Midnight Embrace

by Amanda Ashley

  The home of Lord and Lady Summerfield was located in the fashionable heart of the city. Colorful lanterns lit the driveway; a liveried servant helped Analisa alight from the carriage. Taking Alesandro's arm, she walked with him up the winding drive to the house. Alesandro had planned it so they would arrive after dinner, so they were the last to enter. A servant took Analisa's wrap, and they went into the ballroom.

  She paused inside the doorway. It was the first time she had ever been to such a soiree. An orchestra was playing a waltz and couples twirled around the floor, the men in sober black, the women like colorful butterflies. Servants moved among the guests who sat on the sidelines, offering drinks and dainty desserts.

  "That is our host," Alesandro said, gesturing at a gray-haired man of medium height. "And that is his wife, Lady Summerfield." He pointed to a tall, angular woman who wore a dress that was a most hideous shade of yellow. "Come," he said, taking her by the hand. "Dance with me."

  Alesandro waltzed her around the room, aware of the many masculine eyes that followed their progress. Analisa stood out like a rare diamond in a handful of fake gems. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes glowed with excitement. He knew there wasn't a man present who didn't envy him; indeed, half a dozen unattached young men were lined up before the waltz ended, vying for the next dance.

  Analisa looked up at him, confused. "Go," he said. "Enjoy yourself."

  "But—"

  "Go." He smiled as he placed her hand in that of the first young man.

  "You won't leave me?"

  "No."

  Alesandro stood in the shadows, watching one man after another claim her for a dance. He heard the gossip around him as the matrons put their heads together, wondering who she was and why they hadn't seen her before. It was whispered that she was the daughter of a duchess, that she was a French courtesan, an actress from America, the bastard daughter of Lord Summerfield himself.

  At the end of an hour, he cut in on her current partner and claimed her for himself.

  Analisa smiled up at him, her cheeks flushed.

  "You are the belle of the ball, my sweet," he said. "As I knew you would be."

  "I don't know why they all want to dance with me. I don't even know most of the dances."

  But he knew why. There was a freshness about her, an innocence that was sadly lacking in most of the other young ladies. There were worried looks on the faces of the matrons as they realized that there might be a new entry in the marriage market.

  He kept her close for the next half hour before relinquishing her again. Fading into the shadows, he listened to gossip about himself while he watched 'Lisa move through the figures of a lengthy quadrille. For all that he was rarely seen in the city, his name was well known. People assumed he was the heir to the last Lord of Blackbriar Hall. Because he never aged, he was forced to leave Blackbriar every so often, returning as the son of the Hall's last occupant. It was a tiresome charade, but necessary.

  He claimed her for the last waltz. Her cheeks were rosy, her eyes sparkling, as he whirled her around the floor, and he drew her closer, suddenly jealous of all the other men who had held her that night. He could smell them on her. He wrinkled his nose with distaste, wondering what madness had possessed him to bring her here in the first place.

  A short time later, they bade farewell to their host. Alesandro was glad to have her alone in the carriage.

  "Did you have a good time, 'Lisa?" he asked.

  "Oh, yes! It was wonderful. Thank you, Alesandro."

  He had been wanting to kiss her all night, and now, seeing her sitting there, her face flushed with happiness, her eyes glowing with excitement, he could resist the urge no longer. Sweeping her into his arms, he claimed her lips with his.

  She yielded to him with a sigh, her eyelids fluttering down, her hand coming to rest against his chest, her fingers curling around his lapel as he deepened the kiss. She tasted of sweet tarts and champagne, the tastes alien on his tongue after so many years.

  She moaned softly, her body moving against his, seeking to be closer—no easy task with the whalebone crinoline that seemed to take up half of the carriage.

  Annoyed by that bit of feminine foolishness, Alesandro reached under her skirt, unfastened the ties at her waist, and yanked the thing off. The frame was collapsible, and he dropped it on the floor, then drew Analisa onto his lap.

