As Shadows Fade (14 page)

“Or what?” she countered. “You'll make me?”

They both knew what had happened the last time he laid angry hands on her. Angry hands that had turned to passionate ones.

“I'm leaving London. As soon as the sun rises.”

She glanced toward the window. The sky still boasted stars and moon, but a faint essence of lighter blue could be seen in the east. Victoria gave a brief nod. So be it.

But she had something to say first.

Later, she was never certain how she managed to keep the emotion from her voice, the shock and grief that he would have left without telling her, without saying good-bye. How she kept her words steady and as cool as his. But she did.

“Sebastian and I have settled things, but not in the way you thought we should.” She looked directly at Max. “You're mistaken on many fronts. I've not been with him since Rome, Max. Since…you and I…went to the Door of Alchemy.”

Since Max had kissed her, flat up against that damp, rough stone wall.

Little had she realized, but that had been the defining moment.

He didn't respond, merely sat unmoving, his gaze as flat as ever.

“But if you leave, I will be with him. And there will be no question about the paternity of my child.” There. She couldn't keep a bit of bitterness, a hint of mockery from her voice.

Silence stretched for a moment, and at last she understood that he was Max, and that Sebastian had been right about him.

Victoria turned and walked out of the room. Head high, but stomach churning.

Her hand was on the newel post at the base of the stairs when she heard her name.

She turned and Max stood in the doorway of the parlor.

The expression on his face made the bottom drop out of her stomach and a sharp quiver snap through her, leaving her knees weak, her palms damp. A small lamp in the foyer illuminated his eyes, hot and heavy and calculating. Filled with promise.

“I've changed my mind,” he said quietly, a hand moving to pull the untied neckcloth away from his collar. Slowly, deliberately, his eyes moved over her. “And when we're finished, Victoria, you won't remember your own name…let alone Vioget's.”

+ Nine +

In Which Our Heroes Accept Their Mission

Her heart thumping madly
, her stomach fluttering, Victoria drew in an unsteady breath as Max moved toward her. She'd never seen this expression on his face: the hot avidity in his eyes, the set of his mouth more gentle than harsh and grim.

“You've…changed…your mind?” Her words, unnecessary and completely absurd, considering the way he was looking at her, came out breathy and feeble. And very unVenatorlike.

She stood on the second step, her hand still curled around the top of the newel post, and when he reached the bottom of the stairs, they were face-to-face. Instead of reaching to grab her to him, to devour her, Max surprised her by moving so they were flush and he was sliding his hands along her torso to close them over her hips.

He bent, not to her mouth, but to the side of her neck just below the ear—a place that, when his mouth touched it, quite literally made pleasure shoot through her in all directions.

Her fingers trembled over the banister. Her eyes closed. He pressed his lips to that strong tendon at the side of her throat, moving them, slow and warm and thorough, over her skin. Little bumps rose everywhere, and she reached out, her hand landing on his solid shoulder.

She felt the brisk flutter of his eyelashes against her cheek and heard the sound of her own breath as though an ocean rushed through her ears. All from a gentle, purposeful kiss.

At last.

She felt the emotion well up inside her, and tears sting the corners of her eyes. So different, this flood of warmth, of
rightness.
No guilt, no furtiveness, no…rushing.

When his mouth closed over hers, she tipped toward him on the edge of her step, leaning against his warm chest, her hands planted at the tops of his shoulders. Pulling him close.

Where he belonged.

There was no urgency, no ferocity between them…but the kiss knocked her breathless, stole her reason, weakened her knees. It was deep and long, and as if he had all the time in the world.

As if the sun wouldn't soon be rising and pouring through the sidelight windows, illuminating and warming them.

As if he couldn't ever grow tired of matching his lips to hers, tasting and sliding in an easy, sensual dance. His hands slid up into her heavy hair, lifting it from her warm neck, holding her head cradled so the kiss could go deeper.

Damn him. He was right. If he kept this up, she
would
forget her own name.

