“I think not. You were much too gullible. ” She glanced at his nightshirt and her lip curled. “I don’t believe I’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting an undead dressed for bed. ”
His smile widened, and those fangs poked into his lower lip. “If I had known you were coming, I wouldn’t have bothered. Perhaps you’d like to join me?”
He lunged, and yanked her onto the bed next to him. She sprawled for a moment, then rolled onto her back, keeping the stake behind her hip. “No thank you. What did yo
u do to the real James Lacy?”
The undead reached for her tunic, grabbing a good handful of the material, and jerked her up as if she were a doll. Victoria sagged, yet she was ready beneath her feigned weakness. It was a game, now. How much information could she get before he became suspicious or bored?
“It was our plan from the beginning—caught him when he got off the ship from America. Insisted that he take a ride, and relieved him of his papers and clothing. Then we fed on him. ” He laughed. “In fact, I’m feeling a bit hungry at the moment, Victoria Gardella. Did you think you could sneak in here and get away without me knowing?”
She rolled her eyes. “You were snoring. I could have turned you to ash before you even awoke. ”
“Is that so?” His eyes burned bloodred, and his fangs gleamed sharply.
She pulled her arm from beneath and met him as he lunged, shoving the stake into the center of his chest. “Yes, indeed,” she told him as he froze, and then poofed into dust.
There was movement behind her, and she whirled to find Sebastian standing there. His stake was at the ready.
Victoria frowned. “I told you to stay back. ”
“I did. Mostly. ” He smiled, and her anger could do nothing but sap away. This was Sebastian, and either he wasn’t as confident in her abilities as Max was . . . or he cared more.
She thought she knew which one it was.
“Should we clean up the ash?” he asked. “It stinks. ”
Victoria nodded. “Let’s. And then there will be another strange disappearance of the Marquess of Rockley. ”
They brushed the dust onto a pillowcase. Then he poured it into the cold fireplace.
Victoria was waiting when he finished. The back of her neck was normal; there were no other vampires in the vicinity. The daytime vampire—at least, one of them— was dead. And so was the real Marquess of Rockley.
The hackney was parked at the prearranged location, and they made their way back to the vehicle without incident. No sooner had Victoria clambered in and settled in her seat, the door closing firmly behind Sebastian, than Barth started them off with a great leap.
Whether it was by accident or design, she’d never know, but the lurch sent Sebastian onto her side of the vehicle instead of the bench politely across from her. Once gracefully settling into his seat, he turned to face her. His knees bumped gently against her right leg and his arm sidled along the back of the cushion behind her. His gloveless fingers jutted into the long, simple braid she’d tucked into the back of her tunic, his thumb smoothing over the sensitive skin at the nape of her neck.
The carriage was very dark, and there was only the ambiguous illumination from the lantern that swayed at the front of the vehicle. She didn’t have the chance to speak, or even to think—for, all at once, Sebastian was there, kissing her.
His kiss was hungry, one that surprised her with its intensity. One moment they were climbing politely into the carriage, and the next, it was a tangle of lips and tongue, and hands that seemed to be everywhere.
Hot and sleek, his mouth covered hers as he held her face steady so he could delve and taste. Warm fingers settled at the base of her jaw, and Victoria raised her chin to gasp for a quick breath before slipping back into the kiss, fighting to keep back the red-edged memories threatening the corner of her mind . . . the lull of pleasure snapped by the sharp thrust of fangs . . . the pull of her blood as it coursed through her veins . . . the bizarre sensation of cold and warm lips against her skin.
She moaned softly, half in horror at the remembering, at the inability to stop it . . . half with melting pleasure, for this man knew where to touch her.
Battling back the horrific images, she forced herself to explore Sebastian, to remind herself that it was he, and not Beauregard. . . . She wove her fingers desperately through his thick curls, arching up against his hard belly and insistent erection as he straddled her thigh, the edge of the bench slicing into her skin from beneath. His weight pressed gently against her hips, and she moved her hands so they eased up over the smooth muscles of his chest to curl at the top of his shoulders. Wide, strong shoulders beneath the coat, and under the dark linen . . . smooth, golden skin. Sebastian.
A light brush of hair stroked her cheek when his lips lifted, then fell to trace the curve of her jaw, nibbling and licking. His breath puffed hot and hard against her neck, and Victoria was aware of her own breath rising to meet his as she focused on the moment . . . the man. The sensations. Not the memories.
Barely aware of the carriage wheels rumbling beneath them, at last she allowed herself to fall into a spiral of urgent, slick kisses and to feel the skim of fresh air over bare skin as her tunic was lifted . . . warm, sure, possessive hands smoothing on her flesh, exploring and coaxing as she closed her eyes. The sensations mixed and whirled, and the coach seemed small and intimate as he stripped off his coat. She pulled his shirt from the waist of his pantaloons, at last feeling the warmth of flesh and the pull of muscle beneath a light dusting of hair. Her fingers slipped around, rediscovering the unyielding silver of the vis bulla that dangled from the hollow of his navel.
Release, relief, pleasure slid through her, loosening her limbs, making her feel liquid and warm. His mouth settled over a breast, bared by the tunic piled over her collarbones. The way his lips closed over her tight nipple, sucking gently and drawing it deep into slick warmth sent her shuddering and shivering on the bench.
He pulled away, settling himself over her, his face close. His linen shirt brushed over the tips of her breasts and she could see, just so, the half smile on his face.
“And so,” he murmured, his mouth close, “it is yet another carriage ride for us. ”
She smiled and then gave a little gasp as his hand moved down between them, sliding beneath the band of her trousers. He watched her, his face jolting and swaying with the motion of the hackney as his fingers, sure and firm, found the place they sought. Victoria’s breath caught at the first touch, and then she felt herself gathering up, tight and ready, as he stroked and slipped and slid down in the heat.