  "Thank you, my lord." She grinned at him, then wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him.

  Her tongue played over his lower lip, driving him to distraction as he lifted her skirts.

  She laughed softly. "Alesandro, what are you doing?"

  "Only what you want me to do."

  "In here?" She glanced at the carriage's close quarters. "Is there room?"

  "We will make room." His eyes flashed in the darkness. She felt his hands moving over her, rearranging her clothing, and then his own.

  Miraculously, there was indeed room enough.

  When they reached home, he carried her into the house and up the stairs to her room. She was asleep by then, a faint smile lingering on her lips. A smile he had put there. The thought pleased him greatly.

  He laid her gently on the bed, undressed her, and settled her under the covers. He gazed down at her. In four hundred years, he had never seen anything more lovely, more desirable. It was beyond his comprehension that she loved him, that she willingly satisfied not only his hunger for blood, but for her sweet flesh as well. He had not known love in four hundred years. How had he survived without it? In a matter of a few months, she had become his sole reason for existence. How would he find the strength to go on if she left him? If she died?

  He thrust the disquieting thought from his mind. She was young and healthy.

  She ages every day while you do not.

  He tried to drive that thought from his mind as well, but he could not shake it off. She might live to be forty or fifty, even sixty, but it would not be long enough. A few short mortal years, and he would be alone again. Unless…

  His gaze slid over her neck, to the pulse beating slow and regular in the hollow of her throat. So easy to bring her across. So easy to make her his forever.

  He imagined what it would be like, falling asleep with her in his arms as the sun chased the night from the sky, kissing her with his first breath at dusk. Having someone to share his existence. Someone to hunt with, someone who would understand the hunger that drove him, the guilt, the need.

  Analisa.

  It was a beautiful dream, but one that could never come true. He loved her far too much to condemn her to the dark half-life he led, to deprive her of the freedom to enjoy the sun, the opportunity to bear children, to live a normal life with a mortal man. How could he bring her across and subject her to the relentless hunger, the darkness of spirit, that had plagued him for centuries?

  Bending, he brushed a kiss across her cheek.

  "Sweet dreams, my 'Lisa," he whispered, and went to seek his lonely bed.

  * * *

  Chapter Eighteen

  Rodrigo stormed through the night, his anger rising like the devil wind that sent his cloak billowing behind him. A string of foul oaths trailed in his wake. Gone! Alesandro was gone. He had not expected Alesandro to run. In four hundred years of conflict, despite the fact that Rodrigo possessed the greater strength, his enemy had stood his ground.

  He streaked through the night unseen, his malevolence a force unto itself. Mortals who crossed his path were destroyed without a qualm, their throats torn out, their life's blood tasting like bitter bile on his tongue.

  His hatred, his implacable need for vengeance, had been the driving force in his life for over four hundred years. It had given his existence meaning. He could have killed the other vampire years ago, but that would have been too quick, too easy. He had tormented Alesandro instead, knowing that the good doctor suffered greatly each time he arrived too late to save a life.

  With the patience of a wild cat stalking its prey, Rodrigo had waited, knowing t
hat, sooner or later, the perfect means by which to take his revenge would arrive. And now she was here. The woman, Analisa. She was what Rodrigo had been waiting for. For the first time in four centuries, Alesandro had found love. To take the woman from Alesandro, to destroy her as Alesandro had destroyed Serafina… Rodrigo took a deep breath. To inflict pain on the woman would hurt the vampire far more than merely taking his life.

  He would find Alesandro again. No matter how long it took.

  His hand closed around the throat of his third victim. Unlike the man fighting for his life, time was one thing Rodrigo had plenty of.

  * * *

  Chapter Nineteen

  "A visitor?" Analisa looked up from her needlepoint in surprise. "Who would be coming to see me?"

  "A young man," Mrs. Thornfield answered, handing her a small ivory-colored card.

  "Mr. Geoffrey Starke," Analisa said, reading the name aloud. The name was vaguely familiar, but she couldn't recall where she had heard it before. "What does he want?"