As if reading her mind, he pulled away, but not before his mouth curved in something like a smile against hers. As if he were well pleased with himself.

“Perhaps,” he said, and his voice wasn't quite as steady as normal, thank God, “we ought to move somewhere a bit more…comfortable.”

Her hands slid down over the front of his shirt, and she felt the firm muscle beneath, heating the cotton. And the mad pumping of his heart.

“What?” she managed to say, stepping backward up the stair behind her, tugging on his shirt so that he would follow. “Not here?” As jests went, it was another feeble attempt.

His lips, full and soft now, stretched into a bit of a smile. “Neither staircases nor carriages lend themselves to a terribly thorough experience.” His eyes were still hot. “And I intend to be very thorough.”

Victoria nearly tripped on the back hem of her gown, but he was there to steady her. She had to work hard to swallow, yet her own mouth curved into a delighted smile. “It's about time, Max.” Her voice came out in a purposeful purr, her hands still planted on his chest. But inside, she was a riot of warmth and relief. This was him. This was
Max.
This was what she'd always wanted.

His response was to lift her in his arms and take the rest of the stairs swiftly and easily. As he climbed, she felt his muscles slide and shift beautifully around her, and dipped her face into the hollow of his shoulder. Pulling the shirt away, she found warm skin that smelled like Max and tasted like him, too.

By the time they reached the stop of the stairs, he was breathing a bit harder—and not because of the climb. At the top, he allowed Victoria to slide down from his grip in a swirl of gossamer silk and lace. His hands moved over her breasts, covering the lace, and then suddenly his palms cupped her bare flesh. Thumbs found the hard and sensitive points of her nipples, followed by that hot, slick mouth.

Her world became a slow, swirling vortex of pleasure, of gentle, purposeful hands, sleek mouths tangling and tasting, warm skin, and the insistent
need
tugging at her…then more and more urgent, demanding.

Before she realized it, the bed materialized beneath her, and she felt the soft linen on her bare skin…the warmth of his body as he moved next to her, his hands and mouth never stopping from their inventory. She arched up when he moved down to take the
vis bullae
into his mouth, and heard the soft click of the metal against his teeth…and then nearly cried out in surprise when he moved lower.

A strong hand was planted gently on her belly, thumb twisting around and amid the strength amulets, kept her steady, but writhing as he kissed and licked and stroked until the only sound in her ears was the rush of her own breath. And then the little gasps of her rising pleasure.

Max brought her over the edge and stayed with her while she trembled against him, biting her lip to keep from crying out, fully aware of a slender tear trickling from the corner of her eye. Then he was next to her, warm and sleek, lining up alongside her torso as she reached between them. When she wrapped her fingers around him, he closed his eyes with a sigh.

But then moments later, he removed her hand, gently but firmly, and covering her mouth with his, settled over her. His weight felt blessedly solid and warm, and she pressed her curves up into the solid planes that made his torso, imprinting herself on him, holding him close.

When he slid fully home, she closed her eyes and thought…
at last.

At last.

 

+ + +

Giulia came to him in his dreams…in a more real way than she had for many months.

Sebastian didn't know if it was the amount of brandy he'd consumed, or the fact that he'd finally accepted Victoria's decision.

Either way, when he woke, it was to reach blindly for Max's sister…only to find her no more substantial than Victoria.

Who had gone to Max.

First Max's sister.

Then Max's lover.

Sebastian gnawed on bitterness, there in the breaking dawn.

The remnants of the dream still clung to his consciousness, and he closed his eyes again, trying to bring them back. He touched her long, dark hair—just as thick as Victoria's, but without the curl. He looked into her Pesaro eyes, felt the warmth of her body next to his as he'd never done in reality.

In his dreams, he missed her. Grieved anew. And pined over the fact that it was he who'd ended her undead life, who'd sent her to eternal damnation.

And yet, in his dreams…her dark eyes were clear, uncondemning. Tender. Even…hopeful.

When he woke, Sebastian stared at the scarred, smoke-tinted ceiling in his cramped, impersonal room. What now? something asked in his mind.

