Ten.
Victoria stifled a groan. She appreciated Mozart and Bach as much as anyone, but to sit through ten different pieces—each with three movements—was just too much for her. She cast a covert glance at the other attendees to see if there were any other shocked faces, but there weren't.
She was just going to have to suffer through it.
At first Victoria listened. She truly tried to listen. She sat primly next to her mother, taking as much time as possible to arrange her delicate skirts in gentle folds over her knees and the chair. Then she clasped her hands neatly in her lap, with her reticule tucked under her fingers. She could feel the outline of a small glass vial in the little pouch, which reminded her of the screeching pain in her neck when Max had poured his salted holy water on the bite. Verbena had somehow acquired a small bottle and filled it for Victoria so she would have her own.
Seething over Max's supercilious comments, and the pain he'd inflicted on her without warning, occupied Victoria's mind for approximately three movements of one of Mozart's quartets. It was only when she realized she'd gone beyond crumpling her reticule with annoyance and on to mangling her silk skirt that she knew she would have to think about something not quite as inflammatory as Max.
Maybe there would be a vampire here tonight and she would have an excuse to slip out of the room. Victoria held her breath and concentrated on the sensations at the back of her neck.
It didn't feel the slightest bit cool.
Or… maybe another lecherous gentleman would try to take advantage of one of the young ladies, and Victoria would be able to teach him a lesson.
She tried again to listen. And she succeeded in paying attention to each of the four Straithwaite daughters and the array of instruments they played throughout a Bach piano concerto. For the whole three movements, she managed to follow the melody and its ebbs and flows… and Victoria felt that was quite an accomplishment.
But then she looked down at the program and realized that the musicale was not even half over.
And her neck was still warm.
Submerging a sigh, she commenced to thinking about Rockley.
It was a delicious pleasure to recall the way they'd glided smoothly over the dance floor, his strong arms holding her just close enough to be proper, close enough that she could feel his warmth and smell the slightly smoky tang of his jacket. The way he looked at her from those heavy eyes made her want to close her own and slip into the memory.
She definitely wanted to kiss him. She knew that a kiss shared with the marquess would be nothing like the one Viscount Walligrove had imposed upon her. Fantasies about kissing might not be appropriate thoughts for a young lady, but then again, most young ladies didn't wear ash stakes in their hair and seek out vampires.
Nor did they have the strength and ability to instantly cut a grown man to his knees.
It was a heady power.
The only thought that marred her enjoyment of the memory of her dance with Rockley was the way he'd looked at Max.
And that thought brought her back to brooding about the master vampire slayer. His arrogance and sharp tongue grated on her nerves. And the way he looked at her when she even breathed the mention of a ball or dinner party, as if being a Venator and having a social life were mutually exclusive options… Her fingers crinkled her skirts again.
She felt a sharp elbow in her side, and turned to look at her mother, who was frowning and glaring down at Victoria's hands. She smiled at Lady Melly and made her fingers release the poor cloth and tried once again to focus on the music.
The seventh piece out of ten. More than half done. But… she looked closer at the list. There were four movements to each of the last three selections, instead of three.
Victoria closed her eyes and then reopened them. She looked down at the list and counted again, and saw that indeed she'd been correct.
Vampires seemed to be making their way through Society events; why couldn't one be attending the Straithwaite musicale?
There was no question that the music was beautiful; it was, and it was elegantly presented. The musicians were lovely to look at, each dressed in a different shade of blue: ice, robin's egg, cornflower, and sapphire. But one could listen to a trilling piano and a singing violin, viola, and cello for only so long without wanting to get up and walk around. Or stake a vampire.
Disappointment had her looking back down at the program again, willing the musical sisters to begin playing Mozart's Piano Concerto in D Minor, the last piece on the list.
At that moment, Victoria felt a shift of air over the back of her neck. It was cool. She straightened in her seat, no longer drowsy and bored. At last. Something to occupy her mind!
She tried to look around without appearing to do so. Then she realized the coolness was gone. And she saw that the shift in the air had merely been the faint lifting of breeze through an open window, which someone had blessedly had the sense to open.
Victoria stilled, waiting, breathing with long, slow breaths so she could focus all of her attention on the barometer at the back of her neck. Surely she'd felt something cool. It wasn't just the breeze.
But nothing changed.
When the Straithwaite sisters at last began the final selection in the program, Victoria felt a change behind her—as if someone were looking at her. The hair at the back of her neck tickled, sending shivers down one arm.
It wasn't a vampire, no. She didn't sense that. It wasn't an uncomfortable feeling. It was…