Midnight Embrace

by Amanda Ashley

  She sipped her tea, her thoughts not on Mr. Starke but on Alesandro. She glanced at the clock, counting the hours until she would see him again. Her Alesandro. Just thinking about him sent a shiver of excitement down her spine. He filled her waking thoughts. He filled her dreams.

  Alesandro…

  She blinked, aware that Mr. Starke was walking toward her. She stared at him, dumbfounded, as he dropped to one knee in front of her.

  "Miss Matthews, I know this will shock you. I find it rather shocking myself, but, well…" He cleared his throat. "Would you do me the honor of being my wife?"

  She stared at him. Shocked didn't begin to describe how she felt. Whatever had possessed him to propose to her? Didn't proper etiquette dictate a period of courting first?

  He was watching her, waiting for her answer.

  "Mr. Starke, this is so sudden. I don't know what to say."

  "Say you will consider it."

  "I… I hardly know you."

  "I know this is sudden, and I apologize for that, but I haven't been able to think of anything or anyone else since we met." He smiled disarmingly. "And I'm afraid if I wait too long, you might marry someone else."

  "I'm sorry, Mr. Starke, but I'm afraid I can't accept."

  He nodded, sighed rather dramatically, and stood up. "I had to ask. I hope you'll forgive my impertinence."

  Returning to the sofa, he picked up his gloves and walking stick. "May I call on you again?"

  "If you wish."

  "Good day to you, then, Miss Matthews." He bowed over her hand. "I look forward to seeing you again."

  She smiled politely and started to rise.

  "I can see myself out," he said, and left the room.

  She sat there for several minutes, stunned by what had happened. Her first proposal! Even if she never married, at least she could say she had been asked. She should have told Mr. Starke she was in love with someone else, she thought, and she would, the next time he came to call. There was no point in letting him think there could ever be a relationship between them. She loved Alesandro, and even if he never asked to marry her, she would never wed anyone else. Never. If she couldn't have Alesandro, she would never marry anyone.

  The clock was chiming four o'clock when she left the parlor. Alesandro would be here soon.

  Hurrying upstairs, she rang for Frannie.

  Analisa was lingering over a glass of sherry when Alesandro entered the dining room. She looked up, her smile of welcome fading when she saw the look on his face.

  "Starke was here again," he said flatly.

  There was no point in denying it. "Yes."

  Alesandro sat in the chair across from her, his dark eyes intense. "Did you invite him?"

  "Of course not."

  He swore under his breath. He had no excuse for his rudeness, save that he loved her beyond measure. "Forgive me, 'Lisa."

  She put her glass aside and rose. "Shall we go into the library?"

  With a nod, Alesandro stood and followed her. There was a chill in the room. He cast a glance at the hearth and a fire sprang to life.

  "What did Mr. Starke want?" He hadn't meant to ask, but he could no more have stayed the question than he could have taken Deuce out for a ride in the sun.

  "He… he asked me to marry him."

  "Indeed? And what was your answer?"

  Analisa blew out a sigh of exasperation. "I said yes, of course."

  She had not expected him to take her seriously, nor was she prepared for the rage that blazed in his eyes. It slammed into her, as forceful as if he had struck her.

  "Alesandro, I was only jesting. Of course I told him no."

  She stared at him, waiting for the anger to leave him. She had seen him in pain, in need of blood, but never enraged like this. It was far more frightening than she could have imagined.

  "I'm sorry," she said. "I shouldn't have… I…"

  He closed his eyes, and a stillness settled over him. As she watched, the tension drained out of his stance, his face.

  "Alesandro?"

  He opened his eyes, savoring the sound of his name on her lips. "Once again I must beg your forgiveness." He moved to the sofa and sat down. "Come," he said. "Sit with me."

  She did as he asked without hesitation. She smelled of lavender soap and sherry, of sunlight and the beefsteak and kidney pie she had eaten at dinner.

