She looked at him. "Do you know anything about Max?"
"I know quite a lot about the man… what precisely would you like to know?"
"Your obtuseness does not become you," she snapped. She could smell fish, the approach of the sea, and hear the caw of seagulls. Because of the nature of their journey, Aunt Eustacia had booked them passage on a cargo ship headed directly to Italy, rather than a packet that would take them from Dover to Normandy and require an overland trip across the Continent. She felt it would give them anonymity from any Tutela members, and make it less likely that they would be followed or otherwise interrupted during their journey.
"My aunt has not heard from Max for months. I don't know how or where you get your information, but if you have heard anything about him, I wish you would tell me."
"Always wanting something from me, aren't you?" Then the last vestiges of humor vanished from his face. "I wondered why it wasn't he who was handling the problems with the Tutela. I have heard nothing, but that does not mean there is nothing to hear. You fear he is dead?"
"I don't know. My aunt says he has been silent for more than eight months. Well, we are here," Victoria said, looking out the window. "Thank you for giving me this information, Sebastian. I will take your suggestion and start with Byron when I reach Venice. You could have sent it in a note, rather than troubling yourself to visit me personally."
Again that smile. "But it is so difficult for me to resist an excuse to see you."
She sent him a withering glance, then looked away, working hard to ignore the deep, squirming sensations in her belly. "I'm sure you were pining away all the last year during your convenient disappearance."
"No… I was allowing you to grieve."
Those words, simple and stark, made her look back up at him. He'd moved closer, it seemed; perhaps he was sitting on the edge of his seat, perhaps he was leaning forward… or perhaps the carriage had merely shrunk again.
He did not appear to be waiting for her response, or holding his breath for her to react. He was just looking at her as though to fill his eyes with her countenance. She realized with a start that her fingers were trembling and, glancing down, she clasped them together in her lap. "I certainly did not expect such sensitivity from you," she said, keeping her voice even.
Suddenly she didn't want to go. It would be lonely there in Venice, with no one but Verbena and Oliver with her, and Aunt Eustacia, of course; but she would not be living with her aunt. They must pretend not to know each other, for fear the Tutela would identify Victoria as a Venator.
She didn't wholly trust Sebastian, yet at least they had a kinship of sorts. At least he made her feel… something. Alive. Attractive.
And when he looked at her the way he was doing now, he made her feel as if she were something more than a hunter, a warrior.
"I do not wish to disappoint you, my dear," he said, his voice dry, "but my benevolence was rather more self-serving than you might think."
The carriage had long since stopped, and Victoria could feel the jolts and jerks as Oliver removed the last of her luggage from the vehicle. She heard the shouts, the calls, the thuds of cargo being lifted and set none too gently on the docks.
Victoria looked at Sebastian, saw the way his face had closed, and wondered what he was retreating from this time. Perhaps the intensity of real emotions was too much for him. Arching an eyebrow, she followed his lead and replied, "You? Self-serving? Never say it!"
"Of course. The reason was, of course, that even I could not expect… recompense… for my services and assistance until some worthwhile event presented itself. As it did with Polidori, and now."
Victoria felt the flush starting to creep up from her bosom to her throat. She stopped it by donning an aura of annoyance. "You wish compensation for your information regarding Polidori?"
"Have we not always had such an understanding?"
"You have had the understanding, not I. What is it—do you wish to see my vis bulla again?"
He smiled, such a feral grin that Victoria felt an acute stab in her belly. "I have seen it, and kissed it, as you well know." The words, the reminder, seemed to take up all the air in the carriage. Victoria felt her palms go damp and her face warm. His voice matched his smile. "In fact, my price has gone up."
"You must be utterly joking." She had to pull indignation about her in order to cover up the varied, frightening emotions that ran rampant through her. Words, arguments, logic failed her, and all she could think of to say was, "I am about to get on a ship to Italy!" Her words were barely audible over the screeches of the gulls and the shouts of sailors.
"I will be happy to accept a down payment." He had hardly blinked during the last moments, holding her there with his eyes. "I'm certain, based on your past demonstrations, that it will be no great hardship."
She could have argued, could have mocked him right back, could have become affronted… but she did none of those things. She deliberately chose not to; chose to take matters into her own hands as, in other areas of her life, she'd become used to doing.
Her breathing seemed to swell and fill her as she moved toward him. She leaned off the seat, her hands reaching for his shoulders, fingers curving around the fine linen broadcloth that shaped him.
He tasted like the clove that scented his clothes, and felt soft and slick and dangerous. It wasn't an easy kiss, a delicate buss of lip to lip. It wasn't gentle or tentative. It was hot and needy, the undamming of controlled desire.
When Victoria returned to herself, breaking the connection, she found her face close to his, held by her hands on the back of his head. He looked at her with an odd expression, then gently released her from his embrace around her upper arms.
"That will certainly do as a start." Despite the light words, his voice guttered like a candle flame in a pool of wax. "I shall be looking forward to collecting the balance."
She smoothed his tawny hair, made more wild by her reckless fingers. "You will have to wait a long time for that, Sebastian." And she slipped from the carriage.
Chapter 9
In Which Mrs. Emmaline Withers Annoys an Italian Contessa
Venice, Victoria learned, was not at its most pleasant in the late summer months. Although it was late September when she arrived at last, it was still hot and sunny. The city itself, shaped like a large fish with its tail pointing toward the Adriatic Sea, evoked dreaminess and calm with its bright gondolas easing up and down the canals. But the stench of refuse rising from the water was made worse by the heat.
"I fussed 'bout the smell o' London when it's hot," Verbena complained, checking to make sure Victoria's handbag included a small vial of salted holy water. Ever since her mistress had been bitten by a vampire and had to have the wound treated with salted holy water, Verbena had made it her responsibility to ensure Victoria always carried some. "This city is worse! Why, with the dead fish floatin' in the streets and the muck o' seaweed and that smelly green stuff that grows on top o' the water, I can't know why anyone would live here in the summer! But that Oliver. He says it ain't so bad, and he thinks the city ain't any smellier than a farm is. Well, that's a country boy for ye. He like as left his nose back on the farm in Cornwall."
She shook her head and replaced Victoria's reticule on her dressing table. "I still don' understand why m' cousin Barth didn't leave his hackney wi' someone else and come with us, instead of sendin' his friend Oliver. He might not be the best driver—Oliver takes a bit more care in my opinion—but he's certainly got his head on straight when it comes to them vampires. Wearin' his cross and carryin' holy water and a stake. He'd'a been a better man-about-town for us than this green'un from the farms."