Moonless

by Crystal Collier

  “Ah . . .”

  “Gafferdy. Yes, it is a strange name, I know. Gafferdy Jacques. It is actually my grandfather’s mother’s maiden name.” He kissed the back of her hand. “It makes for some attention, and usually unwanted, if you know what I mean. Of course the Jacques name is a proud tradition . . .” Was there any way to escape this fast talker? “. . . after all, a man is only as good as his might.” And to illustrate the fact, he flexed a bicep.

  “That is truly mystifying, Mister Jacques. If you will excuse me?” She withdrew her fingers from his grasp.

  His leer straightened into a scowl. She hurried on, but every other step halted her before a new hopeful, and still she had yet to meet the one desire of this evening. She noted happily he shunned every woman that approached.

  Of course. He was Bellezza’s.

  She rounded a young man and stopped. He stood right in front of her. The racing of her inner extremities threatened faintheartedness as she gazed into ocean-deep eyes.

  One brow peaked.

  She closed her mouth.

  “I imagine you have a good reason for summoning me here?” His cut and dry manner left her shaken.

  She swallowed. The imprisonment came back—his animosity, the continued struggle not to yearn after him. “I . . .”

  “If you wanted to apologize, you could have done it in a letter.” He spun away and took up a stance against the wall.

  “Apologize?” she hissed, following him. Her apologize? For what? Telling him she hated him? He deserved at least that much for how he treated her! “I meant what I said. You are the one who ought to apologize.”

  His head cocked matter-of-factly. “Is that so?”

  Why did he have to be so condescending—and beautiful, and alluring? She halted before she came too near, glancing uneasily to see if Father had returned. “Yes, that is so.”

  “And what, pray tell, do you wish an apology for?”

  “For frightening me. For keeping me prisoner.” She wanted to continue by rebuking him for being so attractive and yet so unattainable.

  “Hm,” he grunted. “Strangely enough, I only recall healing you.”

  Healing her? Well yes, he’d done that, but he’d also . . . hadn’t he?

  Her mind brushed over the dark memory. Was he the one who’d imprisoned her, or had that been Lester—or someone else altogether?

  “You do not remember locking me away in that room?”

  He scowled. “You wanted to return home, and here you are.”

  “I would not be here if not for Bellezza.”

  “Alexia.” Tired lines wrinkled his brow. She loved the sound of her name on his rich voice, like a verbal caress, even if it did appear painful for him to utter. “Do stop wasting your breath on the past.”

  She crossed her arms. “What did Bellezza mean by you breaking the rules? Why do you haunt that pitiable town? And why do I feel as though you know me?”

  His eyes turned to hers, vulnerable in their openness, like the sky after the ravages of a storm. His face went suddenly straight, gaze zipping past her.

  She turned.

  Father had gotten past Rupert—who chased him hopelessly through the doorway.

  “I need answers.” She turned back on him.

  “No.”

  Desperate, she plunged on, “I will find them whether you aid me or not. Either you answer me, or I will seek them elsewhere and risk another of the Passionate killing me.”

  His eyes met hers with sharp impatience, like he expected better from her—expected!

  He exhaled. “I will be in the gardens.” With no further word he circled the crowd, directly approached her father and bid what looked like a tight-lipped farewell.

  A new and horrific thought hit her. The gardens? He wanted her alone in the gardens?

  Rupert hurried up to her. “What happened?”

  “I have to go.” She moved automatically, chasing after the missing piece of her, now headed for the yard.

  “Go where?” He caught her arm. “Alexia, look at me.” She did. Poor Ru: true, brave, dear Ru. “Did he ask you to follow?”

  She shook her head. “I must. I cannot go on—”

  “Right,” he agreed. “But I am coming with you.”

  “Father will grow suspicious. I need you to—”

  “Alexia, stop!” He was right. She squeezed her eyes closed and tried to calm. He rubbed her arm comfortingly. “Now, let us sneak you out of here.”

