Her smile widened in enjoyment at his teasing. “As a matter of fact, you did.”
He became still as he gazed down at her upturned face. Then he slowly shook his head.
“Amazing.”
The breathless sensation returned as she battled to slow the sudden charge of her heart.
“What?”
His hand lifted to gently touch the corner of her mouth, seemingly unaware that he was making her knees so weak she could barely stand.
“I did not realize how extraordinarily charming dimples could be.”
“You are being absurd,” she breathed.
He heaved a barely perceptible sigh. “It appears to be my fate when you are near.”
“Sebastian . . .”
The desire to confess that he managed to confuse and befuddle her with equal force was abruptly snatched away as Mrs. Benson entered the room with a beaming smile.
“Here we are. Some nice hot tea and fresh muffins.”
Chapter 6
The Gypsy stood in the darkness, her lined face wreathed in concern. “You must not falter. The danger is close, far closer than you know.”
Amelia struggled to reach the woman, a sense of panic fluttering in her stomach. “What danger? Where is it?”
“It follows you. Close. So close.”
“But . . . what can I do?”
The woman was fading into mist as she held out a gnarled hand. “Trust in the Guardian.”
“Guardian? There is no guardian.”
The Gypsy smiled. “He is watching you.”
“Please, tell me of the danger.”
“Protect the amulet.” The voice was barely able to reach Amelia’s straining ears. “You must keep it safe.”
“No, do not leave. I need to know . . .”
Amelia awakened with a jerk.
Blast. Struggling to untangle from the covers that threatened to smother her, Amelia groaned in annoyance. The dream haunted her without mercy. No matter how tired she might be, at some point during the night she was destined to be visited by the relentless Gypsy.
At last able to sit upright, Amelia instinctively reached up to touch the amulet about her neck. She should simply toss away the necklace and be done with it, she thought with a weary yawn. Perhaps then she would be allowed a night without the disturbing presence of the old Gypsy.
Oddly, however, she knew that she would do no such thing. There was something comforting about the heavyweight of the amulet as it nestled against her skin. Almost as if it belonged there in some indefinable manner.
With a shake of her head at her fuzzy thoughts, Amelia prepared to return beneath the covers when a familiar tingle of excitement drifted down her spine.
On this occasion she did not dismiss the vague warning. She knew precisely what it meant.
Not giving herself time for second thoughts, she slipped from the bed and grabbed her nightrail from a nearby chair. Pulling it over her gown, she quietly left her room and made her way through the sleeping house.
Using the experience that she had gained during her past forays in the dark, she managed to avoid the occasional steps that creaked and the tables that littered the hall. She even kept the number of times she banged her toes to less than a dozen.
All the time the tingles grew more pronounced and warmth began to flood through her blood. She was growing nearer, she acknowledged with a twitch of her heart. Much nearer.
At last slipping through the kitchen door, Amelia paused only a moment before moving through the small garden toward a large oak tree.
“Sebastian,” she called softly.
“I am here.” There was only a moment of hesitation before a darker shadow detached from the low wall about the garden and stepped into the bright, silver moonlight. “I thought you would be sleeping.”
Amelia discovered her gaze clinging to the chiseled lines of his features and the broad width of his shoulders, as if she had not seen him only yesterday. She knew she could stand there and simply drink in his male beauty for hours if it would not make her appear noddy.
“I was,” she finally forced out in husky tones.
He moved toward her with a slow, fluid grace, almost as if afraid a sudden movement might send her into flight.
“Surely I was not so clumsy as to waken you?”
“No.” She breathed in deeply, taking pleasure in that warm scent of male skin and the faint hint of spice. “It is odd. Somehow I seemed to sense you were here.”
“Perhaps not so odd.”
She tilted her head back to meet his silver gaze squarely. “What are you doing here?”
He lifted his slender, elegant hands. “Admiring the beauty of the night.”
“You could not admire the beauty of the night from your own garden?” she teased gently.
He gave a rueful shrug. “It seemed prudent to ensure that William had not decided upon a midnight stroll.”
She had known precisely why he was there, but his confession still sent a warmth flooding her heart. She was unaccustomed to anyone taking such concern for her brother, or herself. Not even her parents.
Her hand reached out of its own accord to touch his arm. “That is very thoughtful, Sebastian, but you should not feel obligated to keep a watch upon William. He is my responsibility.”
“I do not feel obligated, Amelia.” He searched her face bathed in moonlight. “I am here because I desire to be.”
“Oh.”
His lips twitched at her obvious bemusement. “I do regret, however, that I awakened you, no matter how unintentionally.”
Amelia did not. Standing in the silvered darkness of the garden and surrounded by the pungent aroma of roses, she thought that she must still be dreaming.
A handsome, charming gentleman. A moonlit night. The seductive privacy of a garden.
It was all far too romantic for an aging, nearly-upon-the-shelf spinster.
“I do not mind.” She offered him a tentative smile. “It is a lovely night.”
He nodded slowly but his gaze never left her.
“A magical night.”
“Magical?”
His hand lifted to lightly touch the raven curls that tumbled about her shoulders.
