“Now this,” he said, his voice filled with amusement, “is the perfect way to end a night on the hunt. ”
She closed her eyes, fell into the pleasure that surged and opened inside her, pushed away the worries, the memories, the image of dark, angry eyes . . . She tensed, and reached between them to lift his hand away.
Then there was a sudden lurch and near tip as the carriage barreled around a corner and Sebastian, half on top of her, lost his footing and nearly sprawled on the floor. The unexpected motion brought her back to reality, and when he would have pressed back down against her, she placed her hands on his chest. His heart raced beneath her fingers; she felt it through the linen shirt.
“Sebastian,” she said as he would have bent to her again. “I . . . it’s . . . I can’t. ”
He stilled against her, and she felt his chest rising and falling, as though he had to decipher her words. “What?” His voice was . . . wounded. He didn’t sit back, but remained poised next to her, nearly on top of her. “What is it, Victoria? What’s changed?” He gave a little laugh; it sounded forced, she thought. “You always made it a bit of a challenge, of course, and it was fun for both of us . . . but this is . . . different. ”
“I . . . ” She didn’t like that she sounded weak, but she knew . . . she couldn’t continue on the path they were going. She was confused, and frightened . . . and empty. She couldn’t banish the image of those black, furious eyes.
Then, suddenly, before she could think of how to respond, Sebastian said something in French, so violent and sharp that she knew it was filthy. He grasped her shoulders now—not in a gentle, loverlike way, but with the need to know. “Beauregard. Was it Beauregard? Did he . . . touch you?”
Yes, yes, he had . . . but she remembered few details. She didn’t want to remember them, didn’t want to know enough to be able to answer his question. Victoria closed her eyes; what had happened with Beauregard had been ugly, horrific . . . but it wasn’t the reason.
It wasn’t because of Beauregard that she felt empty and lost.
“My God, you’re shaking,” he said softly. “Victoria, I’m sorry. ” He gathered her into his arms there on the bench, pressing her face to his chest, and wrapped her tightly. “I didn’t know. ”
Suddenly, before she could stop it, her emotions burst forth and the tears came. The sobs of worry and angst, of fear and horror . . . what was happening to her . . . what had she done . . . loneliness . . . sorrow . . . confusion . . .
Sebastian held her, let her weep into his shirt until it was sopping. His face pressed into the top of her head, the warmth of his body comforting. The strength of his arms, and the feel of his hands, cupping the back of her head.
He murmured something into her hair, and pressed a soft kiss onto her scalp.
So unlike Sebastian . . . to be serious, to hold her without wanting more, to be silent.
“What did you say?” she said, pulling away and swiping angrily at her tears.
“I don’t have a handkerchief, but I still have your glove,” he said, giving her a rueful smile. “The one I tricked from you at the Silver Chalice. ”
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 finger
s 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.