"I have some business to attend to… but if you are not feeling well, Victoria, I will stay nearby."

"No. No, Phillip, I will be fine. I just need some rest. I did not sleep as well as you did last night."

He watched her hurry from the room, and noticed something very odd: When she brushed through the doorway, she bumped her left arm on the edge. The way she grabbed at it and gasped told him it was more than a minor pain due to clumsiness. Something else was wrong.

Dear heavens! A baby! Phillip wanted a baby!

Victoria collapsed on the bed in her private chamber, forgetting and falling on her left side and then rolling over when pain burned down her arm.

She couldn't have a baby. She couldn't keep drugging her husband every night she had to sneak out and patrol… She couldn't keep "forgetting" items and sending him back for them. She couldn't continue to make up ridiculous stories about bleeding noses to explain blood on her skirt. She couldn't keep taking out her vis bulla every time they made love.

How was she going to do this?

She could tell him the truth… but if she did that, he would simply follow her. Put himself in danger again.

Or worse… he would think she was mad.

The door opened and Victoria bolted upright, but it wasn't Phillip.

"Now, my lady, what ever is the matter?" It was Verbena. Her orange hair tufting with every movement, she sailed over to the bed and sat next to her mistress. "Is it your arm paining you again?"

"No, since you cleaned it up last night it has hardly hurt me at all, except when I bumped against the door. It's the marquess."

Verbena nodded. "Aye, yes, I see that. I see that you must take your vis bulla out at night. He don't understand, and ye can't tell him. What did ye do to him to make him sleep so well? Franks said as how he could barely stir him this mornin'."

Victoria shook her head. It was her knowledge to bear and no one else's. "It is better if I do not speak of it. But the marquess wants an heir."

"Of course he does. But you cannot be fighting vampires if you are carrying a babe! You will have to make certain this does not happen."

"I cannot deny him!"

"Why would you want to do that? There are other ways to prevent a baby from coming, my lady. Your aunt will know how Venators prevent babies." Verbena nodded her head sagely. "And I know some tricks myself, my lady. If your aunt cannot help you, I will."

Victoria nodded, feeling a bit relieved, but at the same time as though she were sinking ever more deeply into a quagmire of lies and deceit.

Perhaps Aunt Eustacia would have some words of wisdom.

To Victoria's relief, the ever-present Max was not at Aunt Eustacia's home when she called later that morning. Kritanu served them a light nuncheon, then disappeared discreetly when it became obvious that Victoria was not there to practice her kalaripayattu.

"How is your arm?" Aunt Eustacia asked.

Apparently Max had been there.

"It is fine."

"It will heal quickly; Max's salve is miraculous, and you carry the protection of the vis bulla."

Victoria ate a bite of cheese, wondering how to tell her aunt she didn't think she could go on. That she needed to change something about being a Venator.

"Aunt Eustacia, I need your advice. I don't know what to do."

"It is much more difficult than you believed it would be, isn't it, cam?"

"Phillip wants an heir, and I cannot give him salvi every night!"

Her aunt nodded, her black hair gleaming like the night. "It is a very difficult situation you are in, Victoria. As for the baby… well, that is easily preventable. I am surprised you did not ask about that sooner."

She did not reply. Her aunt was right that she should have been concerned with this before now.

"I will give you a tonic. If you drink it regularly, it will keep you from having a baby. Victoria…"

The way Eustacia said her name brought Victoria's face up to look at her.

"Lilith has not forgotten that you and Max retrieved the Book of Antwartha. I know it is safely hidden at St. Heath's Row, but Lilith will not rest until she gets the book in her possession. It may seem that in the last two months undead activity has waned. It may appear that you are not needed, that Max and I can handle any threats that come along. But. do not be fooled. You are a Venator and have been forever marked as one. Never forget you have dealt Lilith a great defeat—for she will not forget. She will not rest until she has exacted her revenge."

Evening fashions were not conducive to hiding wounds on one's arm, so Victoria found herself in quite a quandary that night. Verbena helped her to pull on the longest pair of gloves she owned, melon-colored ones that extended past the elbow, but there was a great expanse of bare skin exposed, due to the flimsy puffed sleeves that barely covered the edges of her shoulders.

