"You have no family?"
"No, my lord. Nor any friends left."
"The epidemic?"
"Yes, my lord." She looked down at her plate. "Sometimes I wish I had died, as well."
"No! No, Analisa, one must never wish for death. Life is far too precious, and too fleeting."
"Have you lost loved ones, my lord?"
He nodded, his expression suddenly wistful. "Many." Far too many, he mused. His parents, his beloved sister, the friends and colleagues of his youth, so many deaths, until the pain had become too great and he had cut himself off from the world and the people in it.
"My lord?"
"Yes, child?"
"You seem very far away."
"I am afraid I was. Forgive me."
"Why do you call me a child? I'm ten and seven. Hardly a child."
"Ah, ten and seven. A vast age, to be sure."
"Are you mocking me, my lord?"
"No, Analisa."
His voice moved over her, slow and sweet, like thick, dark honey. And his eyes, those blue, blue eyes… they seemed to see into her mind and heart. Indeed, into the very depths of her soul. Did they see the loneliness she felt? Her sorrow over the loss of her family? Her fear of the future? If he turned her out, she had nowhere to go, no one to turn to for help.
"Analisa."
"Yes, my lord?"
His hand cupped her nape and drew her closer, until she felt as though she were swimming in the blue depths of his eyes. His kiss, when it came, was excruciatingly tender, hardly more than a whisper across her lips, yet she felt it in every fiber of her being.
"You have nothing to fear from me," he said, hoping he spoke the truth. "My home is yours for as long as you wish." He kissed her again, ever so gently. "My life is yours."
She looked up at him, not knowing what to say, but knowing that, from this moment on, her life was irrevocably bound to his.
She dreamed of him that night, a dark, erotic dream that faded upon awaking, leaving her with only a vague memory of smoldering indigo eyes and his mouth on hers.
Feeling a sudden inexplicable urge to go to the grove, she slipped out of bed. Dressing quickly, she ran down the stairs and went out the side door.
Heavy gray clouds hung low in the sky; the grass was still damp with dew; the flagstones were cold beneath her bare feet.
She entered the grove, expecting somehow to find him there, disappointed to find herself alone. What was there about this place that called to her? Going to the crypt, she put her hand upon the cold stone, but it did not warm to her touch as it had before.
Because the crypt was empty?
She folded her arms over her breasts, wondering where such a ridiculous thought had come from.
Shivering, she ran back down the path to the house. Reentering by the side door, she hurried up the steps to the second floor, paused, and continued on up to the third floor.
Her heart was pounding erratically when she reached the room at the end of the hall. She stood there a moment, feeling foolish for what she was thinking. Hand shaking, she reached for the doorknob. The door was locked.
Turning away, she went downstairs to breakfast. If the crypt was empty, she mused, was it because the occupant was now asleep upstairs in the master's bedchamber?
She was on edge all that day, waiting for him to come downstairs, waiting to see him again. But morning turned to afternoon, and still there was no sign of him. She spent two hours in the library with Mrs. Thornfield, but her mind kept wandering to the upstairs bedroom and the man who was sleeping there.
"Analisa? Analisa!"
"What? Oh, I'm sorry, Mrs. Thornfield, did you say something?"
"I asked if you were ready to continue."
"Yes, of course." She bit down on her lower lip. "Where were we?"
"Your mind isn't on reading today," the housekeeper said, sitting back in her chair. "Is something amiss?"
"No, no… I was just wondering if… if Dr. Avallone… is he here?"
"Yes, I believe so."
"Oh. I was wondering… that is…"
"Go on."
Analisa shook her head, suddenly embarrassed. She had been disappointed when he hadn't joined her for breakfast. She recalled he had told her he was never home during the day. It was none of her business where or how Alesandro spent his days, but she couldn't help wondering.
"Analisa?"
"Nothing," she said, and picking up her book, she began reading again.
She had just finished her lesson when Sally burst into the library.
"Mrs. Thornfield, the constable is at the door."
