Midnight Embrace (5 page)
Authors: Amanda Ashley
Tags: #General, #Fiction, #Romance, #Paranormal, #Historical
She shook off her melancholy mood. She was young. She was healthy and strong again, thanks to the stranger in the hospital, and the good food and care she had received at Mrs. Thornfield's hands. Other young women managed to survive on their own, and so would she…
Analisa.
His voice. She heard it so clearly in her mind that she glanced over her shoulder, expecting to see him there, surprised to find she was alone in the room.
Analisa.
Hardly aware of what she was doing, she stood up, drew on her robe, and left her chamber.
Her slippered feet made hardly a sound as she made her way through the quiet house and out the back door. Compelled by an impulse she could not deny, she moved down the narrow stone-lined path that led through the gardens and around the decorative hedges, past the pretty little lake that shone like a dark mirror in the moonlight, past the maze, until she came to the far end of the property. Tall trees grew here, arranged in a wide circle, and in the center of the circle there was a raised tomb made of white marble.
A bright beam of moonlight shone down on it, illuminating the writing etched into the stone. She leaned forward, sounding out the words.
"Here lies Ale-Alesan-Alesandro de Avallone. Born the seventh day of June in the year of our Lord 1435. Left this world the twenty-second day of Jan-Janu-January, 1469."
Below that were the words "I am not an answer to a prayer—nor a whisper—nor a dare—I am but a thought—across time."
She ran her hand over the cold stone, wondering if the Alesandro who had so generously given her the hospitality of his house had been named for the man buried here.
"Alesandro." She murmured the name aloud, liking the sound of it.
"Analisa."
It had been no voice within her head this time, and she whirled around, her heart leaping into her throat when she saw a man standing in the shadows. A man she had seen before. A man she would never forget.
"You," she murmured.
He moved out of the shadows and into the moon's light. He was as tall and lean as she remembered. Clad all in black as he had been in the hospital, he seemed to be a part of the night itself. A long cloak fell from his broad shoulders. Silver moonlight played over the sharp lines and angles of his face.
He took a step toward her, and she stumbled backward, afraid without knowing why.
His eyes burned with a familiar deep blue flame as he gazed at her.
He held out his hand. "Analisa." His voice was a whisper, a caress, a command.
Unable to help herself, she moved toward him even though every instinct she possessed screamed at her to run away.
And then she was standing in front of him, staring up at him, helpless to move, to resist. And he was bending toward her, his gaze swallowing her up, until she felt as though she were drowning in the heated blueness of his eyes. She felt her limbs grow weak, felt herself falling, falling, into the never-ending depths of his eyes…
She was warm and pliant in his embrace, helpless to resist his call. He had told himself he would never do this again, yet, like her, he was unable to resist. Her life force had called to him every night she had been here, in his house. He had been deep underground, seeking the sleep of his kind, and yet her essence, her nearness, had permeated his soul. Even wrapped in the arms of the earth and trapped in the darkness, he had heard her footsteps as she walked his land, heard the rhythmic beat of her heart. The siren song of her blood had called to him in soft tones of desire and insistent hunger, until it had drawn him from the depths of the earth to her side.
And now he stood poised above her, about to do what he had vowed never to do again. His gaze held hers captive while he listened to the seductive call of her heartbeat. She was his, to do with as he wished. His, for this night, or for every night as long as she lived. His. He had but to take her.
"Analisa." He whispered her name, and it echoed back to him on the wings of the night.
Analisa. Analisa. Analisa.
She stared up at him, mute, helpless, and he knew he could not take her by force, knew that as much as he craved her sweetness, as much as he needed it, he did not want to take her life's blood by force or by trickery. He wanted it as a gift, freely given.
One kiss, he thought; one kiss would do no harm. Her eyelids fluttered down as his mouth sought hers. Her lips were warm and soft and tasted of chamomile and honey. She was so young, so alive; being this close to her was like standing in front of a roaring fire. She radiated life and goodness. It drew him like a living flame, chasing the coldness from his being, banishing the loneliness from his soul. His lips moved over hers, ever so lightly. Desire surged within him as, ever so tentatively, she returned his kiss.
Afraid of hurting her, afraid he could not for long resist the powerful temptation of her nearness, he lifted her into his arms, carried her swiftly into the house, and put her to bed.
"Sleep, my sweet Analisa." He brushed a lock of hair from her brow, let his fingertips slide down the warm, sweet curve of her cheek. "Sleep and dream your girlish dreams," he murmured, "and I will make them come true."
Analisa awoke late the next morning, feeling wonderfully alive and refreshed. For the first time in weeks, she hadn't been bothered by the nightmare that had been plaguing her. But she'd had another dream to take its place, a wonderful dream. She had seen him in the garden, the mysterious man who had come to her in the hospital, and he had kissed her, only a brief touch of his lips to hers, yet she had felt it in every fiber of her being.
She lifted her fingertips to her lips. Even though it had been only a dream, it seemed as though she could still feel his touch. Such a strange dream. She was certain she had actually gone walking in the gardens last night, yet she had no memory of returning to her room. Had she dreamed that, too? His voice seemed to linger in her mind.
Sleep and dream your girlish dreams
, he had said, his voice soft and low and strangely compelling.
And I will make them come true
.
Rising, she rang for Sally, who brought her a cup of cocoa and then went into the dressing room and laid out her clothes for the morning. At first, Analisa had felt rather uncomfortable having a maid wait on her, but Sally had quickly put her at ease with her cheerful chatter; now their morning routine had become a habit. While Analisa drank her cocoa, Sally filled a basin with hot water, then left the room for a few minutes so Analisa could wash up. When summoned, Sally returned to the room, lacing up Analisa's corset and arranging the folds of her dress over her petticoats.
