"There is padded gear there, if you wish to wear it." Victoria nodded her head toward the pile of armor that Kritanu would normally don during their sessions.
Sebastian considered it, then looked at her. "You do not wear it?"
"No. But I—"
"—am a Venator. Yes, yes, I am aware of that." He stepped into the center of the room. "I'll take my chances." He looked up at her, where she still stood. "Do you not wish to duel with me? Or are you finished practicing for the day?"
"I'll duel with you." She jumped down, landing flat-footed on the ground. "There is little else to do on this ship."
They faced each other, the length of two machete blades apart. His golden brown eyes pinned her when she looked at him, and she recognized pleasure and challenge there.
"We must have a prize for the winner of this duel," he said, grinning slyly. "You didn't think I would allow such an opportunity to pass, did you?"
Victoria couldn't hold back the huff of a surprised laugh. "Of course not. And, coincidentally, I'm sure you have something in mind."
"A boon. The winner chooses a boon that the other must give freely."
Now she really laughed. "Sebastian, you are utterly predictable!"
Instead of being offended, he grinned in return and nodded. "Of course. When opportunity presents itself, I am most delighted to grab it."
"That means, of course, that you must win in order to collect on your boon."
"You do not appear concerned."
"I'm not." And she lunged at him.
He didn't move except for his sword hand, neatly blocking her machete. "Nor am I."
They parried and teased for a bit, their feet remaining in a stationary position for the most part as their blades slid along each other, clanged each hand guard against the other, then fell away. Victoria held back, wanting to gauge her opponent's skill; for though she wanted to best him, she did not want to injure the arrogant fop who disdained padded armor. Certainly he must be more used to handling an épée or other fencing blade, which was lighter and more flexible, yet he kept pace with her, even as she increased her speed and the power of her lunges and thrusts.
Soon they were dancing about the room in an odd sort of waltz, and Victoria felt herself needing to concentrate to stay with him. He was quick and inventive, and she was by no means outmatching him. In fact, she was beginning to wonder how he kept such pace with her and blocked her so easily. But then she caught his machete at just the right angle and flipped it from his hands, sending it tumbling to the floor.
She barely registered the fact that she had won when he somersaulted, swept up the still-vibrating sword, and came at her, lunging fiercely enough to back her toward one of the crates.
Their blades clashed and clung together as though glued, pausing in midbattle, their faces so close together Victoria could see one golden copper hair from his eyebrow curling out of place and catching in the bangs that had fallen over his forehead. A line of sweat trickled down one temple. He grinned and her stomach dipped.
Then, as if reading the other's mind, they both moved at the same time, and in a frenzy of blades and a dangerous tangle of sliding metal they caught again, stuck, heaved, and then one machete went flying, and the other clattered to the floor at their feet.
Sebastian slammed his foot down on the blade that fell and kicked it aside before she could reach for it. "Victory is mine, my lovely. I shall claim my prize!"
"No victory for you. The battle ended in a draw."
"Indeed. Well, as long as I may claim my boon, I do not much care if you wish to call it a draw."
"But what if my request is that your boon be null and void?"
"But you would not, ma chère. You are not a coward."
Her eyes narrowed but she stepped back, nodding. "Yes, then. Name your prize."
"I wish"—he stepped toward her, capturing her hands before she could react, and tugging her gently in his direction—"an honest answer to the question I am about to ask you."
"No kisses? No viewing of my vis bulla? No lewd propositions? Sebastian, you are frightening me!"
He reached, closing his fingers gently around her chin and lifting it. "If you are disappointed, recall that you still have a prize to collect." He gave a small, affectionate jerk to her chin, then released it, brushing his fingers over her cheek. "I wish to know why you married Rockley—out of familial duty or out of love?"
The question surprised her, and she hesitated. Then: "It was no duty. I loved him." Her voice sounded rusty, and suddenly the room felt stifling. Why would he ask such a question? Why would he care?
He squeezed her hands, then released them and stood waiting. She looked at him in his white shirt, damp in places and veed open to show the sheen of sweat at his throat and bronze-haired chest. She'd mused more than once over the way he reminded her of a golden angel, all tawny haired and golden skinned and tiger eyed. The darkest aspects of his face were slashing brows, of walnut mingled with blond and auburn, and the lashes that framed his eyes. Otherwise, he was all bronze.
