When Twilight Burns (The Gardella Vampire Chronicles 4)

She blinked, her eyelids swollen and her nose streaming unattractively. “My glove.”

“I’ve kept it, and the other one I took later, too. Unfortunately,” he said, his smile wavering in the uncertain light, “they aren’t a matched set. I seem to have a penchant for baring your left hand. Among other places.” He brushed the hair from her face. “I’m in love with you. I think I have been ever since you showed me your vis bulla in order to find out where the Book of Antwartha was.”

“You tricked me into showing you,” she said. Her mind spun.

“It wasn’t a trick . . . I gave you what you wanted. Even though”—he chucked her lightly under the chin— “you still haven’t given me what I want.”

“What is that?”

“Don’t you know?”

Her heart thumped madly, and she curled her fingers around his hands, nestled there in her lap. She nodded. “I think I do. But . . .” She drew in her breath. There were so many things. . . . “I don’t know what’s going to happen . . . to me.” Her voice caught, but she forced herself on. “I may not be . . . myself . . . much longer.” She couldn’t put the thoughts into words.

God, please let me hear from Wayren soon!

“Lilith may be right,” he said, “but she lies well. And either way, Victoria . . . it would not be the first time I have loved a vampire.”

Twenty

Wherein Lady Melly’s Machinations Meet an Unexpected End

Victoria woke late the next morning with swollen eyes and the remnants of dreams she didn’t care to recall.

There was no word from Wayren, and Max had not made an appearance. Sebastian had reluctantly left her at the town house early that morning to return to wherever it was that he was staying.

Kritanu gave her the impression that he was aware of Max’s whereabouts. But when Victoria broached the subject, she was met with a gentle shake of the head and closed lips.

Well, if Max wouldn’t give her the chance to apologize, to explain why she’d been so certain—and that she’d been right!—that the evening had been a trap meant for her as well as him, so be it. He could sulk and brood and stay away.

Victoria had more important things to concern herself with. Besides, if Max were around, she’d be forced to confess the whole situation to him, including Lilith’s frightening prediction. Which she felt no real need to do. She hadn’t forgotten the fact that he’d been holding a stake, ready to put it to use when she woke up back in the Consilium.

And that was what she kept telling herself, over and over. And over.

Max was out of her life. For good.

He doesn’t want anybody.

Instead, she had to face the facts. Her night vision had become much clearer. If Lilith was right, and the vampire blood was taking over inside her . . . was it something she could fight? Something she could stop? Or was she destined to become undead?

The possibility was simply too horrific to consider. It just couldn’t happen.

She wouldn’t allow it.

The fact that Wayren hadn’t responded to a message sent by pigeon caused Victoria even greater trepidation. Wayren’s pigeons were trained to find her anywhere, and always seemed to do so, and to provide a response within twenty-four hours regardless of where she was. Thus Victoria began to fear that the wise woman had abandoned her as well.

Late that afternoon she sat grumpy and fidgeting in Lady Melly’s parlor, listening to the three cronies discuss the details of George IV’s coronation ceremony, which was to be held in a matter of days.

It was no surprise that the topic dominated their conversation, for the coronation of the man who’d been known as Prinny, nearly eighteen months after he’d ascended to the throne, was to be the greatest, most expensive and flamboyant crowning of an English king.

“What will you wear, Victoria?” asked Lady Nilly, leaning forward as if in anticipation of some great fashion secret.

“I don’t believe I’ve been invited,” she replied tartly, unconcerned with civility today. “And I do not plan to attend.”

“But of course you have been invited! The only person of Quality in all of the land who is not to attend is the queen herself,” Lady Melly chided her. “And if you stay away, you may be aligned with her in the eyes of the ton. That would not be fitting for the Marchioness of Rockley, Victoria, to take the side of Queen Caroline.”

“It is abominable that the working and trades cheer that disgusting creature whenever she goes about the City, giving her false support,” Lady Nilly said, her nose raised as if she smelled something objectionable. Perhaps it was the bouquet of daisies on the table near her tea. Victoria had always disliked the smell of the sunny flowers.

“It’s only because they despise Prinny—er, His Majesty—that they love her. Or claim they do, which I freely doubt. If any of them got within a king’s yard of that smelly sow, they should run the other direction and reexamine their thoughts,” Lady Melly said primly.

“If the woman would wash or change her undergarments, or even comb her hair, perhaps His Majesty would allow her near him . . . but she does not.” Duchess Winnie’s multiple chins trembled, but she was not in danger of being accused of living in a glass house. “It’s a simple matter of grooming,” she said, smoothing her perfect skirts pointedly. The duchess, who was also a woman of large proportion, was always supremely clothed and coiffed before she stepped from her chamber. “I vow the queen’s goats are better groomed than she.”

The other ladies laughed, and even Victoria couldn’t hold back a little smile. The gossip about the queen wasn’t completely mean-spirited. The woman had made no friends from the moment she arrived from Germany to wed the man who at the time was the Prince Regent.

Victoria remembered the story of Caroline of Brunswick’s first meeting with Prinny, in which the prince had come face to face with the sloppy, putrid woman and said, quite loudly, to the Baron of Malmesbury, “Harris, I do not feel well. Pray get me a glass of brandy.” He’d not ceased drinking for the three days up to and including the wedding. He’d passed out on his wedding night, and Caroline had left him on the floor.

It was no wonder there was enmity between the two.

A knock came at the parlor door, and Lady Melly straightened expectantly. Victoria tightened her fingers around an innocent teacup, knowing that her mother’s anticipation could bode no good for her.