She sat at her dressing table while Sally brushed her hair and then drew it up into a neat coil, leaving a few tendrils to frame her face.
Smiling her thanks, Analisa went downstairs to breakfast. She ate quickly, then left the house, hurrying down the flagstone path that led past the gardens and the lake until she came to the circle of trees.
She was breathing heavily as she stepped into the center. And the crypt was there, just as she remembered. It was made of white marble, shimmering in the sunlight, almost as if the marble were alive, breathing.
Analisa.
She heard his voice within her mind again, felt his presence there, within the grove, imagined she felt the touch of his lips on hers, the whisper of his breath against her skin.
She glanced around, certain he was nearby. "Where are you?" she asked plaintively. "Why are you hiding from me?"
But there was no reply, only the soft sighing of the wind through the trees.
She placed her hand on the head of the crypt. It was cold to her touch, and yet she felt a warmth in her fingers, a warmth that spread through her hand and up her arm. With a startled cry, she jerked her hand away. Filled with a sudden unease, she turned and ran out of the grove and didn't stop running until she was back at the house.
"Mercy, child, whatever is the matter?" Mrs. Thornfield asked as Analisa burst into the parlor. "You look as though you've seen a ghost."
Analisa put a hand to her chest. Her heart was fluttering like a wild bird trapped in a cage.
"Who… who's…" She drew a deep breath. "Who's buried in the crypt in the grove?"
The housekeeper frowned. "The first master of Blackbriar, I believe."
"He's dead?"
"I should hope so, child," Mrs. Thornfield said, displaying one
of
her rare smiles. "He died over four hundred years ago. Now, what is this all about?"
"Is Blackbriar Hall haunted?"
Mrs. Thornfield shrugged. "Rumors of ghosts are not uncommon in houses as old as this one."
"Have you ever seen one? Here? A ghost?"
"A ghost? No, child, I've never seen a ghost."
Analisa sank down on the sofa, her arms folded over her chest. She was cold, so cold.
"Have you seen something?" Mrs. Thornfield asked, her expression wary.
"I'm not sure. Last night… I…"
"What happened last night, child?"
"I'm not sure. I think it was a dream. But it seemed so real. I heard a voice calling my name, at least I think I heard it, and I went out into the gardens. I saw the crypt there. And a man… a man I've seen before…"
"I'm sure it was only a dream," Mrs. Thornfield said, her voice brisk. "You needn't worry. There are no ghosts at Blackbriar." She patted Analisa's arm in motherly fashion. "A good hot cup of tea is what you need." Pulling a warm throw from the back of a chair, she draped it around Analisa's shoulders. "I'll bring you one directly."
"Thank you."
With a nod, the housekeeper left the room. A few moments later, Sally came in to light the fire. She smiled uncertainly, bobbed a curtsey, and hurried out of the room. She returned a short time later with a tray bearing a cup of tea and a biscuit.
"Anything else I can get for you, miss?"
"No, thank you."
Left alone, Analisa stared into the fire. They probably all thought she was crazy, asking about ghosts. Now that she was sitting there with the sunlight streaming through the windows and a fire blazing cheerfully in the hearth, it all seemed like foolishness.
The rest of the day passed in a sort of a blur, as if she were seeing everything through a mist, as if she weren't really there at all. She picked at her dinner, causing Mrs. Thornfield to inquire after her health.
That night, getting ready for bed, she could scarcely remember how she had spent the day.
Sally came in to light the fire. Mrs. Thornfield brought her a hot cup of tea, and then she was alone. She drank the tea and put the cup on the bedside table, blew out the lamp, slid under the blankets, closed her eyes.
And heard his voice in her mind, soft as smoke.
Analisa.
She put the pillow over her head, hoping to shut him out even though, deep inside, she knew she had been waiting for this moment all day.
Analisa. Come to me.
She heard the need in his voice, the longing, and knew she could not resist, knew it was not his need that drew her, but her own.
Rising, she pulled on her robe, stepped into her slippers, and left the house.
The light of the full moon brightened her way as she followed the now familiar path to the crypt within the grove.
And he was there, waiting for her.
"Analisa."
No one had ever caressed her name the way he did.
She stared up at him. He was tall, so very tall. And dark. His hair, his clothing, all were black. As black as the night that surrounded them. "Who are you?"
"Alesandro de Avallone," he replied with a low bow. "Master of Blackbriar Hall."
"
What
are you?"
"One night perhaps I shall tell you."
"Why not now?"
"The time is not right."
"Have you come home to stay?"
He hesitated, and then nodded.
Analisa wrapped her arms around her middle. "Thank you for allowing me to stay here while you were away. I'll leave in the morning."
"No!" He made a slashing motion with his hand. "There is no need for you to go."
"But—"
"It is a large house, Analisa, and I am never in residence during the day. Please, continue to make my home your own."
She bit down on her lower lip, wondering if it was acceptable for her to stay in his house without a proper chaperone when he was in residence. But surely there were servants enough to keep gossip down. Although, except for the servants, she had no idea who would be gossiping about her. There were no other houses nearby, and except for Dr. Martinson, no one else knew she was here. Sadly, there was no longer anyone left to care what happened to her.
"Thank you, my lord," she replied. "I should very much like to stay." She looked up at him. "Why did you invite me to stay here?"
"Because you had nowhere else to go." It was the truth, at least as much of the truth as he was willing to tell her. He held out his hand. "Come, walk with me."
