Midnight Embrace (26 page)

Alesandro's arms tightened around her. Fear. He had not felt fear like this for centuries, not since the night Tzianne had brought him across. But his fear now was not for himself, it was for Analisa.

"He means to kill me, doesn't he?" she asked. "The way he did Sally. To settle the debt he feels you owe him."

" 'Lisa—"

"It's true, isn't it?" Her voice rose. "Isn't it?"

He wanted to deny it, but he couldn't lie to her. "You will be safe here," he said.

"Sally wasn't safe."

"She would have been if she had stayed inside after dark. He cannot come in here, 'Lisa, unless he is invited."

"He was at the masquerade."

Alesandro nodded. "Someone must have invited him into the house. The butler, perhaps."

"What's to keep that from happening here?"

"Mrs. Thornfield knows better than to invite a stranger into the house. Or to look one in the eye."

She huddled against him, shivering uncontrollably.

He wrapped his arms around her and held her close. He had been content thus far to let Rodrigo live. In spite of all that had happened, he could not forget that Rodrigo had once been his closest friend, nor could he castigate Rodrigo for blaming him for what had befallen Serafina. The responsibility rested squarely on Alesandro's shoulders and no one else's. No matter that he had revealed himself to his sister in hopes of saving her from a similar fate, no matter that she had died by her own hand; the fact remained that he was the one to blame. He could understand Rodrigo's pain and anger; knew he would suffer as deeply, and as long, if anything happened to Analisa. But, guilty or not, he would not allow Rodrigo's need for revenge to touch Analisa.

And so he held her close and rocked her until her trembling ceased.

"Stay with me tonight," she whispered. "I don't want to be alone."

"Tonight and every night, my sweet Analisa." His lips brushed her cheek. "By all that I hold sacred, I swear I will never leave you again."

He helped her out of her costume and into her nightgown, then carried her to bed. He tucked her in, then removed his clothing save for his trousers and slid into bed beside her. He put his arm around her and she snuggled against him, her head pillowed on his shoulder, one hand resting on his chest. He stroked her hair, his mind lightly touching hers, easing her fears so she could sleep.

He held her all through the night, his senses drinking in her nearness, reveling in the warmth of her hand on his chest, the silky feel of her hair against his shoulder, the scent of her perfume, the touch of her breath whispering over his skin. Holding her, being so close to her, was pleasure and torture rolled into one.

How had he survived so long without her? She had brought light and meaning into his existence. He had taken her to the opera and the ballet, had shown her London and Paris, and seen them anew through her eyes. He had smelled the warmth of the sun on her skin and in her hair, savored the near-forgotten taste of tea and chocolate on her lips.

It still amazed him that she knew him for what he was and loved him in spite of it, that she trusted him enough to sleep in his arms.

He stirred as he felt the night fading away. Slipping his arm out from under her shoulders, he left the bed. Drawing the covers up over her, he kissed her lightly.

"Rodrigo will not have you, my sweet Analisa," he vowed quietly. And then, with a last glance at her face, he left the room to seek his lair.

Chapter Twenty-two

Geoffrey Starke called on Analisa the following afternoon. She received him in the parlor, invited him to sit down, sent Mrs. Thornfield for tea and cakes.

She sat down, spreading her skirts around her. It was, she thought, getting easier to pretend she was a fine lady. Folding her hands in her lap, she waited for Mr. Starke to state the purpose of his call.

He removed his gloves, set his walking stick aside, ran his finger inside his collar, cleared his throat. "I seem to be making a habit of calling on you uninvited," he said, "but I couldn't help noticing you left rather abruptly last night."

"I'm sorry," she said, "it was rude of me."

"Did someone offend you?"

"No, of course not. I… I was suddenly feeling indisposed."

He cleared his throat again, his cheeks turning bright pink.

Fortunately, Mrs. Thornfield chose that moment to enter with the tea tray, relieving Mr. Starke of the necessity of a reply.

Analisa thanked the housekeeper, then turned her attention to pouring the tea. She handed Mr. Starke a cup, placed one of the tea cakes on a plate and handed that to him as well, together with a neatly folded linen napkin.

She sipped her tea, her thoughts not on Mr. Starke but on Alesandro. She glanced at the clock, counting the hours until she would see him again. Her Alesandro. Just thinking about him sent a shiver of excitement down her spine. He filled her waking thoughts. He filled her dreams.

Alesandro…

She blinked, aware that Mr. Starke was walking toward her. She stared at him, dumbfounded, as he dropped to one knee in front of her.

"Miss Matthews, I know this will shock you. I find it rather shocking myself, but, well…" He cleared his throat. "Would you do me the honor of being my wife?"

She stared at him. Shocked didn't begin to describe how she felt. Whatever had possessed him to propose to her? Didn't proper etiquette dictate a period of courting first?

He was watching her, waiting for her answer.

"Mr. Starke, this is so sudden. I don't know what to say."

"Say you will consider it."

"I… I hardly know you."

"I know this is sudden, and I apologize for that, but I haven't been able to think of anything or anyone else since we met." He smiled disarmingly. "And I'm afraid if I wait too long, you might marry someone else."

"I'm sorry, Mr. Starke, but I'm afraid I can't accept."

He nodded, sighed rather dramatically, and stood up. "I had to ask. I hope you'll forgive my impertinence."

Returning to the sofa, he picked up his gloves and walking stick. "May I call on you again?"

"If you wish."

"Good day to you, then, Miss Matthews." He bowed over her hand. "I look forward to seeing you again."