"The constable!" Analisa exclaimed.
Mrs. Thornfield stood slowly. "I'll take care of it, Sally."
"What can he possibly want here?" Analisa asked.
"There's nothing for you to worry about," Mrs. Thornfield said. And so saying, she left the room.
Sally cast a worried look at Analisa, curtseyed, and hurried after the housekeeper.
Analisa sat there a moment, her finger tapping on the cover of the book. Laying it aside, she left the library. When she reached the parlor, she slowed, then stopped, careful to stay out of sight. She could hear the voices coming from the other room quite clearly now.
"When do you expect Dr. Avallone to return?"
"I'm not sure," Mrs. Thornfield replied. "He was called away on business."
"I see," said the same deep male voice. "He was away the last time we tried to contact him, as I recall."
"He travels extensively," Mrs. Thornfield said.
"So it would seem."
"Might I tell him why you wished to see him?"
"There was a murder last night. A right grisly one it was, too."
Analisa gasped, then quickly covered her mouth with her hand.
"A murder?" Mrs. Thornfield didn't sound shocked, only mildly curious.
"Yes, not far from here. When Dr. Avallone returns, tell him we want to see him."
"Yes, I will. Good afternoon, Constable."
"Good day to you, mistress."
Analisa released a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding when she heard the door close. She flushed guiltily when Mrs. Thornfield entered the parlor and saw her standing there.
"You heard?" the housekeeper asked.
"Yes. A murder. How awful!"
"There's nothing to fear, Analisa."
"But—"
"You're in no danger here," Mrs. Thornfield said with a tight smile. "In fact, this is the safest place you could be."
Mrs. Thornfield had intimated that Alesandro was away, so Analisa did not expect to see him that evening. She wondered why he hadn't told her he was going away, though there was no reason why he should. He owed her no explanations for how he spent his time. Still, she couldn't help feeling hurt, and rather disheartened that she wouldn't see him that evening.
She had just finished dining on a succulent Cornish game hen and was sipping a glass of syllabub when he suddenly appeared in the room, silent as a shadow.
"My lord," she exclaimed.
He raised one black brow as he took the seat across from her. "You seem surprised to see me."
Sally hurried into the room carrying a bottle of wine and a crystal goblet on a silver tray. "Will there be anything else, my lord?"
He dismissed her with a wave of his hand, leaving Analisa to wonder how Sally had known he was in the house, or that he had wished for wine.
The girl bobbed a curtsey and left the room.
"Will you not have dinner, my lord?" Analisa asked.
"No. I… dined earlier."
"Oh. There was a constable here today, looking for you," she said. "Mrs. Thornfield told him you were away."
"I would not leave without telling you." His voice was soft and low, as intimate as a caress.
"She lied, then."
"At my request."
"But why?"
"I have my reasons for avoiding the constabulary."
She stared at
him, astonished that he spoke of lying to the constable so easily, that he seemed so unconcerned. "But there was a murder…"
His expression grew dark. "Do they think me responsible?"
"I… I don't know," she stammered. "The constable didn't say."
"Do you?"
Her mouth went suddenly dry, and she clasped her hands in her lap to still their trembling, frightened by the way his gaze burned into hers, by the fine edge of anger she heard in his voice.
"No, my lord," she said, her voice no more than a squeak.
"You think me capable but not responsible?"
She stared at him, not knowing what to say, but knowing, deep inside herself, that he was capable of violence and, yes, even murder.
He lifted one brow, his grin mocking the growing fear in her eyes.
Analisa rose to her feet. "If you'll excuse me, my lord, I need to… to…" She searched her mind for some urgent matter of business. "To study my lessons."
In a lithe movement reminiscent of a cat intercepting a mouse, he stood, blocking her path.
He was tall, so very tall. She looked up at him, her heart pounding wildly. Mrs. Thornfield had told her she was safe here, but she didn't feel safe, not now, not with Alesandro standing so close. His eyes burned into hers, so dark they looked almost black. She wanted to look away, but try as she might, she could not draw her gaze from his.
