Victoria smiled up at him, a burst of pleasure trilling through her at the joy of being spun gently across the floor by the Marquess of Rockley, no less. Surely Rockley was the handsomest, most charming, and wealthiest unattached man at the ball. And he was looking down at her with quite obvious interest.
"Miss Grantworth, I have a confession to make."
"Oh?" she asked, raising her eyebrows delicately.
Every time she looked at him, she felt a gentle churning in her stomach—an expectant, pleasant churning.
"We once met long ago… and I have not been able to forget you."
"It does feel as though we've met," she replied. "I have been wondering on that myself… but I must confess that I do not recall when or where it was."
"Your forthrightness pains me, Miss Grantworth, but I must tell you the story. Perhaps it will stir your memory. Some of my father's holdings abutted Prewitt Shore, your family estate, I believe. And one summer many years ago—I was perhaps sixteen—I was riding one of the stallions from the stable. One that I was not, of course, supposed to ride," he added with the hint of a proud smile, "but, of course, I was a daredevil and I did. I came barreling across a meadow, not realizing I had strayed onto the lands of our neighbor, and—Ah, but you do remember now, don't you?"
Victoria's face had lightened with a smile. "Phillip! I knew you only as Phillip; you did not tell me you were the marquess's son!" The image was with her; it had been buried in the recesses of her mind, that summer when she was but twelve, but now it came back as though it were yesterday: a sturdy, dark-haired young man flying across the fields on a hot summer day. "You jumped over the fence and your mount landed, and so did you—on the ground in a tumble!"
He laughed ruefully, his square jaw softened by the movement. "Indeed, and I suffered for my boldness. But I met you, the pretty, dark-haired girl who rushed to my aid and made certain I was cared for. And you even chased down Ranger, the stallion, so that he would not return to the stables without me and tell the tale of my deceit. If I recall… once you were sure that I wasn't gravely injured, you spent the next ten minutes chastising me for my foolishness. The image of you standing above me, calmly holding the reins of that large chestnut gelding, and flaying me with your tongue, has stayed with me always."
Victoria looked away demurely. "I must have been quite bold to speak so to a man I did not know."
"Indeed, and it was your boldness and your fearlessness that intrigued me. I have not forgotten you, Miss Grantworth, for you made quite a lasting impression on that young man. And," he added as the dance music came to a close, "it has become clear that you have lost none of your boldness, nor your opinions, nor your originality… for I am quite certain that there is not another debutante in this room, or in the ton, that is as unconcerned about finding a husband as you are."
"And I have never truly forgotten the young man who rode with such carefree abandon in a manner that I only dreamed of doing. I envied you that. And I can hardly comprehend that you are the same boy that I knew for a few weeks! The marquess's son—I would never have known it."
He smiled down at her, and warmth returned to her face. "Someday, perhaps we will ride together, Miss Grantworth. And you can try your hand at leaping over fences and bounding across fields. I promise, I will tell no one."
"And that is a promise on which I will hold you to your gentlemanly word."
When they finished dancing, Lord Rockley returned her to her mother and Lady Winnie. "I am rather thirsty; perhaps you are as well. May I provide you with some lemonade, Miss Grantworth? And, of course, Lady Melisande and Your Grace?"
"Oh, do not trouble yourself, Lord Rockley," Victoria's mother warbled. "But I am sure Victoria would love something to drink."
Victoria gave Lord Rockley a surreptitious wink, but slipped her hand from his grasp. "I'm sorry, my lord, but I see my next dancing partner approaching. Perhaps you will be thirsty later?"
"Of course, my lady. I'm certain I'll have a thirst for the remainder of the evening." His eyelids swept to half-mast and he gave her a meaningful smile as he captured her gloved hand and lifted it to his lips.
Lord Stackley was Victoria's partner for the quadrille, and he led her through the paces with alacrity, if not with skill. Despite the fact that he stepped squarely on her feet twice during the first set with all of his solid weight, Victoria barely noticed. The vis bulla was not only good for fighting vampires… it was protection against clumsy gentlemen!
After Lord Stackley, she danced with Baron Ledbetter. Another quadrille. And then with Lady Gwendolyn's eldest brother, Lord Starcasset, Viscount Claythorne.
But it was during another waltz, with the tall and gangly Baron Truscott, that Victoria felt a familiar chill lift the hair at the back of her neck. Until that moment she had almost forgotten the fact that there were things to worry about other than whether her toes would be mangled before the night was over.
As Truscott spun her around, not nearly as elegantly as had Rockley, but with some efficiency, Victoria scanned the dancers and the others in the room. She would not make the same mistake as before, assuming the predator was the one who looked most like she'd expected a vampire to look: tall, dark, and arrogant.
After a moment she was fairly certain that a man with brown hair and a rather hooked nose, who stood with a young woman she didn't recognize, was the vampire whose presence she'd felt. She kept one eye focused on the couple as Truscott managed their way betwixt and between the other dancers. As long as they remained in the room, the young woman was safe. It would give Victoria time to extricate herself from Truscott and figure out a way to get the vampire alone.
She couldn't exactly stake him in the middle of the ball.
It was a curious thing: Vampires were not allowed to enter the home of someone who hadn't invited them, or someone acting for the owner of the home. Gatherings such as this ball at the Dunstead home were by invitation, and only to the members of the ton, of course. So how did a vampire manage to get himself or herself into the ball?
She supposed it was due to the comings and goings of servants and staff, and the masses of people invited to events such as this. There were many ways to be "invited" into a home… for something as simple as delivering a bouquet of flowers or the side of beef to be served for dinner. And once the invitation was extended, it was permanent as long as the homeowner did not change.
Victoria was thankful when the dance ended, but dismayed when Truscott manipulated their exit from the dance floor to be near the tables filled with drinks and cakes… completely across the room from where the vampire stood, watching.
Watching her.
Victoria realized with a start that his cold eyes had focused on her. Unblinking. Tugging at her from across the room.
He curled one side of his mouth in a half smile, still staring at her. A little nod. And then he slipped his arm around the woman next to him and began to lead her away.
A challenge.
If the chill on the back of her neck had merely raised her nape hair, it was now standing straight up. And ice was forming.
"Lord Truscott, I must excuse myself," Victoria said quickly, pulling her arm from his grasp and ignoring the glass of lemonade he was offering her. "I… I believe my gown has a loose ribbon, and I must… see to it."
"But Miss Grantworth—"
"Please excuse me." She slipped away, hurrying as quickly as she could without drawing attention to herself as she pushed through people edging the dance floor. It would be faster to move through the dancing couples, but that would only cause a stir. Pray God her mother or her two cronies didn't see her!