Midnight Embrace (6 page)

She hesitated a moment, then put her hand in his. His skin was cool, his grip firm yet gentle. She could feel the latent strength in his grasp. For a time, they walked in silence. She was ever aware of him beside her, aware that his hand grew warmer in hers. He moved silently, his feet making scarcely a sound on the flagstone path. So silently that she glanced down to see if his feet were indeed touching the stones.

"You have a question you wish to ask me," he said, drawing her attention back to his face.

She looked up at him, startled. Questions? She had dozens, but how had he known?

"Ask them, child."

"Are you truly a doctor?"

Even in the dim light, she saw the shadow that passed over his face before he said, "Yes, I am." It was what he had been born for, to ease the suffering of others, until Tzianne came and stole his life from him.

"Why couldn't Dr. Martinson see you that night in my room?"

"It is as I told you. I did not wish to be seen."

"But you weren't invisible," Analisa insisted. "I saw you."

"It is a mind trick, child. Nothing more than that."

"A mind trick?"

"A form of hypnotism."

"Oh." She looked up at him. She had no doubt in her mind that he could mesmerize anyone with those eyes. "Where have you been all this time?"

"Ah, you might say I was on holiday."

"Where did you go?"

A faint smile flitted across his face. "Not far."

"I've never been anywhere," she said. "Have you been to London? And Paris?"

"Yes, many times."

"Are they wonderful?"

"Yes," he said, and she heard a note of wistfulness in his tone. "Wonderful." He looked down at her and smiled. "Perhaps I shall take you there, one day."

"Would you? Truly?"

She looked up at him, her eyes glowing with excitement. He heard the increased beat of her heart, smelled the warmth of her skin. In spite of the fact that he had fed earlier, hunger stirred deep within him.

"Are you all right?" she asked.

"Yes, of course." He took a deep breath, calling on the strength of four hundred years to quell the hunger that burned through him like hellfire, a hunger that could be quenched so easily with just one taste…

"My lord?"

"What is it, child?"

"You look so… are you ill?"

He turned his face away, knowing that soon his eyes would betray him for what he was, that she would see the hunger ever lurking just below the surface.

"My lord?"

He took a deep breath, felt the hunger curl in on itself until it was again under control. Only then did he turn to face her once more. "You need not worry about me, child. I am never ill. Come, I will walk you back."

He took her hand in his when they reached the back door. "Sleep well, Analisa."

"Aren't you coming in?" she asked. "It's late."

He glanced up at the sky, then shook his head. "Not for a while yet."

"Very well then. Good night, my lord."

He lifted her hand, brushed a kiss across her knuckles.

"Will I… ?"

Still holding her hand, his gaze met hers. "What is it, child?"

"Will I see you tomorrow night?"

"If you wish."

"I do," she said. "Very much."

Her words moved through him, warming him like the touch of the sun he had not seen in four hundred years. "Until tomorrow night," he said, and disappeared into the darkness.

Chapter Five

He was waiting for her at dusk the following evening. Her heart seemed to skip a beat when she descended the stairs and saw him standing there. He wore a black jacket over snug black breeches. His shirt was white, open at the throat.

"Come," he said, and ushered her into a room near the back of the manor. She stood in the doorway while he lit a fire in the hearth.

It was a large room, one she didn't remember seeing before. The walls were paneled in dark wood. There were no pictures on the walls save one of a tall masted ship riding a storm-tossed sea.

She moved toward a narrow bookshelf beside the fireplace. Many of the titles were in languages unfamiliar to her. A few sounded like medical journals or textbooks. She ran her fingertips over the volumes:
A Study of Hemophilia
by Dr. Jonathan Forsythe,
Diseases of the Blood
by Thomas Balderston,
Die Ehre des Herzogthums Krain
by Count Valvasor,
Faust
by Goethe,
In a Glass Darkly
by Joseph Sheridan Le-Fanu,
The Count of Monte Cristo
by Alexandre Dumas,
The Tibetan Book of the Dead
.

"You enjoy reading?"

She turned with a start to find him standing beside her. His nearness overwhelmed her.

"I've only just learned. Mrs. Thornfield has been teaching me every afternoon at two. She says I'm doing very well…"

She stopped abruptly. She was babbling like a silly child, she thought. Indeed, she felt like a foolish schoolgirl standing there beside him. He was tall and dark and self-assured. She wondered suddenly how old he was. He might have been any age from twenty to forty. She wondered, too, why he wasn't married. Surely a man of his wealth and breeding could have any woman he fancied. And children. Surely he wanted an heir, someone to carry on his family name, to inherit his lands and wealth.

She felt a quiver of anticipation as he reached toward her, then a strong sense of disappointment as he reached past her to pull a book from the shelf.

"Come," he said, moving toward the high-backed sofa in front of the hearth. "Read to me."

She shook her head. "Oh, no, I couldn't."

"Of course you can." He sat down, looking at her over his shoulder. "Come, Analisa."

Trapped by his gaze, mesmerized by the smooth seduction of his voice, she went to sit beside him. He handed her the book, then sat back, one arm resting along the edge of the sofa, waiting.

Swallowing hard, Analisa opened the book and began to read. When she occasionally stumbled over a word, he supplied it for her. The story was titled
Carmilla
. It was a dark tale about a young girl named Laura who was attacked by a vampire. It told of Laura's childhood encounter with Carmilla, an incident near forgotten until years later when the vampire reappeared. In the end, the vampire was destroyed.

