Rises The Night (The Gardella Vampire Chronicles 2)

"No," she replied, eyeing him suspiciously.

"There were other callers today, my lady," Verbena interrupted as she and Oliver walked in carrying a large basket. "Their cards are on the table."

Annoyed that Sebastian's presence had distracted her from that simple task of looking at the front table, Victoria turned and thumbed through the small stack of cards. The Tarruscelli twins and Sara Regalado. Silvio Galliani. Obviously they'd all made it home from the opera unscathed. She was thankful she hadn't been home when they called, for how on earth could she have conversed casually with them after watching Sara succumb so wantonly to a vampire bite? Even her mother would have been hard-pressed to accomplish such a feat.

No one else had called.

Victoria would not even acknowledge that she'd hoped for anyone else; she knew Max had told her all he was going to tell her.

It just confirmed her realization earlier today at the Consilium. She was on her own.

"Shall we?" Sebastian asked, donning his gloves and then offering her his arm.

There was much more room for her fingers inside the crook of his elbow than there had been in Zavier's. And he was taller. And much handsomer.

And less trustworthy.

Yet, she did trust him after a fashion. He had, at least, saved her from being mauled by the vampire last evening. That must count for something.

Inside the carriage, they sat across from each other as it lurched off, reminding Victoria of Barth's erratic driving back in London. She smiled, and Sebastian noticed.

"Fond memories, my dear? Or are you merely thinking how brilliantly I handled getting us alone in a carriage yet again?"

"Your technique was brilliantly transparent." Victoria watched him warily.

He noticed and laughed. "Are you afraid I will leap across the carriage and tear your clothes off? It is not that it hasn't occurred to me, but I would hope you would grant me more finesse than that."

"I am never quite sure of what you will do, Sebastian. In fact, I was more than surprised by your actions last night."

His eyebrows rose, as they tended to do when he played the innocent. "Do you mean my extended attentions toward Portiera? I do hope it didn't bruise your pride, ma chère Victoire. You must know that it is you who has truly captured my regard." His voice was light and merry, as if to cut the meaning of the words, but the sentiment caused a sudden sharp tingle in her middle.

"I was not referring to your gross flirtations with the Tarruscelli twins," she replied. "And you know it. I was expecting your visit, as I was certain you would wish to claim some sort of acknowledgment from me—not compensation, Sebastian; I know you have decried that motive in the recent past—some acknowledgment that you saved me from a very unpleasant experience last night. I was, and am, very grateful."

"Ah, but you are a Venator," he reminded her, still with that light tone, "you did not truly need my assistance. I merely stepped in because I could not bear to see that lovely neck marred again." His voice slipped into a low tenor, and all humor evaporated from his countenance. "And you are dying to know who Beauregard is and how I know him."

"Of course I am. And I know that you will tell me only if you wish it, and so there is no point in asking. I don't wish to play this game of cat and mouse with you, Sebastian." Her words were steady, unlike her fingers, which, if she hadn't been clasping them in her filmy silk skirt, would have been trembling.

"Then we shan't play." In a trice he was sitting next to her on the bench. He swept off his hat and tossed it indolently across the carriage, ignoring the fact that it rolled and landed on the floor near the door. "Will you kiss me this time, Victoria, or will you make me do the dirty work?"

"I kissed you at the docks in London."

"Of course you did, because you knew it was safe. You were getting on a ship to come here. But now…" After shrugging out of his jacket, he settled back in the corner and looked at her, his arms crossed over his waistcoat. His leg pushed against hers in the center of the bench, his chest rose and fell, and his shoulders jolted off rhythm with the movement of the carriage. "Are you brave enough, my lovely Venator?"

She leaned forward, and he pulled up from his relaxed pose to meet her halfway. Their mouths met in a tangle of lips and tongue and her delicious, deep sigh of pleasure.

Before she knew it her hair was falling around her, the pins scattering from Sebastian's fingers to her shoulders, the cushioned bench, and the floor below. He pushed his hands through her curls and the coils Verbena had made, combing from her neck along her upper arms, then moving to unfasten the pelisse that buttoned tightly over her bosom.

Pulling the tight jacket off her shoulders, pushing it down over her arms, he continued to kiss her on the mouth, the jaw, the neck, until she struggled beneath him. "The sleeves… need to be unbuttoned," she told him, trying to shrug out of the tight jacket.

"I know," he said in her ear, and pushed the sleeves farther down her arms so that the coat slipped over her hands, leaving her wrists trapped inside the arms, pulling the pelisse taut behind her hips.

"Sebastian," she said, a warning note and a tinge of panic in her voice. "I don't like this."

"Shhh," he murmured against her neck, brushing his eyelashes over her cheek. "Just relax. Enjoy." He sucked on her earlobe, his mouth warm and slick.

Victoria took a deep, shaky breath and realized that the hint of panic was subsiding as he spread his hands over her shoulders, pulling the bodice away, then slipping behind to unfasten the buttons and unlace the top of her stays—mainly because of what his mouth and hands were doing to distract her.

He was quick and smooth, her br**sts free and bare, jouncing in the darkening carriage before she realized it. He covered them, lifted and thumbed them, gentle and then firm in his touch. Victoria closed her eyes and sighed when his lips closed over one nipple and drew it sharply into his hot mouth, flicking over it with the tip of his tongue. The pulsing sensation matched the throb between her legs, and she shifted her hips beneath his weight.

With one last tug from his lips, Sebastian chuckled against her breast. "Patience, my dear," he said, but lifted himself away to attend to his breeches. She saw them fall, baring muscular thighs, and then his drawers; and then he bent forward as his hands smoothed up beneath her skirts, sliding along her thighs, baring her legs and piling her gown into a mass of silk and lace in her lap.

His fingers slipped and played where she ached and burned, making her sigh and shift and leaving her wanting the rest. She felt the brush of his hair over her cheek as he kissed her neck, his breath rough in her ears.