When Twilight Burns (The Gardella Vampire Chronicles 4)

Nothing could change the fact that he’d turned his back on the Venators. He’d lived with a powerful vampire for years, protecting and serving him while watching the vampire hunters from a distance.

He’d ignored his duty.

Yes, he’d had to slay the woman he loved. Giulia had no longer been the girl he’d known, just as Phillip had no longer been the man Victoria had wed. It had been the hardest thing she’d ever done . . . but it had not drawn her from her responsibilities.

If anything, it had made her stronger and more determined to eradicate the undead.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a knock at the door. Victoria sat up, surprised that Verbena would bother her so early. It wasn’t yet nine o’clock. “Yes?”

Verbena’s puff of wiry orange hair poked around the door. “Oh, thank’od my lady, ye’r awake. I’m so sorry to bother ye, but there’s a man on the front stoop who’s demandin’ to speak t’ye.”

“Who is it?” Victoria swung her legs out of the bed and slid to the floor.

“I dunno, but says ye’d want t’talk to him. He says as he’ll stay there all th’day if’n ye don’ come down.” Verbena came in the room, carrying a fine white chemise and Victoria’s corset. “The nerve o’ him an’ his sharp-edged beak. I d’clare, th’ man looks like a ferret.”

Frowning, Victoria pulled her nightgown over her head as her maid ruffled quickly through the wardrobe for a frock that could easily be slipped over her corset and fastened quickly, without having to be pressed. Whoever it was, it must be important for him to call on her so early.

Many possibilities shot through her mind as Verbena helped her to dress quickly, then looped her thick, heavy hair into a loose knot at the back of her neck. Within minutes, Victoria hurried down the stairs.

To be sure, there wasn’t another lady of the ton who could have been dressed so quickly, so early in the morning—let alone already be awake when the summons came. And yet, when Victoria opened the front door to the stoop, she found her guest pacing the small space with an air of deep impatience.

She recognized the familiar, sharp-faced man right away, even as, without a bow or even the pretense of one, he said, “Lady Rockley. I understand you had another harrowing experience last evening. How dreadful for you.” His tone, his countenance, and even his posture exposed his words as sarcastic. Instead, Mr. Bemis Goodwin’s pale gray eyes appeared cold. “And I’m certain you’d want this conversation to take place inside, rather than here on your front stoop.”

Annoyance buffeted her, but she tasted a bit of apprehension as well. The look in his eyes held suspicion along with unfriendliness. She stepped away to allow him entrance, and gestured to the tiny parlor. “What do you want, Mr. Goodwin?” she asked, following him in and closing the door.

“I have some questions to ask in regards to your discovery last evening, at the home of Baron Hungreath.” He looked pointedly toward one of the chairs. Victoria ignored him. “Of course, the magistrate is quite concerned.”

Victoria, having been the one to suggest contacting the magistrate, felt like kicking herself. But she refrained, and instead replied, “As well he should be. Someone is attacking innocent women and leaving their mauled bodies for dead.”

“Someone? Or something?” Mr. Goodwin’s slender nose gleamed like the mother-of-pearl handle on a spoon.

“If you continue to make such vague statements, my butler will show you the door.”

“The magistrate has sent me to ask you some questions, Lady Rockley. It will be best for you if you cooperate. I should hate for you to end up in Newgate, waiting for the noose, due to some . . . misunderstanding . . . in regards to your involvement. I understand it’s quite a loathsome place, even for a prison.”

“Who are you working for?” she asked.

“Why, the magistrate, of course. Although Miss Forrest’s family is, and quite rightly, devastated and determined to find out who or what is behind the horrible attack on their daughter.” Victoria saw him glance toward the chair again, but perversely, she remained standing. “You came upon this young woman’s body hidden behind a gardener’s shed. Her name, incidentally, was Bertha Flowers.” He looked at her as if to challenge whether she cared that the woman had a name.

“Yes, I found her behind the shed.”

“What were you doing in the garden during a dinner party, Lady Rockley?”

“I had excused myself to get some air. The gardens were lovely.”

“But the other guests were playing cards. Why would you be so rude as to leave the party?”

“I thought I saw one of the other ladies in the garden, and I went to join her.”

“And who was that? According to Lady Hungreath, all of the other ladies were in the parlor with the exception of you.”

“Miss Sara Regalado, from Rome, was not in the parlor when I quit the room.”

“Miss Regalado returned almost immediately after you disappeared. Lady Hungreath noted it especially as she thought it would be you, and was quite confused when you didn’t return.”

So that had not been Sara’s pink gown, flashing behind the cupid statue? It was impossible for Sara to have returned to the parlor so quickly without Victoria seeing her.

“How did you know where to find the body?”

“As I wasn’t looking for a body,” Victoria replied shortly, “I didn’t know where to find it.”

“You had blood on your skirt and hands when the gentlemen found you. And your shawl, covered in blood, was found at the scene as well, as if it had been . . . discarded. Nor, again, did you scream or make any other sound of distress—according to the others. Who, certainly, should have heard you. It’s almost as if you expected to find it, and knew where to look.” He rocked back on his heels, as if delivering some great pronouncement.

“There was blood everywhere, Mr. Goodwin. When I knelt next to the girl to ascertain whether she was dead—”

“Lady Rockley, I saw the condition of her body. You must be foolish in the extreme to believe that she might have been alive. Regardless, no woman would have the constitution to come upon a person in that condition and not make any sound of distress.” He didn’t speak further, but exaggerated dubiousness was written on his face.

“Perhaps you could desist from dancing about the Maypole and say whatever it is you mean,” Victoria replied.