“The moon is full and there is bewitchment in the air.”
There was certainly bewitchment, but Amelia was quite certain it had more to do with the tall gentleman standing before her than the moon.
“You surely do not believe in such nonsense?”
His brows lifted. “Why do you condemn it as nonsense? Civilizations have honored the power of the moon for centuries. Indeed, most cultures worshipped it as a god.”
“Or goddess,” she readily pointed out.
“Certainly.” He smiled deep into her eyes. “I have always presumed the moon’s seductive lure must be that of a female. Still, in the old days Hindus believed that it was a very male god of the moon who would ride through the sky in a chariot pulled by white horses.” His low chuckle echoed through the still air. “And, of course, they thought the moon itself a storehouse of elixir that the gods would drink, causing it to become smaller with every passing night.”
Amelia discovered herself intrigued despite the fact that she had never been fond of studies.
“A rather odd belief.”
“Ah, perhaps you would prefer the ancient Samarians, who thought the moon a young, handsome bull with long horns whom they named Sin.”
“Sin.” Her eyes suddenly twinkled with humor. “Somehow that seems a rather appropriate name.”
“Indeed.” His fingers moved to trace the line of her brow, sending a shock of sensations through her body. “Nights such as this lead to all sorts of wicked thoughts.”
Wicked. Amelia shivered, feeling oddly unlike herself in the darkened garden. Perhaps it was the moonlight. Or the delicious scent of roses. Or perhaps this was simply a moment out of time, she thought dizzily. Whatever the reason, she desperately longed to shrug aside her heavy burdens and responsibilities.
Just for now she wanted to be a young, beautiful maiden with nothing to concern her but a very desirable flirtation with a handsome gentleman.
With a deliberate coyness she peered at him from beneath her heavy lashes.
“You intrigue me, sir. What possible wicked thoughts could a gentleman such as you possess?”
His breath rasped through the air at her deliberately provoking manner, but his expression never altered.
“Thoughts best forgotten, my dear.”
“Why?”
“You do enjoy playing with fire, do you not?” he murmured, his fingers moving to outline the full curve of her lips.
“At times, I suppose.” Lost in the unfamiliar fever that seared her blood, Amelia shifted close enough to feel his body through the thin lawn of her gown. “Do you prefer the more cautious paths?”
He gave a choked groan deep in his throat, his fingers convulsively cupping her cheek. “They are considerably safer.”
“But often dull.”
“And peaceful.”
She gazed into the eyes that had turned to a misty smoke. “Surely as a scholar you desire some stimulation to keep your wits sharp?”
His features remained composed, but Amelia could sense the rapid, uneven beat of his heart. He might desire to be indifferent but his body was swiftly betraying him.
“It depends entirely upon the stimulation,” he muttered. “My wits do not feel particularly sharp at the moment.”
Her smile was filled with a feminine mystery as old as time. Oh no, at this moment she was not boring, responsible Amelia Hadwell at all.
“Perhaps you should blame it upon the moon.”
“The moon does indeed possess its share of blame.” His gaze lowered to where his fingers continued to brush over her lips. “But not all, I think.”
“I have no ancient powers.”
His expression became wry. “You are mistaken. Your powers are the most ancient of all.”
A faint frown touched her brow as she sensed the rigid control that wrapped about his inner passions.
“Powers you are quite determined to resist, are you not?”
He drew in a deep, uneven breath, an unmistakable flare of pain darkening his eyes.
“It seems the wisest course.”
“Why?”
“There is still a demon haunting the neighborhood. As long as there is danger then I must remain vigilant.” His hand tightened upon her cheek, his expression somber. “It is very important, Amelia.”
“Yes, I know,” she agreed softly, even as her mind shied from recalling such unpleasantness. There would be time enough for such worries tomorrow.
Clearly sensing her dangerous mood, Sebastian shifted uneasily. “You should return to bed.”
Her fingers tightened upon his arm. “I am not tired. I feel . . . I do not know, as if my blood is on fire.”
A fine shiver raced through him. A shiver echoed within herself.
“Moon madness,” he whispered.
“Perhaps the moon does have its share of blame, but not all,” she softly echoed his own words.
“Amelia,” he moaned in agonized tones.
Emboldened by the undeniable desire smoldering in his eyes, Amelia leaned even closer to his welcome strength. Moon madness or not, she was not yet prepared for this interlude to end.
“Do you desire to kiss me?”
Sebastian stiffened, and for a horrified moment she thought she might have disgusted him with her forward behavior. He was no doubt a gentleman unaccustomed to such giddy recklessness. Then he shifted so he could frame her face with his hands. Even in the moonlight she could easily detect the strain upon his countenance.
“You can have no notion,” he breathed.
Her heart fluttered. “Then why do you not?”
“As I said, it is not wise.”
Her own hands rose to cover his fingers still cupping her face. The tingling excitement in the air could not be denied.
“For the moment I do not wish to be wise. The moon is shining, the roses are blooming, and I am an aging spinster who has never been kissed.”
“Hardly a spinster,” he growled.
“I am three-and-twenty, near enough to be put upon the shelf.”
