Rises The Night (The Gardella Vampire Hunters 2)

Victoria chatted briefly with Teresa before the woman was called away to look at an amateurish drawing by one of her friends. Victoria saw Lord Byron walking out of the room, a definite hitch in his step, and she eased herself toward the entrance.

Where one exited, one must reenter.

And so he did, shortly thereafter, and when he did Victoria caught his eyes.

“Mrs. Withers, hope you are having a fine time of it here. Daresay, you find it a bit less stuffy than the ton.”

“Indeed, there is much frivolity here. I’m having a lovely time.”

“Hope you do not mind if I ask you how my friend John was when you last saw him. Was devastated to hear of his horrid passing.”

The sparkle in his eyes and the way he gestured with his glass of Chianti belied his sentiment, but Victoria was more than happy to go along. After all, she had a role to play as well. “Dr. Polidori was hale and hearty when I saw him last. We were at a house party at Claythorne, and…well, you heard about the accident. I do not wish to talk about that, for it was quite horrible. But we had a lovely conversation about vampires.”She dropped her voice to a near whisper on that last word, leaning closer to him and purposely giving him a view down her low décolletage.

He noticed and, closing his fingers gently around her wrist, stepped backward, his gaze fastened down at her bosom, which, she knew from previous experience, was quite appreciated by the opposite sex. Victoria noticed that behind him was a small curtained alcove. She allowed him to tug her gently behind the curtains as she discreetly whisked away the fichu Verbena had tucked into her neckline. Whatever would help her cause.

She just hoped Countess Guccioli didn’t notice. Dealing with vampires was one thing; having a jealous Italian contessa flying at her was another situation altogether.

“It was so fascinating,” Victoria continued, widening her eyes and gently pulling her wrist away. “Vampires! I do believe,” she whispered again, forcing him to move closer to hear her, “that Dr. Polidori was quite convinced that they really exist. Imagine that!”

“Indeed,” Byron replied. Victoria had never been as grateful for low-cut fashions as she was now. The man was half in his cups and quite distracted by the amount of flesh she was showing since she’d removed the fichu. This, then, was one of the benefits of being a widow as opposed to being an innocent maid.

She was certain she could ask him any question and he would answer.

“It must have been a great annoyance to you when The Vampyre was published and everyone thought you had written it.”

“It was nothing. Soon set it right. Although the story idea was mine, didn’t care John made a hash of it. Patterning Lord Ruthven after me!” He chuckled, stumbling toward her—whether it was purposeful or not, she didn’t know—and catching a brief handful of breast.

Victoria closed her fingers over his hand and gently removed it, but kept a tight grip on him, flattening his hand against the bare flesh of her shoulder and upper chest. A much safer area, one designed to keep him from getting too distracted, yet not a complete rebuff. It felt odd to have a man’s hand on her skin—particularly a man whom she did not know.

But she did not think about it. No one would see, and if it helped her to get the information she needed, she would suffer it.

“I should think you would make a lovely vampire,” she told him, giggling in a manner more suited to a new debutante than a vampire-killing widow. “All dark and dangerous…Surely you are not about to spring fangs and bite me in the neck, are you, my lord?”

He grinned lasciviously at her, a thick mop of unruly black hair flopping onto his forehead, mingling with eyebrows and dancing into his eyes. He looked not the least bit dangerous. Rather, he appeared a bit silly, with his fair skin and too-feminine lips. “And if I were, would you scream and run away…or would you let me?”

“I would let you.”

His pupils widened, became black as night, and his fingers convulsed on her bare skin. “Mrs. Withers…you tempt me so.”

“But,” she said, deftly removing his hand and setting him back gently, shaking her head, “there are no such things as vampires…are

there? More’s the pity, for I think they are terribly romantic.”

“Romantic?” He looked befuddled, as if he wasn’t certain how he’d come from being so close to his prey to being set back with nary a bump or a struggle.

“I should love to meet one. A vampire. Do tell me…have you ever met one? Because I am sure, after speaking with Dr. Polidori, that they really exist.”

He looked at her, his eyes a bit clearer now. “You would be dearly frightened if you met one, Mrs. Withers, I am certain.”

“No, indeed, for why should I? They wish only to survive, and they cannot help that they must live on fresh blood. It is the way they are made.” She curved her lips into a promising smile. “I think that it should be quite…erotic…to have two fangs sinking into my neck.”

Byron had taken a step back and removed his hands from any proximity to her. He looked as if he expected her to sprout fangs at any moment. “To be honest with you, my dear Mrs. Withers, I would not be surprised if they did exist. But I, unfortunately, have never seen one.” He coughed. “I do believe, however, that you are right. John Polidori believed in them too, and I am almost certain that he did meet them. But, I am afraid, I do not know for certain.”

Blast. She thought she had made progress!

“Thank you for your poetry readings tonight, my lord,” she told him, ready to release him before he reached for her again. “I think I have taken quite a thirst. May I excuse myself to find some more tea?”

“Of course, Mrs. Withers. I would be happy to escort you.”