Midnight Pleasures

by Amanda Ashley

  Her head fell back over his arm, exposing the slender curve of her neck. His gaze fastened on the pulse throbbing wildly in the base of her throat. He could hear the rapid beat of her heart, smell the blood heating in her veins. And then he felt the prick of his fangs against his tongue.

  Abruptly, he thrust her away, his hands curling into tight fists at his sides.

  "Rhianna, I beg you, ask another boon of me. Anything," he whispered, his voice laced with desperation. "I'll give you anything else. This castle, if you wish it, my fortune, anything."

  "I want only to stay here, with you, my lord," she replied softly. "I know when the year is up, you will send me away, but I want to spend this time with you."

  "I only hope it will not prove to be your undoing," he muttered under his breath, and turning away from her, he left the room.

  He hunted that night, hunted for prey as he had not hunted in years, knowing that tonight, a few sips of Rhianna's precious blood would not be enough to still the awful hunger that her mere presence stirred within him.

  A year, he mused as he bent over his helpless victim. Compared to the centuries behind him, to the eternity that stretched before him, twelve months was less than a moment in time, yet he feared it was a year that would see his end, or hers.

  Rhianna began her seduction the following night, determined to have him in her bed before the year was out. He had made it clear that he did not love her, that he would never marry her, but she was determined that he would be the first man to bed her.

  She had dreamed of him for four long years, dreamed and yearned, and now she meant to have him. She had heard whispers of how easy it was to seduce a man. Not all the girls in the convent school had been as innocent as she, and those who had traded their virtue for knowledge had been most eager to share what they had learned. Men were easily led by a pretty face, they had told her, and by the promise of an easy conquest.

  To her regret, Rayven seemed to be the exception to the rule. No matter how brazenly she flirted with him, no matter how boldly she teased and tempted, he refused to succumb to her enticements. She knew he wanted her. She could see the hunger in his eyes, hear it in his voice, feel it in the way his arms trembled when he occasionally weakened and drew her close. But always, at the last, he thrust her away and left the room.

  He had done it every night for so long.

  Tonight had been no exception.

  She stood beside the fire, staring after him, wondering if she lacked some vital feminine attraction.

  With a sigh, she dropped down into Rayven's favorite chair. He had left his cloak draped across the back, and she drew it into her lap, idly stroking the fine velvet. How alive it seemed as she spread it over her legs. Of its own accord, it seemed to press against her, warming her. Soothing her.

  Suddenly weary, she closed her eyes, felt herself swept away into a world of darkness.

  Her hands clutched the smooth velvet as disjointed scenes filled her mind—she saw Rayven walking along a dark dusty path, his cloak floating behind him like ink splashed against the darkness of the night; she saw a dark gray mist surround a drunken man, heard the man's faint cry of terror, and over all hung a mist of darkness and the scent of blood; she saw a sleek black wolf standing over the carcass of a deer, heard a long, lonely howl echo in her ears…

  She woke with a start, her brow damp with perspiration, her heart pounding wildly in her breast.

  Tossing the cloak to the floor, she scrambled to her feet and ran out of the room.

  Dallon Montroy came calling late the following afternoon. Bevins showed him to the front parlor, his face a mask of disapproval as Rhianna made the man welcome.

  "Bevins, will you please bring us some tea," Rhianna requested, "and a few scones, perhaps?"

  "As you wish," Bevins replied. He fixed her with another disproving stare, then left the room.

  "And now, my lord," Rhianna exclaimed softly, "what brings you to Castle Rayven?"

  "You, of course," Montroy said. "Why else would anyone make such an arduous journey."

  "Not arduous, surely?" Rhianna teased.

  "I would have climbed a mountain twice as high to see you smile again," Dallon replied gallantly.

  "Indeed?" Rhianna mused. "And would you have crossed crocodile-infested waters, as well?"

  "To be sure." His smile faded as he took her hands in his. "Why have you come back here, Rhianna?" he asked, his tone and expression grave. "Did Rayven force you? Threaten you in some manner?"