“Absurd.” His gaze stroked over her countenance, lingering for a long moment upon the unsteady line of her mouth. She could feel the taut control that hardened his body. “You are young and beautiful and utterly enchanting. If you desire to be kissed I do not doubt that gentlemen will be beating a path to your door.”
Amelia could not stop her short, almost bitter laugh. “You know little of gentlemen if you believe they are interested in a maiden who has firmly turned her back upon society and devotes most of her attention to a brother most would consider mad.”
Sebastian frowned, as if displeased with the stark truth she had accepted long ago.
“A gentleman of sense would surely rejoice at being well rid of society and delighted by your unwavering loyalty. Do not sell yourself short, my dear.”
She realized that he was simply attempting to make her feel better. It was his nature. But at the moment she did not want sympathy or vague reassurances.
“Obviously I have yet to meet a gentleman of sense,” she retorted in low tones.
Sebastian sucked in a deep breath, his head lowering until his forehead touched her own.
“Oh, Amelia, you are surely destined to shatter my peaceful existence.”
He was so wondrously close. Near enough to make her entire body quiver with longing. Amelia could resist temptation no longer. She wanted to know how it felt to be held in this man’s arms and kissed by those lips that she had thought of far too often over the past few days.
Perhaps she was too reckless and impulsive, but she was quite certain that unless she did something desperate, Sebastian’s rigid self-control would remain intact until the end of time.
Not giving herself time for second thoughts, Amelia lifted her hands until she could plunge her fingers into the thick silk of his hair. At the same moment she tilted her head so she could press her lips softly to his own.
At first the pure shock of pleasure that raced through her overrode every other sensation. The garden, the night, the world itself disappeared as giddy delight seared through her body. This was what a kiss was supposed to be, she thought dreamily. The heat, the racing excitement, and the dangerous stirrings deep within her.
Then, slowly, she realized that Sebastian was no longer holding himself stiffly in shock, but instead his arms had encircled her waist and he was fiercely returning her kiss.
With a moan of heady enjoyment, she leaned against the hard muscles of his chest, her hands running through the length of his hair. She could feel his shudders as he hungrily returned her kiss, and the rising tide of desire was sharply echoed within her.
She had hoped that the kiss would ease the frustration that was plaguing her, but oddly, it only seemed to fuel the restless need. She wanted to be closer, to run her hands over the hard planes of his body and to feel his fingers against her bare skin. She yearned to drown in the flood of sensations that clouded her mind and tormented her body.
It was the knowledge that her thoughts were becoming increasingly wicked that caused Amelia at last to reluctantly pull back.
“Oh,” she breathed unsteadily.
His lips twitched at her obvious shock, but the silver eyes remained dark with barely suppressed desire.
“Is that all you have to say?”
Her hands moved to clutch his shoulders. It was that or sinking to the damp ground.
“It was very . . . enlightening.”
Sebastian’s own hands lightly trailed up and down her spine, seemingly unaware of the distracting sparks he was setting off.
“I am uncertain if that is good or bad.”
“I am uncertain as well.”
He was caught off guard by her blunt honesty. “Amelia, what is it?”
Sensing his growing concern, she m
anaged a small smile. “You spoke of danger, but I did not realize precisely how potent a mere kiss could be.”
She half expected him to laugh at her innocent amazement. Or even to reveal a faint smugness at his ability to stir her with such ease.
Instead, his expression was heartbreakingly tender as he gazed deep into her wide eyes.
“Nor did I.”
She regarded him with a faint frown. “But you have kissed before.”
His hand shifted to lightly stroke her cheek. “Ah, but I have not kissed you before.” He drew in a deep breath. “Now I must firmly insist that you return to your bed while I am still able to allow you to go alone.”
On this occasion she did not give her reckless streak an opportunity to protest. She had tasted the fire. She could only hope that she had not yet become addicted.
“Good night, Sebastian.”
He briefly lowered his head to brush a kiss over her forehead before pulling away.
“Good night, my dear.”
Sebastian watched Amelia hurry through the garden with a wrenching sense of loss.
He had known from the moment she had entered the garden that he should leave. He had only been at the house to ensure that there were no unwelcome visits from Drake. And, of course, to keep an eye open for the mysterious vampire who had attacked him in the stables.
He had not expected to have Amelia make a sudden appearance. And certainly he had not expected her to so easily slip beneath his stern self-control.
Still, he was all too aware that his passions ran far too hot during the silky darkness of the night. And combined with his growing awareness of the maiden, it had been the makings of a disaster from the beginning.
Yes, he should have left, he acknowledged as he thrust his hands through his mussed hair. But deep within his logical self-reproach there remained a shimmering pleasure that refused to regret the interlude.
The deepening bonds that were being woven between the two of them had only intensified the passions that threatened to blaze out of control. Each sensation was shared. Each need echoed within the other.
But beyond that was the more dangerous realization that she was beginning to consume more than just his passions. He admired that bright, impetuous nature. The staunch courage that she revealed in establishing her own home. And the tender care that she devoted to her brother.
My Lord Immortality Page 8