  “But Father—”

  “Dance with me?” He offered a hand.

  “What?”

  He nodded toward the floor and she reluctantly accepted. He twirled her into the crowd and she followed, quite startled by his grace. Who knew Ru could be such a dancer?

  “Can you fake an injury?” he questioned.

  “I think so.”

  “It might be embarrassing.”

  “What do I care?”

  He smiled. “That is what I like about you. You have never cared what others think. It is all about what matters to you.”

  She didn’t know how to take that. “You make me sound spoiled.”

  “No, just . . . independent.” He chuckled and made a pass near her watchful father where he elegantly tripped her. Flailing, she spun toward the floor. An arm looped around her center right before she hit the glistening wood, suspending her as the music screeched to a halt. Rupert lifted her upright.

  Voices crowded in, all masculine, but she couldn’t raise her eyes, her cheeks burning. A hand tugged at her elbow and she recognized Father’s navy sleeve.

  “I am well. I simply—” She wobbled and caught herself on Father’s coat.

  “My child!”

  “Oh, I do not know what I have gone and done! Father, pray let me retire to my room until I am able to rejoin this company?” She faked a pain-filled smile and that seemed to convince him.

  “I will send for the surgeon.”

  “Oh no, I do not believe it to be of lasting effect. An hour perhaps, and I shall be good as always.”

  He aided her out of the room and motioned for her maid. Rupert followed, spewing regret at causing her fall. Father held him off with a hand while issuing instructions about her care until she returned. He turned on Ru. “Accidents happen. You will take better care of her in the future?”

  Rupert nodded. Her father smiled and left.

  In the future? “What did you say to him earlier?”

  “Uh . . .” Rupert frowned and looked away.

  “Ru, what did you tell him?”

  “N-nothing,” he deflected. “We had better go if you want to—”

  She stopped him, glancing uneasily at Maurine. The servant’s eyes stretched to the wide end of their limit. He cleared his throat as if that would dismiss his near blunder.

  Maurine propped both hands on her hips. “If you think I am about to let you—”

  Alexia grabbed her maid’s shoulder. “Take Rupert to the gardens, please?”Meet you there, she mouthed to him, and plunged headlong down the hall before anyone could protest.

  33

  Unanswered Questions

  Months of anticipation, a year of questions ended tonight.

  Alexia took a quick breath of crisp air, straightening her dress and brushing stray hairs into place. Lunar brilliance warmed the sky, lighting her path as she went to meet impending destiny—for destiny it must be.

  She rounded the first hedge.

  He leaned at the end of it, brow drawn in concentration. Moonlight brought out the pale luster of his flawless skin, countered only by the amazing contours of his striking nose, jagged scar, and lovely eyes. They turned to her.

  He straightened. “Come.”

  She wanted to stand there, to watch him and dream, to be in love, but instead she followed. He led down the shadow-strewn path, away from the veranda where they might actually be observed. Did he lure her away from watchful eyes in order to whisk her back to that dreaded house?

  Oh, Ru, where are yo
u?

  The radiant estate fell behind a row of willows, blotting out all unnatural light.

  She took in a shaky breath. “I know what we are, so what is to become of me now?”

  His eyes met hers, not in severe malice like she expected, but in open perplexity. “I have no idea what to do with you.” He huffed. “You wish my presence one moment and dread it the next. What do you want of me, Alexia?”

  “Me?” She pointed to herself. “I . . . I am not—”

  His brows went up. “Not the one who summoned me here?”

  “Well, yes, but—”

  He crossed his arms. “But you did not believe I would actually attend.”

  She nodded.

  His jaw clenched. He exhaled. “I will always come for you.”

  She blinked, startled. “Why? Who are you?”

  His head shook. “Not that. Not yet.”

  She growled. “Then what? What can I ask you?”

  A distant smile touched his cheek. “About when we met.”

  She recalled the night she’d first seen those incredible eyes. “Why did you go to the baron’s?”