  "Of course not. I'm here because I choose to be here."

  "I don't understand."

  "It's quite simple, really. Lord Rayven said he would grant me anything I asked for, and I asked to live here. He's letting me stay for a year."

  Montroy stared at her as if she were speaking in a language he couldn't quite understand. "You asked to stay here? With him? But why?"

  "I'm afraid I can't explain it."

  Montroy raked a hand through his hair, thinking that, if he lived to be a hundred, he would never understand the workings of the female mind. "Well, I wish you'd try!"

  Rhianna shook her head. "I can't." She studied him a moment, then frowned. "Why are you so distressed? I thought you were his friend."

  "Rayven has no friends."

  "Why ever not?"

  "Because he wishes for none. He is a solitary man."

  "You play cards together at Cotyer's."

  Montroy nodded. "True enough, but he keeps us all at arm's length, and allows no familiarity. He's never accepted any invitations extended to him, nor offered any in return."

  "I find that passing strange."

  "As do I, I assure you."

  Montroy released her hands as Bevins entered the room bearing a silver tea tray.

  Back stiff, Bevins placed the tray on a low table, fixed Rhianna with a warning glance, and left the room.

  Taking a seat, Rhianna poured tea for Montroy, then herself.

  After a moment, Montroy sat in the chair across from hers. "I'm afraid it will be most difficult, courting you here."

  Rhianna added milk and sugar to both cups, then handed one to Montroy. "You intend to court me, my lord?"

  "I thought you had guessed that by now."

  "But… I mean…" Rhianna shook her head. "Surely you intend to marry a lady of quality."

  "I do, indeed." He smiled at her, the dimple in his cheek deepening. He had every intention of marrying Rhianna, and he would tell her so, when the time was right. "May I call upon you again?"

  "Dallon, you must know that there can be nothing between us but friendship. I love Rayven."

  Montroy nodded, convinced that he could win her heart if given the chance.

  Rhianna hesitated, wondering if Rayven would object, and then she put such concern aside. He was never about during the day. Why should he care what she did? He had made it quite clear he had no interest in her, that he intended to send her away when the year was done.

  "Rhianna?"

  She regarded Montroy a moment more, and then nodded. "I shall be delighted to have you call on me."

  Montroy smiled, obviously pleased. "There is a new play at the theater. Would you care to attend?"

  "Yes, I think so." She smiled thoughtfully. Nothing else had worked. Perhaps jealousy would produce the results she sought.

  "Rhianna, it matters not to me, but…" Montroy put his cup on the table and raked a hand through his hair. "Aren't you concerned about what the people in the village will say about your living here, with him?"

  "I never gave it any thought," Rhianna said. And, indeed, she hadn't. Thinking about it now, she realized it didn't matter what anyone thought. She was determined to stay here, with Rayven, and she was willing to sacrifice her reputation to do so.

  "Are you sure this is what you really want?" Montroy asked quietly.

  "I'm sure."

  "Then I'll say no more about it."

  They passed the next hour in quiet conversation, and then Montroy took his lea
ve.

  Rhianna had just sat down to supper when Rayven entered the dining room. He stood towering over her, a fierce scowl on his face.

  "What was Montroy doing here?" Rayven demanded brusquely. He had caught the man's scent even before he left the east tower.

  "He came calling, my lord," Rhianna said, trying to keep her voice from shaking. "I did not think you would mind, since he is your friend."

  Rayven's eyes narrowed. "Did he tell you that?"

  "Tell me what?"

  "That we were friends."

  She started to lie. She wanted to lie, but found she could not, not when Rayven's dark eyes were fixed hard upon her face.

  "What did he say?" Rayven asked, his voice low and silky smooth.

  "He said… he said you would not accept friendship."

  Rayven glanced over his shoulder as Bevins entered the room. "You will not allow Montroy, or any other man, into my house again. Is that clear?"

  "Yes, sir," Bevins said.

