Midnight Embrace

by Amanda Ashley

  "It was careless of me, but I did not think he would be so bold as to trespass on my property." He paused, listening. "Mrs. Thornfield is coming."

  A moment later, there was a knock on the door. "My lord?"

  "Yes."

  "We're ready to inter the bodies."

  "Very well. We will be down shortly."

  "Yes, my lord. Does Miss Analisa need help dressing?"

  "I will see to it."

  There was a pause before the housekeeper replied, "Yes, my lord, as you wish."

  "Alesandro? Mrs. Thornfield said the constable hasn't been notified. Shouldn't we call him?"

  "No. Save for Mrs. Thornfield, no one in my employ has any family, or anyone to ask after them."

  She nodded, and he saw realization in her eyes. She had no family, either. No one to ask questions if she should disappear. The doubt in her eyes was painful to see, yet he could not fault her for her fear. How many times had he warned her that she was not safe in his house? It amazed him that she was strong enough, brave enough, that she loved him enough, to stay when she had seen first hand what a vampire could do.

  "You need not be present at the burial, if you'd rather not," he said.

  "I want to go," she said. "I need to go."

  Putting her on her feet, he gained his own. He went to the wardrobe and withdrew a modest gown of indigo blue and then proceeded to dress her as ably as any lady's maid. When she was properly attired, he brushed her hair, stopping now and then to run his hand over the long, silky length, or to bestow a kiss on the crown of her head.

  He knelt at her feet and put on her stockings and her shoes, his hands caressing her calves. His touch sent shivers of desire racing through her. It seemed wrong to feel desire when Sally lay awaiting burial.

  "Will they become vampires now?" she asked.

  "No."

  She looked up at him. "Did you… ?" She couldn't say the words, couldn't ask if he had taken the precautions used by country folk to insure that those bitten by vampires did not rise again. She shuddered, remembering some of the images she had seen in one of Alesandro's books.

  As always, he knew her thoughts. "There was no need," he assured her.

  Rising, he took her hand and drew her to her feet. "Are you ready, 'Lisa?"

  Her face paled a little, but she nodded. "Yes."

  There was a small family cemetery a short distance behind the barn. The graveyard was perfectly square, enclosed by a wrought-iron fence. Unlike most graveyards, there were no crosses in evidence here, only three headstones. Analisa read the names. Trevor Gallatin, Beloved Husband and Father. Dorothy Gallatin. Beloved Wife and Mother. Elizabeth Gallatin. Elizabeth's inscription read, "She lived and died alone." Elizabeth's was the most recent date of death: March 27, 1746.

  A pair of wooden caskets rested beside two freshly dug graves. She wondered who had built the coffins.

  Analisa stood beside Alesandro, her hand in his, as Dewhurst and Farleigh lowered the caskets into the earth. Mrs. Thornfield and Cook stood across from her. The housekeeper's face was solemn, her eyes red-rimmed. Cook's face was pale. There was fear in the eyes of the servants. She noticed a small silver cross on a chain at Cook's throat.

  When the bodies had been lowered into the earth, Dewhurst looked at Alesandro. Bowing his head, Dewhurst began to recite the Lord's Prayer.

  Analisa closed her eyes, seeking comfort in the words of the prayer. If only she had spoken to Alesandro, begged him to let Sally and Robert marry.

  Do not blame yourself, 'Lisa.

  Alesandro's voice whispered in her mind. Looking up, she met his gaze.

  She wondered, in the dim recesses of her mind, what effect, if any, the prayer had on him. Did he pray? He had told her he had no soul, but she refused to believe that.

  When the prayer was over, Mrs. Thornfield and Cook dropped a handful of earth into each of the graves. Farleigh and Dewhurst did the same. Analisa looked at Alesandro, and then she scooped up a handful of earth. It was cold in her hand.

  She knelt near Sally's graveside and then, murmuring, "I'm sorry, please forgive me," she dropped the dirt onto the casket. It made a soft, whispery sound she knew she would never forget.

  Alesandro moved to her side and helped her to her feet "Come, 'Lisa, let us go back to the house."