  Need rose within him, the need to hold her, to taste her, to make her forever his. The thought went through him like a bolt of lightning. He had never made another vampire, had sworn he would never be responsible for passing the Dark Gift to anyone else. How could he even think of condemning the woman he loved to an existence of endless darkness, to the relentless hunger, the loneliness?

  He looked at Analisa, imagining her as a vampire, her quiet beauty enhanced by the Dark Gift. Imagined her sleeping beside him during the long hours of daylight, waking in his arms. Imagined her lips stained with his blood…

  "Alesandro, are you angry with me?"

  "No, of course not."

  "You look… I don't know… what were you thinking about?"

  "You do not want to know."

  "Why not?" She studied his face, her head tilted to one side, her expression thoughtful. "It was about me, wasn't it?"

  He did not deny it.

  "Tell me!"

  He shook his head, certain it would frighten her to know that he had considered bringing her across, no matter how briefly.

  She pouted prettily, making him smile in spite of himself. Sometimes he forgot how young she was.

  "Please, Alesandro?"

  "No, 'Lisa." He rose to his feet. "I must go out for a while."

  "Don't go."

  "I will be back soon."

  She caught his hand. Holding it to her breast, she stared up at him through wide brown eyes. "You don't have to go."

  He had not taken her blood since it was decided she should see other men.

  "Please don't go!"

  He gazed down at her a moment, then knelt at her feet. "Something is troubling you. What is it?"

  "Rodrigo." Her hand tightened on his. "I'm afraid."

  "He cannot come here."

  She brushed a lock of hair from his brow with her free hand. "I'm afraid for you, Alesandro."

  "There is no need for you to worry, 'Lisa."

  "I can't help it. I love you so much." She pressed his hand to her cheek. "What would I do if something happened to you?"

  "Nothing will happen to me."

  "He hurt you before."

  " 'Lisa." Her concern touched him in ways he barely remembered, made him recall emotions and feelings he had not felt since he was mortal. But he was mortal no longer. Gently, he captured her hand in both of his. "I cannot change what I am."

  "Would you if you could?"

  "Yes. But it is not possible. There is no going back."

  "How do you know?"

  He gestured at the bookshelves that surrounded them. "Do you think I have read all the books here and at Blackbriar simply to pass the time? For centuries I have sought a way to end this curse. Centuries, 'Lisa."

  Her heart ached for the sadness she saw in his eyes, the resignation in his voice. "It can't have all been bad. You've seen so much of the world."

  "Yes. I have lived through wars and plagues. I have watched kings and queens rise and fall. I have seen advances in medicine and the arts." He looked down at her hand, caught in both of his. "And all of it alone."

  She put her hand under his chin and lifted his head. "You're not alone now. I'm young, Alesandro. I'll stay with you as long as I live, if you want me to."

  " 'Lisa." It was what he wanted, what he yearned for, yet how could he ask her to give up everything to be with him? How could he let her go? In that brief moment when he thought he had lost her to Geoffrey Starke, he had been filled with a torrent of rage and jealousy the likes of which he had not experienced in four centuries. He had known, in that instant, that he would kill Starke before he let the man
claim Analisa for his own, had feared that he might kill her, too, rather than let another man have her.

  Analisa bit down on her lower lip as she watched Alesandro's face. His expression was black, his eyes haunted. What was he thinking? What dark thoughts troubled him so?

  Fearing she might be rebuffed, she cupped his cheek in her hand. "Alesandro?"

  "What am I to do with you?" he asked quietly.

  "Only love me, as I love you."

  Did she truly love him? he wondered. Or was she enamored of his preternatural powers?

  " 'Lisa, I am going away."

  "What? When? Where?" Her gaze searched his face. "Why? What have I done?"

  "You have done nothing. I am going away for a year, to give you time to yourself—"

  "No! No! You made me come here. You made me see other people, other men—"

  " 'Lisa I—"

  "No!" She stood and faced him, her hands clenched at her sides. "I will not let you go away from me. I love you. I do not need to see other men to know that it's you I love. I will not stop loving you if you go away. I will not love you any less if you are not here."

