At the Midnight Hour

by Alicia Scott

  But she would remain behind, and she would feel the pain. She only knew one way to love: absolutely, wholeheartedly and for forever.

  She didn’t want the pain of parting again.

  She went straight to her room when they entered the house, Richard disappearing without a word toward his tower. Halfway down the hall, however, she paused.

  Her bedroom door was closed. Odd, she thought she had left it open. Puzzled, she turned the knob slowly. And maybe it was the mood of the house, or the strain of the past few days, but she opened the door with great care.

  Cautiously, she peered around the doorframe. Nothing. She probed deeper into the shadows. Still nothing.

  Then she turned, and found the note on the bed.

  She picked it up carefully, noting the delicate feel of the feminine paper. She relaxed, catching the faint hint of dried wildflowers, and admired the lavender trim. Already beginning to tug at her sweater, she unfolded the paper.

  What’s mine is mine.

  Go away, little nanny.

  Alycia

  The paper dropped to her bed from suddenly nerveless fingers, and once more her eyes darted around the freshly renovated room. But nothing in the room stirred, not even a light breeze.

  She stared back down at the beautiful stationery with its cold words. It was a long time before she stopped shaking.

  * * *

  When the grandfather clock began to ring its eleven o’clock chimes, she found herself opening her bedroom door, her stomach still tied in knots. Her feet directed her down the stairs, moving silent and cautious over the hardwood floor. She needed to take her mind off things, she thought vaguely. She needed to think about anything other than that note.

  She came to the library.

  He was already there, his broad back to her as he sat before the low-burning fire. He was still wearing his worn jeans and the pale woolen sweater, the familiar brandy glass in his hands. He looked right in front of the fire, a part of a cozy winter scene. Outside, the fall wind probably blew, but in here, the heat flickered still.

  She stepped into the room.

  He turned at her approach, his pale eyes taking in her lithe figure as she neared the sofa. Her steps faltered, the nervousness compounding in her stomach under his scrutiny. She took another deep breath and sat down on the sofa as if doing so was the most natural thing in the world.

  As if she didn’t spend her mornings kissing a dark and foreboding man, and her afternoons receiving notes from a dead woman.

  “I didn’t think you’d come here tonight,” Richard said gruffly, his eyes back on the fire. His fingers resumed their methodical twirling of the crystal glass. He still wasn’t sure why he’d come. Logic dictated that he work in his lab, not stare at the fire like a fool.

  “I—I needed a break,” she said at last.

  He turned enough to arch his eyebrow. A break? It was her day off. He would have thought she’d go out someplace and celebrate her freedom. But then he noticed for the first time how pale her face was, how luminous her midnight eyes suddenly appeared.

  “Everything all right?” he asked, his eyes abruptly penetrating as they swept over her features. His fingers stopped their turning of the glass as all his attention focused upon her.

  Once more, she hesitated, then her chin shot up. “Should anything be wrong?” she asked carefully.

  He frowned, not liking the game they were playing at all. First she kissed him, then she pushed him away and now she was suddenly probing him for something. He was beginning to remember why he spent so much time in his lab.

  “You tell me,” he retorted at last, turning away from her completely.

  For no reason at all, that movement hurt her. Once more he was the dark and remote man. And right now, with all the doubts haunting her mind, she needed him to be something more. She needed to be able to trust him.

  On its own, her hand reached up, as if to touch his shoulder. But at the last moment, she looked at his chiseled features, and her hand fell back. She stared at the flames bleakly, feeling the knots tie her stomach ever tighter.

  She should tell him about the note. But for all she knew, it was just some childish prank. Maybe Andy had decided the statistics weren’t working well enough. Someone had scared away the third nanny when she’d started to make progress. Liz didn’t want to be the fourth to desert. Then again, she didn’t know what to think anymore, what to feel.

  What was this man capable of? Why, after all these weeks, didn’t she know?