  She nodded, eager to be away from the cemetery. It could have been her they were burying, she thought. She often walked the gardens at night. She felt guilty for being alive, guilty for not talking to Alesandro before it was too late. He took her hand in his.

  Walking away from the graves, she could hear Dewhurst and Farleigh shoveling dirt over the coffins.

  She blinked back her tears, wishing she could dig a hole deep enough to bury her guilt.

  * * *

  Chapter Seventeen

  The atmosphere in the manor house was subdued that evening. No one felt like eating dinner. Mrs. Thornfield retired to her room early, as did Farleigh and Dewhurst.

  Aware of Analisa's distress, Alesandro took her into the library, settled her on the sofa, and covered her with a blanket. He asked Cook to bring her a pot of tea, then dismissed the man for the night.

  Analisa refused the tea, but he insisted she drink it, hoping it would help to calm her.

  He sat beside her on the high-backed sofa while she sipped her drink, his mind brushing against hers. Her emotions were tangled—love for him, tinged with a hint of fear, a deep loathing for Rodrigo, concern for her own safety, sorrow and guilt for Sally's death.

  "You must not blame yourself, 'Lisa," he said quietly. Taking the empty cup from her hand, he placed it on the table, then slid his arm around her shoulders. "There is nothing you could have done."

  "I'll miss her."

  It occurred to him again that Analisa might be lonely. It was for that reason he had planned to take her to meet her neighbors that ill-fated night. Sally had been the only one on the staff close to Analisa's age, and now she was gone. It had been centuries since he'd had a close friend, years since he had socialized with others. Years since he had spent an idle evening dining and dancing or playing cards with his cronies. More years than he could recall since he had given thought to anything or anyone aside from his own survival.

  He looked at Analisa thoughtfully. What right did he have to keep her hidden away from the rest of the world? She was young and beautiful, ignorant of the pleasures of city life. Did she secretly yearn to go out more? To spend time with people her own age? What kind of life was it for her, to spend her days in near solitude, waiting for him? Still, when he had offered to introduce her to society, she had refused to go.

  " 'Lisa, are you happy here, with me?"

  "Yes, of course. Why do you ask?"

  "Are you ever lonely? Bored? Do you miss being around other people?"

  She stared at him, a dozen emotions chasing themselves across her face.

  "Tell me the truth, 'Lisa, not what you think I want to hear."

  She considered her answer carefully. It had been nice, at first, playing lady of the manor, but she was used to working hard from dawn till dark. At home, there had been a cow to milk and pigs to feed, eggs to gather, a garden that was constantly in need of weeding. She had to admit she hadn't liked it much at the time, but it had kept her busy, given her a sense of accomplishment.

  "Sometimes I get lonely during the day, when everyone else is busy," she admitted. "But I'm not bored. There are so many books to read, and Mrs. Thornfield has been teaching me proper etiquette, and Sally…" She bit down on her lower lip. "I'm going to miss her so!" Tears welled in her eyes, coursed down her cheeks. "Oh, Alesandro! She must have been so afraid!"

  He drew her close, stroking her back while she cried out her grief. He murmured to her softly in his native tongue, his heart aching for her hurt, her loss. Hard-hearted creature that he was, the maid's death meant little to him personally. He was sorry she had died so horribly, angry that Rodrigo had dared to harm someone in his employ, but he'd had little int
eraction with the girl.

  "I think I should take you away from here, my sweet one."

  She looked up at him, blinking at him through her tears. "Away?"

  "I have a small house in the city. I think the change of scene would do you good."

  A fortnight later Analisa found herself walking through the fancy front door of a two-story house on the outskirts of London. Alesandro had said it was a small house, but it was small only when compared to Blackbriar Hall. The house had obviously been empty for some time. There were sheets over all the furniture; the air carried the faintly musty smell of disuse.

  Mrs. Thornfield immediately began opening the windows. Cook went to look over his new domain. Farleigh stayed outside to see to the horses. Dewhurst moved in and out, carrying their luggage into the house.

