Deep breaths. Victoria took deep breaths and made herself slow down. She would not allow him to see that he'd upset her.
And of course he'd upset her. He'd disappeared nearly a year ago, and now she found him happily ensconced with his fiancee in the bowels of the Tutela! Surely he could not be ignorant of his fiancee's father's involvement; he was, after all, a Venator.
As she reached George, who, luckily, had appeared with a drink for her just as she returned, Victoria recognized there were two explanations for Max's involvement with Sara Regalado and his conduct tonight.
Either he was acting a part, as she was, in trying to infiltrate the Tutela; or he had changed alliances and as a result had cut off all interest and communication with Aunt Eustacia and Wayren. If it were the first, Victoria did not understand why he would not have been in contact with them. There were discreet ways to do it; surely Max would know how. If he had joined the Tutela, the protectors of the vampires, then he must have denounced his position as a Venator.
That she couldn't believe. Not even for an instant.
But there was a third possibility.
Everything could be exactly as it seemed, no more, no less: He'd fallen in love with Sara Regalado and was planning to marry her.
Victoria had to endure George Starcasset's clumsy attempts to kiss her during the carriage ride back to her villa. She wanted to plant him back in his seat with a well-placed shove calculated to give him whiplash, but she refrained from so blatantly using her Venator powers. Instead, she chose to "accidentally" grind her sharp heel into his toes hard enough to deflate any other amorous ideas he might have. Not only did it cool his ardor, but it would likely keep him from dancing for a week.
What she really wanted to do was hit someone. Preferably Max.
After she'd had a chance to reflect on the situation, Victoria had come to the only conclusion she could: that he was playing a role, and that as soon as they had a moment to talk privately, he would clear it up.
It was the only explanation that made sense. Max was a Venator, the most powerful one after Aunt Eustacia. He would never betray them.
And as for Sarafina Regalado? Victoria would not believe Max had fallen in love with that fairy-headed chit. If he ever deigned to allow himself to be distracted by a woman, it would be someone… different.
Having come to her conclusion, Victoria assumed that Max would be as anxious to make the truth known to her as she was to receive it, so she hovered near one of the ballroom entrances in hopes of catching his eye and hinting for him to leave. But he did not glance her way even once, and he seemed perfectly content to mingle among the guests, with or without Sara clinging to his arm.
When at last she had run out of excuses for Portiera and Placidia as to why she did not move from her spot, she allowed them to maneuver her to a cluster of young Italian men—the equivalent of the rakes and rogues that made their way through the ton in London—and present her to them.
For a short time, Victoria allowed herself to be lulled by the pleasure of being nothing more than a young, attractive woman interacting with young, attractive men. She'd forgotten what it was like to be concerned only with providing witty comments or flashing demure smiles.
This was the life she'd given up: a simple one, where the biggest worry was what gown to wear to which event, whether her dance card would be filled, and whether, once wed, she would provide an heir and a spare. It was filled with gossip and parties and little else.
Oh, and blissful ignorance.
Yes, that was definitely part of the life she'd given up.
Portiera and Placidia's handsome friends were complimentary and charming and falling all over themselves in an effort to speak with Victoria, to retrieve a drink for her, a biscotto, an antipasto, a walk on the terrace to steal some air. As an English widow, she was unusually attractive to them, in particular to one of the elder of the group—though he couldn't have been more than thirty—Barone Silvio Galliani.
"Perhaps I could convince you that some fresh air would be delightful, Mrs. Withers," he suggested, elbowing another, less bold competitor out of the way. "The gardens at Villa Regalado are particularly beautiful in the moonlight."
Italy flavored his English, admiration glinted in his dark eyes, and his smile was compelling enough to send a little twinge into her belly. When she acquiesced and he took her arm, she felt the fine cloth of his jacket and the sinewy muscle underneath it.
"Have you known the Regalado family for long?"
Victoria asked him as they strolled along the cobblestone terrace.
"For many years," he replied. "I am the contessa's cousin. Was I not truthful when I claimed that the gardens are most beautiful by moonlight? Do you see those roses there?"
She looked at the creamy white blooms, made silvery by the moon. "They are beautiful, but seem to be blooming rather late in the season."
"Indeed, they are! I dabble a bit in the breeding of flowers, and this one is one of my own creations. I named it Sara in the Moonlight—Sarè nel chiarore della luna—but perhaps I was rather hasty in choosing a name." He cast a meaningful look at her. "Its delicate color reminds me of your beautiful English skin, and the silver glaze from the moon is the same as the shine in your dark hair. Il chiarore della luna di Emmaline would perhaps be a more fitting name. Bmmaline's Moonlight."
Victoria felt the sway of his charm. After all, she'd never been described as a rose. "I am most complimented," she replied, walking on. "You must be very close to Sara and her family to name a rose after her."
"Si, I have known her since she was young. A bit frivolous at times, but a nice enough girl. Pretty in her own way."
"It sounds as though the family is quite pleased about her pending nuptials. Have you met her intended?"
"Many times. Pesaro is quite the gentleman and seemed to become rather quickly attached to young Sara. It was only a matter of a month, perhaps half again, and they were announcing their engagement. Of course, when one finds true love, time means nothing." He was looking at her again with that same intense look. Did he really think she was going to fall for it?
"Does the conte approve of such a quick decision for his daughter's marriage?"
"He is very pleased. He and Pesaro have extensive business dealings, which is how I believe he came to meet Sara. Now, my dear Mrs. Withers, enough talk about Sara and her beau… let us talk about yours. I noticed quite a bit of interest from that English boy back in there. Tell me true, and do not break my heart… is he of special interest to you, or is there the possibility that another might attract your attention?"