  Richard turned abruptly, not being able to stand the intense feel of her eyes on his face anymore. He caught the look of need in her eyes, the look of doubt, and he swore low and dark. He didn’t need an interpreter to know her thoughts. The fact that she, of all people, could still wonder if he’d murdered his own wife filled him with rage.

  “Ask it,” he demanded harshly.

  Her eyes flew open with genuine shock. “Ask what?”

  “Stop it!” he growled. “Stop pretending. Just say the words, Liz. Say the words burning on the tip of your tongue. Did I kill Alycia? That’s what you want to know, right? What you’re still struggling to figure out?”

  She tried to shake her head but the movement was ineffectual.

  He threw his brandy glass into the flames, the sound of shattering crystal making her jump. The flames flared with the impact of the alcohol, but they didn’t begin to compare to the power of the man rising before them. He looked down at her, his jaw clenched, his eyes hooded. Then abruptly, he reached down and dragged her up out of the chair.

  She came crashing against his chest, but there was no time to even gasp before his lips captured hers. They were bruising, fierce and demanding. He did not wait, but thrust his tongue between her lips, delving into the moist recesses of her mouth.

  He jerked away just as fast.

  “Is that how a killer kisses?” he asked with glittering eyes. “Or maybe it’s more like this.”

  His lips came down once more, but whereas last time they had crushed hers, this time they were barely a caress. He teased her mouth with light exploration, reveling in the fullness of her lips, nipping in at the corners. It was gentle and tender, and all the more horrible because she knew he felt none of it. His tongue eased between her lips, seeking and gaining access like a long-lost lover. She felt the first of the tears prick her eyes as her arms wound around his neck.

  He deepened the kiss, and even as she knew he was mocking her, she tilted her head in acquiescence. Suddenly his hands were burying themselves in her hair, gliding through the long, luxurious strands until she wanted to purr like a cat. One large palm smoothed up her back, arching her against his chest. Then it slid back down to cup her buttocks and pull her closer. She complied, and the feel of his rigid length against her sent new sparks of awareness through her.

  Maybe he wasn’t in as much control as he thought.

  Her hands became demanding on his neck, kneading the corded muscles as she opened herself fuller to him. She rubbed her breasts against his chest, and was rewarded by the sudden raggedness of his breath. Her tongue dueled with his, no longer the passive recipient but suddenly an aggressor. Her senses were already beginning to reel as his palm slid abruptly under her sweater to capture her breast.

  She moaned at the first touch, feeling the heat of his fingers through the thin lace of her bra. He brushed a callused thumb over her nipple, and she sighed with the wicked voluptuousness of the sensation. Her left leg came up, and rubbed against his hip. She wanted his hands on her body—the texture, the heat of him full against her. She wanted to feel soft and desirable. She wanted anything but the dark doubt hovering at the corners of her mind.

  He unfastened the back of her bra, his breathing no longer steady as he trailed kisses down her jaw to her ear. He caught her earlobe with his teeth as he rolled her nipple with his fingers. She shivered, and he groaned his encouragement in her ear.

  She was soft and sweet and so, so passionate. He tore off her sweater,
and dipped his head to her breast, capturing one of her nipples. He suckled delicately, and she buried her hands in his hair, arching her back and whimpering her need.

  He didn’t care anymore that she didn’t trust him. He didn’t care about the past, the future. He was a man consumed by the moment, and the passion raging like a fire in his blood. He needed her. He wanted her. He would have her. Now.

  He pulled her down to the floor.

  At the first contact of the Oriental rug against her bare skin, Liz stiffened. But his lips were back on hers, swallowing any protest she could have made. His hands were gliding down her hips, moving closer and closer to where she wanted, needed him to touch. She kissed him harder and tugged on his own sweater.

  It drifted to the floor without protest, leaving his chest bare to her gaze and her touch. He had a mat of springy black hair that thinned to a small line disappearing into his jeans. She followed that line with her forefinger, and was rewarded by the sharp contraction of his stomach muscles. Momentarily, she became fascinated by the washboard ripples. Apparently, he was putting those weights in his lab to good use. Her finger drifted back up, and she found herself captured by the burning intensity of his gaze.