With a sigh, Analisa closed the book. "A troubling tale, my lord. I am glad that such creatures as vampires do not exist."

But exist they did, and he was not the only one. He thought of his ancient enemy. Would he be able to keep Analisa safe should Rodrigo learn of her presence at Blackbriar?

His dark gaze met hers, glittering strangely, a fact she ascribed to the light of the fire. "There have always been tales of vampires, Analisa. Every civilization has its own legends and myths. The
ekimmu
of Sumeria, the
chiang-shih
of China, the
vrykolakas
of Greece."

"Yes, my lord, but they are only stories told to frighten children."

"Are they?"

"Aren't they?"

"Of course." He plucked the book from her hand and placed it on the table beside the sofa. "Come," he said, rising. "Your dinner is ready."

She was about to ask him how he knew when Sally rapped lightly on the door to announce that very thing.

Alesandro offered Analisa his hand. "Shall we?"

He escorted her into the dining room, took his proper place at the head of the table, indicated she should sit on his right. As usual, the table was covered with a lace cloth and laid with fine china, gleaming silver flatware, and crystal rimmed with gold. She thought the cost of one plate alone would probably have fed her family for a month.

Sally served dinner shortly thereafter: tender roast beef swimming in gravy, Brussels sprouts and mashed potatoes. And Yorkshire pudding.

Analisa frowned. "You're not eating, my lord?"

"No."

The look in his eye, the clipped tone of his voice, effectively stilled any further questions.

He requested a glass of dark red wine, which he sipped while she ate, ever aware of his deep blue eyes watching her.

"Tell me of your life, Analisa."

"There is nothing to tell, my lord. Were it not for your kindness, I should be quite lost."

"You have no family?"

"No, my lord. Nor any friends left."

"The epidemic?"

"Yes, my lord." She looked down at her plate. "Sometimes I wish I had died, as well."

"No! No, Analisa, one must never wish for death. Life is far too precious, and too fleeting."

"Have you lost loved ones, my lord?"

He nodded, his expression suddenly wistful. "Many." Far too many, he mused. His parents, his beloved sister, the friends and colleagues of his youth, so many deaths, until the pain had become too great and he had cut himself off from the world and the people in it.

"My lord?"

"Yes, child?"

"You seem very far away."

"I am afraid I was. Forgive me."

"Why do you call me a child? I'm ten and seven. Hardly a child."

"Ah, ten and seven. A vast age, to be sure."

"Are you mocking me, my lord?"

"No, Analisa."

His voice moved over her, slow and sweet, like thick, dark honey. And his eyes, those blue, blue eyes… they seemed to see into her mind and heart. Indeed, into the very depths of her soul. Did they see the loneliness she felt? Her sorrow over the loss of her family? Her fear of the future? If he turned her out, she had nowhere to go, no one to turn to for help.

"Analisa."

"Yes, my lord?"

His hand cupped her nape and drew her closer, until she felt as though she were swimming in the blue depths of his eyes. His kiss, when it came, was excruciatingly tender, hardly more than a whisper across her lips, yet she felt it in every fiber of her being.

"You have nothing to fear from me," he said, hoping he spoke the truth. "My home is yours for as long as you wish." He kissed her again, ever so gently. "My life is yours."

She looked up at him, not knowing what to say, but knowing that, from this moment on, her life was irrevocably bound to his.

She dreamed of him that night, a dark, erotic dream that faded upon awaking, leaving her with only a vague memory of smoldering indigo eyes and his mouth on hers.

Feeling a sudden inexplicable urge to go to the grove, she slipped out of bed. Dressing quickly, she ran down the stairs and went out the side door.

Heavy gray clouds hung low in the sky; the grass was still damp with dew; the flagstones were cold beneath her bare feet.

She entered the grove, expecting somehow to find him there, disappointed to find herself alone. What was there about this place that called to her? Going to the crypt, she put her hand upon the cold stone, but it did not warm to her touch as it had before.

Because the crypt was empty?

She folded her arms over her breasts, wondering where such a ridiculous thought had come from.

Shivering, she ran back down the path to the house. Reentering by the side door, she hurried up the steps to the second floor, paused, and continued on up to the third floor.

Her heart was pounding erratically when she reached the room at the end of the hall. She stood there a moment, feeling foolish for what she was thinking. Hand shaking, she reached for the doorknob. The door was locked.

Turning away, she went downstairs to breakfast. If the crypt was empty, she mused, was it because the occupant was now asleep upstairs in the master's bedchamber?

She was on edge all that day, waiting for him to come downstairs, waiting to see him again. But morning turned to afternoon, and still there was no sign of him. She spent two hours in the library with Mrs. Thornfield, but her mind kept wandering to the upstairs bedroom and the man who was sleeping there.

"Analisa? Analisa!"

"What? Oh, I'm sorry, Mrs. Thornfield, did you say something?"

"I asked if you were ready to continue."

"Yes, of course." She bit down on her lower lip. "Where were we?"

"Your mind isn't on reading today," the housekeeper said, sitting back in her chair. "Is something amiss?"

"No, no… I was just wondering if… if Dr. Avallone… is he here?"

"Yes, I believe so."

"Oh. I was wondering… that is…"

"Go on."

Analisa shook her head, suddenly embarrassed. She had been disappointed when he hadn't joined her for breakfast. She recalled he had told her he was never home during the day. It was none of her business where or how Alesandro spent his days, but she couldn't help wondering.