"I am fine. Thank you for sending this clothing for me," Victoria said. "But quickly, now, I must get dressed in my nightclothes. The marquess should be arriving home shortly, and I do not want to him to see me dressed thus. "
They worked quickly, and none too soon, for just as the sun began to show its glowing edge against the rooftops of London, Max's carriage pulled up in front of the estate.
Victoria flung on a cloak and dashed back down the stairs, skirts and hems held high.
Kritanu's nephew Briyani, a short, narrow-faced man with large muscles and the same bronze skin color of his uncle, was helping Phillip out of the carriage.
"Thank you for taking care of him," Victoria murmured to Max's driver. "Has he been awake?"
"Not so much, just as we were arriving home. " He handed Verbena a bundle of frothy material—her ball gown, now crumpled and soiled beyond repair, but at least it would not remain in the carriage.
"Max is at your uncle's home, and he is injured quite badly," Victoria told him.
He nodded and climbed back into his perch, starting the carriage off. "I will go and see how he is. "
"Victoria!"
Phillip was standing at the door of the house, looking bedraggled and exhausted. His eyes, always at half-mast, looked particularly weary.
"Darling! You are home at last. " Victoria said brightly, slipping her arm around his.
"Max came to my club; he said you called for me to come home. And then there was some great altercation there—I left in the midst of it. " He shook his head as if to clear it, and Victoria felt a renewed stab of guilt. "I must have fallen asleep on the way home. "
Lies and more lies. Subterfuge and deceit. Phillip was an innocent bystander who just wanted to live a normal, happy life with the wife he loved… and he was caught up in a mess that he could not comprehend. And he didn't even know it.
How long could she continue to expend energy in making certain he didn't know? Making certain he was safe? Living a dual life?
Victoria drew him into her arms right there on the stoop of St. Heath's Row, just beyond the stone walls that separated their estate from the streets of London.
"I am fine. I am afraid there was no urgency for you to return home; I merely told Max, when I saw him at the Guilderstons' dinner dance, that if he should see you to let you know that I would be home early and would like to speak with you. "
Perhaps another wife would have asked about his evening, about the altercation that apparently he faintly remembered at Bridge and Stokes, but Victoria could not take the charade that far.
"Come, you look exhausted. Why do you not take a rest?"
He slid his arm around her waist and propelled her with surprising strength into the house. "I will if you will join me, my lovely wife. "
"That I will. " Could he sense the relief in her voice? Could he tell that the tension had slipped from her as he appeared to accept so easily what had happened?
Victoria wasn't certain whether she should be relieved or disappointed that Phillip was too tired to make love to her, as he'd certainly intended. She curled up next to him and tried to sleep, knowing that something had to change before she went mad.
Her dreams were filled with the images and smells of the scene at Bridge and Stokes, of shredded flesh and pools of blood, vacant eyes and mouths sagging open in shocked and ecstatic screams… of red eyes and gleaming fangs and the whir of a metal blade, slicing and slicing and slicing…
When she awoke it was from a restless movement, and she was looking into the clear blue eyes of her husband. He was not smiling.
"You were there last night. At the club. At my club. "
She was so taken by surprise, Victoria could do nothing but move her mouth, trying to speak, but her lips would not form words.
"You were with your cousin. Is he really your cousin?" He was propped on one elbow, half sitting. The sheet had fallen from his bare chest and showed the curve of his arm and the dip of his elbow.
"No, I mean, yes, he is my cousin," she stammered, pulling herself up to sit. Too late, she remembered the scar on her left arm. . . In their haste the night before, Verbena had dressed her in a gown that had no sleeves. The gash on her arm, though healing quickly, was long and red and impossible not to notice.
Phillip did notice it, and he reached for her arm, pulling her off balance. "What is this? When did this happen?"
Victoria pulled away hard and broke his grip with little effort. She hadn't taken off her vis bulla the night before. "A few days ago. It was an accident in the stables—I cut myself on one of the farrier's tools. "
"That is a very deep cut," Phillip replied, his voice neutral. "When did you say it happened?"