Verbena helped her undress, and Victoria fell gratefully onto her feather bed. Just as she was drifting off to sleep she remembered: Tonight she was to see Phillip at the Madagascar' ball. Perhaps there would be an opportunity for him to kiss her again.

She smiled into her pillow.

"Why is it," Phillip murmured as he drew Victoria close to his side, "that I must always beat a path through a throng of bucks if I wish to dance with you?"

Her wrist tucked betwixt his arm and his side, she allowed her hip to sway against his as they strolled away. "They were not there to speak only to me," she replied, turning up her face to smile at him. "Gwendolyn Starcasset has quite a following as well."

"That may be so, but most of them were panting over your hand, not hers."

"You are too kind, sir," she replied with a coy smile.

His arm tightened hers against his side. "I am not kind whatsoever," Phillip replied. "In fact, I have not one whit of kindness toward those fops."

"And what of the mamas and belles who moon over your handsome face and bulging purse?"

"I am soon to put them out of their misery. Would you care for something to drink, Victoria?"

She could only nod and try not to stare up at him. Soon to put them out of their misery? Could he mean what she thought he meant? Her skin flushed warm and she was grateful for the cup of punch in which she could bury her face.

It was only yesterday that he'd kissed her in the park, and despite her unsettling experience at the Silver Chalice, Victoria had awakened late in the day today remembering the taste of his lips. Wondering if tonight he would take the opportunity again.

A proper lady wasn't supposed to think about kissing a man to whom she was not married, or at least betrothed. But since she'd received her vis bulla, Victoria had moved far beyond being a proper lady. Killing vampires. Wearing trousers. Walking the streets at night.

Showing her navel to strange men.

What would Phillip think if he saw her vis bulla!

Her face grew hotter than ever, and Phillip must have noticed, for he said, "Are you feeling quite all right, Victoria? Shall we step outside for some air?"

"Yes, I would like that."

Just outside the ballroom's grand French doors, Victoria and Phillip paused on the terrace. Two other couples stood at the waist-high railing, looking down over the weaving pathways and clusters of hedge that made up the Madagascars' walking garden. A gentle sweep of steps led from the center of the stone terrace down into the vegetation below.

Phillip released Victoria's arm and slid his around the back of her waist, guiding her along the railing. A gardenia tree, laden with creamy white blossoms, grew up from below and was near enough that he could choose a flower and offer it to her.

"For my lady," he said, holding it out to her. "I wanted to bring forget-me-nots, but they are out of season."

Victoria smiled as she accepted the gardenia, amazed as always by the intense fragrance that came from a single flower. She noticed that Phillip had moved them along the terrace to a more private corner, still within the bounds of propriety as they stood out in the open in a well-lit area, but away from the wide-flung doors and chatter of the ballroom. The other couples lingering in the night air appeared not to notice their presence. She recognized one of them as Lord Truscott of the inept feet and Miss Emily Colton.

Phillip turned to face her, crowding her gently toward the railing, and she tipped her face up. His dark hair rose well above his forehead, not one lock daring to fall from its high-brushed moorings even when he looked down at her. The look in his half-mast eyes made her hands damp, and she smiled nervously.

"Victoria," he said in a rumbling voice that carried to only her ears. "You must know that I have never forgotten you, and my regard for you has grown since we have renewed our acquaintance."

At that moment Victoria felt a prickle of cold air over the back of her neck. She started, so sudden was the sensation, and so unexpected. Why now?

Phillip was looking at her in concern. "Victoria?"

"Go on, please. You… were saying?" She smiled. Perhaps it was only a chill spring breeze.

He took both of her hands then, and drew each of them, one at a time, to his lips, pressing a brief kiss onto the back and then the palms of each one. "When I made the decision to look for a bride, I anticipated that it would take me nearly as long to settle on one as it had taken me to decide to look."

It was not a breeze. The chill had become harsher, more intense. Victoria, who stood with the railing behind her and the light of the ballroom spilling out in front of her, tried to keep her attention on Phillip. She smiled up at her suitor, even as it became clear that the vampire was not in the ballroom.

He or she was here, outside. Likely with a chosen victim.

She had to do something. Her fingers tightened in Phillip's grasp, and she looked back up at him. "Phillip… I feel a bit of a chill."