  For just one moment she hesitated, her finger stilled on his chest, her midnight eyes caught by his own wintry fire.

  She’d never done anything like this, rolled on the floor with a man she barely knew. Would she really be able to give just her body, or would she give him her heart, too? And how badly would it hurt when he finally turned away?

  “Why?” she whispered. “Why do you want me so much?”

  And the minute she saw the tightening of his jaw, she knew.

  “That should be clear,” he said harshly. “It’s obvious how much we desire each other.”

  She nodded, not refuting that statement, but inside, she felt a tiny spark die. Maybe she’d been hoping, after all, hoping beyond hope that he would talk of something other than desire, like caring. Suddenly she felt cold and exposed.

  She reached for her sweater wordlessly. Watching, he cursed once more.

  “How many times,” he said tightly, “are we going to go through this scenario before you finally admit to the passion between us? You look at me, and your eyes fall to my lips. I look at you, and all I can think of is the way you taste, the way you feel beneath me. We are attracted to each other, Liz. It’s the most basic, natural, elemental force there is. And sooner or later, you won’t be able to pull away.”

  “It’s not enough,” she said at last, pulling her sweater over her head. She couldn’t meet his gaze; instead, her gaze fell almost wistfully upon the flames. “Desire is easy to come by. I want more.”

  He stiffened beside her, and abruptly reached for his own sweater. “I won’t put a ring on your finger,” he said bluntly. “I won’t fall for that again.”

  She shook her head, impatient now with his suspicions. “I’m not talking about marriage,” she told him seriously, risking a glance at his granite face. “I’m talking about love, compassion, caring. I’m talking about knowing someone so well, loving them so much, that when they touch you it reaches your soul.”

  He looked at her with iron eyes. “You really are naive,” he said dispassionately. “Love is hardly necessary for passion, that’s merely a fairy tale to keep little girls protected. Passion is a basic biological function, and sex is as much a need as anything else. When you’re hungry, don’t you eat? Well, let me tell you, I am hungry.”

  The way he said the words caused a slow blush to heat her face, and her gaze skittered back to the fire. But despite the pulsing race of her blood, she plunged on stubbornly.

  “That’s sex,” she managed to say, the words prim but angry, at him, at herself. “And sex may fill your ‘hunger’ but it’s about as lasting as a snack.” She paused for a moment, her voice growing softer. “I’ve never had sex,” she whispered. “My first time, I waited for marriage. I think, maybe, it’s worth it to wait again.”

  His face grew dangerously darker. He didn’t want to hear what she said, didn’t want to believe in anything more than the physical. He’d been a fool enough to believe those lines once before.

  “That’s fairy-tale foolishness,” he told her harshly, rising off the floor and severing the intimate scene once and for all. “You think sex is merely superficial? You think it means nothing? Let me tell you, Liz, even sex can make your head spin. Shall I demonstrate it to you once more?”

  She gasped, swallowing hard as her face paled. The anticipation still simmered in her blood, but she didn’t think she could take two of these lessons in one night.

  He laughed mockingly at the look on her face, and strode angrily to the bar. He went to pour himself another glass of brandy, then saw the way his hand shook. With an oath, he slammed the decanter down. Brandy wouldn’t do a thing for the ache in his stomach now.

  “Sooner or later,” he said without turning around. “Sooner or later, Liz, you’ll understand what I mean. You can’t fight nature.”

  She stood up slowly behind him, grateful for the distance even as she hated it. Would she ever get through to him? Would she ever see anything other than the darkness in him? Yet again, she was painfully aware of the fact that he’d never answered his own question. Did you kill Alycia? Funny, he had yet to say no.

  She shook her head, and felt the beginnings of a headache throb at her temples. Tomorrow she would make it to the town library. She swore it. She turned, and, not knowing anything else to say, she simply walked out of the room.

