by Jackie Ivie
They reached a flight of steps. These were crafted of more marble. Wide enough for three to walk abreast comfortably. The same white stone lined both sides but near the top it changed to an arrangement of paintings. It was hard to make them out, but they might even be by Tintoretto or Bellini. It resembled the staircase in the Doge Palazzo in St. Marks’ Square, although the artists used a lot more black and red in these compositions. Light was streaming down from above, revealing much more of the artwork as they climbed. Mandy’s lips parted. And then they were in a foyer that was larger than her entire flat in London. Taller, too. The space was at least two stories high, and the walls were filled with more paintings. The canvasses were enormous. The figures represented were larger than life-sized. White walls gleamed between the paintings, the plaster shaped into fleur de lis patterns. And every edge looked to be trimmed with gold paint. She didn’t dare consider that it could be real gold, but it might. The effect was creating glittering lines, directing the eye to the monstrosity of a staircase in the center of the room.
Her jaw dropped. She’d seen stairs like this. In books. Internet photos. They were normally part of a noble palace. Like the staircase in the Royal Palace of Naples. Or those in Schloss Esterhazy in Austria. She’d guess the width at twenty feet at the base, narrowing to half that as it curved upward. Mandy reached for the polished wood banister and leaned back. The staircase accessed two floors before disappearing somewhere in the gloom above a chandelier. And...wow. She had to look back down. That amount of light almost hurt. There was an enormous crystal chandelier taking up a good portion of the overhead space. It was lit with hundreds of bulbs that sent all kinds of definition onto everything.
“You still with us, Miss?”
The servant said it over his shoulder. He still had an arm about Nigel’s shoulders. They’d reached the first landing. Mandy jogged the steps to catch up.
“Is it much farther?”
“The Staterooms are on the third floor.”
They started climbing again.
“Will...he be all right?” Mandy asked.
“Master Nigel? Oh. I believe so, Miss. Ah! Here we are. At last.”
They went through a set of double-wide doors. And that’s when Mandy not only gaped slack-jawed; she lost her breath, too. Nigel’s room was extremely dark. Either there were no windows, or they were sealed over. It was impossible to tell size, but it felt enormous. Spacious. All of it was in shadow. Except for the bed in the center of the room. That area had a spotlight on it or something. She couldn’t tell the light source. There was a big black square directly above the bed. Light emerged from all around it, to fall onto gauzy material that formed a canopy. Beneath that was a bed that defied description. The headboard was an enormous span of carved wood, with more golden tracery adorning it. The posts were thick and carved into spiral shapes. And then it was set upon its own partition, several feet above the floor. The entire thing was a work of art. It looked fit for royalty.
And she’d been worried over being a possible kidnap victim?
“There’s another room over there, Miss. Complete with a water closet.”
“Water closet?”
“Oh. Beg pardon. A restroom. With shower. Canal water is not known for its...shall we say, cleanliness? You should find everything you need. If you’ll give us a few minutes, I’ll see to getting the young master cleaned off, bandaged up, and settled for you. And then I shall take my leave.”
“Oh. Oh, yes. Of course.”
The man pointed to his left. Mandy started walking, experiencing the strangest sensation with each step. It was like she’d entered another world. She held her hands out before her, feeling her way down the back of a long sofa, around an armoire that dwarfed her, about a carved, wooden bureau. Her fingers felt each furniture piece while her eyes grew accustomed to the dimness. She easily skirted an arrangement of two wingback chairs and a small table. A door loomed into existence.
Behind her she heard Nigel groan again. As if he was in pain. She hoped it wasn’t his wound. And that thought made her hasten.
CHAPTER FIVE
“Oh, Sir! You made me out to be the lamest, weakest—! Argh! Why would you do such a thing?”
“Patience, Nigel. And lower your voice. Let me see that wound of yours. We haven’t got all night.”
“No way. You are not sponge-bathing me. I refuse. I’m drawing the line right now at any more of your little playact. You’ve got her thinking I’m a weakling. An invalid. Oh. Hell. She probably thinks I’m harmless.”
“Listen up, Nigel. I’ll spell it out for you.”