She smiled politely and started to rise.

"I can see myself out," he said, and left the room.

She sat there for several minutes, stunned by what had happened. Her first proposal! Even if she never married, at least she could say she had been asked. She should have told Mr. Starke she was in love with someone else, she thought, and she would, the next time he came to call. There was no point in letting him think there could ever be a relationship between them. She loved Alesandro, and even if he never asked to marry her, she would never wed anyone else. Never. If she couldn't have Alesandro, she would never marry anyone.

The clock was chiming four o'clock when she left the parlor. Alesandro would be here soon.

Hurrying upstairs, she rang for Frannie.

Analisa was lingering over a glass of sherry when Alesandro entered the dining room. She looked up, her smile of welcome fading when she saw the look on his face.

"Starke was here again," he said flatly.

There was no point in denying it. "Yes."

Alesandro sat in the chair across from her, his dark eyes intense. "Did you invite him?"

"Of course not."

He swore under his breath. He had no excuse for his rudeness, save that he loved her beyond measure. "Forgive me, 'Lisa."

She put her glass aside and rose. "Shall we go into the library?"

With a nod, Alesandro stood and followed her. There was a chill in the room. He cast a glance at the hearth and a fire sprang to life.

"What did Mr. Starke want?" He hadn't meant to ask, but he could no more have stayed the question than he could have taken Deuce out for a ride in the sun.

"He… he asked me to marry him."

"Indeed? And what was your answer?"

Analisa blew out a sigh of exasperation. "I said yes, of course."

She had not expected him to take her seriously, nor was she prepared for the rage that blazed in his eyes. It slammed into her, as forceful as if he had struck her.

"Alesandro, I was only jesting. Of course I told him no."

She stared at him, waiting for the anger to leave him. She had seen him in pain, in need of blood, but never enraged like this. It was far more frightening than she could have imagined.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I shouldn't have… I…"

He closed his eyes, and a stillness settled over him. As she watched, the tension drained out of his stance, his face.

"Alesandro?"

He opened his eyes, savoring the sound of his name on her lips. "Once again I must beg your forgiveness." He moved to the sofa and sat down. "Come," he said. "Sit with me."

She did as he asked without hesitation. She smelled of lavender soap and sherry, of sunlight and the beefsteak and kidney pie she had eaten at dinner.

Need rose within him, the need to hold her, to taste her, to make her forever his. The thought went through him like a bolt of lightning. He had never made another vampire, had sworn he would never be responsible for passing the Dark Gift to anyone else. How could he even think of condemning the woman he loved to an existence of endless darkness, to the relentless hunger, the loneliness?

He looked at Analisa, imagining her as a vampire, her quiet beauty enhanced by the Dark Gift. Imagined her sleeping beside him during the long hours of daylight, waking in his arms. Imagined her lips stained with his blood…

"Alesandro, are you angry with me?"

"No, of course not."

"You look… I don't know… what were you thinking about?"

"You do not want to know."

"Why not?" She studied his face, her head tilted to one side, her expression thoughtful. "It was about me, wasn't it?"

He did not deny it.

"Tell me!"

He shook his head, certain it would frighten her to know that he had considered bringing her across, no matter how briefly.

She pouted prettily, making him smile in spite of himself. Sometimes he forgot how young she was.

"Please, Alesandro?"

"No, 'Lisa." He rose to his feet. "I must go out for a while."

"Don't go."

"I will be back soon."

She caught his hand. Holding it to her breast, she stared up at him through wide brown eyes. "You don't have to go."

He had not taken her blood since it was decided she should see other men.

"Please don't go!"

He gazed down at her a moment, then knelt at her feet. "Something is troubling you. What is it?"

"Rodrigo." Her hand tightened on his. "I'm afraid."

"He cannot come here."

She brushed a lock of hair from his brow with her free hand. "I'm afraid for you, Alesandro."

"There is no need for you to worry, 'Lisa."

"I can't help it. I love you so much." She pressed his hand to her cheek. "What would I do if something happened to you?"

"Nothing will happen to me."

"He hurt you before."

" 'Lisa." Her concern touched him in ways he barely remembered, made him recall emotions and feelings he had not felt since he was mortal. But he was mortal no longer. Gently, he captured her hand in both of his. "I cannot change what I am."

"Would you if you could?"

"Yes. But it is not possible. There is no going back."

"How do you know?"

He gestured at the bookshelves that surrounded them. "Do you think I have read all the books here and at Blackbriar simply to pass the time? For centuries I have sought a way to end this curse. Centuries, 'Lisa."

Her heart ached for the sadness she saw in his eyes, the resignation in his voice. "It can't have all been bad. You've seen so much of the world."

"Yes. I have lived through wars and plagues. I have watched kings and queens rise and fall. I have seen advances in medicine and the arts." He looked down at her hand, caught in both of his. "And all of it alone."

She put her hand under his chin and lifted his head. "You're not alone now. I'm young, Alesandro. I'll stay with you as long as I live, if you want me to."

" 'Lisa." It was what he wanted, what he yearned for, yet how could he ask her to give up everything to be with him? How could he let her go? In that brief moment when he thought he had lost her to Geoffrey Starke, he had been filled with a torrent of rage and jealousy the likes of which he had not experienced in four centuries. He had known, in that instant, that he would kill Starke before he let the man claim Analisa for his own, had feared that he might kill her, too, rather than let another man have her.

Analisa bit down on her lower lip as she watched Alesandro's face. His expression was black, his eyes haunted. What was he thinking? What dark thoughts troubled him so?