone
The night still hoarded some of the sun’s warmth, eliminating the need for a shawl or wrap. The moon was a bit more slender than the night before, when Victoria had stood on the empty street and faced Bemis Goodwin, but the stars were twinkling in a great wide swath overhead and helped to light the inky blue sky.
James sat next to her in the curricle, holding the lines and bumping his solid arm against hers every time he moved. The open-faced, two-seater vehicle rumbled along the deserted pathways of Regent’s Park, the awkward, random shapes of bush and shrubbery adding to a slightly eerie feel. The faint essence of wood smoke sifted through the air.
Victoria couldn’t get Max out of her mind. Taking a deep breath, she looked up obediently when her companion commented on the array of celestial bodies, but her thoughts churned like the swill at the bottom of a fishing boat.
He would never understand, never forgive her. She knew that. But, more than that, she feared what could happen if he followed her tonight. It had been worth taking the chance, knowing she wouldn’t have to worry about his safety.
“Oho, and here they are,” crowed James in delight. “Over here!”
Forced from her unpleasant thoughts, Victoria looked up and redirected her mind to the matter at hand. She had not come on this little excursion without preparation and planning. In fact, as she peered in the dark toward the sprightly vehicle that presumably carried Sara and George, she was actually looking beyond it. If all had gone as expected, Sebastian and Kritanu would be there, somewhere in the darkness, having been delivered by Barth and his hackney. They would be watching and waiting, ready to help quell any problems that might arise.
As Sara and George moved closer in their vehicular conveyance, Victoria became aware of the telltale chill on the back of her neck. Complacence and anticipation settled over her. She’d been right to suspect something.
“Good evening, Lord Rockley . . . and Lady Rockley.” George’s voice held faint amusement, presumably at the linking of their names.
Behind the other carriage, Victoria saw shadows moving. The corresponding barometer at her nape indicated a fair number of undead in the vicinity. She tensed beneath her skin, careful not to indicate her reaction to James. If he were a daytime vampire, he didn’t need to drink the elixir at night—unless he wanted to keep her unaware of his condition until now. Which would make sense.
Or, just as likely, he and she were both planned victims.
But now that other vampires had arrived, obviously without masking their undeadness to her sensitivities, why was nothing happening? Sara and George—and whoever else—certainly would know she was aware of the presence of vampires. Unease prickled over her.
Just then, a third carriage moved into view from behind the one carrying George and Sara. Victoria heard a familiar laugh . . . one that sent horrible shivers down her spine. What was Gwendolyn doing here?
Indeed, the tableau played out with all of the societal niceties one might have expected, if one were unaware that at least some of those present had a propensity for drinking blood.
“I must apologize for our tardiness, but my darling sister and her betrothed insisted upon joining us for tonight’s excursion,” explained George, maneuvering his carriage so that the third one could pull forward.
“Victoria!” Gwendolyn cried, lurching forward in her vehicle to wave. The moonlight slivered over her blond hair and outlined round cheeks curved in a delighted smile. “Is this not the most delightful thing? A ride in the park at night?”
“It is most delightful,” Victoria replied, managing to keep the trepidation from her voice. George had sent his sister safely away from the fire two nights ago; why had he allowed her to come tonight?
“It was a last-minute decision,” Gwendolyn said, as if knowing explanations were in order. “I do hope you don’t feel that Brodebaugh and I are intruding. George didn’t think I should be out in the cool night air, but I convinced Brodebaugh that it was no worse than sitting in the dinner room with the windows open. And George and Sara simply couldn’t be out without a chaperone.” Gwen couldn’t seem to stop smiling. In fact, she fairly glowed with happiness as she leaned companionably against her fiancé, who looked down at her with his own indulgent smile.