Victoria smothered a sigh. “Mama, you must understand—”

As if to forestall any declaration of her disinterest in the marquess, Melly interrupted. “He is quite besotted with you, Victoria. There’s no need to feel uncomfortable about it. It’s not as though he and Rockley—your Rockley— were brothers or any such thing. As I hear it, they’re very distantly related and it wouldn’t be odd at all. And then you would be a marchioness.”

“I’m still a marchioness,” Victoria reminded her dryly. “But, Mama, you really must cease this matchmaking. I’m a widow now, and I haven’t any real desire to marry again. Nor do I need to.”

Even as she said those words, and registered the bald disapproval in her parent’s face, Victoria felt an odd nudge deep inside. Marriage in the way Society expected of her was most definitely out of the question. But there was the fact that she was the last direct descendant of the Gardella line—as far as she knew. If she died, as Max had said, without issue . . .

And, if she examined things even more deeply, she couldn’t deny that being a Venator, especially Illa Gardella, was a lonely, terribly lonely, life. Even Aunt Eustacia had had a partner, someone to share it with, to sleep next to, to be held by when times became dark and frightening. Someone who understood her, and loved her. After all, Aunt Eustacia had had a brother, who had been Melly’s father, and thus she knew the line wouldn’t die with her. Perhaps it really was time for Victoria to think in that manner, and to stop taking the special potion that kept her from getting with child.

Sebastian flashed into her mind, and she smiled. He had made it more than clear how willing he was to be with her. Intimately. Whether he loved her or not wasn’t clear, but he certainly cared for her.

Unlike Max.

Victoria focused back in on her mother, who had launched into a breathless diatribe about how terrible it was to remain unmarried and alone. She let her go on for a moment longer, then said, “But Mama, you’ve been widowed for more than four years now and I haven’t heard you speak once of wedding Lord Jellington.”

Lady Melly’s barrage of platitudes abruptly stopped and she blinked at her daughter.

And then, thankfully, before she was able to gather up a full breath to respond, a knock came at the parlor door. Charley opened it and Victoria saw that behind him were not only the ladies Winnie and Nilly, but the tall, rumpled figure of James Lacy.

“Ah,” Lady Melly said, standing. The tea table rattled in her wake. “At last.”

Victoria realized that the trio of women had implemented a divide-and-conquer campaign. Lady Melly was to ascertain her daughter’s condition, and the two other ladies were to retrieve the prize and deliver him in a timely manner.

“And it was such a frightfully frightening event!” Victoria didn’t know for certain what Lady Nilly was babbling about, but whatever it was, it had been . . . frightening.

“Good afternoon, Mrs.—Lady Rockley,” said James. He smiled warmly at Victoria. “I’m right glad you’re feeling better today.”

She returned the smile, but without the depth of warmth. How was she going to make her mother understand that James was not going to be her next son by law? “How kind of you to call,” she said a bit stiffly.

“What a pleasure to see you again, Lord Rockley,” crooned Lady Melly. As if she were the hostess, she gestured for him and the others to sit. “Victoria and I were just agreeing that September is a lovely time for a wed— mmph!” She gasped and jerked her leg out of range of Victoria’s pointy slippers.

“Are you quite all right, ma’am?” asked James.

“Oh, yes, indeed, pardon me, my lord,” she said. “Er . . . a bit of arthritis, and I’m never quite certain when it will kick”—she glared at Victoria—“in.”

“Perhaps you ought to return home and rest a bit if it’s too painful, Mama.” Her daughter smiled blandly. Then she turned to James. “I see that you recovered from the fire with nary a scratch.”

“I was lucky. And it ’pears that although you didn’t completely escape injury, you’re feeling better today. I’m glad to hear it.” His blue eyes twinkled. “I was afraid you’d be feeling too ill to join me tonight.”

Victoria opened her mouth to explain that she was, indeed,feeling the renewed throb of a headache. But Lady Melly’s strident voice overruled anything she might say, claiming that her daughter was of strong constitution and had fully recovered from her fright of the previous night.

Victoria considered whether speaking even louder than her mother would negate her claim of a headache.

“That’s quite a shame, ma’am, Lady Rockley,” James said, all charm and dimples, speaking easily over the volume of Lady Melly. “Mr. Starcasset and his friend Miss Regalado invited me to join them this evening. They claim there is some special comet that can be seen tonight in a certain location, near one of the parks. I confess, I’m not altogether sure I care about stargazing, but I thought it was a splendid excuse to see if you’d join me for a drive later tonight.”