“Oh. Anything you say, Dad.”
Akron smirked. “I don’t understand your anger. You have your mate. She’s here. You’re here. And she’s a very beautiful young woman. “
“I can see that for myself.”
“She is also very intelligent. If you read her posts, you’d know that.”
“What makes you think I didn’t?”
“Intelligent women do not go to strange homes in the middle of the night with strange gentlemen. That being the case, I took it upon myself to balance the playing field.”
“What playing field?”
“This one. Oh, come now. It isn’t that difficult to understand. Your Mandy has gone against every instinct tonight. I’m going to take a guess at how serious her misgivings would be if I hadn’t stepped in. Let’s just say, they’d be pretty massive. Are you following me yet?”
“Not even remotely.”
Akron sighed. “Come, Boy. You said it yourself. She thinks you’re weak. An invalid. What else did you say? Oh yes. Harmless.”
“Thanks to you.”
“Exactly. And that’s the lone reason she’s still here. In that bathroom right there. Undressing. Showering. Getting prepared to spend time with you – alone. Oh. I’d better go snatch her clothing about now.”
“What?”
“Nigel. Please. I stocked plenty of options on attire for her.”
“You knew this would happen?”
“Well. The swim in the canal was a surprise, but a rather providential one. And please. Haven’t you ever heard the adage: Proper planning prevents piss poor—.”
“This is not planning, Sir. It’s manipulation of events.”
“Call it what you will. You are very lucky to have me, you know.”
“This is luck? She thinks I’m a spineless sop. And about as strong as a cream puff.”
“Exactly!”
“You want to be a little clearer?”
“You just said it. She thinks you are harmless, lad. That’s why she’s still willing to stay. With you. Alone. For as long as it takes your father to arrive.”
“That’s another issue, Sir. How are you going to pulling off an appearance as my dad once she’s seen you as first a gondolier, and now my manservant?”
“I’m of the opinion that my appearance will be unnecessary. You do have all night. Tomorrow. Perhaps even tomorrow night. Spend some of that time on a mating ritual or two. You know. Converse with her. Charm her. Figure out your commonalities and go from there. Now. Show me your wound.”
Nigel pulled the sweater away. There was a slight pink skiff mark where he’d had open, torn flesh.
“Just as I suspected. We’ll have to bandage it completely. After you clean up, of course. Quick. Use the other water closet.”
“It’s almost healed, Akron.”
“Precisely.”
“I won’t even need salve by the time I’ve showered.”
“You don’t really want her to know that, do you?”
“Wow. I never thought of that.”
“We have to hurry. Some women are notoriously slow once they enter a water closet area. It becomes a teleportation chamber or something. They disappear, only to emerge hours later looking completely different. There are other women who are remarkably efficient and quick. They actually use the room for its intended purpose. I’m going to hazard a guess that your Mandy is the latte
r and work around that supposition.”
“On it.” Nigel sprinted to the opposite side of the room than she’d gone. He stopped at the open door. “Wait a sec. What am I going to do about the mask?”
“How are you at faking migraines?”
“Sir.”
“I’m joshing, Nigel. Don’t worry. I’ll work with the lighting while you’re gone. You have another strictly all black-mask. Use it. You’re sensitive to light, remember? Now off! Get ready! I am not going to be here when she comes out of there. You understand? You are on your own. And isn’t that what you wanted?”
Nigel opened his mouth to reply, thought better of it, and entered the bathroom.
Akron hadn’t dimmed the lights enough, although he muted the one above the bed. He’d also lit four candelabra with full complement of tall tapers. Nigel had already scanned the room, observing the lighting at least fifty times in his nervousness. He was propped against the headboard, covered to his armpits with a black satin quilted comforter, resting against what was called a backrest, looking – and feeling – pretty damn diminutive. The black mask was ridiculous but he didn’t have much choice. He had a selection, but the others were all decorated and gaudy. At least this one was plain. Sort of. It was fashioned of a matte black material. The designer had cut the bottom into spikes though, as if he had daggers pointing toward his chin. He probably really looked like Paul Henry’s evil twin now. He only hoped she didn’t see the resemblance.
