"Ye shouldn't wear such fine things in a place like this," Berthy snapped, swishing away with a twitch and a twaddle.
The man whipped out a handkerchief and dabbed at the lace edging of his cuff. "If she weren't so damn good at her job, I'd toss her into the streets."
Good at her job?
Toss her into the streets?
Victoria wasn't sure which statement surprised her more, but she chose to focus on the latter. "Do you own this place?"
"Indeed I do, though I'm not always proud to admit it. Among other establishments, might I add. Sebastian Vioget… sir. At your service." He extended a hand, his attention focused on her so heavily Victoria nearly forgot to offer her own.
"Victor Grant… son. Victor Grantson," she repeated more smoothly. His fingers closed around hers, swallowing them tightly for longer than she thought necessary. Or perhaps it was just the discomfort of knowing that her slender hand, even cased in black gloves, must feel much more fragile than most hands he'd shaken.
"And what kind of information might you be looking for… here?" His attention did not lessen in intensity; Victoria felt as though he were looking deep into her mind. The only thing that kept her from being apprehensive was the knowledge that he wasn't a vampire.
He most definitely wasn't a vampire… yet that did not explain the odd pull he had for her. It was not unlike the sensation she'd felt just before the Guardian vampire sank his fangs into her neck.
Victoria resisted the urge to shake her head; but she did shift slightly away from Sebastian Vioget under the guise of reaching for her mug of ale. Should she come right out and tell him what she was looking for?
Why not? Boldness in words and actions were the hallmarks of a successful Venator; although there were times when one must sit back and plan, she assumed. "I am looking for the Book of Antwartha."
Apparently her boldness was the right tack. "And why would you think to find information about such a thing here? An old book would be found at Hatchard's or Mason's. You have come to the wrong place." He leaned toward her, so close she could see the dark flecks in his golden eyes, and so near she could feel some kind of energy heavy in the air between them.
"I did not say it was an old book," Victoria replied, "though it is apparent that, despite your admonishments, I have indeed come to the right place."
He laughed then, a low, rumbling, self-deprecatory chuckle. "Indeed. In fact, I may be able to help you in your quest… but first, may I make a suggestion?"
She nodded, wary now that the glint of humor in his eyes seemed to have become focused on her.
"Wearing ill-fitting trousers and a hat does nothing to obscure your gender, and in fact calls attention to it. You have fooled no one."
Chapter Eight
In Which an Unexpected Visitor Throws a Wrench in Miss Grantworth's Plans
"Perhaps it wasn't my intent to fool anyone," Victoria replied. "Perhaps I've come to the conclusion that trousers are much more comfortable than skirts."
He laughed again, and under the table his leg shifted against hers. It was warm and heavy, and Victoria moved away. He looked at her and smiled knowingly, but fortunately did not comment.
"Since we've covered the niceties regarding my choice of clothing," she said, feeling more confident now that she didn't have to maintain the unfamiliar guise of a gentleman, "will you tell me who can help me find the Book of Antwartha?"
"If you would be so kind as to keep your voice more… temperate… I may be able to be of assistance. No, as I can see that won't be possible, we must go somewhere we can speak more comfortably."
The thought of going anywhere with this man made Victoria uncomfortable… in a warm, improper sort of way. Perhaps it was just because Phillip had kissed her today that she kept noticing how Sebastian Vioget's mouth moved, and its shape. And noticing how close it was to her.
Just then someone turned the corner from the bottom of the same staircase she and Verbena had descended, and paused, standing a short distance from their table. Even though he was not facing them, she recognized his tall, dark figure, perhaps because she'd half expected to see it anyway.
Max.
Victoria swiftly turned away to hide her face. "Do you have a place in mind?"
"Excuse me for a moment," he said, standing abruptly. "If you would be so kind as to walk through that door, I will join you shortly." He drew her attention to a narrow door that Victoria had not noticed earlier; it was quite obscured to the casual observer, as it was nudged into the corner of an alcove. "It is unlocked."
Victoria watched as Sebastian moved easily, quickly, but without appearing to hurry, directly toward Max. An uneasy feeling churned in her stomach, but she stood as directed, hoping to slip out before Max saw her. If Sebastian was right, and her disguise was so patently false anyone would see through it, it would ruin all of her plans if Max merely looked in her direction.
Something tugged at her sleeve as she stood, and Victoria pivoted. She had completely forgotten about Verbena! How could the girl have so easily slipped her mind, sitting there next to her?
The answer was clear when she turned and saw that during her conversation with Sebastian, her maid had adjusted her chair closer to another nearby table and appeared to be quite companionably sitting with three other people, including the vampiric piano player.
"Is that not your cousin Max, speaking with Mr. Vioget?" asked Verbena. Her breath smelled like the ale she'd ordered, and the sparkle in her eyes told Victoria she'd been having a grand time.
"Yes, it is, though he is not really my cousin. I must leave before he recognizes me. Tell your friends farewell and come with me." Victoria stood, gripping her cane-stake, and moved quickly through the door Sebastian had pointed out. Verbena followed.
Even as she curved her fingers around its rough edge to pull it closed behind them, Victoria paused to look back. Sebastian and Max stood talking in the same place Max had been standing since he came into the room.
Their conversation consisted of short bursts of speech shifting from one to the other, with little animation or expression on the part of either man, Max being the taller of the two. Neither appeared to be on the offensive, yet neither appeared to be particularly agreeable toward the other.
As the two men moved apart with curt nods and without handshakes, she slipped back behind the door. Closing it after her, she turned to look, for the first time, to where Sebastian had directed them.
Verbena stood, leaning against one gray brick wall, still holding her tankard of ale. Or was it Victoria's mug? It was full enough that it appeared not to have been touched.
They were in a hallway with a curved brick ceiling and sconces studded every fifteen paces or so. Before Victoria had the chance to explore further, the door opened again and in came Sebastian.
"Your friend can wait without," he said, glancing at Verbena. "She will be quite safe with Amelie and Claude."
Victoria would have declined, but Verbena was already starting toward the door. "I would prefer it, my la—lord," she said quickly. "Amelie is the piano player and she has already fed tonight, so I am not afeared of her."
"No harm will come to her if she is with Amelie," Sebastian repeated. "And what I am about to tell you is meant only for the ears of a Venator."
Victoria started, then quickly recovered. Had Max seen her after all, and told him who she was?
"I will be safe as a bug," Verbena told her with a bright smile, and against her better judgment Victoria nodded her assent.