His hands folded over her shoulders and slowly, slowly, drew her closer, until she could feel his breath on her face.
"Please." Even as the word whispered past her lips, she wondered what she was trying to say. Please don't hurt me? Please don't let me go?
His head lowered toward hers, until all she could see were his eyes burning like blue fires into her own.
"Analisa. Yield to me."
His voice was soft yet rough, like velvet rubbed the wrong way. It surrounded her, wrapping her in seductive warmth, beguiling her senses. She didn't know what it was he wanted, knew only that, whatever it was, she yearned to give it him, to ease the pain underlying his command.
"Analisa."
Her eyelids fluttered down and her head fell back, exposing her throat. As from a great distance, she heard a low sound, almost a moan; felt his breath, hotter than any fire, along her neck; heard him swear as he released her.
Feeling dazed and disoriented, she looked around. Mrs. Thornfield stood in the doorway, a look of disapproval on her face.
"What is it?" Alesandro snapped.
"Judith Wentworth is here, Doctor. She's wanting you to come look at her grandmother."
He nodded curtly. "Get my cloak."
Mrs. Thornfield glanced at Analisa, then turned and left the room.
"Go to bed, Analisa," Alesandro said brusquely. "And lock your door."
* * *
Chapter Six
Analisa ran out of the room, aware of his heated gaze burning into her back. Ran out of the room and up the stairs, not stopping until she was in her bedroom with the door locked. But even as she turned the key, she feared that nothing as flimsy as a lock and a wooden door would keep him out.
Breathless, she pressed her forehead against the cool wood. There was something passing strange about the lord of Blackbriar Hall. She recalled the hackney driver asking her if she was daft when she'd told him where she wanted to go, remembered how quickly he had departed.
Pushing away from the door, she stood in the center of the floor, one hand pressed over her heart, remembering the night in her hospital room. She had asked Alesandro why Dr. Martinson couldn't see him, and he had replied, Because I did not wish to be seen.
What kind of man was he, that he could hide his presence from others? He had told her it was nothing more than a mind trick, but now she wondered if there wasn't more to it than that. Something dark and sinister.
She glanced around her room, her gaze probing the shadows. Was he here now, lurking in a corner somewhere? How was she to know? Who was he? What was he? Maybe it was time she left this place.
She jumped at the sound of a knock on her door. "Who… who is it?"
"Mrs. Thornfield."
"Oh." Relieved, Analisa opened the door.
"Are you all right, child?"
Analisa nodded.
"Shall I have Sally draw you a bath? You seem ill at ease. Perhaps a hot bath will relax you."
"Yes, thank you."
With a nod, Mrs. Thornfield turned to go, only to be stayed by Analisa's hand on her arm.
"What did he do to me tonight?"
A shadow passed over Mrs. Thornfield's face. "Do, child?"
"He did something to me. Did he bewitch me somehow? Put a spell on me? Is he a warlock?"
Mrs. Thornfield smiled indulgently. "Nay, child, he is not a warlock."
She should have been reassured by the housekeeper's words but, somehow, she was not. Analisa was certain the woman was hiding something, but what? "Who is Judith Wentworth?"
"One of the villagers. Her aged grandmother lives with her. It's her grandmother who has need of the doctor."
"What is wrong with her?"
"I'm sure I don't know. Rest now. I shall have Cook heat some water for your bath."
The water was warm, fragrant with scented oil. Analisa lay back, willing herself to relax, trying to tell herself that she was overreacting to what had happened, even though she wasn't exactly sure just what had happened.
She closed her eyes, trying to remember what she had felt when she looked into his eyes, but all she could recall was a sense of helplessness, as if she were trapped in a dream from which she couldn't awake.
She stayed in the tub until the water grew cool. Drying off, she slipped into her gown and robe, then went downstairs in search of a glass of warm milk.