  "He's come calling," Mrs. Thornfield said. "He's waiting in the parlor."

  Geoffrey Starke? Analisa frowned, and then it came to her. She had danced with him last night. Of all the young men who had partnered her, he had been the most persistent, claiming two waltzes and a quadrille. A fourth dance would have been a breach of etiquette.

  "Miss?"

  Analisa stared at the housekeeper, her thoughts befuddled. Never before had she entertained a gentleman caller, especially a member of Mr. Starke's class. "What should I do?"

  "Why, you must make him feel welcome, of course," Mrs. Thornfield said. "I'll bring tea and some of the sweet cakes Cook baked this morning."

  "What will I say to him?" Analisa asked, getting more flustered by the moment.

  "If he's like most young men, you'll not need to say much," Mrs. Thornfield replied with a rare grin. "All you'll need do is nod from time to time."

  Analisa slipped the card into her skirt pocket. "Couldn't I just send him away?"

  "If you wish."

  "What do you think I should do?"

  "I think you should see him. He seems a pleasant fellow. It will do you good to make some friends in the city."

  "Oh, very well. Do I look all right?"

  Mrs. Thornfield looked her over carefully, then nodded. "You'll do. And don't worry, social etiquette dictates that his call will be brief."

  Taking a deep breath, Analisa smoothed her hands over her skirt, patted her hair, then made her way toward the parlor. Outside the door, she took a deep, calming breath. Mr. Geoffrey Starke didn't know she was just a poor country girl with no home and no family of her own. And there was no need for him to know. Lifting her chin, she opened the door.

  Geoffrey Starke stood as she entered the room. He was of medium height, with wavy brown hair, hazel eyes, and a fine straight nose. Clad in a crisp white shirt, buff-colored trousers and a matching coat, and carrying his hat and riding whip in one hand, he looked quite dapper. And quite handsome. Of all the young men she had danced with the night before, he had been the one she favored the most.

  "Miss Matthews." He bowed over her hand. "I hope you don't mind my calling without an appointment."

  "No." She withdrew her hand from his. "Sit down, please." She took a seat on the sofa, indicating he should take the chair.

  "Thank you."

  "I must admit, I was quite surprised when Mrs. Thornfield gave me your card."

  "I hope the surprise was a favorable one," he said, smiling.

  He had a ready smile. And a dimple in his left cheek.

  They spoke of the weather, of the dance the previous night, of the masquerade ball Geoffrey was hosting the following week.

  "The invitations have already gone out," he said, "which is why I came to call on you today." Reaching into his pocket, he withdrew an envelope and handed it to her. "I was hoping I could persuade you to attend. I know it's rather short notice, but…" He shrugged. "May I hope to see you there?"

  "I'm not sure." She looked down at the envelope, addressed to her in a bold hand, then placed it on the table beside the sofa. "I'll have to ask—"

  "Of course. The gentleman who was with you at the ball, is he your guardian?"

  Analisa was trying to decide how to answer that when Mrs. Thornfield entered the room. She served them tea and cakes, smiled reassuringly at Analisa, then left the room.

  Mrs. Thornfield had spoken true. Analisa did not have to think of anything clever or witty to say. Mr. Starke dominated the conversation, telling her of his sister's upcoming wedding, the thoroughbred mare he had recently purchased from America.

  Analisa had expected to feel ill at ease in his company, but, to her surprise, she was quite charmed by his quick smile and mild manner.

  Half an hour later, Mr. Starke stood to take his leave. At the door, he took her hand in his. "I hope I may call on you again."

  Flustered, she smiled politely and said that would be agreeable.

  Returning to the parlor, Analisa sank down on the sofa. What would Alesandro say when he learned she'd had a gentleman caller? Would he be angry? Jealous? She didn't think he would be pleased.

  She opened the envelope she had dropped on the table and withdrew the handwritten invitation. She read it once, then read it again:

  Mr. Geoffrey Starke requests the pleasure of Miss Analisa Matthew's company at an Evening Masquerade Ball on Friday, April 8th.

