The cold at the back of her neck was unbearable; it was all she could do to keep from pulling her arms from Phillip's grip and rubbing her nape while dashing off into the gardens below.
For that was where the vampire was.
And how was she going to get away to get there?
"Victoria, will you be my marchioness?"
"Yes, Phillip! Yes, I will… but would you please get my wrap? I am frightfully chilled!" She couldn't help that her voice came out with a panicked note; she had to stop the vampire.
He looked down at her, surprise stamped on his face, as if he didn't quite know how to react.
Victoria had to think: She had accepted his proposal, hadn't she?
"Yes, of course, my lady," he replied slowly, formally. Victoria felt a pit in the bottom of her stomach.
He started to turn away, but she grabbed his arm and pulled him back. She flung her arms around his neck and pulled his face down for a kiss, murmuring, "Yes, I will marry you, Phillip. I want to marry you. " A great burst of joy flooded her. She was in love, and she was going to marry Phillip!
He kissed her in return, and then she pulled away, the frigidity at the nape of her neck calling her back to duty. "My wrap, please, Phillip, so that we can stay out here for a bit?" She smiled, biting the inside of her lip, silently entreating him to go now so she could slip down into the gardens.
He was smiling too, now, not so formal, and she knew she'd saved that moment… now if only she could save the victim. Go now!
He did, striding quickly from the terrace back into the ballroom, and Victoria barely waited until he was inside before hurrying down the steps into the dark gardens below.
Chapter Ten
Wherein Miss Grantworth Takes Herself Out of Training
When Phillip returned to the terrace carrying Victoria's filmy wrap, she was gone. He stood in the pie-shaped wedge of light that spilled over the stones and looked around to be certain she hadn't moved into a more shadowy corner… but she was nowhere to be seen. The other couples had disappeared. The patio was empty.
Just then he heard a faint scream from down below, in the gardens.
He ran down the steps, her shawl fluttering in his hand, his feet crunching on the pebble-stoned path, spewing up a scattering of stones with each s
tep.
"Victoria!" he called, dashing to the left, where he was sure he'd heard the scream—a sound so faint that if he'd been inside the building for one more moment, he would not have heard it.
Why had she left the terrace? What had happened?
Had someone taken her?
As he rounded a bend in the path, he nearly collided with a figure in skirts. She was staggering, half bent, sobbing, clutching at her gown. Without thinking about impropriety, he grabbed the woman's shoulders. "Victoria?" he said, giving her a soft shake.
She looked up. It was not Victoria but Miss Emily Colton, who had been standing with Frederick Truscott on the terrace only moments before. Her face was a terrified mask, and something dark, like a scratch, marked her neck. She was babbling something incoherent, clutching at him as if she were drowning and he was pulling her from the water.
Phillip was torn. Victoria was still out there, but Miss Colton needed him too. And what had happened to Truscott?
"Come," he said, pulling her after him, back toward the house, calling for help along the way. Over her muffled sobs, he listened fearfully for another cry from the dark.
"Did you see anyone else?" he demanded urgently. "Another woman? Miss Grantworth?"
She seemed to nod, to give an affirmation, but he wasn't certain what she was saying between her sobs and trembling. When they came in sight of the terrace, he gave the woman a gentle push and called for help, then turned and dashed back into the darkness.
"Victoria!" he called. "Victoria!"
He rounded another corner, and nearly ran into her.
"Victoria!" he exclaimed, grasping her shoulders and pulling her to his chest, crushing her there in gratitude that she wasn't the one sobbing, frightened. "What happened? Are you all right?"