Midnight Embrace (22 page)

"Do not think of it now," Alesandro said. "There was nothing you could have done, and I will not have you blaming yourself. If you must blame someone, lay that burden on me, where it belongs."

"It was not your fault, either."

"It pleases me that you do not think so."

"Have you known the Summerfields long?" she asked.

"Indeed," he said. "It was from Lord Summerfield that I won this house."

She looked up at him, laughing softly when she saw the deviltry in his eyes. It was good to see him smiling, she thought, when he was far too often sober-faced and withdrawn. Perhaps it would do them both good to go out.

"What shall I wear?" she asked.

Going to her wardrobe, Alesandro withdrew a gown of ice-blue silk. It was a beautiful dress, but one she had never had occasion to wear.

She looked at him, waiting for him to leave the room so she could dress. But he only smiled at her.

"You have no maid, so I shall play the part," he said, and then cursed himself for his careless words.

He plucked her corset from the bed, laced up the back after she put it on. She stepped into her crinoline and tied it in place. Her petticoats came next, and then he slipped the silk gown over her head. The material felt sinfully delicious against her skin. The neckline was scandalously low, revealing a good deal of décolletage; the sleeves were slightly puffed at the shoulders, tapering down to her wrists, the skirt full over a modest bustle adorned with pink and white silk flowers. Kneeling, he placed her shoes on her feet.

"Will you do my hair, too?" she asked.

"Leave it down."

"As you wish, my lord."

"You look beautiful, 'Lisa."

"As do you, my lord Alesandro."

He lifted a brow at her. "Beautiful?"

"Yes, beautiful." And elegant, she thought. She had never seen a man to equal him. He wore a double-breasted tailcoat of fine black wool, a white shirt with a ruffled front, a black silk waistcoat embroidered with tiny black fleur-de-lis, a black bow tie, and black boots. Tall, dark, and dangerous.

He had never been a vain man but he smiled now, seeing himself through her eyes. She thought him elegant, did she? And dangerous. He couldn't deny that.

"Are you ready, my sweet?"

"Just let me get my gloves, and my bag." She plucked a pair of long white gloves from the dresser, along with a small silk purse that matched her gown. "Ready, my lord."

The home of Lord and Lady Summerfield was located in the fashionable heart of the city. Colorful lanterns lit the driveway; a liveried servant helped Analisa alight from the carriage. Taking Alesandro's arm, she walked with him up the winding drive to the house. Alesandro had planned it so they would arrive after dinner, so they were the last to enter. A servant took Analisa's wrap, and they went into the ballroom.

She paused inside the doorway. It was the first time she had ever been to such a soiree. An orchestra was playing a waltz and couples twirled around the floor, the men in sober black, the women like colorful butterflies. Servants moved among the guests who sat on the sidelines, offering drinks and dainty desserts.

"That is our host," Alesandro said, gesturing at a gray-haired man of medium height. "And that is his wife, Lady Summerfield." He pointed to a tall, angular woman who wore a dress that was a most hideous shade of yellow. "Come," he said, taking her by the hand. "Dance with me."

Alesandro waltzed her around the room, aware of the many masculine eyes that followed their progress. Analisa stood out like a rare diamond in a handful of fake gems. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes glowed with excitement. He knew there wasn't a man present who didn't envy him; indeed, half a dozen unattached young men were lined up before the waltz ended, vying for the next dance.

Analisa looked up at him, confused. "Go," he said. "Enjoy yourself."

"But—"

"Go." He smiled as he placed her hand in that of the first young man.

"You won't leave me?"

"No."

Alesandro stood in the shadows, watching one man after another claim her for a dance. He heard the gossip around him as the matrons put their heads together, wondering who she was and why they hadn't seen her before. It was whispered that she was the daughter of a duchess, that she was a French courtesan, an actress from America, the bastard daughter of Lord Summerfield himself.

At the end of an hour, he cut in on her current partner and claimed her for himself.

Analisa smiled up at him, her cheeks flushed.

"You are the belle of the ball, my sweet," he said. "As I knew you would be."

"I don't know why they all want to dance with me. I don't even know most of the dances."

But he knew why. There was a freshness about her, an innocence that was sadly lacking in most of the other young ladies. There were worried looks on the faces of the matrons as they realized that there might be a new entry in the marriage market.

He kept her close for the next half hour before relinquishing her again. Fading into the shadows, he listened to gossip about himself while he watched 'Lisa move through the figures of a lengthy quadrille. For all that he was rarely seen in the city, his name was well known. People assumed he was the heir to the last Lord of Blackbriar Hall. Because he never aged, he was forced to leave Blackbriar every so often, returning as the son of the Hall's last occupant. It was a tiresome charade, but necessary.

He claimed her for the last waltz. Her cheeks were rosy, her eyes sparkling, as he whirled her around the floor, and he drew her closer, suddenly jealous of all the other men who had held her that night. He could smell them on her. He wrinkled his nose with distaste, wondering what madness had possessed him to bring her here in the first place.

A short time later, they bade farewell to their host. Alesandro was glad to have her alone in the carriage.

"Did you have a good time, 'Lisa?" he asked.

"Oh, yes! It was wonderful. Thank you, Alesandro."

He had been wanting to kiss her all night, and now, seeing her sitting there, her face flushed with happiness, her eyes glowing with excitement, he could resist the urge no longer. Sweeping her into his arms, he claimed her lips with his.

She yielded to him with a sigh, her eyelids fluttering down, her hand coming to rest against his chest, her fingers curling around his lapel as he deepened the kiss. She tasted of sweet tarts and champagne, the tastes alien on his tongue after so many years.