  He rose to his feet in one lithe movement to tower over her. But she refused to be intimidated. Holding her ground, she stared up at him. "If you do not want me, if you do not love me, then I'll go away and you need never see me again." She held up her hand when he started to speak. "I'm going to my room. Don't follow me. Think about it, Alesandro. I know what I want. I don't want to see you again until you know what you want. Good night."

  With all the dignity and grace of a highborn lady, she turned on her heel and swept out of the room.

  Alesandro stared after her, stunned by her outburst. She had grown up in the past few months, he mused, smiling faintly. She was a woman who knew her own mind and was not afraid to speak it.

  She loved him. She had said it before, and he had believed her because he wanted to so desperately. But this time, for the first time, he knew she spoke the truth.

  She loved him. And she had given him an ultimatum.

  I know what I want. I don't want to see you again until you know what you want.

  Bold words, brave words, for a mere slip of a girl. How beautiful she had looked glaring up at him, with her eyes flashing fire and her cheeks flushed with anger. How could he even think of letting her go? If he did, he knew he would regret it every night for the rest of his accursed life.

  He was tempted to go to her, but another need clawed at him, a need that could not be denied.

  Settling his cloak on his shoulders, he vanished into the night, searching for that someone who had what he needed. Who needed what he had.

  Analisa's tears came hot and swift when she was in her room with the door locked behind her. She knew no lock would keep him out should he wish to enter, but she locked the door anyway. Why did he keep trying to send her away? Didn't he love her at all? But even as the thought crossed her mind, she knew she was being unfair. He loved her desperately, and it was because he loved her that he wanted what was best for her. She knew he felt guilty for loving her, and what was worse, he felt unworthy of her love.

  With tears streaming down her cheeks, she paced the floor, wishing she knew how to convince him that she was old enough to know her own mind. Would she be wise to let him go? A year was not such a long time. It would not change her feelings for Alesandro, and if it would somehow put his mind at ease… Moving to the window, she drew back the drapes and peered out into the darkness. A year. What would she do in that time? She could travel, but what fun would it be without him? She could go to parties and balls, plays and operas, meet a thousand men, but to what purpose? There was no room in her heart for anyone but Alesandro.

  He wanted her to have a normal life, to play in the sunshine, to marry and have children. She placed her hands on her flat stomach and tried to imagine her womb swollen with new life. She had never given any thought to child-bearing before, had taken it for granted that she would someday marry and have children, though she'd had no idea who her future husband might be. She had caught the eye of one of the neighboring young men, but they had never done more than smile at each other and speak a few words, and now he was dead, killed by the same epidemic that had taken the lives of her family.

  Was she willing to give up having children to be with Alesandro? The answer was an overwhelming yes. She was willing to give up everything and anything to be with him, to love him. She would spend the rest of her days trying to make him happy if only he would let her.

  And that, of course, was the one question for which she had no answer. Would he let her?

  * * *

  Chapter Twenty-three

  She woke early the following afternoon after a night spent tossing and turning. When she had finally slept, her dreams had been dark, fragmented, filled with blood-red eyes and dripping fangs, of a child's arms reaching out to her, of an empty crypt and a round stone cottage. She had awakened once, just before dawn, certain she heard a wolf howling out in the gardens. The sound, so lost, so lonely, had sent a shiver down her spine.

  Now, in the light of day, she knew it had only been a dog barking. There were no wolves in the city.

  She rang for Frannie, hoping she'd feel better after her cocoa and a hot bath.

  The maid arrived a few minutes later bearing her chocolate. Dewhurst filled the tub, and while Analisa bathed, Frannie laid out her clothing for the day. Sensing Analisa's pensive mood, the maid said little as she helped Analisa dress, then brushed her hair.

  "Will that be all, miss?" Frannie asked.

