When Twilight Burns (The Gardella Vampire Chronicles 4)

I’ve been awaiting your return from Italy for nearly a year now.

Those words hung in her mind, leaving her with a greasy lump in the back of her throat.

She had to find out who—or what—Bemis Goodwin was.

Ten

Wherein a Highwayman Engages in Social Frivolities

In Victoria’s mind masquerade balls weren’t so terrible, as far as Society events went. After all, she wore her own kind of mask every day, and she’d only ever attended one other such Society event—shortly after she and Phillip had announced their engagement. The mystery and intrigue reminded her of a safer, more lighthearted version of her nightly hunts on the streets. Certainly, masked dances with many rich-blooded potential victims were liable to attract some of the undead, due to their ability to hide behind a domino or other facial obstruction, but it wasn’t as though a vampire could enter a home uninvited.

That aspect did cut down on the number of vampires that crashed these soirees.

As she alighted from the sleek, midnight blue carriage, Victoria adjusted her mask and slung her small reticule over the other wrist. She’d purposely elected to use a plain carriage and arrive alone so that her identity would remain unknown for as long as possible. Despite her mother’s transparent attempts to engage James Lacy as her escort, Victoria had slipped firmly out of any such mazes, warning her mother not to reveal the nature of her costume to the new marquess—or even that she planned to attend. She didn’t want anyone to know she would be there, particularly George Starcasset and Sara Regalado.

“If you do, I promise you, Mother, that I’ll never accept another dance or invitation from Rockley again. And then how on earth will you ever get anyone to believe we’ve developed an attachment?”

Apparently, Lady Melly believed her—and the fallacy that there was a chance for the two to form an attachment— for she clamped her lips and nodded. “But you must promise to dance with him at least twice, and most definitely once after the masks have been removed.” Victoria had made some vague reply, helped in her attempt to prevaricate by the industrious Verbena, who’d been working on her hair in a most enthusiastic manner.

Now, as she took measured paces up the steps to Landross House, the residence of Lord and Lady Philander, Victoria felt a little knit of excitement trip down her spine. Unlike a few months ago, during the Carnivale in Rome where the streets were packed with costumed revelers, this would be a bit more sedate. The masks and costumes wouldn’t include long beaks or ungainly papier-mâché animal masks; likely, most of the garb would be gowns or dress clothing fashioned to represent the personage portrayed.

Because it was a masquerade ball, and the attendees’ identities were to remain secret until midnight, when the masks were removed, the butler did not announce Victoria by name as she entered the ballroom. It was busy, but not thoroughly crowded. Since the fascinating new Marquess of Rockley was due to attend, Victoria knew the room would soon be a complete crush.

Fortunately, Landross House not only boasted a high-ceilinged anteroom next to the ballroom, where the food and drink had been laid out (along with some chairs for the chaperones and other matrons), but a generous terrace that ran along the entire length of the residence. The doors from the ballroom were opened to the night air, and small lanterns festooned potted fig, lemon, and olive trees throughout the patio.

Feeling secure behind her large cream-and-silver mask, which covered her from hairline to over the top of her nose, and curved down over the sides of her face like a medieval helm, Victoria strolled through the room. Most of her hair had been twisted into a long coil, then wound in a large, intricate knot at the back of her crown, but a thick wave had been left to hang freely over her shoulder and down over one side of her torso.

The dancing had not yet started, and Victoria held her dance card and its little dangling pencil as she examined the other guests. She fully expected George Starcasset and Sara Regalado to be in attendance, and her main goal was to remain unrecognized by them so that she could observe.

In keeping with the theme of an underwater grotto, lighting was scarce and often obscured by false rocks inside the ballroom. Illumination threaded through the silver and blue strips of silk that hung from the ceiling, glittering and shifting the light as if it were under the ocean. The footmen, butler, and serving girls all wore livery decorated with glittering green, blue, and silver sequins, as though they were fish swimming silently among the guests. Victoria took a small glass of something pink and sparkling from one of them. It turned out to be effervescent water flavored with sugar and grapefruit peel— rather unusual and delicious, if a bit warm for her taste.

As she sipped, she turned in a slow arc from her vantage point across from the patio. From here, she could see the dance floor to her left, the orchestra positioned behind a thrush of papier-mâché rocks studded with fake seaweed and glittering fish, and beyond, in the anteroom, the long tables of food and drink.

Her eyes snagged on a man with blond hair that was long enough to just brush the back of his neck.

Romeo, if his doublet and slashed pantaloons were any indication. His cleft chin and the familiar movement of his shoulders betrayed his identity. As she watched George without appearing to do so, Victoria wondered if, somewhere, Sara was dressed as a matching Juliet.

As she considered whether to approach him directly or merely to observe, George turned and looked in her direction. Victoria held her breath and forced her attention to move casually away as though she didn’t recognize him. She felt the weight of his attention skim over her and, out of the corner of her eye, watched it settle on one of the Fates, who happened to be holding a pair of shears.

The glint of her blonde hair and the puffy pink lips beneath Atropos’s mask, along with her diminutive stature, identified her as Gwen Starcasset. Victoria hadn’t realized that Gwen was going to be in attendance tonight, and she eased back behind a nearby cluster of potted plants disguised as seaweed in an effort to keep out of her friend’s view. Watching as George approached his sister, she strained to see if she could hear anything. Even from a distance, and in the untrustworthy illumination, she recognized the pure delight in Gwen’s smile when her brother greeted her. And the surprise evident in his physical reaction, which gave Victoria something to think about.

“Ah . . . Diana the Huntress,” murmured a silky voice from behind Victoria. “How apropos.”

She stepped slightly to the side, angling half toward Sebastian while keeping her attention focused on George. Her left shoulder brushed against the right side of his chest. She smiled. He’d guessed correctly that her flowing, silver-shot gown and Roman-styled hair depicted Diana. But perhaps the small bow and arrow hanging from her heavy belt had given him a clue.