Victoria closed her lips around the automatic declination. George and Sara had invited James to join them for an evening ride? “Of course I’d be honored to attend with you,” she replied, aware that she had just sent Lady Melly over the moon.

What more could a matchmaking mother hope for? Victoria was certain her maternal parent was imagining a romantic carriage ride by moonlight, whereas the reality was likely something much more disagreeable. Namely, a ruse to entrap someone.

But who was the intended prey: James . . . or Victoria?

“And where might your paramour be this evening?” asked Max. His tone implied that Sebastian’s appearance would relieve him of the taxing obligation of conversing with Victoria. “Tell me there hasn’t been a lovers’ spat. You do seem a bit . . . distracted.”

Distracted was one word to describe Victoria’s state of mind, but not the one she would have chosen.

It was after dinner. They had settled in the only sitting room on that floor—the small parlor that had entertained not only Lady Melly and her friends, but which also held the cupboard wherein the Gardella family Bible was kept. When Aunt Eustacia had been alive, and first acclimating Victoria to the world of the Venators, the three of them— four, when Kritanu was there, and sometimes Wayren— had sat here many times.

“I’m pleased to inform you that your plans for my future are still intact. Sebastian and I have done nothing but share wistful glances, swoon at the sight of the other, and spout poetry—all since you’ve given your blessing to the match.” Her smile was sweeter than the double-iced pink sugar biscuits favored by Lady Winnie.

Max’s lips twitched. “Ah, if only I had been witness to such a spectacle. I expect it would have provided me amusement for weeks to come.” He stretched his long legs, crossing them at the ankles. “Did Vioget position himself on one knee so as to look up into your crystalline eyes whilst waxing rhapsodic?”

“I believe I shall have a bit of sherry,” Victoria said. “Would you like me to pour you some whiskey? Apparently my aunt had a fondness for it, but I can’t say I share her taste.” She closed her mouth with a snap, realizing how close she was coming to babbling nervously.

“By all means.”

Victoria stood at the sideboard and prepared their drinks, then turned back to deliver the amber liquor to Max. Then she took herself to the chair near a small piecrust table where she’d sat, sharpening stakes, nearly two years ago, defending her decision to marry Philip.

A glance at the clock told her it was after nine. James was due to arrive at ten o’clock. Victoria took a significantgulp of sherry, despising the watery liquid for its weakness. And herself.

“Am I to understand that you haven’t any intention of going out tonight?” Max asked. He was looking at her over the rim of his glass. Then he drank, and put the glass back down.

“Perhaps later,” Victoria replied.

He raised his brows. “No social engagements? No vampire hunting?”

“James is to call for me later.”

“James, is it? And what does Monsieur Vioget think of this? Or are you hunting the daytime vampire?” His eyes narrowed in speculation. “You believe it’s he, don’t you. I’m not so certain.”

“Truly? How odd, since you were the one who suggested that it might indeed be he.”

“Ah, so you hadn’t considered him before my mention.” He looked utterly pleased with himself.

She stood abruptly and walked over to the cabinet which housed the Bible. “I have not seen this since the first time Aunt Eustacia told me about the legacy of the Gardellas.”

Feeling Max’s attention on her, she fumbled the small gold key into its slot. Click, click, clunk. She swung open the bifold doors, heavy and slick.

Inside the cabinet, on its gently inclining display, rested the elderly Bible.

It was heavy, with gilt-edged pages that shone stubbornly despite its age. The leather corners were rounded and bumped, but the spine was as rigid as Aunt Eustacia’s own had been. Three faded silk bookmarks fell lifelessly from their places.

She pulled out the book and placed it on the larger table in the middle of the room. She needed something to focus on, rather than the thoughts and questions running rampant through her mind.

Opening the front cover, Victoria smoothed her hand over words written in ink of varying shades of black, brown, and sepia. Listed there in the front pages were the names of the Gardellas who had accepted their calling as Venators. She touched one of the last names scribed there: Eustacia Alexandria Gardella. Below it was her own name: Victoria Anastasia Gardella. Seeing it there, its ink relatively fresh and bold, Victoria shivered.

Would there be any other names beneath hers?

Feeling the weight of Max’s gaze, she was compelled to lecture. “Aunt Eustacia told me that the original pages of this Bible were given to the family during the Middle Ages. Six hundred years ago.” She looked up, saw that he was silently sipping his drink. “A Gardella monk scribed this book in the twelfth century. I wonder if there was any connection to the monks who built the subterranean crypt Sebastian and I visited by the sewers.”