“But you’ve kissed me.”

“That I have.” His eyes were very dark.

“And you rather enjoyed it.”

“Did I?” he sounded amused. “I seem to have forgotten the details.”

Victoria felt a rise of annoyance, and she tightened her grip on his shoulder. But she made her smile sweet and knowing. “Are you trolling for a reminder?”

She imagined that, behind the mask, his eyebrows rose in that sardonic manner. “What would be the point? Sebastian, Zavier, Beauregard, James Lacy . . . I have no desire to be one of many, Victoria.” And now all humor vanished from his expression. “No man does. So, if you would like my advice—”

“No, I don’t—”

“—then I suggest,” he continued smoothly, “if you wish to keep Vioget, that you keep your kisses, and suggestions of them, confined to him. And most definitely away from the Marquess of Rockley.”

Eleven

Dinner Is Announced

After their waltz, Max deposited Victoria at the edge of the dance floor where Vioget and Rockley waited. It was a bloody relief to let her go and step away. He bowed curtly and took himself off to investigate whatever the hell he could find to investigate.

She’d be too damned busy to do so herself for awhile, if the expectant expressions on the faces of her two panting suitors were any indication. It looked as though Vioget might have a bit of a fight on his hands, although Max had no concerns that Victoria would make the same mistake with this Rockley as she had with the previous one.

Max’s scalp was hot under his hat, and his mask felt stifling. His fingers still remembered the warm, delicate feel of her spine through that scandalously thin gown—if one could call it a gown. Hadn’t she been wearing a damned corset?

Some years ago, he’d been witness to Parisian women dampening their thin muslin gowns so that they clung to the very outline of their entire body—a Madame Gorhomme and her luxurious form sprang immediately to mind, prompting his tight mouth into a smile. But a glance at the dance floor stopped it. Christ, the fabric of Victoria’s long toga was just as thin and revealing as Madame Gorhomme’s—without benefit of water.

Hard to believe, he thought as he sidled his way through the warm crush of guests, that the lithe, light body he’d just handled was the possessor of such power and skill. A man could hardly fathom it . . . yet he’d experienced it firsthand: the strength and grace of her slender arms, the whirl of a powerful leg slamming into a vampire twice her size, the fire in her eyes and the flush of battle reddening her cheeks . . . all of which simply made her more fascinating to men like Vioget and Zavier. And even ones who had no idea who she was, and what she was capable of—like her husband and the new American marquess.

Even creatures like Beauregard, whom she was bound to slay.

All thanks to the two vis bullae, hidden somewhere under that gown. And one of them was his.

While he wore only one, even though it was useless to him.

Max had an urge for whiskey to cleanse the bitterness in his mouth. He gestured for a sequined footman to pour him one, and turned back to watch the dancers.

God damn Lilith for taking away his only passion, the single purpose in the life he’d salvaged after Papa and Giulia were gone. When he was done here in London, he was going after the vampire queen. He’d send her to Hell and, God willing, would die himself in the process. And at last he’d find out if he’d paid enough penance for destroying his family.

He took a healthy swallow of whiskey.

“Good evening, Maximilian.”

Damn.

“Sara.” Bloody hell. He’d been so damned distracted he nearly walked into the chit.

“I knew that had to be you,” she said, her full lips curving under her rose-colored mask. She spoke smoothly, in their native Italian. “I haven’t forgotten how beautifully you waltz. Shall we, for old time’s sake?”

“No.”

Sara’s lips formed a generous pout. “Whoever she was, not only did she get you to dance, but you were completely captivated. I shall have to be jealous, Maximilian. Or . . . perhaps it is Lilith who will be jealous.” The pout had disappeared, along with the manufactured teasing in her voice.

Max’s body drained of heat. Sara and Lilith? Good God. “So you have allied yourself with Lilith the Dark. A dangerous proposition. She’s not known for constancy to her minions.”

“Are you concerned for my well-being, then, Maximilian?” She leaned into him, confident and bold. Her fingers wrapped around his arm and her leg brushed against his.

“Not in the least.” He grasped her wrist and set her away. “Have you turned undead?”

She smiled, looking up at him from under her lashes. “Would you like me to drink from you, Max?”

The whiskey in his belly churned. Lilith’s bites on his neck had finally disappeared, but the memories assailed him: red, hot, pain, pleasure.

His mouth dried; his head suddenly felt light. He was weaker now; he had little power and only mortal strength. To be trapped by her fangs and her thrall would be so much worse. He felt for the silver ring that bulked out his gloved finger, and the feel of it steadied him. He’d die before he would submit to her.

