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 hadhappened.
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 hergown 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. "Whois 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 scentof 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?"
"Here, please.Sally?"
"Yes, miss?"
"Is Lord Alesandro at home?"
"I don't believe so, miss. Is there anything else you need?"
"No, thank you. Sally, wait," she called as the girl turned to leave.
"Yes, miss?"
"Sit down, won't you?"
Sally's eyes widened. "Oh, no, miss, I couldn't."
"Please."
Wringing her hands together, Sally glanced at the door, obviously uncertain as to whether she should obey or not.
Squaring her shoulders, Analisa forced herself to remember she was the lady of the manor, at least for the time being. Pointing to the small chair near the window, she said, "Sally, sit down."
The young maid did so with alacrity, her hands folded tightly in her lap. "Yes, miss?"
"Have you worked here long?"
"Going on three years now," Sally replied. "And right good years they've been."
"Have you ever seen anything... singular?"
"Singular, miss?"
"You know, anything strange? Anything out of the ordinary?"
"Why, no, miss." The maid leaned forward a little, her eyes widening with curiosity. "Have you?"
"No, not really."
Sally sat back, looking relieved.
"You have seen something, haven't you?"
The maid shook her head vigorously. "No, miss, but... well, I have feltsomething."
"What? When?"
Sally glanced at the door. "You won't tell anyone?" She meant Mrs. Thornfield, and they both knew it.
"No," Analisa replied quickly, "of course not."
"When I first come here, I went into the master's room late one night," Sally confided, her voice low, "to clean up, you know, because I'd forgotten to do it earlier in the day, and I..." She shook her head. "You'll think me mad."
"Go on."
"I felt like there was someone, or something, in there, watching me." The maid's laugh was high-pitched, nervous. "Gave me quite a fright, it did."
"Was that the only time?"
"Yes, miss. I never forgot to clean in there again, I can tell you that."
"Thank you, Sally."
"You're welcome. Is that all, miss?"
"Yes, thank you."
"I'll bring your breakfast directly," the maid said. Rising, she left the room.
Sipping her cocoa, Analisa tried to recall the details of her dream. She remembered that it had been pleasant in some parts and disturbingly frightening in others.
Sally brought her breakfast a short time later. For all that she was hungry, Analisa hardly tasted what was placed before her.
When she finished eating, she dressed and went downstairs. She read for a while, then spent two hours at her lessons with Mrs. Thornfield.
"You're doing wonderfully, dear," the housekeeper said, offering Analisa one of her rare smiles. "I think we're ready to move on to the next level."
Analisa basked in the housekeeper's praise. She loved being able to read, loved knowing how to write, though she had no one to correspond with. But perhaps she did, she thought, and dipping her pen in the ink well, she began to write:
Dear Doctor Martinson: I take pen in hand to write and let you know that I am doing well.
Lord Alesandro has returned, and he has been most kind. His housekeeper, Mrs. Thornfield, is
teaching me to read and write. I hope this short letter finds you well.
Sincerely, Analisa Mathews
She examined it critically, pleased that there were no unsightly blots. When the ink was dry, she folded the paper neatly and left it on the desk. Tomorrow, she would ask Mrs. Thornfield to post it for her.
Picking up her book, she read for half an hour, then put the book aside and left the house. It never failed to amaze her that all this land belonged to Alesandro. Acres and acres of grass and trees, ferns and flowers. It was like a wonderland, a fairy land, with trees cut in the shapes of elephants and giraffes and bears, ferns that grew in wild green splendor, a clear pond where colorful fish swam in lazy contentment. Winding paths lined withneatly trimmed hedges led into the gardens, where flowers in brilliant shades of red and pink and yellow and purple grew in abundance.
She wandered further away from the house than she ever had before. The grounds were not so carefully tended here. There were weeds in the grass; the hedges weren't trimmed. The path she was following gradually disappeared. She heard the sound of a waterfall up ahead, and followed it into the forest that rose up to her left.
As she went deeper into the forest, the trees grew taller, thicker, their branches rising upward, entwining, so that very little sunlight penetrated through the foliage to the forest floor. Sparrows flitted from tree to tree. Once, she saw the white flash of a deer's tail.
Enchanted, she walked faster, and then, as if by magic, the waterfall appeared before her, cascading over a high granite cliff, falling into a large pool that emptied into a river. A rainbow shimmered in the spray.
"Oh," she breathed. "It's beautiful."
Hurrying forward, she sat down on the grass. Taking off her shoes and stockings, she put her feet in the water. And immediately took them out again. The water was icy cold.
She sat there for a long while, watchingthe birds flutter back and forth from tree to tree, listening to the music of the waterfall.
She glanced up as the sky grew dark, surprised to see gray clouds gathering overhead. Moments later, it began to sprinkle. Grabbing her shoes and stockings, she put them on; then, flinging out her arms, her face turned up to the sky, she twirled round and round and round until dizziness overcame her and she dropped to the ground, breathless. She sat there until the world stopped spinning.
The rain was falling harder now.
"Time to go back," she muttered, and stood up.
Chilled to the bone, she hurried down the path, only to come to an abrupt halt as there was a blinding flash of lightning. A moment later, the tree in front of her burst into sizzling flame.
With a shriek, she threw her hands in front of her face as sparks and bits of bark exploded before her eyes. The storm was raging now, the skies black, the wind scattering sodden leaves and small branches. Thunder rumbled like distant drums across the heavens.
Turning, she ran through the forest, heedless of her direction, ran until the trees were far behind and she found herself in the middle of a small meadow.
She stopped abruptly, peering through the rain's gray haze. Was she imagining things? Wrapping her arms around her waist, she stared at the sight before her. At first glance, there appeared to be a small cottage made of gray stone at the far edge of the meadow. Only she had never seen a round cottage before, or one that had no windows and no chimney. The roof, also made of stone, was peaked, reminding her of one of the turrets at the manor house. The door to the cottage was made of iron instead of wood.
Shivering from the cold, she moved closer, taking shelter from the wind and the rain under the slight overhang that extended above the doorway. What manner of place was this? she wondered. Certainly no one would live in a dwelling without windows or a fireplace. Perhaps it had once been used as a jail, or a storage shed.
Convinced that she wasn't about to intrude on someone's home, she reached for the latch. She was still reaching when the door swung open of its own accord. She hesitated a moment, then stepped warily inside.
There was a whoosh of air as the door closed behind her, plunging her into complete and utter darkness.
And the realization that she was not alone.