His new wardrobe had two sets of pajamas, too. Both identical. Both in black silk with neon blue piping, which not only looked vivid and eye-catching but probably matched his eye color. They’d been light blue before he’d turned. Now, he’d been told they were a vivid baby blue. He hadn’t cared. It wasn’t an issue. Then.
Now? He only hoped his eyes looked human.
Silk felt pretty nice, actually. But the bandage was restrictive. Akron assured him he would need it this tight. To prevent disclosure. In the event he did any activity warranting slippage. Akron hadn’t been looking toward him, so he’d missed Nigel’s look. Didn’t matter. He’d just wanted to be alone with her. Conversing. Kissing. Finding out if her nipples tasted as sweet as they’d looked...
Damn right, he was going to do activity that might make a bandage shift.
Now the pants were cutting where they shouldn’t, and the bandage felt even tighter. He could only take small breaths. He wondered if they matched Mandy. He did another circuit of the room with his gaze. Looked like Akron was wrong on his supposition of Mandy and a ladies room. That was odd. Akron was usually accurate as all get-out. Nigel leaned forward, lifted his knees which tented the comforter, rested his arms across it, and propped his chin atop a forearm as he contemplated the door at length.
And it finally opened. Light spilled out, acting exactly as a spotlight would through a transparent filter. Nigel’s jaw dropped. And every thought went right out of his head. Except one. Oh. Wow. Wow. Wow. Wow. Wow. Wow.
“Nigel?”
“Uh...” Was that his voice? The sound was deep. Growled. Resembling the hum of a mic if it was on too loud and caught a bit of ambient noise.
“Are you alone? Your manservant? Is he gone?”
Manservant? What manservant? Oh wait. She meant Akron. He opened his mouth to reply. She forestalled him.
“Never mind. I can see he is. Thank goodness. I feel—. I mean—um. Is it possible to get a blanket or something?”
“Blanket?” Blanket. What the hell was a blanket? And why would anyone want one?
“Um. My clothing. It’s gone. I guess it’s being washed. I hope it’s being washed. It was rather smelly.”
“Oh.” Oh? That was the best he could do for an answer? He couldn’t think. He could barely swallow. Parts of him were having the opposite problem. Nigel tightened his buttocks and thighs. The move raised his arm. So he lifted his head.
“You won’t think it too unseemly...?”
“Unseemly?” Unseemly. What the hell did that word mean? And why couldn’t he remember basic words?
“Well. We just met. And...don’t look. Okay?”
Don’t look? How was he supposed to do that? His wits were on a hiatus. Motor skills were malfunctioning. She was silhouetted as if she were naked. And she had a perfect body. Wow was insufficient.
“You’re...light sensitive. Allergic. That must be pretty bad. Maybe...you can’t see me very well?”
“Uh...”
She’d asked and his answer was another grunted sound. He wasn’t demonstrating scintillating conversationalist skills here. He wouldn’t be keeping a rock entertained. She stepped into the room, losing a bit of definition through her gown and a lot of illumination on her gown. And her. This was the attire Akron had gotten for her? Talk about manipulation! She was clothed in peach-shaded mist. Or something about as insubstantial.
“This was...the best of what was provided. And I couldn’t come out here naked. Could I?”
“Well. Um...”
“This is so not me. Really. I shouldn’t be here. I should borrow one of your phones and call for a ride to my hotel. Do you still have them?”
“Phones?”
“No. Wait. I’ll need my clothing back. Or something more concealing. A cloak, maybe? That’s it. Everyone in Venice has a large opera cape thing. You have one, don’t you?”
“Cape?” His mouth was just repeating words. Now he sounded stupid, on top of weak and invalided. Great. Just great.
“But. Maybe it’s okay. I mean, I’ve been doing all kinds of thinking. You can’t see very well, can you? You’re light sensitive. I mean...that might mean you’re allergic to any kind of light. Yes?”
Nigel groaned. The sound carried tones of pain. She was at his bedside the next instant. And that was almost worse.