  With a curt nod, Rayven turned his attention back to Rhianna. "Is that clear to you, as well?"

  "Yes, my lord, but…"

  "But what?"

  "But why? Why do you shut yourself up in this castle? Why not let Lord Montroy visit you here? I think he would be your friend, if you would but let him."

  "I have no need to explain my reasons to you, Rhianna. Suffice it to say that no one is welcome here."

  "Including me?"

  "Most especially you."

  "You are most rude, my lord."

  He smiled then. It was most unexpected, and most welcome.

  "I apologize for my behavior, sweet Rhianna, but I fear you must learn to tolerate my moods if you insist upon staying here."

  "Indeed, I shall, my lord," Rhianna retorted. "For neither your foul temper nor your bad manners shall drive me away."

  Rayven sat down in the chair across from her and reached for the glass of wine that Bevins had poured for him. He lifted the crystal goblet, studying the contents a moment before he took a drink.

  A look of pleasure crossed his face as he set the goblet on the table. "Finish your supper, sweet Rhianna, and then I should like to visit the maze."

  "As you wish, my lord."

  "Indeed, my sweet. Exactly as I wish."

  It was most disconcerting, dining under his watchful eye. Her hands trembled, she knocked over her water glass, spilled a bit of gravy in her lap. And all the while, she could feel his unblinking gaze upon her, as black as the night sky.

  When she finished eating, he donned his cloak, then draped a warm shawl around her shoulders.

  The gardens lay quiet under a hunter's moon. He took her hand and they walked toward the maze. Rhianna tried to think of something amusing to say, some bit of small talk to ease the taut silence that stretched between them, but nothing came to mind.

  "Perhaps, in the spring, you will work your magic in the gardens again," Rayven remarked after a while.

  "If you wish, though I would have your promise that you will not let everything die again when I'm gone."

  "You have it."

  "I think I shall plant daisies near the summer house this time," Rhianna said, thinking out loud. "And more roses, of course."

  "Red ones," Rayven said.

  "And yellow ones, too."

  "No, just red. And white." Red for the blood that sustained him; white for the purity of the woman beside him.

  "Then I shall have yellow daisies."

  He smiled in defeat.

  "Why didn't you look after the roses in the garden as you looked after the roses within the maze?" Rhianna asked as they strolled along the winding pathway.

  "I warned Bevins of dire consequences should the roses in the maze be allowed to die."

  "Why such concern for the one and not the other?"

  Rayven stopped. Turning her to face him, he took both her hands in his. "You planted the roses in the garden for your own pleasure," he explained, his thumbs making lazy circles over the backs of her hands. "But you planted the roses in the maze for me."

  The look in his eyes made her heart beat fast. His touch sent shivers up her arms. The sound of his voice moved over her and through her. His voice. She had never heard another like it, deep and rich, filled with arrogance and command.

  "Why do you live so alone?" she asked. "Why do you let no one get close?"

  "I am a solitary creature by nature," he replied.

  "You have an odd way of speaking of yourself," she said, "as if you were different from everyone else."

  "Do you think I am not?"

  And in that moment, she knew that he was different. Different from her, different from anyone else she had ever known, though she could not say why. And then she remembered an odd remark he had once made.

  "Do you recall the night before I left for Paris?" she asked as they continued walking.

  "I remember." It had been the worst night of his life.

  "You said something that night, something I thought most peculiar."

  "Indeed?"

  "Yes. You said no mortal had ever crept up on you before."

  He hesitated a moment before answering, and it seemed as if he withdrew into himself a little. "Did I?"

  Rhianna nodded. "Don't you think that's odd?"

  "Explain yourself," Rayven said, though he knew exactly what she meant.

  "You used the word mortal as if it applied to me, but not to you."

  "Did I?"

  "You know you did!"

  To distract her, he drew her into his arms. "You are the most beautiful woman I've ever known," he said, his voice husky. "Your eyes are as blue as a midsummer sky. Your skin is like alabaster kissed by the sun. And your hair…" He ran his fingers through the hair at her nape. "Your hair is as soft as the finest silk."

