Midnight Pleasures

by Amanda Ashley

  "I don't know, miss. I hope not," he had replied, and left the room.

  Chapter Three

  I long for what I've lost

  For that which can never be.

  I cloak the horror of what I am

  and pray you never see.

  He sat in his favorite chair before the fire, gazing, unseeing, into the flames. She permeated his house, his thoughts, his dreams. Never before had a woman affected him like this, taking hold of his every waking moment, tormenting him with her nearness. He spent his nights hovering near her while she slept, watching her, listening to her breathe, to the beat of her heart, the sound of the blood flowing through her veins. She smelled always of flowers. Even when the hunger lay dormant within him, he was drawn beyond his power to resist being with her, to touch the smoothness of her cheek, to run his fingers over her lips and imagine his mouth there.

  She was so beautiful, this child-woman who wandered through his house by day and sustained him through the night. He knew her thoughts, heard the tears she sometimes shed in the night. It pleased him to satisfy her every want, to dress her in fine clothes, to provide the best food and wine that money could buy. He took pride in her ability to learn, and ordered books and music he thought would please her.

  It was the least he could do, he thought, for she gave him life, and no matter how he tried, he could never repay her for that.

  He knew the moment she fell asleep. He heard the change in her breathing, felt a change in the house itself, as if the life went out of it while she slumbered.

  He would not go to her tonight. He would take to the streets and ease his craving there. Yet even as the thought crossed his mind, he knew it for the lie it was. Already, he was rising, her innocence calling him, beckoning him, the single light in the darkness of his existence.

  Soundlessly, he climbed the stairs and opened the door to her room. She locked her door each night, but no lock made could keep him out.

  And then he was standing beside her bed, gazing down at her. It was a warm night, and she had thrown off the covers. Her nightgown had ridden up, exposing a long length of softly rounded thigh.

  His body stirred to life, hunger and desire riding him with whip and spurs as he sat down on the bed beside her.

  He was bending over her when he realized that she was awake and staring at him.

  Certain she was dreaming, Rhianna closed her eyes and opened them again. The tall dark figure was still there, hovering over her, like smoke.

  "Lord Rayven?" She couldn't see his face in the darkness, yet she knew somehow that it was he.

  "Go to sleep, Rhianna," he murmured. "You're very tired. Your eyelids are heavy, so heavy you can no longer keep them open."

  "No…"

  "Sleep, sweet Rhianna. Sleep is what you need."

  His voice, deep and melodic, winding around her like a soft cocoon.

  Her eyelids fluttered down, and she was following a narrow path through the darkness. She tried to turn back, but her feet refused to obey. Her heart was racing; she could hear the blood pounding in her ears as she drew ever closer, wondering who awaited her in the shadows tonight, the man who took her in his arms and held her as if she were a precious gift, or the one who preyed upon her flesh. Would she awake feeling loved and protected, or sobbing with fright? Or would this be the night she wouldn't awaken at all?…

  She came awake to the sound of her own cries. Disoriented, she looked around, her pulse gradually slowing as she realized the nightmare was over and she was safe in her room.

  She glanced at the door. The key was still in the lock. It had all been a dream, and yet this one had been so real, so vivid, she would have sworn Lord Rayven had entered her room last night, that she had awakened to find him sitting on the bed beside her, his dark eyes glowing with an unholy light as he bent over her.

  Rhianna shook her head to clear the images from her mind. Just a dream. That's all it had been, just a dream. She brushed a lock of hair from her neck, her fingers pausing as they encountered what felt like an insect bite.

  She spent the day in her room and tried to study her lessons, but she couldn't concentrate. She tried to take a nap, but sleep eluded her. She had no appetite for lunch.

  Bevins looked in on her several times, his brow lined with concern. Once, she asked him to look at the marks on her neck. A shadow passed over his eyes as he examined the tiny wounds. It's nothing, miss, he had assured her. A bite of some kind, I would say. Perfectly harmless.

  At dusk, she shook aside her lethargy, bathed, and dressed for supper.