  He frowned. She had the impression that’s not the question he hoped for. His lips drew across his teeth in a grimace. “To halt disaster.”

  “Disaster?” She couldn’t believe her ears. She stopped in the path, barely able to contain her rage. “Disaster?”

  He turned back.

  Her hands shook. “Baron Galedrew is dead. If you intended to halt disaster, you failed miserably!”

  One eyebrow twitched upward.

  She stepped toward him, impassioned. “Why did you not stop her?”

  His shoulders bobbed.

  She scowled. “Do you not care that he is dead?”

  His eyes touched hers. “Do you?”

  The ridiculousness of his query stunned her. “Of course I care! He was a family friend, a good old man with a kind heart.”

  “Wrong.” The word sent her back a step. It carried more authority and conviction than any she’d ever heard uttered, yet it did not strike her with force.

  “Excuse me?”

  A grin pulled up one cheek. “Did you bother to ask why she did it?”

  She blinked. “Did you?”

  He smiled and resumed walking.

  She followed quickly. “Why did Bellezza kill the baron?”

  He rolled his eyes. “There are select few who know about us, outside the Passionate. Some of those with wealth have built a fraternity of acquirers, capturing and auctioning off our kind. Your baron friend considered himself a collector.”

  She gasped.

  His brows lowered. “I warned him in London. He fled, but running cannot protect you from the inevitable.” He shot her a sideways glance. “Other questions?”

  “She can hurt people, with her scream?”

  He stopped. She had to back up to face him.

  “Are your only concerns with Bellezza?” His brows squeezed together. “What about yourself?”

  Herself? She tripped mentally back into the plethora of bizarre experiences, flummoxed as to where to begin. When she changed? The strange silence between Sarah and herself? The dreams? Moonless nights?

  No, above all else she had to know about his involvement in her life.

  She took a deep breath. “You act as though you know me, and yet we have never met.”

  He huffed, a secret smile fading as quickly as it appeared. “That is not a question.”

  Alexia crossed her arms. “How about you tell me what to ask, and I will ask it.”

  “That would be cheating.” He winked.

  She could have fainted for shock. He was flirting with her!

  “And we cannot have that,” she prodded, hoping to obtain more direction.

  His head shook. “Because cheating is against the rules.”

  She squinted up at him. “Bellezza said you broke the rules.”

  His hands clasped behind him, head tilting flippantly. “On occasion there comes a player who cannot blossom within the established boundaries.”

  “Is that me then?” She leaned back. “The odd flora whose petals would wilt under a conventional sun?”

  His magnificent eyes shifted to hers. They were an oceanic world, terrifying depths too vast for any mariner. Even so, she dove in, petrified and awed by the tides that gripped and refused to release her.

  He stepped closer. She dropped her gaze. She should be running, fleeing back to the safety of a full ballroom, leaving behind whatever mad craving tethered them together—but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. Every instant in his presence was worth the tragedy she openly embraced.

  He reached out, fingers hovering a breath from her cheek. The heat coming off his skin made her shiver. She wanted to close the gap, to touch him, to be in his arms!

  His hand fell back to his side, fingers tugging anxiously at his sleeve. He turned and paced away, hands cutting cleanly through his hair. His coat pulled taut over a muscled back. She blinked, wishing she might witness the magnificence of his physique beneath. She blushed, swallowed, and willed herself to look away, to cease studying his strong form. But she could not summon that much control.

  He straightened. “Tell me, Alexia, what do you want?” Each word was strained.

  “The truth,” fell feebly from her lips.

  “Is that all?” He glanced back. The skin creased between his eyes, his lips parted as though begging to breathe her in.

  She swallowed. No. She wanted him—more than she’d ever wanted anything—more than she could have possibly realized until this moment!

  He blew out a breath and returned to her, stalking cautiously forward as one might approach a wild animal. “My card . . .” His gaze drew intensely upon hers, yanking her back into his marine kingdom. His fingers brushed across the back of her hand, sending both a chill and heat shooting through her nerves. “. . . was intended for you.”