"You will have to keep your wrap about your arms at all times," Verbena clucked. The dressing had been removed, and true to Aunt Eustacia's word, the cut had already begun to heal and was hardly sore at all. But the long red gash was still quite noticeable, so Victoria wrapped her shawl around her upper arm twice, letting the rest of it swag gently across the base of her spine and over her right arm. "Under no circumstances can you take that wrap from your arms."

Phillip had sent word that he would be at his club for the evening, and would not be attending the dinner dance at which Victoria was expected to make an appearance. She considered crying off, but felt that it would be better to attend for a short while in order to appease her mother, and return home before midnight.

Thus she was greatly surprised when, as she was leaving the dance floor after a country dance, she saw Max striding across the room toward her.

Victoria excused herself from her dance partner, the younger son of an earl, and hurried to meet him. "I know that you aren't here to partake of Society at its best," she said by way of greeting.

"Lilith's minions are on the move. There's to be another group attack tonight," he told her, casting his glance about the room. "I do not wish to ruin your evening, but it would likely save some lives if you were to accompany me. Can you get away?"

"Yes, of course." She was already walking toward the main entrance of the house.

"I don't see the marquess. Don't you need to tell him you are leaving?"

"He is not here this evening."

Max easily kept in stride with her as she made her way up the sweeping flight of stairs. "Where is he?"

"At his club."

"Which one is that?"

"Bridge and Stokes, I believe, although why it matters to you I—What is it?"

He'd grabbed her arm, nearly jerking her off her feet near the top of the steps. The butler eyed them curiously, but she ignored him, for when Max spun her about to look at him the expression on his face sent a sick feeling worming into her stomach.

"The raid tonight is to be at a particular gentlemen's club."

Their eyes met and he needed say nothing more; she was already pushing past the gawking butler and a cluster of people arriving at the dance.

He caught up with her outside, where she was trying to spot the Rockley carriage in the long line of vehicles around the circular drive. She had no time to wait for the valet to call for it. "Are you certain you want to come? What if Rockley recognizes you?"

"I'm going."

"Then get in here." He flung open the door of a black carriage, one she was more than familiar with, and lent her a hand to climb in.

Victoria scrambled to her seat, and had barely settled when the coach started off. Her long skirts were tangled among their four legs, and her wrap had slid to bare her cut arm.

"Here." Max tossed her a large bundle of cloth, and when she sorted through it she found a shirt, trousers, a coat, and a long strip of cloth. "Verbena gave them to me when I came to find you."

Victoria looked down at the clothing and back at him.

"You can't fight in a ball gown, Victoria, and you needn't pretend modesty to me. I have no interest in watching you undress in a carriage, unlike your friend Sebastian, who would likely offer to assist you." With that he tilted his head back against the top of his seat and closed his eyes. When she didn't move, he snapped, "Be quick about it."

Her gown was not easily removed, but Victoria struggled through and managed to unhook the flat copper hooks that held the bodice together in the back. When she pulled the gown up and over her head, the fabric wafted in a cloud of gauze over the interior of the carriage, brushing Max's stoic face—but he did not shift or give any indication that he felt it.

With her gown off, Victoria was dressed only in a light chemise and corset. It would be impossible to remove the stays without assistance, so she pulled the man's shirt over the fitted undergarment.

She could not pull it down over her generous bosom, cupped up and pushed together as it was. Victoria must have made a sound of frustration, for Max said, "Do you need assistance? I'm so sorry I did not think to bring your maid."

Her attention snapped from her bosom to him, but he was still relaxing, eyes closed as if nothing more urgent than a picnic were on the agenda.

"In a moment." She would have to take the corset off and bind her breasts in order to get the shirt on. For a moment she considered remaining in her gown… but that was ridiculous. Not only would she not be able to fight, but she would stand out unacceptably in the club. If she even got in.

She turned around on her seat, presenting as much of her back to Max as possible. "Can you… I can't unlace my… my corset."

There was a pause; then she heard him stir behind her. The back hem of the shirt moved, and she resisted the urge to pull it down in front. If she did, he would not be able to reach up under it and unlace the corset.

His hands were quick and impersonal, and he managed to move them up and under the shirt and untie the laces, loosening them from top to bottom. She kept expecting to feel his fingers—would they be warm or cool?—brush over her skin, but they did not.