  With a sigh, she melted against him, her face turned up to his, inviting his kiss.

  His lips brushed hers. "Are you in love with Montroy?"

  Rhianna blinked at him. "What?"

  "Are you in love with Montroy?" he demanded. His hands tightened on her shoulders, his eyes burning with a fierce anger.

  "No, my lord."

  "I don't want you to see him again."

  "I thought you wanted me to marry and have children." She tilted her head back to better see his face. "Isn't that what you said?"

  "Not Montroy." He bit off each word, refusing to admit that he was jealous of the man, of any man. "Not Montroy," he said again, and hated the man because he could give Rhianna all the things she deserved.

  "Very well, my lord, I'll not see him again so long as I am in residence here."

  He wanted to shake her, to make her promise she would never see the man again, not now, not ever.

  "There's just one thing," Rhianna said. "I gave him leave to call on me."

  "Bevins will send him away."

  She couldn't help it. She smiled, pleased at the notion that he was jealous of her affection for Montroy. Surely it was a good sign.

  Clasping her hand in his, Rayven turned and headed back toward the castle.

  "I thought we were going to sit in the maze awhile," Rhianna said, quickening her steps to keep up with him.

  "Not tonight," Rayven said, his voice almost a growl. Not tonight, he thought, when his black heart burned with jealousy, when the rage running through him kindled his hunger until he was almost mad with the need to hunt.

  At the castle door, he drew her into his arms, his cloak enfolding them both in a cocoon of lush velvet and warm silk. She was trembling when his mouth covered hers.

  "You are mine, sweet Rhianna," he murmured. His eyes burned into hers, his breath fanned her cheek like a flame. "For this year, you belong to me and no one else."

  Chapter Twelve

  He didn't join her at supper the following night. Rhianna picked at her food, hardly tasting the succulent roast beef Bevins had prepared.

  She glanced up at the sound of footsteps, felt the hope in her heart grow cold when Bevins entere
d the room.

  "Is the meal not to your liking, Miss Rhianna?" Bevins asked solicitously. "I can prepare something else, if you wish."

  "No, thank you." She pushed her plate away. "I find I have little appetite this evening."

  Bevins nodded, a wealth of understanding in his eyes.

  "Would you bring me a glass of wine?" she asked. "Perhaps the vintage Lord Rayven prefers?"

  A look of horror crossed Bevins's face, and then he shook his head. "It's a very strong vintage, miss," he said. "Might I recommend something more… subtle?"

  "Never mind." Rising, she dropped her napkin on the table. "I don't suppose you know where he is?"

  "In the gardens, I believe."

  "Thank you, Bevins." She smiled at him. "If he asks, I won't tell him that you told me."

  "He'll know," Bevins said, a note of resignation in his tone. "Best take a wrap. The night is cool."

  Her feet felt suddenly light as she grabbed her shawl and left the house.

  The maze, she thought. He would be in the maze.

  Her footsteps slowed as she neared the entrance to the labyrinth.

  Did she dare? Why not? Everything else had failed.

  Feeling somewhat reassured by the darkness, she began to undress and then, wrapped only in her shawl, she ran toward the heart of the maze.

  Rayven drew in a deep breath. He had known she would seek him out, had sensed her presence long before she stepped into view.

  But he had not been prepared for the sight that greeted his eyes. Silver moonlight danced in her hair like fairy dust, caressed her face, her long slender legs. A lacy white shawl that revealed far more than it hid, covered her from her shoulders to her knees.

  He stood up, his breath trapped in his throat.

  She took a step toward him, then stopped, all bravado gone now that she was in the lion's den.

  Hunger and desire rose up within him, hotter than the flames of an endless, fiery hell.

  She was Venus rising from the sea, Eve before she tasted the apple.

  "Rhianna." Her name whispered past his lips, soft as a sigh. The last desperate prayer of a dying man.