After spending a few minutes toying with her food, she pushed her plate aside and left the dining room, wandering through the downstairs until she came to the library.
With a sigh, she ran her gaze over the books lining the walls, but none appealed to her. And then, as if it were inevitable, she found herself in his study. She had never gone there without him before, and she couldn't help feeling she was trespassing as she wandered around the room.
And then she saw it, a small book sitting on his desk. Curious, she picked it up and thumbed through the pages. Most were blank, but a few had writing on them.
Mesmerized by the words, she sat down, hardly aware that Bevins entered the room a short time later and laid a fire in the hearth.
The book was written in a bold hand and she knew, without knowing how she knew, that Rayven had written the words, dark words, troubling words…
During the night,
I am the creature before you,
pale and tall and straight
dark eyes firing toward you
gliding, lifting, steering, directing
I am the silent and the powerful
a moonlit field of smooth, untouched snow
But he
Yes, him, the other me
Oh, he would tremble in your grasp
his lily hand would crumble to your touch
he would twist to press your lips to his
he would stroke your silken cheek
and slide his corroded lips along your
dovelike neck.
Not I, you understand, the other me
he who squints
and hesitates
and weakens
in the daylight.
Her heart was pounding erratically as she turned the page to the next poem.
I can feel it coming
through the tears in the darkness
quickly approaching as I conceal
myself
quaking underneath
the shadows in the light.
Shivers ripple my moist skin
The urgent itching on the
surface tormenting me
keeping me locked in.
I run my tongue over
my lips
And I am found, as always.
Then it begins
My resistance bleeds away
and I am filled with
the emptiness of my being.
Awareness is replete.
The trial is ended
Sated by the shattering
my knowing
why
and left alive
for the next visit
The darkness has taken a piece of my soul.
She closed the book and stared into the flames dancing merrily in the hearth as she tried to understand what she had read.
Lord Rayven is a man compelled by dark appetites, miss. She heard Bevins's voice in the back of her mind. He is driven by forces you cannot comprehend. You would be wise to leave this place and never come back.
Last night, she had decided Bevins was right. She had tried to leave the castle early that morning, only to find that all the doors were locked. She had gone looking for Bevins, but, for once, he was nowhere to be found.
Now, sitting in front of the fire, her whole body tensed as a chill skittered down her spine.
He was here.
She had heard no sound to betray his presence, no footsteps as he entered the room, but suddenly he was there before her, a tall figure clad all in black. He stood before the hearth, the fire crackling behind him. Like a demon rising from the bowels of hell.
He lifted one black brow in amusement. "A demon, Rhianna?" She heard the rueful smile in his voice. "You are more right than you know."
She tried to think of something clever to say, but nothing came to mind. Like a bird trapped by a hungry cat, she could only stare at him, waiting for him to strike her down even as she wondered how he had known what she was thinking.
He glanced at the book in her hands, wondering how much she had read, if she understood the connection between his dark words and the blackness in his soul.
"You're afraid of me now, aren't you?" he asked, knowing her fear had nothing to do with what she had read and everything to do with what had passed between them the night before.
She couldn't speak past the lump in her throat.
"Aren't you?" His voice was sharp, demanding an answer.
"Yes, my lord." She crossed her arms over her chest. "I should like very much to go home now."
"Would you?"
She nodded vigorously. "Yes, please. Please…" Tears filled her eyes and spilled down her cheeks. "Please let me go home."
The sight of her tears smothered his anger. Murmuring her name, he reached for her, drawing her out of the chair and into his arms. The book fell, unnoticed, to the floor.
"I will not hurt you, Rhianna," he said quietly. "Please believe me."
"No. I just want to go home. Please, my lord, please let me go home."
"Rhianna… sweet Rhianna." Gently, he caressed her cheek.
She flinched at his touch, as though fearing he would strike her. Once, he had wanted her to be afraid of him, to be wary for her own sake. Now, the knowledge that she was afraid of him burned into his soul, as painful as the touch of the sun on his preternatural flesh.
"Rhianna, I warned you once to go while you could. Now I fear it is too late." He shook his head with regret. "I find I cannot let you go."
She gazed up at him, his face blurred by her tears. Even so, she could see the loneliness that haunted his eyes, the sadness that she had once yearned to wipe away.
Slowly, he lowered his head, and she felt the touch of his lips on hers, cool, gentle. His arms held her lightly, with warm affection. Would he let her go if she stepped away?
Heart pounding, she drew away and took a step backward. And he let her go, his arms falling to his sides, his eyes dark with an inner torment she could not fathom.
"You once begged me to let you stay," he said, his voice moving over her like a dark wind. "Now I am begging you."
She felt the tears dry on her cheeks. "I've changed my mind."
"Too late, Rhianna. Shall I go down on my knees and plead with you, my sweet?"
"No!" She could not bear to think of him kneeling at her feet, his arrogance humbled, his pride broken.
"Won't you take pity on me, my sweet Rhianna? A year is not so long, after all."
"And if I stay, will you let me go when the year is up?"
"You have no choice, Rhianna. You will stay."