  An answer will oblige.

  Dancing.

  She felt a flutter of excitement. It was the first time in her life she had ever been invited anywhere. It had been such fun last night, being the center of attention, being flattered by handsome, well-dressed young men. She had not for a moment believed their flattering words, but they had been pleasant to hear nevertheless.

  Leaving the invitation on the table beside the sofa, she went upstairs to dress for dinner.

  A stranger had been in the house. Alesandro caught the man's lingering scent as soon as he entered the dwelling. He took a deep breath, his eyes narrowing. Geoffrey Starke. He did not have to wonder what the man had been doing there. He had seen the way Starke had looked at Analisa the night before, the way the man's eyes had followed her every move.

  He fought down the jealousy that engulfed him. Whether he approved or not, Analisa had every right to have visitors. Once, he would have encouraged it. Once, he had thought to keep her with him only a short time, and then find her a husband. The idea no longer held any appeal. He could not abide the thought of her spending time with another man, smiling at someone else. Loving someone else. Once, he had told her they could not have a life together; now he could not imagine his existence without her.

  She had said she was in love with him, but was she really? She had never known another man… He closed his eyes, his hands clenching into tight fists at his sides. If she decided she wanted to marry a mortal man and raise a family, he would not stand in her way.

  "Alesandro?"

  He opened his eyes to find her regarding him curiously.

  "Are you all right?" she asked, moving across the floor toward him.

  He nodded. She was more beautiful each time he saw her, he mused, or perhaps it was only that he loved her more each day.

  Rising on tiptoes, she kissed his cheek. It wasn't enough. Wrapping one arm around her waist, he drew her against him and claimed her lips with his. He kissed her hungrily, more forcefully than he intended, wanting to wipe the thought of any other man from her mind and heart.

  She gasped when he released her, her gaze searching his. "What is it? What's wrong?"

  "You had a visitor today."

  She nodded, a guilty flush staining her cheeks. "Yes, Mr. Starke."

  "Did you invite him here?"

  She shook her head vigorously. "No, of course not."

  "What did he want?"

  "He invited me to a masquerade ball."

  "And did you accept?"

  "No. I said I would have to ask you."

&nb
sp; He loosened his hold on her waist, suddenly ashamed. He was questioning her as if she belonged to him, as if he had every right to demand an accounting of her time, her actions.

  "You need not ask my permission, 'Lisa. You are not a prisoner in this house. I am not your guardian."

  "But…" She looked confused, and then hurt. "We… I thought…"

  She looked away, but not before he saw the tears in her eyes. Feeling like a cad, he pulled her into his arms.

  She buried her face against his chest. "You said you loved me," she said, her voice muffled.

  "I do love you, 'Lisa. More than you can imagine." He ran his hand over her hair. "But you deserve to have a life of your own. Perhaps I should go away for a while and give you a chance to mingle with people your own age."

  "No!" She looked up at him. "I don't want you to go. Please, Alesandro. I love you."

  "Have you ever been courted, 'Lisa? Ever had a beau?"

  "No."

  "I would not deprive you of your youth." It was bad enough that he had stolen her innocence. "You should go to dances and parties, make friends, do all the things young women do before they settle down."

  "You're trying to send me away again, aren't you? Like before. You're going to tell me this is for my own good, aren't you? Aren't you?"

  "Analisa, listen to me. I just want you to be sure that this"—he made a gesture that encompassed himself and the house—"is what you want. I do not want you to be sorry later, or feel that you have missed out on something that could have been yours. Think about it carefully, before it is too late. Think about what you will be giving up if you stay with me. Will you be happy with someone who can share but half of your life? Someone who cannot give you children. Someone who is no longer mortal. Perhaps not even human."

  She stared up at him, her eyes wide, and he knew that, for the first time, she was seriously considering the consequences of being with him, loving him. It was no small decision.