Victoria turned. "Oh, no, Verbena, that is not exactly true. Some of them do come out in daylight hours."
Verbena's eyes turned into large circles and she sat on the bed suddenly, as if her knees had given out. "No, my lady! You're funning me!"
Rather pleased to know something about vampires that her maid didn't, Victoria hurried to assure her that she was indeed correct. "It's true. There are some rare powerful vampires, very few of them, who have lived for centuries and who have become somewhat accustomed to the daylight. They can actually move about in the sun, as long as they are covered or shaded, although they cannot remain in the light for very long, or allow the sunlight to touch them directly. If it does, they begin to burn."
"My gracious word!" Verbena's round cheeks had turned furious red, and her flyaway peach-colored hair seemed to vibrate with her anxiety. "Me cousin Barth is goin' to have to start carry in' his crucifix during the day too? I don't know how he's goin' to get his work done, havin' to hold that thing up in front of himself all the time, and drivin' the hackney as he does! My lady, are you quite certain about this?"
"Aunt Eustacia told me so, and I believe she would be one person who would know!" Then a thought struck her. "Verbena, did you say that Barth lives in St. Giles? And he sees vampires there?"
"Yes, my lady, he sees more'n he wants to, that's for sure. But they leave him alone, because of his crucifix and the garlic he hangs from his neck."
"Can you take me there?"
"Take you there?" If Verbena was horrified at the thought of vampires in the daylight, she was utterly traumatized at this request. "St. Giles is no place for a lady, my lady!"
Victoria stood, and felt the feathers waft in the air. "Verbena, I am no lady. At least, I am not so much of a lady as I am a Venator. We have to find the Book of Antwartha before Lilith does, and if there are vampires in St. Giles, it is possible that I might learn something from them. I wear a vis bulla, don't you forget. Max is not the only Venator who can hunt down vampires and make them tell him their secrets."
Verbena opened her mouth to say something, and Victoria braced for another round of defense; but it was unnecessary. "If yer going to St. Giles, I'm going with you. And you're not wearing a gown, my lady. You'll dress as a man."
"Of course. Thank you, and no need to worry. You will be safe with me. There is no time to waste, so we'll go tonight."
"Tonight?" Verbena's eyes goggled. "At night? Oh, my lady—"
"Tonight, Verbena. And you say your cousin drives a hackney? That is perfect. Can you arrange for him to pick us up at midnight?"
"Midnight?"
Victoria could actually see the rampant pulse racing in her maid's throat. "Midnight tonight, Verbena, when the vampires are on the prowl."
Phillip de Lacy, Marquess of Rockley, settled into the seat next to his companion. "Miss Grantworth, you look utterly charming," he told her as they set out for the park. His tiger and her maid were seated on the small raised seat in the back of the cabriolet, leaving Phillip and Victoria in the front.
"I might say the same about you, Lord Rockley."
"You say? It must be due to the company I am keeping." He glanced over again, just for the pleasure of looking at her. Her fair skin had the faintest pink tinge that he hoped was due to the delight of his company. And how did her slender neck hold the weight of all that dark hair? He imagined what it would look like if it weren't piled at the top of her head. How long was it? He remembered from that day in the meadow, when she had lectured him, how it billowed and blew in a mass of dark curls around her shoulders and arms, in ringlets from one end to the other.
"It is a beautiful day." She sounded a little breathless, uncertain. Perhaps this was the first time she'd ever been alone—or nearly alone—with a man.
He smiled at the thought, pleased about it, then looked up at the sky and laughed. "A beautiful day is it, Miss Grantworth? With those puffed gray clouds, laden with rain? Despite the sun peeking through occasionally, I had the concern that you might decline to ride out with me today for fear the rains would come and ruin your gown."
He watched as she looked up to see what he'd seen: pillowlike gray-and-white clouds filling the sky, making it colorless rather than blue.
"I rather like the rain," she replied stoutly, but with a hint of smile. "It makes me appreciate the sunny days more."
Phillip continued to grin. "Nice save, my lady, and honest as always. And here I thought for a moment there that you were going to slip into the convention of talking about the weather instead of other, more interesting things. Can you smell the moisture in the air?"
"I never noticed it before, Lord Rockley, but the breeze does carry a scent that portends the rain shower."
"Never believe that I have forgotten my promise to take you riding across the fields and meadows… but I feared for the weather to drown out our ride, and knew that the carriage would protect you better."
"Lord Rockley, it is my turn to make a bit of a confession."
He turned to her with interest, noticing that she was alternating between looking at her fingers, then ahead of them, and then at him. Where was his bold lady now? "I am most intrigued. Please, confess what you will."
And then the thought struck him that perhaps he would not appreciate her confession. What if she felt the need to divulge the name of another beau?
"I'm certain you recall the day after you fell from your horse, meeting up with me in the same meadow. I had gone there hoping to see you again, but not at all certain you would be there, of course."
He smiled, relief lightening his grip on the reins. "You would likely have found some other way to track me down and apologize for your harsh words, right, Miss Grantworth?"
She laughed, and he was pleased that she'd read the humor in his speech and remembered that she had not even thought to apologize for flaying a layer from his back. Good. That was part of what made her so interesting to him. She was not a shrinking violet, this Miss Grantworth whom he remembered… or whom she had become. He was more than pleased.
"As it was, I did not need to hunt you down, nor to apologize, as I recall, Lord Rockley, for you met me in that field, and you were the apologetic one." She looked him fully in the eyes. "That was the first time I'd ever been given flowers by a man… and I still have the pink ribbon you tied them with." As if to prove her point, she lifted her hand and tugged away the cuff of her glove, displaying a bit of her wrist and a pale pink swatch of satin tied around it.
"Your confession, such as it is, delights me, Victoria." Propriety be damned; he'd called her by her Christian name for those weeks that summer. It felt foolish to be formal when they were reliving those moments.
He'd navigated them from the main drag of Regents Park and turned off into a more private area. Stopping the cabriolet next to a small thicket of lilac and forsythia, he gently wrapped the reins around the small post there for just that purpose.
Reaching for her gloved hand, he said, "Miss Grantworth, I would be most appreciative if you would call me Phillip, as you did before." He was aware of his voice deepening, as it did when he became serious, and he forced himself to look at her with a nonchalant expression. Perhaps it was too familiar too soon, but, devil take it, he must have fallen in love with her years ago, for he'd never forgotten her. Couldn't get her out of his mind. Had practically made a fool of himself tracking her down at the Straithwaite musicale the other night. Thank God he'd arrived late enough to miss the damned thing.
And it appeared, once her faulty memory was jogged, that she had not forgotten him.