  Analisa regarded herself in the mirror. Frannie had arranged her hair in a neat chignon at her nape. It made her look older, more mature. Would Alesandro think so? Would she even see him tonight? Would she ever see him again? Whatever had possessed her to talk to him the way she had last night?

  Oh, but he made her so mad, always trying to be so noble, to do what he thought was best for her. And even if leaving him was best for her, she didn't care. Alesandro might have centuries, but she didn't. Life was too short to spend even a year without him.

  Despite all that was on her mind, the day passed surprisingly fast. She spent an hour reading and another hour working on her penmanship. She went out and walked through the gardens, spent a quiet few minutes in the arbor watching a bird build a nest in a tree.

  She went in for lunch, worked on her needlepoint, and then took a nap. She rang for Frannie when she woke, picked out the gown she would wear that evening, had the maid touch up her hair.

  Sitting at the dinner table, she grew increasingly tense, waiting, wondering if Alesandro would appear, or if he would again avoid her, as he had in the past.

  After dinner, she went into the parlor and sat in front of the hearth, trying to decide what she would do if Alesandro sent her away.

  Her options were much more promising now than when she first arrived. She could read and write, she knew proper etiquette, her table manners were more refined. She might be able to find a position as a governess, or, at the least, a lady's maid.

  Or she could accept Mr. Starke's marriage proposal…

  She stared into the flames. Mrs. Geoffrey Starke. She could do worse, she thought. He was a handsome man with pleasant manners and a lovely home. As his wife, she would want for nothing.

  She looked up as Mrs. Thornfield entered the room.

  "Can I get you anything, miss?" the housekeeper asked. "Cook made a lovely trifle. Perhaps you'd like some with a nice hot cup of tea?"

  "Yes, thank you, Mrs. Thornfield, that would be wonderful."

  With a smile, the housekeeper started toward the door, then paused and glanced over her shoulder. "Is everything all right, miss?"

  "Yes, of course. Why do you ask?"

  "You've fallen in love with him, haven't you?"

  She didn't pretend to misunderstand. "Yes, I have. Does it show?"

  The housekeeper nodded. "I recognize the signs."

  Analisa studied the other woman
for a moment, then murmured, "Oh, my," at the expression in the older woman's eyes. "You love him, too, don't you?"

  Mrs. Thornfield nodded. "Yes."

  "I'm sorry. I didn't know—"

  "How could you?"

  Analisa looked at the housekeeper as if seeing her for the first time. She must have been beautiful once, she thought, for she was still an attractive women in spite of her years and the gray in her hair.

  "How long have you been with him?" she asked.

  "Forty-seven years."

  Analisa knew she was staring, but she couldn't help it. "How old were you when you met him?"

  "I had just turned seventeen."

  "But that would make you—"

  "Sixty-four on my last birthday."

  "But…" Analisa would have guessed the housekeeper to be in her early forties.

  "But I look younger. Yes, I know." She lifted a hand to her neck in a gesture that Analisa knew she herself had made on more than one occasion. "When I was younger, there were times when I provided Lord Alesandro with what he needed. And once, when I was very ill, he saved my life, much as he saved yours."

  "And that's why you—"

  "Yes. Whatever it is in his blood that makes him what he is also has the power to slow the aging process in mortals."

  "That's… I don't know… incredible."

  "Yes, but true, nonetheless."

  "And you've kept his secret all these years."

  "Of course," the housekeeper replied softly. She lifted her head, looking past Analisa toward the door. "Good evening, my lord."

  Now that she knew, now that she was looking for it, Analisa wondered how she had ever missed the tenderness in the housekeeper's eyes when she looked at Alesandro.

  "I'll bring your tea directly," Mrs. Thornfield told Analisa, and left the room.

  Heart pounding, Analisa waited for Alesandro to join her on the sofa. As always, he moved soundlessly, appearing on the sofa beside her almost as if by magic. He wore a white shirt, open at the throat, buff-colored breeches, and calfskin boots.

  He looked at her, one brow raised inquisitively. "What is it?"