Midnight Pleasures

by Amanda Ashley

  For a moment, it was as if the world came to a stop and she saw everything in frozen moments of time: her reflection, her hair slightly mussed, her cheeks rosy, her lips slightly swollen from his kisses. She saw his cloak, spread like a river of velvet blackness over the chair. She saw the bed behind her. But Rayven, who stood beside her, cast no reflection in the glass.

  Startled, she glanced at him, assuring herself that he was there. She looked in the mirror again, felt the blood drain from her face.

  "What is it?" Rayven looked at her askance and then, slowly, he followed her gaze. Her image stared back at him from the mirror, her blue eyes wide, her face ashen. "Rhianna?"

  "I… You…" She drew in a deep breath, let it out in a long, shaky sigh. "The mirror… You don't… Why can't I see you?"

  He went suddenly still. "I'm not sure," he replied stiffly. "There are many theories, the foremost being that vampyres cast no reflection because they are composed of unnatural flesh."

  Vampyre… She knew that was what he was, but she had refused to dwell on it, had tried to pretend that it didn't matter, that it was some sort of rare disease rather than a state of being. She knew now why there had been no mirrors in the castle, knew the heavy draperies over the windows weren't there simply to shut out the light.

  Taking a step back, she gazed up at him. In an unconscious gesture of self-protection, she crossed her arms over her breasts.

  Rayven did not miss the significance of her action. Drawing himself up to his full height, he moved to the far side of the room. "I told you what I am," he said, his voice cold and slightly defensive.

  "I know, but I guess I never really realized what it meant. It doesn't matter. Truly, it doesn't. It just startled me for a moment."

  "Startled?" He lifted one black brow in bitter amusement.

  "You look ready to faint."

  "Do I?" She smiled wanly. "Can you blame me?"

  "No. This isn't going to work, Rhianna. I'll have Bevins take you home in the morning."

  "No!" She hurried across the floor and placed her hands on his shoulders. "It doesn't matter." She gestured at the mirror. "I just didn't know about this. You never said…" She crossed her arms over her breasts again, suddenly remembering that he had imparted this knowledge to her when he told her about Lysandra and how he had become a vampyre. "I'm sorry, I forgot."

  She thought of all the other things he had told her about vampyres. It had all sounded so unreal, so improbable. She knew now that, in spite of his ability to open and close doors and start fires with the power of his thoughts, in spite of his need for blood, deep down, she hadn't really believed he was a vampyre. "Is there anything else I should know? I mean, I've heard stories about vampyres, of course, but…"

  She bit down on her lower lip to stop her inane babbling. Even after all she had seen, after all he had said, she didn't want to believe it was true. Tears stung her eyes as she looked up at him, hoping he would tell her it had all been some horrid mistake.

  "Ah, Rhianna, you are so young, and I feel so very old."

  "Tell me."

  "I believe I've told you everything you need to know." His gaze moved to the slender column of her neck, to the pulse that throbbed so invitingly. The scent of her blood teased his nostrils.

  Overcome with tenderness, he took her hands in his and kissed each one, his lips cool against her flesh. "I think I'd better go."

  "But… I thought that…"

  "Another time, Rhianna."

  He was both relieved and disappointed when she didn't argue.

  "Will I see you tomorrow night, my lord?"

  "If you wish."

  "Will you accompany me to my sister's wedding?"

  "Do you think that would be wise?"

  "I don't know. Perhaps it would be good for you to spend more time with people and less time locked away in this castle."

  He looked skeptical. "What time is the wedding?"

  "Seven, my lord, at Millbrae Chapel." Rhianna bit down on her lower lip. "Can you… I mean, you won't… ?"

  He laughed softly. "I assure you, the church will not collapse if I enter, my sweet. Nor will I disintegrate into a smoldering pile of ash." Bending, he pressed his lips to the top of her head. "Until tomorrow night."

  Chapter Sixteen

  Rayven waited at the bottom of the staircase, speechless, as he watched Rhianna descend the steps, a vision in a swirl of pale pink satin and ivory lace, an angel with a cloud of golden hair and eyes the color of a mid-summer sky. The gown revealed the slender curve of her neck and a modest expanse of honey-hued skin. Pink slippers peeked from the ruffled hem of her gown.