  Bevins had just served the first course when Rhianna felt a sudden tingle. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw Lord Rayven standing in the doorway, dressed, as before, in impeccable black.

  "My lord." She started to rise, startled by his unexpected appearance, unnerved by the fact that he was a man of title and property, while she was nothing more than his servant, no matter that she had yet to serve him in any way.

  He motioned for her to remain seated as he took the chair across from her. "Do you mind if I join you?"

  "Of course not. It's your house, after all."

  She toyed with her napkin as he settled back in his chair. A moment later, Bevins entered the room bearing a crystal decanter and a wineglass, which he set in front of Rayven.

  "Thank you, Bevins," Rayven said. "That will be all."

  "As you wish, my lord. Good evening, miss."

  When they were alone again, Rayven studied the girl's face, noting the faint smudges beneath her eyes. "You are well?"

  "Yes, my lord."

  "And are you happy here?"

  Her gaze slid away from his. "I am not unhappy, my lord." She gestured at the platters of meat and fowl in the center of the table. "Will you not eat something, my lord? Bevins is a very fine cook." She felt her cheeks flush. "I don't suppose I need tell you that."

  A faint smile hovered over his lips. "Thank you, no. How are your lessons coming along?"

  "Nicely, I think. Bevins says I have a talent for music, but it's reading I love."

  "Indeed?"

  "Oh, yes! Tales of brave knights and fair ladies, far-off lands, dragons and sorcerers."

  Rayven's hands clenched in his lap as he watched her face, so alive, so expressive. So young. Heat flowed through him as she went on, her voice filled with the excitement of discovery. Had he ever been that young, that eager to learn?

  Rhianna bit down on her lip, suddenly conscious of Rayven's gaze on her face. His eyes, as black as midnight mist, seemed to be searching her very soul.

  "I'm… I'm sorry," she stammered. "I didn't mean to run on like that. It must seem silly to you."

  "Not at all. Perhaps…" He took a deep breath. "Perhaps you would read aloud to me this evening."

  "Oh. I… I'm still learning. I'm afraid you would soon be bored."

  "It would please me very much, Rhianna."

  "Very well then, if you're sure."

  "Quite sure."

  "Would you care for a glass of wine, my lord?"

  At his nod, she lifted the decanter and filled his glass, noting, for the first time, that the wine was dark and red. Like blood.

  His fingertips brushed hers as he took the glass from her hand. She was startled by the little frissons of heat that leapt from his skin to hers, by the jumbled images that filled her mind, images of a man writhing in pain, bleeding, screaming.

  As quickly as it had appeared, the vision was gone, leaving her to wonder if she had seen anything at all.

  Rayven leaned back in his chair, his gaze fixed upon her face. Had she felt it, too, the mystical flame that had sparked between them? He had glimpsed a well-spring of hope within her, a yearning for a home and family of her own, longing for the home she had left behind. What, if anything, had she sensed in him?

  Rhianna took a deep breath, unsettled by the tension between them. "Would you mind if I shared your wine?"

  "I doubt you would find it to your liking."

 
She glanced at the dark liquid in the decanter, then reached for her own glass, which was filled with water.

  "Finish your supper, Rhianna," he said. "You need to keep up your strength."

  "Why? I never do anything more strenuous than play the piano."

  "Because you're hungry."

  Obediently, she picked up her fork and began to eat. She was hungry, after all.

  Later, he sat in a chair before the fire, sipping from his wineglass, while she read to him. Time and again, she glanced in his direction, expecting him to be bored or asleep, but always she found him watching her, his fathomless black eyes burning with a strange fire, a warmth hotter and more penetrating than the heat radiating from the crackling flames in the hearth.

  "Tell me about yourself," he said, surprising them both.

  "There's little to tell, my lord. I have four sisters, all younger than I." Her voice turned bitter. "My father sold me. Surely that tells you all you need to know."

  "It tells me he needed money."

  "He could have sold his horse."

  A wry smile curled Rayven's lip. "And would you have pulled the plow in the horse's stead?"