He stopped, as her words had interrupted his, and looked down at her. "Could we… I should like to speak with you on something before we go back inside. I have something I wish to ask you." He released her hands and boldly placed his fingers around her bare arms, gently moving his hands up and down as if to warm her.

Victoria swallowed. She wanted to hear what he was going to say… but how could she listen now?

"Victoria," Phillip had continued to speak, "as I said, I expected it to take me a long time to find the right woman to marry… so imagine my surprise and delight when I realized I'd found her… only weeks after beginning my search. Because, in truth, I had found you long ago."

The cold at the back of her neck was unbearable; it was all she could do to keep from pulling her arms from Phillip's grip and rubbing her nape while dashing off into the gardens below.

For that was where the vampire was.

And how was she going to get away to get there?

"Victoria, will you be my marchioness?"

"Yes, Phillip! Yes, I will… but would you please get my wrap? I am frightfully chilled!" She couldn't help that her voice came out with a panicked note; she had to stop the vampire.

He looked down at her, surprise stamped on his face, as if he didn't quite know how to react.

Victoria had to think: She had accepted his proposal, hadn't she?

"Yes, of course, my lady," he replied slowly, formally. Victoria felt a pit in the bottom of her stomach.

He started to turn away, but she grabbed his arm and pulled him back. She flung her arms around his neck and pulled his face down for a kiss, murmuring, "Yes, I will marry you, Phillip. I want to marry you." A great burst of joy flooded her. She was in love, and she was going to marry Phillip!

He kissed her in return, and then she pulled away, the frigidity at the nape of her neck calling her back to duty. "My wrap, please, Phillip, so that we can stay out here for a bit?" She smiled, biting the inside of her lip, silently entreating him to go now so she could slip down into the gardens.

He was smiling too, now, not so formal, and she knew she'd saved that moment… now if only she could save the victim. Go now!

He did, striding quickly from the terrace back into the ballroom, and Victoria barely waited until he was inside before hurrying down the steps into the dark gardens below.

Chapter Ten

Wherein Miss Grantworth Takes Herself Out of Training

When Phillip returned to the terrace carrying Victoria's filmy wrap, she was gone.He stood in the pie-shaped wedge of light that spilled over the stones and looked around to be certain she hadn't moved into a more shadowy corner… but she was nowhere to be seen. The other couples had disappeared. The patio was empty.

Just then he heard a faint scream from down below, in the gardens.

He ran down the steps, her shawl fluttering in his hand, his feet crunching on the pebble-stoned path, spewing up a scattering of stones with each step.

"Victoria!" he called, dashing to the left, where he was sure he'd heard the scream—a sound so faint that if he'd been inside the building for one more moment, he would not have heard it.

Why had she left the terrace? What had happened?

Had someone taken her?

As he rounded a bend in the path, he nearly collided with a figure in skirts. She was staggering, half bent, sobbing, clutching at her gown. Without thinking about impropriety, he grabbed the woman's shoulders. "Victoria?" he said, giving her a soft shake.

She looked up. It was not Victoria but Miss Emily Colton, who had been standing with Frederick Truscott on the terrace only moments before. Her face was a terrified mask, and something dark, like a scratch, marked her neck. She was babbling something incoherent, clutching at him as if she were drowning and he was pulling her from the water.

Phillip was torn. Victoria was still out there, but Miss Colton needed him too. And what had happened to Truscott?

"Come," he said, pulling her after him, back toward the house, calling for help along the way. Over her muffled sobs, he listened fearfully for another cry from the dark.

"Did you see anyone else?" he demanded urgently. "Another woman? Miss Grantworth?"

She seemed to nod, to give an affirmation, but he wasn't certain what she was saying between her sobs and trembling. When they came in sight of the terrace, he gave the woman a gentle push and called for help, then turned and dashed back into the darkness.

"Victoria!" he called. "Victoria!"

He rounded another corner, and nearly ran into her.

"Victoria!" he exclaimed, grasping her shoulders and pulling her to his chest, crushing her there in gratitude that she wasn't the one sobbing, frightened. "What happened? Are you all right?"

She seemed to be breathing hard, but she did not appear to be in any distress, and she disengaged herself from his death grip more easily than she should have been able to. She was looking at him, surprise and something else…

intense… in her beautiful face. For a moment he forgot his worry and just enjoyed the perfection of her countenance—and wondered why her eyes carried such a predatory glint.