It did occur to her to wonder, just for a moment, if Sebastian had followed through on his threat to call upon Portiera and Placidia after their unsatisfactory tête-à-tête in the parlor.
As Victoria cast a covert look at him, flanked by the two dark-haired beauties and their beside-the-mouth moles, she realized she didn't like that idea at all. In fact, it made her rather queasy.
And annoyed.
In fact, she was annoyed enough to consider the age-old female retaliation of using her nails to scratch their pretty eyes out. Of course, being a Venator, she would probably gouge more than scratch, and it would be a bit messier than normal…
"Mrs. Withers, are you quite certain you are feeling all right? Perhaps you ought to return home; you've not recovered from your illness, I see. That sort of discomfort often happens to people when they thrust themselves into a situation they should not." Max had returned. He was looking down at her with that bland expression, and she realized that the others were preparing to take their seats.
She was saved from the indignity of having no quick retort—things had just been going so upside down that her wit had disappeared—by Conte Regalado's approach. "Mrs. Withers, may I seat you?" he asked, slipping her arm into the fold of his elbow.
"I would be delighted," she cast over her shoulder as they walked away. Not her best rejoinder, but at least she'd had the last word.
But when Conte Regalado seated her in the front row of the box and took a seat beside her, she felt Max and Sara sit down behind them, and she heard Max's innocent question: "And when is your friend returning to London, my dear? I am sure it cannot be too soon."
Galliani took a seat next to Victoria with a little bow, and had one of the Tarruscelli twins on his arm—Portiera, she could tell by the cornflower blue gown. She always wore the darker colors. And behind them sat Sebastian with Placidia, in sky blue.
Thus Victoria was, in effect, surrounded by an array of men: an insufferably rude one, a father who painted his daughter's br**sts in detail and who cultivated the company of vampires, a barone who grew roses, and a man who'd made her shiver and tremble with passion only days before and now sat flirting with another woman.
Conte Regalado claimed her attention, reminding her of her plan to flirt with him in hopes of learning more about the Tutela. "The opera is ready to start," he said. He smelled like wine and lavender. "I hope you enjoy it."
The opera was long. The box became warm. And Victoria became squirmy. She wondered why she had decided to come after all. It had mainly been so that she would see Max again, and hope to have an opportunity to speak with him, but that was obviously not going to come to pass.
At the end of the first act she heard movement behind her, and glanced back to see Sebastian leading Placidia from the box, his head bent solicitously to her face as they left the stifling room. Unfortunately it wasn't a formal intermission, or Victoria would have been able to go with them. As it was, it would seem odd for her to insist on joining them.
If she'd known Sebastian would be there, she might have stayed home, just to avoid the awkwardness.
No, on the other hand, she would have come regardless, for she hadn't stopped thinking about him and his sensual mouth and talented fingers, and the fact that it really was a shame that he'd gone all cold and proper on her. And had chosen to sit beside one of the twins. And escort her out.
Then, suddenly, her mind sharpened, pinpointed, and she realized that the back of her neck was cool. The hairs were rising as though a chill breeze was brushing over them. Vampires. Somewhere nearby. One, perhaps two.
Victoria held her breath, keeping her attention focused on the stage. Thinking. She had to do something.
Despite the fact that Aunt Eustacia had impressed upon her the importance of not giving away the fact that she was a Venator, Victoria had not been allowed—by Verbena—to leave the villa without one stake, slipped into a garter under her gown.
It was the beginning of the second act; the curtain had just risen. The single intermission wouldn't be until the end of this act, which could be an hour away. She couldn't wait that long.
The sensation grew stronger.
Max would feel it too.
She shifted in her seat, trying to figure out a way to make eye contact with him where he sat directly behind her, and bumped Galliani's arm.
"Are you uncomfortable?" he murmured, leaning toward her. "Would you like to get some air?"
Thank you. She nodded and replied, "That would be wonderful." She could somehow slip away from Galliani once out of the box and see what was happening.
Victoria started to rise and could not. Something was holding her gown in place. From behind. Low on the seat.
Conte Regalado was looking at her now. "Is something the matter, Mrs. Withers?" he asked, placing a heavy hand on her arm.
"I just… felt the need for some air. It is so stifling in here. Lord Galliani has been so good as to agree to escort me." She tried to rise again and found that she could not.
Galliani was waiting, looking at her expectantly.
Her neck was colder; the prickles had begun to rise along the back of her shoulders, telling her that the vampire was drawing nearer.
The diva onstage below sang on, her voice clear and true, her pudgy hands glittering with rings and bracelets.
Victoria had to resist the very strong urge to turn to Max and command him to release her gown. She wanted to, but something held her back—besides his grip.
He was stopping her for a reason.
Aunt Eustacia had warned her she could not reveal that she was a Venator, even if danger approached. She would have to let the threat pass by, let it play itself out.
But how could she?
Galliani nudged her gently. "Mrs. Withers? Have you changed your mind?"
"I am feeling better now," she replied reluctantly, making the decision to follow Aunt Eustacia's direction. Her stomach felt odd, as though some thick and heavy liquid sloshed inside it.
What if the vampires attacked and killed some of the patrons, and she did nothing? Could she sit here and let it happen? Did she have that kind of resolve?
The chill deepened, and Victoria fisted her fingers into her skirts, crinkling the light silk and staring straight down at the stage, seeing nothing, hearing nothing, aware of nothing but the growing cold at the back of her neck.
And then the door of the box opened.
Two men came in.
Their eyes were not red, their fangs were not extended, but Victoria knew they were vampires.
Chapter 18
A Most Welcome Interruption
The vampires looked like any other gentlemen, dressed for the opera in dark coats with tan or fawn-colored breeches, adequately knotted cravats, and gloves. "Our apologies for being tardy," one of them said with a bow to Conte Regalado, who had risen to greet the men.Not men, vampires.