“I see that the idea excites you,” Sara murmured, and he felt her close to him again. “Perhaps I can arrange—”

“You are a foolish young girl,” he said sharply. “If you continue on this path, you’ll end up like your father—a pile of ashes at the other end of a stake.”

And then he noticed Victoria. Something had caused her to stop in the middle of a waltz. She was looking over the crowd of people—

Max realized he smelled smoke. Something was burning.

Victoria was hurrying toward the patio doors, and he saw movement out there, beyond the openings: tiny red lights glowing. Many of them.

Good Lord. Vampire eyes.

He started to move, and someone screamed from behind him. “Fire!”

“It’s in the hall!” someone else shouted, and suddenly there was a wave of panicked people, pushing and shoving onto the dance floor, toward the patio doors.

In an instant he realized what was happening, and he looked down at Sara, who’d grabbed his arm and leaned back into him. She had a pleased smile on her face as she looked up.

“I do believe it’s dinnertime.” And then she moved against him. Something hard and metal poked into his ribs. “But never fear. I’ve other plans for you.”

Tearing off her mask, Victoria burst out into the summer night, stake in hand. Immediately, she saw at least a dozen pairs of vampire eyes swimming in the dark.

As she launched herself at the nearest one, she heard screaming behind her. The first vampire poofed into dust with little fanfare, obviously not having expected an attack. But when she turned, Victoria found herself facing three more undead.

Her loose gown whipped about her legs as she leaped onto a stone bench near the edge of the patio. The smell of smoke filtered through the air. She was aware of the flood of people coming out of the ballroom, running and shouting, but her attention was on the trio of vampires who clustered around her perch.

Kicking out with one foot, she caught a vampire in the chin as he lunged for her, and followed the momentum by jumping onto one of his companions. As they tumbled to the stone paving, she slammed the stake down, missed the creature’s head, and found herself rolling onto her back, tangling in her filmy skirt and the loose length of her hair.

The vampire came with her, his red eyes angry and glowing. He grabbed her by the shoulders, pinning her arms down. His fangs gleamed as he lunged toward her. Victoria gave a great buck and twist and used his own upended weight to set him off balance, then flipped him over on the uneven stones. Her elbow planted against the ground, she made a quick slash. The stake slammed into his chest, blasting a poof of dust and ashes into her face. She took a moment to tear away the long overlayer of her skirt, leaving a shorter, less hampering amount of fabric. Her vision had tinged filmy pink and she was vaguely aware of the harder pounding of her heart, and a sharp, driving anger.

Before she could rise, something landed heavily on her back. The air exploded from her lungs and her face ground into grittiness. Cheek scraping against the rough patio, she levered her feet up behind her, kicking her second assailant in the small of the back as he lunged on top of her. The force of her heels sent the vampire sprawling toward her head, and she used the moment of imbalance to shove him to the side.

Quickly she slipped out from under him as he closed his hand over the loose length of her hair, yanking her back to the ground. Pain shot through her scalp as she twisted toward him, her hair wrapping around his arm as he reeled her closer. His eyes were rose pink, and when her gaze flashed over them, it snagged for a moment. She felt a warm tug, and everything began to slow. The agony in her scalp eased, and the stake felt loose in her fingers.

Victoria drew in a deep breath and jerked her chin in order to strain the thrall. She was able to force her eyes closed even as the vampire’s free hand closed around her throat. She felt his fingers and their sharp nails tighten, clogging her breath. Hers steadied the stake in her hand as she fairly hung there, with him holding her by the throat. She went limp.

His fingers tightened and that was her cue: she slugged him with a foot, just enough to catch him off guard and force him to turn, and then automatically drove the stake into the target of his chest as it pivoted in front of her.

Victoria gulped in a breath as he froze, then billowed into a cloud of musty undead dust. Catching herself before her knees hit the ground, she had that split second to take stock. The burning smell was stronger, and black smoke billowed from the upper windows of the house. Seemingly unaware of the battle between mortal and vampire going on behind them, people stared in shock at the building, where, even from the outside, orange flames could be seen licking at the closed doors from the ballroom to the hall behind it. Still costumed and masked, they were shouting and calling out, and many of them were unaware of the red-eyed danger that lurked behind them. There had to be more than a dozen undead, watching, fighting, and attacking in the small clearing as the gardens became thick and dark.