There were no lights burning downstairs. That was odd, she thought, since it wasn't late.
She paused at the bottom of the stairs, wondering if she dared go into the kitchen. Cook was very fussy about anyone else being in his domain. She considered a moment, then decided against it.
She was about to go back upstairs when she sensed she was no longer alone.
"Who's there?" She turned slowly, her gaze searching the darkness. "Who is it?"
"Do not be afraid, Analisa."
"My lord?"
"Yes."
She turned in the direction of his voice. "Why are you sitting down here in the dark?" she asked. "Shall I light a lamp?"
"No. I think better in the dark."
"I shall leave you to it, then," she said, wishing she dared ask what it was he was thinking about.
"Stay."
A single word, yet it rooted her to the spot.
"Come," he said. "Sit with me."
She moved toward him blindly, felt his hand on her arm, drawing her down beside him on the sofa. She shivered as all her senses came alive at his nearness. "Your hand is very cold, my lord."
"Is it?"
"Y-yes."
"You could warm me."
"Me? How?"
He laughed softly, humorlessly, and she turned toward the sound, wishing she could see his face.
"My lord?"
"Will you warm me, my sweet Analisa? Will you give me what I need, what I crave?"
"If I can."
"Oh, you can, there is no doubt of that. But will you? Would you?"
His voice, low and seductive, moved over her like silk sliding against bare skin. She leaned toward him, hardly aware that she was doing so, felt his arm slide around her shoulders to draw her even closer.
She swallowed hard, her mind whirling. "Were you able to help Miss Wentworth's grandmother, my lord?"
He laughed softly. "Yes, I had just what she needed." He had healed the old woman's wounds, taken sustenance from her in return, but it had not satisfied his eternal hunger, nor stilled the damnable craving that was ever waiting just below the surface of his cool demeanor. He took a deep breath, inhaling the warm, sweet scent of the woman beside him. Her nearness intoxicated him. Her humanity
drew him like a roaring fire on a cold night. One sip of her pure, virginal blood would warm him for days, fill the empty hollows in his damned soul, satisfy the hellish need that burned through him, relentless, insatiable.
His arm tightened around her as he whispered her name. He unleashed his power, letting it surround her. "Analisa."
"Yes, my lord?" Her voice was quiet, toneless.
He looked deep into her eyes, and knew she was his for the taking. The hunger moved through him, hotter than the fires of the unforgiving hell that awaited him when his existence came to an end. It clawed at him, demanding to be satisfied.
He whispered her name again, watched her eyelids grow heavy as her head fell back, exposing the pulse beating in her throat.
His lips drew back, his fangs lengthening in response to her nearness and his own overwhelming need…
She awoke in her bed the next morning with no memory of how she had gotten there. Awoke feeling wonderfully refreshed. Alesandro… she had dreamed of Alesandro. Strange dreams. Dark dreams. Frightening, at times. He had loomed over her, larger than life, his deep blue eyes blazing, glowing with an otherworldly light. He had touched her, his hands cool against her heated skin, and an image of the crypt in the garden had flashed through her mind. In her dream, she had pried the lid from the crypt… and that was when she awoke.
She jumped when Sally knocked on the door.
"Mornin', miss," the maid said brightly. She placed a tray on the table beside the bed, then crossed the floor to draw the drapes. "Lovely day."
Analisa squinted as the room was flooded with sunshine. "What time is it?"
"Half past eleven." Sally smiled at Analisa. "You must have been havin' some lovely dream, to stay abed so long."
Analisa sat up. "Yes, lovely." She reached for the cup of cocoa on the tray and took a sip. Cook made the most delicious chocolate she had ever tasted. She had once asked Mrs. Thornfield what his secret was, but the housekeeper insisted it was a recipe known only to Alfred and his deceased mother.
"Will you be wantin' breakfast?" Sally asked.
"Yes, I find I'm famished this morning."
"Very well, miss,." Sally said, bobbing a curtsey. "Will you break your fast here, or downstairs?"
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