What now?

 

+ + +

“Say my name.”

“Max.”

Victoria closed her eyes. She might not be certain exactly where she was, or what had happened to that whispery pink gown, or even whether the glow from the window was moonbeam or early dawn…but one thing she knew for certain was the man next to her.

Her mouth curved beneath his as he bent to kiss her yet again. The scrape of his whiskers had long ceased to bother her tender skin, and her own musky taste lingered on his lips and tongue. His body was long and warm and very, very powerful. Very skillful.

Very welcome.

“And you are?” he murmured against her mouth, settling into her in a lovely, deep slide. Again. Oh, yes, again.

Victoria caught her breath, arching a bit closer to the hair-roughened skin pressed against hers. She spread her hands over the smooth slide of muscle on his back. Her world had slowed from a taut, frantic whirlwind to one slower, more deliberate.

She barely remembered to answer him. “Um…Jane?”

His cheek moved, and she knew he was smiling.

Max smiling. A wonder.

But then her thoughts evaporated as that smile eased and they began to move together. His mouth against her neck, his face buried in her hair. She felt the warm rush of his breath and felt a whisk of lashes against her temple as pleasure rose inside her…higher, stronger…and then she slid over in a long, undulating wave.

She felt his quiet groan of completion against her cheek, and her eyes slid closed…and her long, loose, sated body eased into sleep.

Victoria woke sometime later. Even though her eyes were closed, she felt the burn of sunlight on them, and she knew it was well into the day.

She lay still for a moment, aware of the warmth of Max's body next to her, afraid to open her eyes and find…whatever would be the results of the night before. The last time—the only other time—she and Max had been together thus, she'd awakened to a man with regret and bald fear blazing across his face.

She didn't think she could accept that again.

She didn't think her heart could.

A knock at the door had her eyes flying open, despite her intentions otherwise. But before she could respond, the knob turned, and it began to open.

In the bed behind her, Max growled, “Get out,” and Victoria saw the door jerk slightly open—as if someone jolted in surprise—and then whip shut, as if that same person was mortified. She smothered a chuckle. That would give Verbena something to talk about.

For days.

Girding herself, she turned her head to find Max's dark eyes regarding her.

“Good morning…Jane,” he said. A slight twitch moved the corner of his luscious mouth.

No regret. No fear. Even…a bit of humor? Victoria began to feel warmth bubble inside her. “Good morning. Do you have one foot on the floor, ready to dash off?” She kept her voice light, yet she realized that she was holding her breath.

“Is there a reason I should dash off? The return of a husband or lover?” he asked, his voice light…yet…yet…she felt an underlying
edge
to it. Subtle, but present.

“No.” She sat up. The coverlet fell away, drawing his attention…and his fingertips…to her bared torso. “Max,” she said, as his long, elegant fingers brushed gently over her skin, “I want you to know that…it was never like this with Sebastian. What I mean to say is, he never…we never slept. Or woke. Together. It was always much more…furtive with Sebastian.”

“Hmm,” said Max, in a decidedly un-Max-like tone, “should I be offended you do recall his name after all?”

But then the glint of humor ebbed, and his face grew serious. “I preferred not to think about what did and didn't occur between the two of you.”

“Nothing,” Victoria said, noticing the way the white sheets appeared so crisp against his dark skin, “like what happened last night.”

“Nothing?”

“Well, perhaps…some of the mechanics were similar,” she replied, with a tug of guilt. It had been much more than mechanics with Sebastian. But they hadn't left her feeling as sated, as content…as fulfilled…as she did now.

Max slid from beneath the covers, and Victoria turned to watch his tall, graceful body. The silver
vis bulla
still hung from his areola. She remembered in a burst of clarity the way the smooth, warm metal had clinked against her teeth last night and the extra surge of power she felt from it.

Mmm.

But as Max scanned the room, Victoria smothered a smile. Having been married, she was well used to men's early-morning needs and gestured Max toward the chamber pot in the dressing room beyond.