The doorway through which Max had disappeared was not the one through which she’d originally entered the ballroom. Instead of leading to an entry foyer, it opened into a spacious, curve-ceilinged hall lined with doors and alcoves, studded with shoulder-high pillars topped with marble busts. In keeping with Regalado’s theme, several of them also sported nipples.
Victoria paused at one of the doors, unsure whether Max had gone this way to meet someone else, to obtain some solitude from the demanding social event, or, hopefully, to give her an opportunity to seek him out.
There was silence in the hall. Then from a distance, the rumble of a low voice followed by a low, delighted feminine squeal. Someone had taken the opportunity for a tryst.
Victoria moved along, wondering if she dared open any of the doors. Max could be anywhere. He could be in a completely different area of the villa. But if he’d slipped out in order to create an opportunity for them to meet, he should be nearby. Waiting for her. He must have seen her come back in from the terrace and must know she was behind him.
A doorknob turned, and Victoria scooted into the shadow of one of the busts, tucking herself behind it, wishing she were as petite as Sara. With a low whoosh the door opened, and the rustle of skirts told her a woman was coming along the hall.
Victoria held her breath, but the woman rushed along back to the ballroom with nary a glance. It was Sara Regalado.
An ugly feeling stirred in Victoria’s belly. She stepped from behind the pillar and waited.
The door opened again, and out strode Max. His thick, dark hair was rumpled and the collar of his shirt was crooked. Other than that, his hawkish features made him appear cool and removed, his elegant cheekbones as though they were carved from ice. He looked down his long, straight nose at her, standing there in the hall, and said, “You again?”
He would have brushed past, but she planted herself in the center of the passage. “What’s going on, Max?” she asked in a low voice.
“Whatever do you mean?” he asked, flicking at what had to be an imaginary speck on his coat sleeve. “Perhaps you’ve caught me in an awkward position, but after all, she is my fiancée.”
“Why haven’t you been in contact with Aunt Eustacia?”
His look was bland as porridge. “I’ve been busy. Wedding plans and such. You, of course, would know precisely how distracting they can be.”
She felt as though he’d slammed her in the stomach. “Yes,” she breathed.
He waited a beat, then said, “Is there anything else?”
“No.”
“Very good, then…er, Mrs. Witters, was it? Will you permit me to return to my fiancée? I hope your journey back to London is comfortable—and imminent.”
As she stepped back, he walked past her in a tall and dark whoosh, and she could not miss the air of annoyance that accompanied him.
Now, an hour later in the carriage across from George, who’d enthusiastically offered to see her home when the Tarruscelli sisters weren’t ready to leave, Victoria still seethed.
She simmered and stewed, but beneath the anger was emptiness, disbelief, fear. Arrogance and rudeness were nothing new where Max was concerned, but it was the blithe put-off when she’d asked him about Aunt Eustacia that really bothered her. He loved her aunt like a mother, a mentor, a teacher, and a liege. For him to dismiss her boded nothing good.
Surely it wasn’t what it seemed. Surely it wasn’t that he’d fallen in love and denounced the Venator world and duty.
Or that he’d joined the Tutela.
She’d never believe it.
+ 16 +
In Which a Small Italian Parlor Experiences Much Activity
* * *
Victoria wasn’t surprised to find Sebastian waiting at the villa when she returned. It just seemed to follow with the rest of the way things had been going. When she came in to find him awaiting her in the cushion-sized parlor, she had a brief moment of regret she hadn’t taken George up on his hints to be invited in.
It was only a brief moment, however, and was replaced by the more fervent wish she’d allowed Silvio to take her home, and to come in with her. The presence of the attentive and handsome Italian baron would have wiped the expectant smile off Sebastian’s face.
As it was, Victoria’s hand itched to wipe it off. She truly wasn’t fit for company, as her mother would say. But that was the risk Sebastian had taken, showing up here uninvited. Sending her off alone tonight. Not telling her everything he knew.
He was asking for it.
“I hope I didn’t keep you waiting too long,” she said by way of greeting.