  She lifted her chin defiantly. "I have done so in the past."

  Her admission touched a chord within him. Proud, she was, in spite of her poverty.

  "You'll never have to do so again."

  "Why did you buy me?"

  Rayven shrugged, unable to admit the truth. "Why do you think?"

  "I don't know." Her gaze slid away from his. "I thought that… I mean…"

  "Go on. What did you think?"

  "Nothing."

  "Tell me." She heard the sliver of steel beneath his softly spoken command.

  "I thought you bought me so I wouldn't have to disrobe in front of the others."

  "You're very perceptive, sweet Rhianna."

  "But why? You never…" Fire climbed into her cheeks, and she bent her head to the book.

  "I never come to your bed?"

  She didn't look up, but she nodded.

  "And that bothers you?"

  "Oh, no," she said quickly. It didn't bother her, not really, although it stung her pride to think he found her so ugly as to be completely undesirable.

  "Rhianna, look at me."

  Slowly, she met his gaze.

  "You are a beautiful young woman," he said quietly. "But you are young. Far too young for me." His hands clenched in his lap. "Be glad I do not come to your bed." A shiver ran through her as his gaze held hers. "You would not like what would happen if I did."

  She stared into his eyes, caught in their darkness, in blackness that was icy cold yet hotter than flame. It was like looking into eternity, she thought, into an endless black void filled with such yearning that she wanted to weep.

  Muttering an oath, Rayven stood up. "Go to bed, Rhianna," he said curtly.

  Frightened by the seething turmoil in his voice, she scrambled to her feet and hurried from the room. Panic lent wings to her feet, and she fairly flew up the stairs to her bedchamber. Inside, she turned the key in the lock, then collapsed on the bed, feeling as though she had just escaped, though from what, she couldn't say.

  Chapter Four

  I shadow my gaze in your presence

  and pray you may ne'er be part,

  Of the hunger that claws at my vitals

  of the evil that blackens my heart.

  Rayven stared after her, his hands curled into tight fists. It had been a mistake, joining her at supper. Never before had he spent time with the women he brought here. He used them as long as it was safe, then he paid them handsomely and sent them away. Far away, with a warning never to return. He had never watched any of the others so avidly while they slept, or burned with such longing for the touch of their flesh.

  But Rhianna… She drew him in ways he didn't understand. She was no different from the others. All had been young. All had been beautiful. Though none had been quite so young, or quite so beautiful, as Rhianna. All had been born in poverty and ignorance. But none had expressed such an eagerness to learn.

  He should send her away now, before it was too late.

  But he knew he would not.

  Releasing a deep breath, he reached for the wineglass on the table. He stared at the deep red liquid for a long moment, suddenly sickened by the blood and wine concoction that had sustained him for four hundred years. With an oath, he hurled the goblet into the fireplace and stalked out of the room.

  Rhianna sat back on her heels, an immense feeling of satisfaction warming her as she surveyed her handiwork. It had taken hours and hours of hard work, but the castle gardens bloomed with color. Months ago, there had been nothing out here but barren ground and a few scraggly weeds. Now, there were flowers of all kinds and colors, lacy ferns and shrubs.

  At home, she had spent long hours laboring in the vegetable patch, hoeing, weeding, nurturing the tender plants that fed the family. There had been no time or space to waste on flowers.

  Rising, she pressed a hand to her back. But this… She closed her eyes, basking in the sun's warmth, in the heady fragrance that rose all around her. This had been a labor of love. She had planted vegetables, too, but only the ones she liked.

  Removing the wide-brimmed hat that shaded her face, she walked along the narrow dirt path that wove in and out of the flower beds. In addition to flowers, she had planted fruit trees, thinking they would add not only beauty for the eye and shade from the sun, but a bountiful harvest.

  When she reached the end of the garden, she stared at the maze that rose up near the castle's outer wall. The hedges that formed the maze were the only thing in the garden that had not needed care. She had wandered to the edge of the maze several times, but she had never found the courage to go inside. There was something ominous about the place, though she couldn't say what. Perhaps it was her fear, however irrational, of being lost in it.

