“I know I shouldn’t ask—and in light of the fact that while I made no move to help you in your battles, you insisted upon interfering in my fight,” he said, his lips quirking in a smile, “but, consider it merely a sign of my affection for you when I do ask . . . were you injured when the carriage fell?” His voice, deeper than usual, belied the humor in his words.
“Not enough to matter,” she replied, suddenly aware that she didn’t mind so much that he cared enough to ask. Max certainly never would.
“James?” she called, glad to be distracted by the dark form rising from where he’d been flung by the vampire. “Are you hurt?” She hurried to his side, aware that Sebastian watched after her.
She was finding it easier, more comfortable . . . to be with Sebastian, to trust him, to fight side by side with him. She looked back and saw that he was still watching her, even though he was speaking with Gwendolyn and Brodebaugh.
“What happened?” James asked. “That was one helluva—excuse me, ma’am—hole there!” He glanced cursorily at the carriage, which Victoria now saw had the whole front half sunk into a hole in the ground. His attention focused on the horses, which, although they were still snorting and rolling their eyes, had ceased trying to pull the conveyance free.
She agreed, and walked over with him to look at the situation.
The cause of the accident was clear. Someone had taken advantage of Nash’s construction to obscure a deep impression left in the ground with some sticks and leaves. The carriage being wider than the two horses, they had managed to walk on by unscathed, but the left front wheel had slipped off into the hole.
The resulting crash had been enough to jar and shock, but not enough to injure. She wondered if that had been the intent.
Or, she wondered again, had this all been a way to distract her while Sara and George went after Max—after ascertaining that he hadn’t been lying in wait to help Victoria?
If either one of them were vampires, they wouldn’t be able to get to Max inside Aunt Eustacia’s house, because they wouldn’t be able to enter. But if one of them wasn’t, they could go in after him . . . if indeed that was the intent.
She knew that Kritanu and Barth, along with a feisty Verbena, could easily handle one or two nonvampires that might try to break into the house.
Of course, Max would have been able to handle any such threat on his own . . . if she hadn’t drugged him.
Victoria ignored the niggle of guilt in favor of the larger matter at hand. Was it that simple? Was all this merely to grab Max for Lilith? Or was there something else going on?
Maybe Max didn’t figure at all into any of the reasons for these attacks, or the daytime vampire. Maybe she was focusing her attention in the wrong place. After all, she’d been the target of Bemis Goodwin—although there was no definite connection between him and the Tutela, only Max’s recollection of a vampire sympathizer named Goodwin.
Maybe Max was the daytime vampire himself.
That was patently ridiculous.
“We’ll have to get help to pull ’er back out,” James said, scratching his head in a way that a London gentleman never would. “Guess that won’ be until tomorrow. ”
“Sebastian and Brodebaugh could do it, I venture,” Victoria said. She waved the two men over, and with their combined efforts—especially Sebastian’s vis bulla power—it took only moments before the carriage was righted again.
Then she and Sebastian looked at each other. “Do you feel any other undead?” he asked privately.
She grimaced. “You still sense my presence?” He nodded. But that was neither here nor there at this time. “I don’t feel any undead about any longer. And I don’t know what happened to George and Sara. But, somehow, we must get James, Brodebaugh, and Gwen home safely. I don’t trust this situation. ”
“Starcasset whipped his horses into speed as soon as your vehicle fell,” Sebastian told her. “I saw them dash off, and from the looks of it, they aren’t coming back. ”
“We can’t all fit in one carriage. I sent Kritanu and Barth back to my house. ” She wasn’t ready to give him a full explanation, and, to his credit, Sebastian didn’t ask.
“Perhaps it would be best if I took the marquess home, and you could go with Gwendolyn and her earl. ” Sebastian’s casual suggestion threatened a smile from Victoria.
She couldn’t hold it back and looked up at him teasingly. “Is that because you don’t trust the marquess in the moonlight . . . or me?”
That surprised a smile out of Sebastian. “He can try anything he likes. . . . I have no concerns that the big, uncivilized oaf might charm you blind, Victoria. He’s not man enough for you. ” He looked at her slyly, his smile suddenly hot and promising there in the moonlight. “I miss being with you. ”
“Victoria!”
Gwen’s voice broke into the moment, and Victoria wasn’t sure if she was disappointed or relieved. Sebastian would not be held off much longer . . . and tonight . . . well, tonight, she just wasn’t sure if she was up to it. Although . . . Sebastian was quite adept at distraction of the most pleasant type. An unwilling smile tugged at her lips . . . then faded as she worried again about Max. “Yes, Gwen?”
“Are you going to tell me what happened?” her friend was all aflutter—apparently the shock of the attack had worn off, and what she’d seen had at last penetrated. “Who those people were? Why their eyes were so odd?”
Oh, how Victoria wished for her Aunt Eustacia’s golden disk! The one that was able to pull select memories from the minds of people who shouldn’t know about the presence of the undead. Which was most of the world.
“What am I going to tell her?” She looked at Sebastian, and he must have read her mind.