  Richard felt her leave, and his fists clenched on the bar until the knuckles turned white. He didn’t believe in love, damn it, or any of the rest of her naive drivel. Love was a fool’s fantasy, some ridiculous fairy tale invented by people who wanted to romanticize the baser instincts of life.

  There was no such thing.

  He would not be led down that path again. He’d learned his lessons, he’d been to the altar of disbelief.

  Then his tensed muscles relaxed and a new thought entered his head. He would have to find another tack. He’d handled things too harshly this time. But surely there was another way.

  Because God knows, he had to put out this fire raging in his blood. Somehow, some way, he vowed before the silenced library, he would seduce her.

  How else was he ever going to forget her?

  * * *

  She was avoiding him. There was no other way of stating it, Liz thought two days later. She was quite simply going out of her way to avoid the man. Sunday, she’d tried to go into town, only to learn from a dismal Blaine that everything there was closed on Sundays. Rather than try to keep up appearances in front of his gang, she’d sneaked back to her room and hid out like some bandit. And even when the grandfather clock rang out the hour of midnight, she had not, absolutely would not, go anywhere near the library.

  By the time Monday arrived and she could once again immerse herself in Andy and their activities together, she was grateful for the distraction.

  The truth of the matter was, she didn’t trust herself around Richard. He did things to her senses no man should be allowed to do. She’d thought she was a strong person, firm in her convictions, but somehow, when he looked at her with those smoldering blue eyes... She wasn’t sure she wanted to test that theory.

  At least Andy didn’t leave much time for thinking. After two days of Mrs. Pram’s supervision, he was sullen and whiny. Liz had suggested they go outside. Andy had informed her that due to the deterioration of the ozone layer, more than seven hundred thousand cases of non-melanoma skin cancer were diagnosed each year in the U.S. as being sun-related. Therefore, he couldn’t possibly go outside.

  Too floored to even begin arguing, Liz had simply nodded. When was she ever going to get through to this child? Just to prove her point, however, she’d devised several in-house games for them to play. Andy had looked suspicious, but he hadn’t come up with any great statistics to get out of them. God knows, he would probably research the ma
tter tonight and in the morning report the number of people who had died of respiratory diseases caused from household dust. Until then, she had him involved in a game of hide-and-seek.

  Andy, being Andy, had never played hide-and-seek. The simplistic rules had caused a sneer from him. How could counting to fifty possibly be a challenge? He thought they should change it to counting to four hundred, calling out only prime numbers. Liz had informed him he was welcome to use whatever method he desired; she was counting to fifty.

  Given the size of the house, they’d restricted themselves to hiding only in the main structure. That range was further limited by the fact that half the main structure, namely the two grand ballrooms and a formal study/smoking room, had been shut up. That left them with the kitchen, the foyer, the formal dining room, and of course, the library. Liz had hidden first, settling for the pantry in the kitchen. Andy had found her within five minutes, claiming the pantry was the most logical place for her to have chosen, given her affinity for snacking.

  Liz had scowled, but couldn’t see any way around his logic. After all, the main reason she’d selected the pantry had been the fact that she was hungry. She’d declared a truce with Andy over two small bowls of strawberry ice cream. To her satisfaction, Andy was coming along nicely in his new appreciation for such simple pleasures as ice cream. His mechanical bites were slowly giving way to something closer to enthusiasm. And this time, he even went so far as to scrape his bowl.

  There might be hope for the child yet.

  Now it was Liz’s turn, so she stood in the foyer, counting out fifty in her soft lilting voice. At first, she could hear the faint scurrying and scraping sounds of Andy trying to find a good place to hide. Then, there was only the silence.

  She finished counting, and raised her head. The last noise she’d heard had been in the direction of the library, so she headed there. She took a first, skimming inventory, looking behind all the furniture. No Andy. Next, she went to the kitchen, where she also conducted a quick search. No Andy there, either. She moved on to the dining room.