  "How pretty you are, my sweet," Rayven said. Taking her hand in his, he pressed it to his lips.

  A wave of color washed into Rhianna's cheeks as she saw the admiration in his eyes.

  "You look very handsome yourself, my lord," she replied, feeling suddenly shy.

  Clad in tight-fitting black breeches, soft black leather boots, a white shirt, and a black broadcloth coat trimmed in black satin, he looked every inch a gentleman of quality and wealth.

  The word "vampyre" whispered down the corridor of her mind. Resolutely, she pushed it away. She would not think of that now.

  "Do you still think this is a good idea?" he asked as he placed a white woolen shawl around her shoulders, then reached for his cloak.

  "You needn't accompany me if you'd rather not," she said.

  His knuckles brushed her cheek. "I was only thinking of you, of your reputation."

  "I don't care what others think, my lord," she replied, "so long as I am with you."

  A bit of warmth, like the touch of sunlight, settled around his heart. "As you wish," he said, and offered her his arm.

  The church, made of wood and hewn stone, was set against the hills. The light from dozens of white candles filled the room, bathing the painted faces of the wooden saints in a soft amber light.

  The pews were filled with friends and family, and Rhianna smiled at her mother and sisters as she took her place among them. For a moment, she held her breath, waiting. Waiting for what? she mused. For the church to collapse? For the priest to come forward, cross in hand, and cast Rayven out of the church?

  "Relax, my sweet." Rayven whispered. He took her hand in his and patted it reassuringly. "My presence will not cause the chapel to go up in flames. The priest will not renounce me as a spawn of Satan."

  Rhianna felt her cheeks grow hot as he put her fears into words.

  In spite of his mocking words, Rayven was not as at ease as he would have had her think. Time and again his gaze was drawn to the large wooden crucifix mounted on the wall behind the altar. He had not been inside a church in almost four hundred years. The last time he had entered a church had been soon after he had been made Vampyre. He had taken shelter inside a small chapel to escape the light of the sun. Huddled within one of the tiny confessionals, he had begged forgiveness for the blood he had spilled, for the lives he had taken.

  Now, sitting beside Rhianna, he was acutely conscious of the whispers erupting behind him as the townspeople voiced their surprise at seeing him there. He rarely left the castle, except on those occasions when he went to Cotyer's.

  "He never seems to change…"

  "What do you suppose he does up in that castle?"

  "… nerve, to bring him here…"

  "… not natural, the way he lives…"

  The whispers and speculation came to an abrupt halt as the village priest and the groom took their places at the altar. Moments later, Rhianna's sister walked down the aisle.

  She was a pretty girl, Rayven mused, radiant on this, her day of days. She wore a modest ivory gown and veil and carried a bouquet of primroses and delicate ferns.

  The groom, Creighton York, was tall and rather thin, with dark brown hair and brown eyes.

  Rayven slid a glance at Rhianna as the priest began to speak. He didn't have to probe her mind to know what she was thinking, to know she was imagining herself
standing at the altar, repeating the vows that would bind her to the man she loved. A single tear slid down her cheek as her sister's new husband lifted her veil and kissed his bride.

  A sharp pain pierced Rayven's heart. Some day, Rhianna would stand at a similar altar and say the words that would forever bind her to another man. He could not abide the thought. The anguish of knowing she belonged to another would be his undoing.

  On that day, when he knew she was forever lost to him, he would go out to meet the sun.

  There was a party after the ceremony. Creighton York was the only son of a middle-class family. His father, Langston, was the village silversmith. The reception was held in the town hall.

  Rayven stayed in the background, relieved that there were no mirrors in the large wooden building. He stood in a corner, comfortable in the shadows as he watched Rhianna move about the room, mingling with the guests, laughing with her sisters, pausing to speak to her mother, helping Mistress York at the table.