"Then why are you asking me? I don't understand."
"I want you to stay with me of your own free will. I want your company to see me through the long lonely nights. I want to see your smile, hear your voice, your laughter." He smiled ruefully, as if he had discovered a truth about himself, one he did not like. "I need you."
He needs you, miss. He needs you, and he doesn't like it. She heard the echo of Bevins's voice in her mind again.
"Will you stay with me, Rhianna?"
She wanted to say no. She wanted to go home. But she found she could not refuse him. "Yes."
"Because you want to?"
She nodded again, surprised by the discovery that she did, indeed, want to stay.
Stepping into the inner chamber of the east tower, Bevins laid out a change of clothing for Rayven, then gathered up his master's dirty laundry and linen.
"Thank you, Bevins. That will be all." Bevins turned to go, then hesitated in the doorway. Taking a deep breath, he turned around. "I've never known you to be deliberately cruel before."
"I've never known you to care before."
"She's a fine lass. I'd not see her destroyed."
"Is that what you think I'm going to do?"
"Isn't it?"
"Have I destroyed any of the others?"
"She's not like the others, and you know it. You'll not be able to hide what you are from her forever, my lord. She ca
res for you too much to be deceived for long."
"Yes, she does." Rayven turned away from the accusation in the other man's eyes. Even after he had pleaded with her to stay, he hadn't expected her to agree. Last night, she had been terrified of him, of the dark images that had flooded her mind when they kissed, a vision conjured up by his touch, and by the wine she had sipped from his glass. He could end all her fears, bind her to him so that she would want only him. He had only to initiate her, and she would do anything he asked, stay with him for as long as she lived, be miserable when they were apart.
"Let me take her home, my lord."
"No."
"It's wrong to keep her here."
Slowly, Rayven turned around, his gaze locking on that of his servant.
Fear took hold of Tom Bevins, the same cold, paralyzing fear that had engulfed him the first time he had looked into the vampyre's eyes some fifty years before. How clearly he remembered that night. He had been knifed in a street fight and left for dead behind one of the gambling hells, his life slipping away drop by crimson drop when a dark cloud overshadowed him. He had felt a sharp stabbing pain in his neck, and then a voice, low, seductive, had offered to save him.
Desperate to live, Tom had watched, uncomprehending, as the stranger hovering over him had made a slit in his own wrist, then pressed his bleeding flesh to Tom's lips. A few drops of the stranger's thick dark blood had miraculously revived him. In exchange for his life, Tom had sworn to serve Rayven as long as he drew breath. It had been, for the most part, a good life. He had never wanted for food or shelter or been denied anything else he had desired. But Rayven owned him, body and soul. It was a fact he forgot on occasion.
But there was no forgetting now.
"Do not interfere," Rayven warned.
And in the back of his mind, Bevins heard the unspoken threat: I gave you your life. I can take it back again.
"Will that be all, my lord?" Bevins asked. At his master's curt nod, he started toward the door.
"Bevins."
"Yes, my lord?"
"I will not harm her."
Bevins nodded. It was a promise, and an apology, all in one.
"I don't understand you," Ada said. She didn't look up from the dough she was kneading. "I cannot believe you decided to stay with that dreadful man?"
"He asked me to stay," Rhianna replied, bending the truth only a little. "He's been kind to me, to us. How could I refuse?"
She glanced past her mother to where Bevins was standing in the doorway, his arms crossed over his chest. He had insisted on accompanying her. To protect her, he had said, but she knew better. He was there to make sure she returned to the castle by nightfall.
Ada stared at the lump of dough in the bowl. "I just thought that when you returned from Paris, you would stay here, with us, with your family."
"I'll come to see you often," Rhianna promised. "It's only for a year, after all." Only a year, she thought, and already a month was gone.
"Will he let you come to your sister's wedding?"
"Of course," Rhianna replied brightly, though inwardly, she wasn't sure.
Ada looked up and met her daughter's gaze, wondering what Rhianna was holding back.
"I've got to go," Rhianna said. Rising, she rounded the table and bent over to give her mother a hug. "Tell the girls I'm sorry I missed them. I'll see you at the wedding."
Ada placed her hand over her daughter's, marveling at how soft and smooth Rhianna's hands were. Once, they had been rough and calloused, the nails broken and uneven from hard work.
Now, Rhianna had hands like those of a fine lady. Perhaps she was wrong to worry so.
"Good-bye, Mama." Rhianna gave her mother one last hug, then left the cottage.
Outside, Bevins handed her into the carriage. Taking his place on the seat, he took up the reins and clucked to the horse.
"Your mother is quite lovely," Bevins remarked.
Rhianna slid a glance in his direction, surprised by his observation, and more surprised that he had voiced it aloud. "Do you think so?"
Bevins nodded as he turned the horse onto the road. "You look much like her."
"Thank you." Rhianna folded her hands in her lap and sat back, enjoying the beauty of the countryside as they passed by. "Have you ever been married?"
"No, miss."
"How long have you been with Lord Rayven?"
Bevins hesitated. "A very long time."