“What is it? Is it your wound? You shouldn’t sit like that. It probably makes it hurt.”
Nothing could hurt worse than stifling every impulse as she stood there, bathed in candlelight. Her figure was outlined by the light behind her, while her beauty was displayed by the other candelabra. She had light golden hair. It was in a riot of curls about her face. Her skin was perfect. Her mouth rose-colored and lush. Her eyes were blue-green. Crystal clear. Like the waters off a Caribbean island. And the fixture in the ceiling sent more highlight she didn’t need.
The reaction of her nearness was palpable. And painful. His canines felt like a dentist was drilling at them. He clenched his teeth shut and worked at containing them. His chest felt as if his heart was trying to drum its way out. And his groin was a mass of angry sensitivity. He hadn’t felt this kind of reaction even when he’d lived. His balls were throbbing with some undiscovered rhythm while his cock hardened, grew heavier. Achingly heavy. He might as well be getting lanced with a tattoo needle. On second thought, this was exactly what Akron would have put into play.
And she just stood there!
“You’re...wearing a mask?”
Nigel sucked in a breath. Stopped when his chest couldn’t expand anymore due to Akron’s bandaging skills; exhaled. And then he licked his lips. “Yes.”
“But...why?”
“I’m hiding.” Oh. Shit. He couldn’t come up with anything other than the truth? Testosterone was a real problem. Control was starting to elude him.
“How...sad.”
“Sad?”
“You must be very lonely. It’s kind of like that movie about the boy who spent his life in isolation. Secreted away from life. Hidden from contact.”
Boy? Was she calling him a boy? He should be offended. He wasn’t. He was too caught up in fighting off the urge to grab her. Press his lips to hers. Kiss. Mesh. Consume. And follow that up with the inclusion of every other body part.
She climbed onto his mattress, far enough away that they didn’t touch. Close enough that his fight now had to extend to every muscle. Every instinct. Every damned cell. She settled into a cross-legged position, covered everything over with her gown, as if that helped, and then tur
ned to look at him. Nigel’s glance skittered away. He didn’t dare lock gazes with her. Not until he had control of this. He’d be enthralling her, and then he’d be overcoming and potentially taking. And he didn’t want that.
He really didn’t.
Well...maybe it would be okay, if she was a little mesmerized... Willing. Soft. Wondrously feminine.
No, Nigel. Stop.
His part of the bed shook for long moments as she just sat there. Watching him. Nigel worked at making his will conquer what was turning into massive need. He knew she watched. He didn’t have to check. His heart was slamming through him and each breath caught. And worse. They matched hers.
What had Akron advised? Find a commonality? Yeah. That was it.
“I’m...British.” Nigel finally spoke. The words were a little slurred. He couldn’t help it. He was speaking around fangs and a set jaw. He addressed the candles in the side of the room he still faced.
“You sound American.”
“I, uh...relocated. When I was younger.”
“Do you remember much of it?”
“Of what?”
She huffed what was probably amusement before replying. “Britain.”
“Oh. Yeah. A little. Fish and chips go great with lager. You have to drive on the left side of the road. Roundabouts can be fun. And they have great rock bands.”
“You like rock music?”
“Yeah.”
“Me, too.”
Nigel turned back to her. She was smiling. And unbelievably beautiful. He would have returned it, except everything was working against him. His fangs might even still be noticeable.
“I really like heavy metal. Not the new stuff. I love the classics.”
“You do?”
“Well. Yeah. There is nothing like a long, hard guitar riff. I...have a guitar. Actually I have several of them. The Fender American Deluxe. The Stratocaster. I even have a Gibson Custom.”
“No way. Really?”
Nigel grinned and instantly regretted it. Her eyes went wide and then she dropped her gaze. And then she blushed. And shit. Alarm bells went through his head to join his other ills. Because a rose-shade touched the tops of her cheeks, darkening them. His entire body lurched before settling back down. Everything from his lower belly to upper thighs twinged with a gut-wrenching sensation. He bit down on his tongue, but his canines weren’t evident. He released his jaw. Checked. Ran his tongue along his upper teeth. His fangs weren’t even spikes.