  Analisa stood in the middle of the parlor. It was a large room, decorated in dark wood. The ceiling was high; floral paper covered the walls; a carpet of deep blue and green covered the floor. There was a large fireplace with an overmantel on one wall, a bookcase and writing desk on another, an empty display cabinet on a third. A high-backed sofa and a pair of matching chairs were situated before the hearth. The walls were bare. She thought it odd that the cabinet was empty, that there were no paintings on the walls.

  "Mrs. Thornfield, what shall I do?"

  The housekeeper looked at her as if she had just offered to walk naked across Trafalgar Square. "Why, nothing, child. Why don't you go upstairs and have a look at the bedrooms and see which one you prefer?"

  Analisa's shoulders slumped. Sometimes she felt so useless. Would it be so wrong if she did a few chores? She was young and healthy, after all. But whenever she offered, Mrs. Thornfield wouldn't hear of it.

  "Go along now." The housekeeper made a shooing motion with her hands. "I'll look after things down here. Oh, Cook wants to know what you would like for dinner."

  Analisa shrugged. "I don't care. Tell him to surprise me."

  "Very well," Mrs. Thornfield said. Hands on hips, she glanced around the room, muttering something about needing to hire some help.

  Analisa sighed. Hiring help seemed foolish when she had two good hands and a strong back, but there was no point in arguing.

  After removing her hat and placing it on the rack, Analisa went exploring. The kitchen was downstairs, and off limits to all but Cook and his helper, should he hire one. The dining room was across from the drawing room. It was a large, rectangular room. The ceilings were high in here as well, the walls paneled. The table and chairs were of walnut, intricately carved, as were the sideboard and china cabinet, which was empty.

  There was also a small breakfast room, similar to the one at Blackbriar. It seemed to be the only room not done in dark wood and fabric.

  Going up the stairs, she found three small bedrooms, each with its own sitting room, and a large master bedroom. The next floor held the nursery and the schoolroom, and above that were the servants' quarters.

  Going back down to the second floor, she went into the master bedroom. Removing her gloves, she tossed them on the chest of drawers and began plucking the sheets from the furniture. She immediately fell in love with the room. The walls were papered in a soft green and yellow stripe with white trim. The bed had a canopy. There were a dainty dressing table and chair, a matching washstand, a rocking chair beside the window. In the adjoining room were a large wardrobe and a full-length mirror.

  A thick green carpet a few shades darker than the spread on the bed muted her footsteps as she dropped the sheets on the chair, then opened the window, which looked out over a small yard. It was a lovely view. There were a large leafy tree, flowers, and a small arbor.

  She whirled around at the sound of footsteps, her heart pounding in anticipation even though she knew it was too early for Alesandro to be up and about. And indeed, it was only Dewhurst bringing her luggage.

  "Where would you like these, miss?" he asked.

  "Just put them there beside the bed."

  "Yes, miss. Mrs. Thornfield said to tell you that Cook has prepared a light lunch. It's waiting for you when you're ready."

  "Thank you, Dewhurst."

  With a nod, he left the room.

  The next few hours passed swiftly. She ate lunch, unpacked her clothes, took a long, leisurely soak, washing away the dust of the journey. And all the while her thoughts were on Alesandro. Where was he now? She knew he was capable of moving rapidly from place to place. He never slept in his rooms at the Hall or the Manor; they were little more than places to keep his clothes.

  She glanced around the chamber. Would he expect to occupy this room? It was, after all, the master bedroom, though she could not imagine him staying here. The room was too bright, too cheerful somehow. It made her wonder if he had ever stayed in this house at all. But if not, why did he have it?

  Aware of the setting of the sun and the cooling water, she left the tub, dried briskly, and began to dress. First came the chemise which fell almost to her knees, then her stockings, then her drawers. Next came her corset, something she had never worn on the farm. She looked at it a moment, then dropped it on the bed, remembering that Sally was not there to lace it for her. With a sigh, she put on her robe. Sitting at the dressing table, she began to brush out her hair, studying her reflection as she did so. What did Alesandro see when he looked at her? She had never thought of herself as pretty. She had always been too plain, too thin. She leaned forward. She had paid little attention to her looks in the past, but now she studied her face carefully. She had filled out in the months she had been here. There were no hollows in her cheeks, no shadows under her eyes. Her skin was clear, her cheeks rosy. Her hair was thick and had a nice healthy sheen.