  She was a vision, his Rhianna, a faerie queen in a swirl of pink skirts. There were other women present—some younger, some who possessed more generous curves—but there were none more fair of face, none as vibrant and alive as she. In a room filled with living beings, her scent, her blood, stood out like a beacon shining across a midnight sea, tantalizing his senses.

  Rhianna looked up, her gaze drawn to his like a bee to pollen. Rayven stared back at her, his eyes dark and compelling. Before she realized what she was doing, she was moving toward him, unaware of the people who spoke to her as she passed by.

  She blinked up at him. "My lord?"

  "May I have this dance, sweet Rhianna?"

  "Dance?" Only then did she notice that the musicians were playing, that others were dancing.

  She stepped toward him, a sigh of contentment whispering past her lips as he took her in his arms and whirled her around the floor. She had never danced with a man who was so light on his feet, whose very touch made her whole being tingle with yearning and forbidden desires. She looked into his eyes, fathomless black eyes that held her spellbound, until she was aware of nothing and no one save the dark lord of Castle Rayven.

  Vampyre.

  The arm around her waist tensed as the word crossed her mind. He knows, she thought, knows what I'm thinking. He had told her once that he could read her mind, and she had refused to believe him, but she believed it now.

  Leaning back a little, she gazed into the depths of his eyes. Kiss me, my lord, kiss me now.

  And, ever so slowly, he lowered his head and brushed his lips across hers.

  She gloried in his kiss even as she contemplated what it would mean to live with a man who could divine her every thought. A man who was not a man at all.

  When the dance ended, he escorted her across the hall and handed her a glass of wine, then sat beside her while she ate a piece of wedding cake. Later, there were toasts to the bride and groom, and then Aileen and Creighton took their leave. Shortly after that, Rhianna went to bid her mother and sisters good night.

  "Come home with us," Ada urged. She slanted a glance in Rayven's direction, shuddered as his hell-black eyes locked on hers. "Please, daughter, come home where you belong."

  "I can't. Mama. I've promised to stay with Lord Rayven for a year."

  Ada shook her head. "I don't understand you, daughter. What hold does he have on you?"

  "I love him," Rhianna said quietly. "That's the hold he has on me. He has granted me a year to be with him, only a year, and I will not leave him one day sooner."

  Ada shook her head again. "I fear he has bewitched you."

  Rhianna bit back a smile. "I assure you, Mama, he is neither witch nor sorcerer."

  "I'll wager he is not a mere man, either," Ada snapped. "He's evil, Rhianna. Why can you not see that?"

  "He's not evil, Mama. He's been kind to me, to our family. Have you forgotten that Aileen would have had no dowry if not for Lord Rayven's generosity? Have you forgotten that he provided the means to enlarge our cottage, that he's the one who made it possible for us to keep our land after Papa died, that he's put clothes on our backs, food on our table?"

  "I've not forgotten," Ada replied in a hushed tone. "But I fear his generosity is not born of kindness, Rhianna. I fear it is only a matter of time until we learn his true purpose."

  Rhianna shook her head. She started to tell her mother about the shelter in the village, then closed her mouth, remembering she had promised Rayven she would tell no one.

  "I've got to go, Mama," she said. She gave her mother a quick hug, kissed her sisters good-bye. "I'll see you all soon."

  She was unusually silent in the carriage as they rode back to the castle. Rayven regarded her through narrowed eyes, wondering what was bothering her. Was it her mother's disapproval? A touch of melancholy because her sister seemed happily wed? Or was she trying to find a way to tell him she had changed her mind about spending a year in the company of a vampyre?

  "Rhianna?"

  She turned toward him, her face in shadow. "Yes, my lord?"

  "What troubles you?"

  "My mother. She thinks you're evil, that there's some nefarious reason why you're being so kind to me and my family."

  "And what do you think?"

  "I think I shall die if you don't kiss me."

  "Ah, Rhianna…"

  "Are we never to make love, my lord?"

  "Would you marry me, Rhianna?"

  "Marry you," she gasped.

  "Is the thought so repugnant?"

