He drew in a deep breath, folding his arms over his middle. "I was drugged. By your marquess."
Victoria's eyebrows rose. "Really. So a mere slip of a marquess got the best of you, when a nasty vampire couldn't? And you freely admit this?"
Max opened his mouth as if to speak, but appeared to change his mind. He turned to look out the window, his profile flashing every time a street lamp illuminated the carriage interior. She looked at the haughty slope of his nose, the set ridges of his mouth, the unruly mess of dark hair. He looked beat.
"What happened, Max?"
"I did what you asked, Victoria. We needn't discuss it further." He did not look away from the window. "Your marquess is safe and will suffer no ill effects—and very little memory of what happened, because I took care of that too. He was trying to shoot a vampire with a pistol." Scorn laced his voice. Then, "Where is your glove?"
Victoria looked down; both of her arms were hidden under her cloak, the bare one and the gloved one. "I… Sebastian took it."
Max turned to look at her. "And what else did he take?"
Victoria's heart thumped faster. She shook her head.
"He expected payment for his information; what else did he take?"
Liberties. Liberties her fiance hadn't taken. And in a way, he'd taken yet another piece of her naivete. Shown her exactly why women wore gloves. All the time.
"Victoria."
"Nothing. He has my glove, and has taken nothing else. I am a Venator, Max. He is no match for me."
It might have been a laugh that issued from his lips; Victoria wasn't sure. But he said nothing, just turned and looked back out the window.
They rode in silence for a time; then she spoke. "Thank you. For what you did tonight."
That drew his attention from the passing scenery. He looked at her, dark and angry, from his corner across the narrow space. "Rockley had no idea what he'd walked into tonight. This is exactly the reason you cannot marry, Victoria. Your two worlds simply cannot intersect as they did tonight. Continuing on this path will only cause more destruction."
And with that, he turned back to the window and said nothing more.
Victoria did not sleep well that night. Her dreams were filled with a storm of images melding together: Phillip and Sebastian, Aunt Eustacia and Max, and words and voices running together: I've always wanted to taste a Venator… You cannot marry… That is something I would pay dearly to see… Does he know you walk the streets at night?… What else did he take?
She woke to find sun streaming through the window, nothing at all like the dark dinginess of her clash of memories. It was nearly eleven o'clock. Madame LeClaire would be arriving in two hours for her gown fitting.
Her wedding gown fitting.
Victoria passed a hand over her eyes. Was Max right? If she married Phillip, was she attracting more destruction?
Emptiness clawed her belly, and it was not because she'd had nothing to eat. How could she not marry Phillip? Charming, funny, handsome Phillip? The man who made her laugh, who jested with her, who helped her to see the humor in the society she was forced to live in. Who'd brought her flowers after she lectured him. The man who did the right thing, what was expected. A man she could understand.
He had followed her last night. Followed her into a den of vampires with little thought for his safety and no understanding of the world he was entering. If she married him, would she be able to keep her secret? Would she have to? If he knew she was a Venator, and safer than anyone on earth, would he understand?
He had made his confessions… harmless they were. Did she owe him the same?
Sebastian's words haunted her. Does he know that it means his love walks the streets at night? That she must mingle with those from the dark side to learn their secrets? That she kills every time she raises her weapon? That she has a strength he cannot hope to possess?
How could he understand? It had taken her weeks to understand, and she was called to this duty.
He was so good, so proper. How could he be married to a woman who stalked evil? Who was violent… who killed? He could never accept that in a wife—he should not have to.
He couldn't understand her world. Aunt Eustacia, and Max, and Kritanu… even Verbena and Barth… they understood. They were all a part of that world, that life.
Phillip was not, and could never be.
She drew a deep breath, knowing what she would do.
A heavy knot settled in her middle as she began to consider life without Phillip. A life that consisted of lurking in dark streets, in subterranean pubs, the need to always hunt and kill. The end of dancing and laughing and no hope of having someone to love, someone to care for her.
Perhaps that explained Max: his demeanor, the undercurrents of anger, and his ripping sarcasm. He was so alone. Victoria had believed it was by choice. Perhaps she was wrong.
Perhaps she had no choice either.
A loud slam from below, and the sound of pounding footsteps rushing up the stairs, caused her to turn toward the door to her bedroom.
Shouts; they sounded like Jimmons, and even Verbena, and suddenly her door flew open, slamming into the wall.
Phillip.
"Victoria!" He stood there, tall and wild, his cloak whirling about him and his hair falling over his brow. "You are here, and safe!"
She was so aghast she did not move even to close her jaw; Verbena and Jimmons and Maisie the housekeeper were standing in the doorway, all speaking at once, explaining how it had happened that Phillip had made his way up here.
"Send them away," he said to her, striding toward her where she remained in bed, her blankets pulled over her nightgown. "I am your betrothed; we are to be married in three weeks… send them away!"
She had never seen him like this, the unruffled and proper Phillip in such a stir. "Go ahead; you may go." She waved at Jimmons and Verbena. Then, amazingly, considering the situation, she had a logical thought. "Is Mother up and about?"
"She will be now," replied Verbena.
"Keep her from me, then. Tell her whatever you wish, but keep her from here until the marquess leaves."
"But it is not proper—" began Maisie.
"Go. Please. It will be fine if no one speaks of this."
Only after they left did Victoria allow herself to look at Phillip. The knot in her stomach had twisted tighter. She had thought to have more time to decide what to do… how to respond to Phillip. How to tell him she could not marry him.
But her decision was made. It was the right one.
"Victoria, Victoria." He stood next to her bed, hands behind him, as if trying to keep himself from reaching for her. "I am so sorry, but I could not wait. I needed to make sure you were here, were safe."