But certainly not an angel, particularly when he looked at her as he was now… as though he was expecting her to collapse into a pile of lust at his feet.
"Victoria?" he prompted.
She smiled at him, a smile she'd used only with Phillip… one that she'd learned after discovering how a man's desire worked, and how a woman could use it to her advantage. And pleasure.
She smiled that smile at him; perhaps there was a name for the type of expression it was, but she didn't know it. She stepped up to him, close. She smelled clove, and man, and perhaps some other scent that might have been on his clothing or in his hair… bay… and put her hands on his shoulders. They were broad, wide and solid, and his skin burned damp and warm through the fine, thin shirt he wore.
She could see the gold, copper, and brown of stubble beginning to show beneath the skin of his jaw, and feel the expectancy in his breathing. His eyes were half-closed, but she felt them watching her, heavy. He wasn't smiling.
Victoria drew herself up on her toes, bringing her mouth to his neck, and whispered, "I want to know how you know so much about vampires."
Then she let her heels thump to the floor and stepped back, releasing his shoulders as they sagged with discharged tension. His eyes opened fully.
"How you do tempt a man, Victoria," he said lightly. But his expression belied amusement. "The answer to your question is much more involved than I can or will share at this time, but I will tell you this: Like you, I lost someone I loved to the vampires."
"Your wife? A lover?"
"My father."
Chapter 14
In Which Mrs. Withers Has Double the Fun
Victoria's first glimpse of Rome caused an unexpected shiver along the tops of her shoulders. As she looked upon the city of so much history, she felt a sense of foreboding prickle her, as though the sight of the city portended some catalyst of which she was ignorant.But when the wagon that had brought her and the others from the port of Ostia finally stopped and she alighted, Victoria didn't feel the sensation, nor the trembling of the earth underfoot that she might have expected when stepping into a place that burned with such a sense of prophecy. She merely felt that her consciousness would be overwhelmed by the sounds, the smells, the sights of the streets… of Roma.
Despite the lure of the city, Victoria didn't have much opportunity to enjoy or experience it. Within a day Aunt Eustacia had her settled in a small town house with Oliver and Verbena and a retinue of Italian staff, approximately fifteen minutes from where the Gardella matriarch herself was staying. As in Venice, Victoria and Aunt Eustacia had deemed it prudent to keep their connection under wraps.
Victoria didn't know where Sebastian had gone.
They'd seen each other only at meals after their mock sword battle and tête-à-tête confessions, and he was nowhere to be seen when Victoria and her retinue disembarked from the ship back in Ostia. He had apparently found other means of transportation into the city.
She was content not to see him, for she wasn't sure how to react to his announcement. What did it mean that he'd lost his father to the vampires? That he'd been killed by them? Or, perhaps, turned into a vampire? It was also possible, she supposed, that his father was a member of the Tutela. That could explain why Sebastian knew so much about them.
It made sense. That would account for how he'd gotten involved with Polidori, and how he claimed to know where they would be meeting here in Rome.
He made no contact with Victoria for three days after they arrived in Rome, leaving her to stew and wonder if they'd come here only to be manipulated by Sebastian; but then on that third day, he sent a message that he would call in the afternoon.
She was waiting for him in the parlor. She would have mistaken the tiny room for a broom closet if it hadn't been for the two chairs and small table that made it what the Italians who'd let the town house to her claimed to be a parlor. Whatever it was, it was much too small for her and Sebastian. She felt the room condense as he came in and closed the door behind.
"I presume you've spent the last three days working very hard to establish the clandestine location of the next Tutela meeting, and determining the best way to sneak me in," was how she greeted him. She sat, despite the fact that he remained standing, making the room feel even smaller.
His eyebrows drew together but his words were drier than chalk. "Now, whatever would have made you think that? I had other business to attend to, acquaintances to call upon, an opera to see, and the Trevi Fountain to drop a coin in for a wish. But in regards to the Tutela meeting, yes, indeed, you shall be attending. I hope your calendar is free tonight."
"I had box seats to the opera myself, but I shall forgo them in lieu of going with you to the meeting, of course. Duty before pleasure."
"Not in my book."
Before she could fathom what he was about, he came in toward her and closed his hands over her shoulders, pressing her into the high-backed chair and clamping her in place with his fingers curling over the top. He bent to kiss her, covering her mouth—which had opened to protest in surprise—with his as he slid his knee onto the cushion next to her skirt.