  "No, but…"

  "Only for what is left of our year, Rhianna. For what remains of the time you promised me, I should like you to be my wife."

  "And then?"

  "And then I shall free you from your vows."

  His proposal left her speechless. Marry him?

  "I shall make it worth your while, my sweet." He took her hands in his, delighting in the warmth of her skin. "I want you, Rhianna, more than I have ever wanted anything. More than I yearn to see the sun again."

  "You need not marry me, my lord," she said softly. "I should think I've made it quite clear that I want you, as well."

  "Ah, Rhianna, to my surprise, I find that there lingers within me a scrap of conscience. I would not take your maidenhead, nor steal your innocence, without benefit of marriage." He kissed her palm, his tongue stroking the sensitive flesh, sending shivers of delight racing through her. "Say yes, sweet Rhianna."

  She could not see his face in the darkness, but she could feel his eyes on her—deep black eyes that glowed with a fierce inner fire.

  Vampyre.

  "I will not hurt you, Rhianna McLeod."

  "I know." She looked at her hands, enfolded in his. Strong hands, yet he had ever been gentle with her.

  Lord Rayven is a man driven by dark appetites. Bevins's words, spoken earnestly, warning her to be careful.

  He's evil, Rhianna. Why can't you see that? She heard her mother's voice echo in the back of her mind.

  She searched Rayven's eyes and knew he was aware of her thoughts, her doubts.

  "Rhianna…"

  "I will marry you, my lord, whenever you say."

  "Tomorrow night."

  "So soon? I had hoped…"

  "What had you hoped, my sweet?"

  "To be married in a church, in a gown of white silk, and a veil, with my mother and sisters beside me."

  "You shall have it."

  "By tomorrow night, my lord? I think not."

  "Arrange for the wedding you have always dreamed of, Rhianna," he said. "All I ask is that you don't make me wait too long, and that you agree to have the ceremony performed in the chapel here, in the castle."

  "There's a chapel here?"

  Rayven nodded. "How much time do you need?"

  "Two weeks should be time enough, my lord."

  Bevins was astonished at the news. Rhianna's mother was horrified, her sisters speechless.

  Montroy was stunned.

  Sitting across from Rayven at Cotyer'
s several nights later, Dallon shook his head in disbelief. "She agreed to marry you?"

  Rayven nodded. He could sense the jealousy radiating from the other man, the anger, see it in the way Montroy's fist clenched around the mug in his hand. "I never thought… I never thought you would get married."

  "Nor I," Rayven replied. He glanced around the hall, nodded at Tewksbury and Jackson, who were involved in a never-ending card game.

  "I suppose you'll keep her locked up in that blasted castle," Dallon said, his voice tight. "Damn it, Rayven, you can't make a prisoner of her!"

  Rayven didn't move, didn't change his expression, yet Montroy knew he had gone too far.

  Dallon cleared his throat. "I just meant that she deserves better than that."

  "She will not be a prisoner," Rayven said. "She will be my wife. As such, she will be free to come and go as she pleases."

  Dallon nodded again. He didn't miss the warning in Rayven's eyes, or the fine edge in his voice, and he knew it would be wise to change the subject.

  "She wants to be married in church with her family beside her," Rayven remarked. He took a deep breath, and his nostrils filled with the odor of strong whiskey and cigar smoke and overall, the warm thick scent of blood.

  Montroy sat back in his chair. He took a deep breath, striving to compose himself. "You can hardly blame her for that."

  "She has asked her two oldest sisters to stand up with her."

  Rayven cleared his throat and glanced around the room. In four centuries, he had never asked a favor of another man.

  With a sigh, he looked at Montroy again. "I have no friends to speak of," he said tonelessly. "But I would consider it an honor if you would stand up with me."

  Dallon blinked at him, obviously at a loss for words, and then he nodded.

  "I should be most pleased, my lord," Montroy replied soberly, though he wondered how he could bear to be present while Rhianna pledged her heart to another. "When is the marriage to take place?"

  "In ten days."

  Ten days, Montroy thought, and wondered if there� was� anything he� could� say to� change Rhianna's mind before it was too late.