  With a sigh, she sank down on one of the marble benches that were scattered through the garden. It had been three months since the night Lord Rayven had joined her in the dining room. Why had he sought her out that night? Why hadn't he sought her company again?

  She had been at the castle for almost six months now. Anything she desired was hers for the asking. She had all the clothes she would ever need. She had become an avid reader and she had discovered she had a talent for playing the pianoforte, and for painting. In truth, she had everything she had ever wanted—everything except someone to share it with.

  When she was bored, Bevins drove her to the marketplace in the next town for a day of shopping and then, like a silent shadow, he followed her wherever she went. It would have been fun, buying whatever caught her eye, taking lunch in one of the inns, if it hadn't been for the boldly curious stares people sent in her direction. Save for the shopkeepers, no one spoke to her, though all who saw her nodded politely. It amazed her that gossip from her small village had spread to the next town, that everyone she met seemed to know she was living in Castle Rayven. Sometimes she heard Rayven's name mentioned, always in hushed whispers, always followed by the sign to ward off evil. It gave her a sad, lonely feeling.

  Once, she had asked Bevins if she might invite her mother and sisters to the castle. He had replied, "No, miss, you may not," in such a way that she had never asked again.

  Occasionally, she wondered if he might permit her to go visit her family, but she never found the nerve to ask.

  Sometimes, she felt like a princess in a fairy tale, imprisoned in a magic castle but cut off from the rest of the world.

  And always, lurking in the back of her mind like a dark shadow, was Rayven. She never saw him, never heard his voice, save in her dreams. She wondered what he did all day, if he was even in the castle. For all she knew, he could have left months ago. Rayven. He was like a riddle with no answer, a puzzle that could not be solved. Why had he brought her here?

  It was a thought that stayed foremost in her mind the rest of the day, and followed her to bed that night.

&nb
sp; He stood in one of the rooms in the east tower, staring out the window, his gaze drawn to the yard below. Bathed in the dancing silver shadows of the moon, the white roses glowed like ethereal blooms planted in some mystical garden. He felt a sudden longing to wander through the grounds during the light of day, to see the myriad colors of the flowers that Rhianna had nurtured, to touch the petals her hands had touched. In the darkness, the bright rainbow colors looked muted, devoid of life.

  Turning away from the window, he donned his cloak and drew on his gloves. Perhaps a midnight ride would soothe him; if it did not, he would go to Cotyer's and squander the remaining hours of darkness at one of the gaming tables and lose himself, for a few hours at least, in a semblance of normalcy.

  Leaving the room, he locked the door behind him, then made his way swiftly along the dark hallway and down the stairs.

  His steps slowed as he approached the stables. Abruptly, he turned away and made his way to the side yard. The fragrance of hundreds of flowers, of freshly turned earth, and grass and trees, rose up around him as he walked slowly down the narrow pathways, pausing now and then to caress the velvety softness of a rose. Rhianna had done this, had turned ugliness into beauty. He wondered if, offered the chance, she would be able to work the same miracle in his life.

  A ripple in the air, the scent of warm skin, alerted him to her presence. He whirled around, his gaze piercing the darkness.

  "Come out," he said. "I know you are there."

  She stepped from behind a hedge, her cheeks flushed, her hands worrying the folds of her robe. Moonlight washed her hair in silver, turned her skin to alabaster.

  "What are you doing out here at this time of night?" he demanded.

  "I…"

  "Speak up, girl. You needn't be afraid."

  "I saw you from my window, and I wondered what you were doing out here at this time of night."

  "I was thinking of you," he admitted.

  His words sent a thrill of excitement racing down her spine. "Were you, my lord?"

  He nodded, his gaze sweeping over her. She wore a voluminous robe of apricot-colored velvet. A froth of white lace framed her face. Her feet were bare and oddly provocative. "Why aren't you asleep, sweet Rhianna?"