As Shadows Fade (The Gardella Vampire Hunters 5)

“I see that. ” Max didn’t trust himself to say much more. There were too many people around, and he’d likely end up with his fingers around the man’s throat-which would be a great blow to his reputation for control.

Where the hell was Vioget? Why wasn’t he at this blasted dance, protecting his own interests?

“Max, what are you doing here?” Victoria asked, moving closer. She was looking at him with sharp eyes that held not a hint of shame, and, quite likely-bloody hell –a bit of smugness. Blast. “Perhaps you had an urge to waltz after all?”

“I came to see you on a matter of some urgency,” he said, duly pushing from his mind the one and only time they’d waltzed. He didn’t like to dance, but he was damn good at it, and the glow of pleasure-not to mention surprise-in her eyes at the realization had been worth the ridiculous display. He glared at Starcasset. “Alone. ” In a carriage.

No.

Victoria’s red lips tipped up at the edges, revealing the collection of tiny dimples around them. “Of course, Max. ” There was that knowing edge to her voice, that allure, as she looked up at him as if she knew-she knew –how bloody uncomfortable he was.

Damn and blast. He should have left London weeks ago.

He should have found Vioget and sent him here tonight.

He should have merely lifted his brow and looked down at her with an arrogant expression and asked if she was ready to hunt vampires now, or if it was more important to finish off her dance card.

But it was so much harder now. After. Since.

There was so much hanging between them.

Victoria slipped her arm through Max’s before he could react, and she pressed her hip, torso, leg, all alongside him. “Good night, George,” she said coolly, as if she weren’t fairly melting against Max. Bloody hell. “Remember our agreement. I will keep my promise. ”

“Of course. Thank you again, Lady Rockley. ”

“Let’s go,” snapped Max, easing away from that red dress and the woman in it. As he turned, she bumped closer, and he saw, for the first time, a thin streak of red along her neck. “What the hell is this?”

Without thinking, he touched it, and saw that it was a thin scratch that oozed blood, half hidden by her hairline and around the back of her neck. Not a vampire bite.

Before she could reply, he grabbed her by the arm, angling her away from him, and started them toward the front door. “Get her carriage,” he snapped at the goggling footman, who fairly pissed his pants, presumably at the expression on Max’s face.

“My God, Max, you don’t have to be so rude,” Victoria said.

He ignored her. And Victoria, for once, closed her mouth and said nothing while they waited for the carriage.

The carriage. The small, dark, closed carriage.

Bloody hell.

Three

In Which Our Heroine Dredges Up a Past Event, to the Dismay of Her Companion

Victoria climbed back into the conveyance she’d alighted from only moments before. The scent of Maybelle’s ash still hovered in the air, and she swore she heard Max sniff as he slipped in after her.

She hadn’t even pulled all her skirts up and into the carriage, saving the hem from being trod upon or caught in the door, when he pushed past and sprawled on the opposite seat, settling in the center of the bench in an arrangement that clearly indicated his desire for solitude there.

The footman closed the door, and Victoria heard it latch in place. Inside, the interior felt dark and close. Her corset suddenly felt more restrictive.

“You’re losing your touch, Max,” she said, sinking into her own seat across from him. She took her time smoothing the skirt over her legs, perversely allowing it to whisk against his pantaloons, which, in the way of fashion, were held neat and straight by narrow straps beneath his feet.

He raised a brow in question, his face half lit by the small lantern that hung in the corner above Victoria. Of course he’d choose the side that wasn’t as well illuminated.

She took the brow quirk as an invitation to explain. “That message,” she said, gesturing at his long, sprawled body, “doesn’t have your normal subtlety. ”

His lips moved in what looked like a suddenly checked smile.

“In fact,” she continued, “it’s a rather clumsy and obvious shield against something you wish to ignore. ” She drew off the single glove she still wore and looked expectantly at his stony expression. Her throat had dried, and she swallowed gently, trying to ignore the sudden… awareness… between them.