"Phillip is such a strong name," Victoria replied, looking not at him, but at the way his fingers traced each of her own gloved ones one by one. "It suits you. And you may continue to call me Victoria, as you did when we were younger."
And then, as if her words were some offstage signal, the clouds opened and the rain blasted down in sudden, loud torrents. The startled squeak from Victoria's maid at the back of the cabriolet drew her attention, but Phillip stopped Victoria from turning back to see to her with a gentle hand at her cheek. Any excuse to touch that flawless white skin.
"My tiger will take care of her," he said. "And their moment of distraction will allow me to do this."
He leaned into her sphere and touched his mouth to hers. She smelled like flowers and some kind of spice, and though he barely got a taste, her lips were warm and moist with surprise.
She did not start or move back, but instead pressed closer, angling her head to one side so their mouths fit better. Much better.
The rain streamed down around them, spraying fine mist onto the edges of the seat and onto their shoes. The tip of her nose, cool from the damp air, brushed against his warm cheek as their lips moved together. He released her hand and closed his fingers gently around her upper arms, bringing her closer to him so that her lovely breasts brushed against his jacket. Not close enough, but he was patient.
Or perhaps he wasn't.
She tasted as delicious as he'd imagined, and he wanted to sample more. He deepened the kiss deliberately, testing her… and she did not fail. She opened her mouth to him, and he felt the rush of want as their lips and tongues tangled. The brocade of her cloak crumpled under his fingers, and he closed his eyes when she reached up to touch his jaw.
When he released her and moved back, he looked down into green-and-brown-flecked eyes, hazy and heavy-lidded, and he felt rush of satisfaction. She bore the stamp of his possession there in her face and wet on her swollen lips, not to mention in the faded ribbon around her wrist. He was going to marry this woman, by God.
The freedom of wearing trousers!
Victoria had attained the age of twenty never experiencing the full range of movement, the loss of the fear of tripping over one's skirt, and the pure naughtiness of having one's nether limbs encased and defined in such an improper way.
She felt incredibly scandalous and powerful as she climbed into Barth's hackney without any assistance other than what appeared to be a heavy walking stick that had been sharpened to a point at the end. Verbena followed after her, looking like a moonfaced, wide-eyed boy, clutching a thick stake in one hand and a large silver cross in the other. With her hands otherwise engaged, it made her activity a flurry of useless motions until Barth lost patience and shoved her inside.
Scrambling into a seat across from Victoria, Verbena tried to adjust her cap while still holding the stake and cross. One peach braid stuck out, doing little to support her disguise.
"What makes 'em afraid of silver?" she asked as the hackney jolted into motion.
"Because Judas Iscariot betrayed Jesus for thirty pieces of silver," Victoria replied. She was not nervous, but her senses were on edge. She hadn't told Aunt Eustacia of her plan to visit St. Giles tonight, afraid that she would either forbid her to go or, worse, send Max along too.
"And garlic?"
"I do not know that, but I suspect it is because of the odor. A vampire's smell is much keener than a mortal human's. Perhaps it is acutely displeasing to them in their undead state."
"Can you recognize one? When we're there… will you know if there's one before they try 'n' bite us?"
"I can always sense if there is one nearby," Victoria told her maid, realizing that the girl was plying her with questions to steady her nerves. "Most of the time I can tell who the vampire is, and I am getting better at doing so. Don't worry, Verbena: I do not think they will attack without provocation, especially if we are seeking them in a public place."
After a brief, difficult discussion with Barth, Victoria had convinced him to take them not only to St. Giles, the vilest and most dangerous neighborhood in London, but specifically to a place where he'd encountered vampires in a social rather than a predatory setting. Since Barth had seen and in fact transported vampires many times without being attacked, Victoria realized that he must know where they gathered.
It was only because she was a Venator that Barth agreed to take them to the Silver Chalice.
"If'n anyone can pr'tect himself, it's gonna be a Ven'tor," he said by way of acquiescence.
When the hackney jerked to a halt (if Barth hadn't been Verbena's cousin, and guaranteed trustworthy for that reason, Victoria would have hired a driver with more finesse), she opened the door.
It was after midnight, but the street was as busy as Drury Lane would be after the theater let out. The smells were much worse, however, and Victoria wondered how the vampires could stand it. The back of her neck had been cooling, but once she opened the door it became so cold she felt as though icy picks were thrumming on her nape. Turning up the collar of her man's jacket, as if that would help, she adjusted her hat to make sure none of her telltale curls were escaping.
Although it was a cloudy night, the street wasn't dark, due to random gas lamps swaying outside some of the establishments. Victoria used her lethal walking stick as leverage as she stepped down from the hackney, then moved to talk with Barth and instruct him, "Stay, regardless of what happens.
"Where is the Silver Chalice?" she asked, noting that it seemed an odd name for a place that attracted vampires.
"Down there." Barth pointed a shaking finger, whilst the other hand clutched his cross.
Victoria turned to look as Verbena stumbled out of the hackney, jostling her as she landed on the ground. "I see nothing but a burned out building."
"Down there, behind it."
Victoria stepped closer and saw what he meant: an opening two doors wide, barely noticeable near the foundation of the burned-out building. As she moved toward it, something bumped into her from behind, nearly sending her sprawling. Her walking stick raised, she pivoted to see Verbena shrinking away from three menacing creatures. Her maid's mouth was open wide in a silent scream, and Victoria had to swallow her own automatic reaction and remind herself that she was not helpless. She was a Venator.
"Wot brings two such dand'fied young men to this part of town, do ye think?" asked one of the three men. Something gold flashed in his mouth along with a grin that looked decidedly lascivious. Then something else gleamed silver in his hand.
The three men had circled around them and stood close enough that Victoria could smell the fumes of alcohol and other unpleasant odors. All three were dressed in dark clothing that appeared to be, whilst not so very clean, at least in fairly good condition. They weren't vampires; vampires didn't need knives. A stake might not stop them, but Victoria knew she was stronger than three mortal men. Still… her gloves dampened under her palms. She hadn't thought to bring a nonvampire type of weapon.
"I b'lieve I heard the young men say they be looking fer the Silver Chalice," replied his companion, as if Victoria and Verbena were no more than a disinterested audience to their conversation.
"We've found it," she said, deepening her voice. "We'll be on our way now." Verbena bumped into her again, and Victoria resisted the urge to bump her back. She didn't need a clinging maid knocking her off balance if she had to shift into a fighting stance.
"Ye cannot enter without a token," said the third of the men. He'd needed a shave at least three weeks ago, and his forehead and cheeks shone grimy and sweaty in the low light. "If ye two lovely men wish to come with us, we'd be pleased to 'elp ye pr'cure one."