  “Why?” she squeezed out a small voice, blinking rapidly. “What do you want with me?”

  “Nothing.” His eyes pressed shut, releasing his hold on her. He rubbed his temples, head bowed. She sensed more, witnessed it in the tension of his shoulders, the way he seemed unable to dismiss the amassing headache.

  “Tell me you do not want to know more.” His eyes snapped open, raging swells swallowing her whole. “Refuse before it is too late, before you cannot go back! I—” He stepped closer. She fought the draw, inundated by the earthy scent of a primeval forest. “You can stay with your father, marry some boring aristocrat, enjoy the simple pleasures of life.” His rich-cobalt eyes trembled. “You do not have to be part of this.”

  This close, her attention flew to his lips, how they pressed and parted. How dearly she yearned to know their touch!

  “Refuse, Alexia.”

  She blinked. He couldn’t scare her away—she wouldn’t let him! “I am not afraid.”

  “But you will be.” His warm exhalation brushed her cheek. “And you will lose everything you love.”

  She swallowed. Lose everything she loved? He couldn’t possibly mean that.

  “Everything,” he promised with a pleated brow, his eyes devouring her self-awareness once more. “Refuse me.”

  She worked to remember where her mouth existed, that speech was at all possible, what she needed to say. “No . . .”

  His eyes darkened, brows lowering. He turned away, pacing, a tight fist pressed to his divine lips.

  “I want . . .” Her resolve thickened with the distance and new clarity of thought. “I want to know everything, to be part of—”

  The fury drizzled out of his determined gait.

  “—whatever it is we are. I want to understand myself, and Sarah, and . . .” She couldn’t wish the word into existence: us.

  He halted, consuming eyes sweeping up her form.

  She caught her breath. “Please,” she petitioned, forcing the desperation of elapsed months behind it and nearing. “Please.” She halted right in front of
him, fighting the desire to reach out and stroke his hand the way he’d touched hers. Her fists clenched against the inclination.

  An eyebrow peaked and the corners of his mouth relaxed.

  He motioned to the bench of cold stone behind her. She took the invitation, fingers twisting anxiously in her lap as she tried but failed miserably to keep from exploring his ominous perfection.

  He slid onto the slab next to her, shoulders hunched, and exhaled. “I should have told you that night.”

  She turned toward him, brows scrunching. “What night?”

  “When you turned sixteen.” His eyes squeezed shut.

  Her hands pressed together in her lap. “You mean, at the baron’s?”

  His head shook.

  “When I actually turned sixteen?”

  “That is why I came again, and again, and again.” He took a deep breath, rolling his shoulders back and resuming in a strictly business tone. “You would have thought it a dream, nothing more, until things began to happen.”

  “Like moonless nights?”

  He went to speak and stopped, lips puckering.

  “I have had them, these dreams,” she confessed. “I keep seeing things that come to pass.”

  “What kind of things?”

  She shrugged. “I saw my uncle die, and my seventeenth birthday when you were here, and the night in the woods when you—”

  “Have you told anyone about these?” His brows pulled together.

  “Only you.”

  “And?”

  She hesitated. “I might have mentioned something to Rupert.”

  He looked away, jaw muscles flexing. He rose and returned to his agitated pacing, face twitching in a private mental conversation.

  “Is that bad?”

  No answer.

  “Rupert will be all right?” She followed after him, cutting into his path. He halted in front of her. “Please. Please tell me you will not harm Rupert!”

  He gazed at her with bewildering warmth. “I promise. I will not touch your Rupert.”

  “He is not my Rupert,” she correctly quickly, moving out of his way.

  “Then you have him fooled.” He followed her.

  She took the opportunity to lead. “Why did you not tell me when I turned sixteen? What stopped you?”

  He swiveled away. “You were innocent.” His arms tucked across his chest. “I could not take that away.”