She moaned softly, her body moving against his, seeking to be closer—no easy task with the whalebone crinoline that seemed to take up half of the carriage.

Annoyed by that bit of feminine foolishness, Alesandro reached under her skirt, unfastened the ties at her waist, and yanked the thing off. The frame was collapsible, and he dropped it on the floor, then drew Analisa onto his lap.

"Thank you, my lord." She grinned at him, then wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him.

Her tongue played over his lower lip, driving him to distraction as he lifted her skirts.

She laughed softly. "Alesandro, what are you doing?"

"Only what you want me to do."

"In here?" She glanced at the carriage's close quarters. "Is there room?"

"We will make room." His eyes flashed in the darkness. She felt his hands moving over her, rearranging her clothing, and then his own.

Miraculously, there was indeed room enough.

When they reached home, he carried her into the house and up the stairs to her room. She was asleep by then, a faint smile lingering on her lips. A smile he had put there. The thought pleased him greatly.

He laid her gently on the bed, undressed her, and settled her under the covers. He gazed down at her. In four hundred years, he had never seen anything more lovely, more desirable. It was beyond his comprehension that she loved him, that she willingly satisfied not only his hunger for blood, but for her sweet flesh as well. He had not known love in four hundred years. How had he survived without it? In a matter of a few months, she had become his sole reason for existence. How would he find the strength to go on if she left him? If she died?

He thrust the disquieting thought from his mind. She was young and healthy.

She ages every day while you do not.

He tried to drive that thought from his mind as well, but he could not shake it off. She might live to be forty or fifty, even sixty, but it would not be long enough. A few short mortal years, and he would be alone again. Unless…

His gaze slid over her neck, to the pulse beating slow and regular in the hollow of her throat. So easy to bring her across. So easy to make her his forever.

He imagined what it would be like, falling asleep with her in his arms as the sun chased the night from the sky, kissing her with his first breath at dusk. Having someone to share his existence. Someone to hunt with, someone who would understand the hunger that drove him, the guilt, the need.

Analisa.

It was a beautiful dream, but one that could never come true. He loved her far too much to condemn her to the dark half-life he led, to deprive her of the freedom to enjoy the sun, the opportunity to bear children, to live a normal life with a mortal man. How could he bring her across and subject her to the relentless hunger, the darkness of spirit, that had plagued him for centuries?

Bending, he brushed a kiss across her cheek.

"Sweet dreams, my 'Lisa," he whispered, and went to seek his lonely bed.

Chapter Eighteen

Rodrigo stormed through the night, his anger rising like the devil wind that sent his cloak billowing behind him. A string of foul oaths trailed in his wake. Gone! Alesandro was gone. He had not expected Alesandro to run. In four hundred years of conflict, despite the fact that Rodrigo possessed the greater strength, his enemy had stood his ground.

He streaked through the night unseen, his malevolence a force unto itself. Mortals who crossed his path were destroyed without a qualm, their throats torn out, their life's blood tasting like bitter bile on his tongue.

His hatred, his implacable need for vengeance, had been the driving force in his life for over four hundred years. It had given his existence meaning. He could have killed the other vampire years ago, but that would have been too quick, too easy. He had tormented Alesandro instead, knowing that the good doctor suffered greatly each time he arrived too late to save a life.

With the patience of a wild cat stalking its prey, Rodrigo had waited, knowing that, sooner or later, the perfect means by which to take his revenge would arrive. And now she was here. The woman, Analisa. She was what Rodrigo had been waiting for. For the first time in four centuries, Alesandro had found love. To take the woman from Alesandro, to destroy her as Alesandro had destroyed Serafina… Rodrigo took a deep breath. To inflict pain on the woman would hurt the vampire far more than merely taking his life.

He would find Alesandro again. No matter how long it took.

His hand closed around the throat of his third victim. Unlike the man fighting for his life, time was one thing Rodrigo had plenty of.

Chapter Nineteen

"A visitor?" Analisa looked up from her needlepoint in surprise. "Who would be coming to see me?"

"A young man," Mrs. Thornfield answered, handing her a small ivory-colored card.

"Mr. Geoffrey Starke," Analisa said, reading the name aloud. The name was vaguely familiar, but she couldn't recall where she had heard it before. "What does he want?"

"He's come calling," Mrs. Thornfield said. "He's waiting in the parlor."

Geoffrey Starke? Analisa frowned, and then it came to her. She had danced with him last night. Of all the young men who had partnered her, he had been the most persistent, claiming two waltzes and a quadrille. A fourth dance would have been a breach of etiquette.

"Miss?"

Analisa stared at the housekeeper, her thoughts befuddled. Never before had she entertained a gentleman caller, especially a member of Mr. Starke's class. "What should I do?"

"Why, you must make him feel welcome, of course," Mrs. Thornfield said. "I'll bring tea and some of the sweet cakes Cook baked this morning."

"What will I say to him?" Analisa asked, getting more flustered by the moment.

"If he's like most young men, you'll not need to say much," Mrs. Thornfield replied with a rare grin. "All you'll need do is nod from time to time."

Analisa slipped the card into her skirt pocket. "Couldn't I just send him away?"

"If you wish."

"What do you think I should do?"

"I think you should see him. He seems a pleasant fellow. It will do you good to make some friends in the city."

"Oh, very well. Do I look all right?"

Mrs. Thornfield looked her over carefully, then nodded. "You'll do. And don't worry, social etiquette dictates that his call will be brief."

Taking a deep breath, Analisa smoothed her hands over her skirt, patted her hair, then made her way toward the parlor. Outside the door, she took a deep, calming breath. Mr. Geoffrey Starke didn't know she was just a poor country girl with no home and no family of her own. And there was no need for him to know. Lifting her chin, she opened the door.