  "I see a young and beautiful woman when I look at you," came a deep voice from behind her.

  With a little cry of joy, she turned to face him. "Alesandro! You're here at last."

  "Dare I hope that you missed me?"

  "You know I did." Rising, she moved into his arms and rested her cheek against his chest.

  "So, where would you like to go on your first night in the city?"

  "Wherever you want, Alesandro. It doesn't matter to me, so long as we're together."

  "Ah, 'Lisa, you make me weak."

  "You, my lord?" she said with a smile. "That you could never be."

  It was good to see her smile, good to see the sorrow momentarily gone from her eyes.

  "I hope you don't mind that I've taken this room," she said.

  "Of course not." He glanced around. The decor was far too feminine for his taste.

  "It wasn't your room, then?"

  "No. I have never lived in this house."

  "Never?"

  He shook his head. "I won it in a card game several years ago." He glanced around the room. "This is the first time I have been here."

  "Is that why the display cabinet is empty? Why there are no paintings on the walls?"

  "Yes. I won the house and the furnishings, but I allowed Henry and his wife to take their personal effects."

  "Are you sure you don't want this chamber? It's the largest one."

  He shook his head. "You keep it. I shall take the room that adjoins it."

  A faint blush warmed her cheeks at the thought of him having the room next to hers. It seemed so intimate, almost as if they were man and wife.

  "So, my sweet," he said, "Lord and Lady Summerfield are hosting a gala tonight. Would you like to attend?"

  She looked up at him, her gaze searching his. He wanted to take her out, and although it seemed wrong, with Sally so recently laid to rest, perhaps it would do her good to get out of the house, to think of something else besides Sally and Robert and the vampire who had killed them. She had thought of little else in the past two weeks, cried until she had no tears left.

  "Do not think of it now," Alesandro said. "There was nothing you could have done, and I will not have you blaming yourself. If you must blame someone, lay that burden on me, where it belongs."

&nbs
p; "It was not your fault, either."

  "It pleases me that you do not think so."

  "Have you known the Summerfields long?" she asked.

  "Indeed," he said. "It was from Lord Summerfield that I won this house."

  She looked up at him, laughing softly when she saw the deviltry in his eyes. It was good to see him smiling, she thought, when he was far too often sober-faced and withdrawn. Perhaps it would do them both good to go out.

  "What shall I wear?" she asked.

  Going to her wardrobe, Alesandro withdrew a gown of ice-blue silk. It was a beautiful dress, but one she had never had occasion to wear.

  She looked at him, waiting for him to leave the room so she could dress. But he only smiled at her.

  "You have no maid, so I shall play the part," he said, and then cursed himself for his careless words.

  He plucked her corset from the bed, laced up the back after she put it on. She stepped into her crinoline and tied it in place. Her petticoats came next, and then he slipped the silk gown over her head. The material felt sinfully delicious against her skin. The neckline was scandalously low, revealing a good deal of décolletage; the sleeves were slightly puffed at the shoulders, tapering down to her wrists, the skirt full over a modest bustle adorned with pink and white silk flowers. Kneeling, he placed her shoes on her feet.

  "Will you do my hair, too?" she asked.

  "Leave it down."

  "As you wish, my lord."

  "You look beautiful, 'Lisa."

  "As do you, my lord Alesandro."

  He lifted a brow at her. "Beautiful?"

  "Yes, beautiful." And elegant, she thought. She had never seen a man to equal him. He wore a double-breasted tailcoat of fine black wool, a white shirt with a ruffled front, a black silk waistcoat embroidered with tiny black fleur-de-lis, a black bow tie, and black boots. Tall, dark, and dangerous.

  He had never been a vain man but he smiled now, seeing himself through her eyes. She thought him elegant, did she? And dangerous. He couldn't deny that.

  "Are you ready, my sweet?"

  "Just let me get my gloves, and my bag." She plucked a pair of long white gloves from the dresser, along with a small silk purse that matched her gown. "Ready, my lord."