"Victoria," came a shrill voice laced with barely concealed excitement, "may I make an introduction?"
"I'll excuse myself for now, Miss Grantworth."
Gwendolyn told her. "The Duchess of Farnham is heading this way to collect you, and there is Lord Tutpenney, looking ever so lonely. Enjoy the rest of your coming-out."
Victoria turned to see Lady Winifred beaming an expectant smile in her round, dimpled face. "May I present my sister by marriage, Lady Mardemere, her husband, Lord Mardemere… and his cousin, Lord Phillip de Lacy, Marquess of Rockley."
And suddenly, the persistent chill over the back of her neck eased. Victoria felt a sudden burst of warmth spread over her skin, from cheeks to neck to bosom. She held off the urge to look down and see if her skin had colored darker than her gown.
"My pleasure, Miss Grantworth," Lady Mardemere was saying. "What a lovely turnout for your debut! Your mother must be very pleased."
"She is indeed," Victoria replied before turning to curtsy for Viscount Mardemere. "I have hardly had the chance to meet everyone myself." And then she was looking up into the deep-set, hooded eyes of the Marquess of Rockley.
Lady Gwendolyn had not exaggerated. Well-turned did not begin to describe the man who stood before her, raising her gloved hand to his lips. He stood as tall as any man in the room, his rich brown hair gleaming with strands of gold as he tipped his head to press a kiss to the back of her hand. "If you have not yet greeted everyone, may I dare hope there might be a dance left on your card?" His voice matched his looks—clean, calm, smooth—but his eyes carried a different cadence. Something that made her feel very warm. And… he seemed familiar to her in some faint way.
"There is indeed, but it is one of the later ones. After supper, if you intend to stay so long." She looked at him from under her lashes. Victoria did not know where her boldness came from, but it did not appear to dismay the marquess.
"I shall be at a loss to occupy myself until then," he replied with a meaningful look, "but wait I shall."
And then she felt the chill return to the back of her neck, and the weight of someone watching…
Pulling her hand from Rockley's grip, she turned abruptly to look, skimming her gaze over the crowds and pausing at a small cluster of people across the room.
"Victoria?" She dimly heard the surprise in Lady Winifred's voice, echoed by a low rumble from Rockley: "Miss Grantworth? Is everything all right?"
There. He was there… A dozen or so of the peerage stood under the downward curve of the staircase Victoria had descended, half-shadowed in the candlelight there, faces bent toward one another, talking, laughing, gesturing.
And then she saw him. He was watching her even as he bent to talk to the slim blond woman next to him. Tall and dark, he exuded power with the mere inclination of his head as he smiled down at his companion. She beamed up at him, openly delighted with his attention, and smoothed her hand along his forearm—helpless and ignorant of the danger she faced.
Just as ignorant as Victoria would have been only weeks ago.
"Yes, yes," she forced herself to say brightly as she returned her attention to Rockley and then Lady Winifred. "I thought for a moment that I had seen my mother beckoning to me." A limp excuse, but since she had offered the apology, it would be accepted. "Please pardon my distraction, Lord Rockley," she said, smiling up at him, suddenly realizing he was holding her hand again. "It has been my greatest pleasure to meet you. I will look forward to our dance later this evening."
He sent her a melting smile and a short bow. "I will be awaiting the pleasure with great impatience."
At that moment, Victoria felt rather than saw the tall, dark-haired man and his companion moving from their position under the staircase. The back of her bare neck was cold, and her fingers began to tingle. They were walking toward the doors that led to the terrace, the slim blond woman looking up at him with a soft, glowing smile. If they went outside…
Victoria started across the room, weaving quickly betwixt and among the crush, slipping past people who wanted to stop and talk. "Pardon me," she said when a particularly formidable-looking matron attempted to block her path. "I must catch my… my aunt before she retires for the evening."
Because he towered above the rest of the partygoers, Victoria was able to track his movements as the couple wended toward the French doors. They were most certainly planning to step outside to catch a breath of air.
Victoria slipped out onto the terrace, hoping her mother hadn't noticed the beeline she'd made across the ballroom. It would be rather difficult to explain deserting her own debut to wander on the terrace.
And even worse for that tiny blonde if Victoria did not intervene.
Hurrying on silent feet, she clung to the shadows of the noisy, well-lit house as she scurried across the brick terrace. Listening for the murmur of voices, she paused near a statue of Aphrodite, peering around its cold stone base to see if she could spot the man and his intended victim. She had to hurry; he wouldn't waste any time for fear of being discovered.
Then she remembered, and slipped her hand under the silky, flowing skirts to tug free the wooden stake she'd slipped into her garter. Gripping it the way Eustacia had taught her, Victoria left the protective shadow cast by the statue and hurried along the main path, listening intently.
And then she heard a throaty murmur, followed by a husky laugh. Turning to the right, she moved silently toward them and at last came to the end of the path. The couple stood under the canopy of a branch heavy with lilac blooms. The blond woman was looking up at the man, all innocence and delight; and he smiled down at her. Even though it was not directed at her, Victoria felt the power of his beckoning smile. She tightened her fingers on the stake and moved closer.
She was near enough now that she could see the rise and fall of the woman's bosom, and the sharp curve of her target's high cheekbone. He looked like an arrogant aristocrat, standing tall and dark with his handsome face and square-jawed chin.
What would it feel like to slam the stake into his chest? Would she have to shove it through clothing and bone? How hard would she have to push? Or because the heart was his weakness, was it unprotected and easy to penetrate?
She touched her crucifix, praying that she would have the strength. She would have only one good chance.
She couldn't wait any longer. He was smoothing his hands along the woman's bare arms, and she was smiling up at him, curving toward his body. They looked as though they were about to kiss; but Victoria knew better.