"Surely he wouldn't object if you had a family of your own."
"I'm afraid it's not possible."
Not possible, she mused. What an odd way to phrase it. "Why do I never see him during the day?"
"I couldn't say, miss."
"But you know, don't you?"
"Would you like to stop in the village for anything?" Bevins asked, blatantly changing the subject.
"Yes," Rhianna answered. "I'd like to stop at the confectioner's."
They traveled in silence until they reached the village. Rhianna bought a small bag of peppermint candy for herself, and another, larger bag, to take to her mother and sisters on her next visit. As she stepped out of the store, she saw a little girl of perhaps seven sitting near the door. The child's hair was dirty and stringy, her dress faded and tattered along the hem.
"Are you lost, child?" Rhianna asked.
The girl looked up at her through wide brown eyes, then, shyly, held up a fistful of primroses. "Buy a flower, my lady?"
"Of course," Rhianna said, and then realized she had no money. "Bevins?"
"Come along, miss."
"I want to give her something."
Bevins shook his head. "Lord Rayven won't like it."
"Then don't tell him." Rhianna smiled down at the girl. "I'll take them all."
A muscle clenched in Bevins's jaw as he reached into his coat pocket and withdrew a handful of coins. He wouldn't have to tell Rayven anything. The vampyre would know.
The child's face lit up as she handed Rhianna the bouquet, then took the coins from Bevins.
"Thank you, lady," she exclaimed, clutching the money to her chest. "Oh, thank you!"
Rhianna grinned as she watched the little girl run down the street. "Shall we go?"
They had almost reached the carriage when she heard Montroy calling her name. Turning, she saw him striding toward her.
"Let's go, miss," Bevins urged.
"In a minute." She smiled up at Montroy as he took her hands in his. "Hello, Dallon."
"Rhianna." He lifted one of her hands and kissed it. "How pretty you look."
"So do you."
Montroy grinned, pleased by her reply, and by her welcoming smile. "Come along," he said. "I'll buy you a cup of tea."
"All right."
Bevins cleared his throat. "Miss Rhianna, we need to go."
"Later," she said, placing her hand on Montroy's arm.
"I would remind you of your promise, miss," Bevins said sternly.
"What promise is that?" Montroy asked. He glanced from Rhianna's face to Bevins's and back again.
"Nothing." She lifted her hand from his arm and took a step back. "I promised to be home by… by…" Her voice trailed off. She had no idea what time it was.
"By three, miss," Bevins interjected smoothly. "We're late already."
"Yes, we are. I'm sorry, my lord, but I really must go."
"Surely you have time for a cup of tea," Montroy urged.
"I can't, really. I'm sorry."
"Very well, I shan't try to keep you." Montroy bowed over her hand, certain that Rayven had extracted her promise not to see him again. "If you should ever tire of him, if he ever harms you in any way, come to me."
"Thank you, my lord. You're most kind."
"Be careful, Rhianna," Montroy said earnestly. "Rayven is… Just be careful."
"I will. I really must go."
He helped her into the carriage, stood watching as Bevins clucked to the horse. What hold did Rayven have over her, he wondered. Somehow, he would find out.
"Lord Rayven is very rich, isn't he?" Rhianna remarked. She had sat in silence for some time, watching the countryside pass by. The fields were green and gold. Sheep grazed on the hillsides.
Bevins nodded. Rich did not begin to describe his master's wealth.
"He should do more with his money," Rhianna mused. "He could ease the suffering of so many."
Bevins smiled in spite of himself as he imagined Lord Rayven walking among the town's peasants, his black cloak billowing around him as he scattered gold coins like confetti.
"Don't you think so?" Rhianna asked.
"It isn't my place to tell Lord Rayven what to do, Miss Rhianna." Bevins turned to face her. "Nor yours."
With a little humph of pique, Rhianna sat back, her arms folded over her breasts. Somehow, she would find a way to convince Rayven to ease the poverty in the village.
Later that night, Rhianna sat at the table, staring, unseeing, into the bowl of mutton stew growing cold in front of her. All thoughts of helping the poor in the village had fled her mind as she contemplated seeing Rayven again. How strange life was! When she wanted to stay, he wanted her to go. When she wanted to go, he urged her to stay.
Had she imagined it all, she wondered, the disconcerting vision of that man being pursued by darkness, the sense of evil? Her fear had been real enough, but it seemed foolish now. Rayven would not harm her.
Now you know what I need. What had he meant by those cryptic words?
And then he was there, filling the room with his presence. Clad in a loose-fitting white shirt, snug black breeches, and soft leather boots, he crossed the room on silent feet to take the chair opposite hers.
"Good evening, sweet Rhianna."
She inclined her head in his direction. "My lord."
"No appetite this evening?" he asked, gesturing at the untouched bowl of stew in front of her.
Rhianna sighed. "I'm not very hungry."
A shadow of concern passed over his face and then was gone. "Are you well?"
"Well enough. Might I ask you something?"
"You may ask me anything."
"But you won't answer."
"What do you want, Rhianna?"
"A favor."
Midnight Pleasures Page 12