Rises The Night (The Gardella Vampire Chronicles 2)

During the ride, Victoria allowed him to be as attentive as he liked, and more than once caught the speculative glances from Portiera and Placidia. She smiled demurely as he made a great show of taking her arm and the arm of one of the twins—she didn't see which one—and led them through the opera's hall to the Regalado box.

Inside the small, shadowy room, which hung just to the left of the stage at approximately the height of two men, and close enough that Sara would be able to see the detail of every costume's button, Conte Regalado and his daughter were waiting.

"How kind of you to join us," Conte Regalado said with a smile that reminded Victoria of molasses. He bowed, took each of the twins' gloved hands in turn, and kissed them. Then he turned to her and bowed again, took her hand in the same manner, but did not release it after the kiss. "Mrs. Withers, I am particularly pleased that you accepted my daughter's invitation tonight. We did not have enough of a chance to speak at my art showing, to my dismay."

"Conte Regalado." Victoria made a curtsy even as he held her hand as though he were not about to allow her to have it back. "I cannot tell you how lovely it has been to be so welcomed here in Rome by you and your family and friends. And I did not have the opportunity to tell you how fascinating I found your painting." Fascinating was definitely one way to describe a man who painted his daughter's ni**les.

"I am hoping that I might persuade you to sit for me someday. I believe you would make a lovely Diana."

The huntress. How appropriate. "I would be most flattered to oblige at your request," Victoria replied, wondering if his image of Diana included the same filmy gowns as did his Fates.

"Emmaline!" Sara had greeted the twins and now pushed her way between her father and Victoria in order to greet her. "You must sit near me so that we can talk. Padre, excuse us, please."

"Good evening… Mrs. Twitters, is it?" Max's deep voice startled Victoria. He'd been standing to the side, in the shadows, where he wasn't easily noticed. She was sure he'd done it purposely just for the effect.

"Max, do stop teasing. You are stupido. Of course you remember her name. This is Mrs. Withers; surely you recall meeting her at Papa's showing?"

"Of course I do." But he sounded baldly uncertain and Victoria wanted to slap that indolent smile off his face. But then, when she looked up at him and their gazes met, she was so shocked by the animosity in his eyes that she nearly stepped back.

Victoria turned to Sara and asked brightly, "Did you ask your fiance about a rose?"

"Oh, no, I had forgotten." Sara turned to Max, gripping his arm, and looked up at him with an ingenuous smile. "Silvio, il malfattore"—she giggled at this point, taking any sting out of the insult for her cousin—"has decided to change the name of my rose to call it after Emmaline, and so she suggested that you might be willing to grow one of your own for me. And I told her I was certain that you would concur." Victoria watched in fascination as she actually batted her eyelashes.

Max raised his eyebrows and looked at Victoria. "Is that so?"

"Well, actually, that was not exactly how it occurred, but"—she tipped her head to one side as though considering his fitness—"I do see that being surrounded by flowers and digging in the dirt might suit you very well."

It was so quick Victoria wasn't certain she'd seen it, but she would have sworn there was a flash of humor or admiration, or something that relieved the harshness there, something of the old Max… but then it was so brief that she might have been mistaken, for that awful arrogant and cold look was back. "I see. Well, adorate mio, for you, I shall consider it."

At that moment the box door opened again and in walked Sebastian. "I am terribly sorry for being late," he said, his gaze scanning the small room.

He looked delicious—his thick lion's-mane hair combed neatly off his forehead and curling about the nape of his neck and his ears. His jacket was rich topaz and his breeches were dark rust, his cravat a masculine design of carrot, persimmon, and gold; and the entire ensemble, as always, was cut and tailored to perfection. And his smile, the way his upper lip shadowed his lower one and the hint of a quirk at one corner…

Victoria felt the heat rush from her bosom up over her throat and to her cheeks in one great wave. She hadn't seen him, nor heard from him, since their erotic interlude the night of the party. And all she could think of was where his hands had been and what his fingers had done.

And what still remained unfinished between them.

"Mrs. Withers, are you feeling quite the thing? You appear to be rather… red." Somehow Max had come up behind her, and when he spoke in her ear she nearly jumped. Again. "It is rather disconcerting when people show up where they shouldn't be, and are not welcome, is it not?"

Victoria swallowed and turned her head enough to see how close his silky blue-and-gray neck cloth was. It was nearly brushing her shoulder. "I have no idea what you mean," was all she could think of to say.

Just at that moment she turned back and found the man in question in front of her. "Mrs. Withers, how delightful to see you again." There were so many nuances in Sebastian's tone, Victoria was not sure whether to blush or to slap him.

"It is indeed," she replied with a curtsy, and allowed him to kiss her gloved hand. But when he released it and pulled his hand away, her glove came with it, dangling like an unstarched cravat.

"Oh, dear," Sebastian said, looking at it. "You do have a penchant for losing your gloves, do you not?"

Of course, he was reminding her of the time he'd taken another of her gloves, in nearly the same manner. The one she'd never gotten back. "I already have one pair of unmatched gloves," she replied lightly. "I do hope you won't cause me to have another."

"But then you can put your single glove together with this one, and you will have a complete pair. And then… well, perhaps I will find a mate for this one too." And he stuffed it in his pocket. "Good evening to you, Maximilian."

"Sebastian." Max's nod was cool and sparse, and he drifted away.

Victoria could say nothing else about her glove without drawing attention, so she had to be content with directing a glare at Sebastian and removing her other glove, which, fortunately, wasn't as much of a crime as it would have been in London. Italians were a bit less rigid about such proprieties than the English.

Sebastian looked at her with a mild expression, then turned to speak to the Tarruscelli twins, who had been thrilled, as evidenced by their clapping hands and genteel squeals, with his arrival.