Midnight Kiss

by Nancy Gideon

  With an impatient move, he turned her, pressing her back against the paneled wall. The intensity of his kiss escalated, and she responded with like urgency. When he broke from her lips, Arabella was gasping raggedly. He could feel her runaway pulse as his mouth touched briefly upon the smooth curve of her throat. Quickly, almost fearfully, he moved on, easing downward to the delicate junction of neck and shoulders.

  His hands had risen to support the agitated heave of her bosom. Remembering the silken contours, Louis was drawn to sample from that soft bounty, sketching the upper swells with the warmth of his breath and the brief trace of his tongue. Arabella shuddered, her eyes squeezing shut as breathing grew jerky. She rolled her head against the dark-paneled wood as her fingers meshed restlessly in his yet-damp hair. Encouraged by the upward thrust of her torso, he tucked his hands beneath the fit of her bodice, inside where her skin was heated and her heart beat, fast and furious. His name moaned from her, low and luscious sounding, as he lifted her breasts from the confines of fabric and moved to taste those tender tips.

  The height of his arousal was unexpected. Suckling at her taut breast was as erotically charged as drawing from an artery, nourishing his senses as the other had fed his body. The quiver of anticipation massed to an ache of need, a hunger as overwhelming as any he’d felt in his former existence. A need only this able woman in his arms could meet, and she gave every sign of being willing.

  He came up slowly, rubbing his face along the smoothness of her bared skin, lifting up until they were eye-to-eye. Hers were soft and as dreamy as a new dawn. Her lips moistened and parted with a yearning as desperate as his own. He took a moment to satisfy that craving, slanting, sliding, sucking upon her generously offered mouth. And as he did, he readjusted her clothing so that temptation wouldn’t carry them away. When he did, he felt her quick gasp of protest.

  “Louis—”

  He silenced her with another kiss, then lifted from that succulent surrender to whisper, “I love you, Bella.”

  A tremor raced through her, and he could hear her frantic swallowing. She stared at him, her eyes glistening as he continued in the same emotion-rough voice. “I want to make love with you. I want to make children with you.”

  Again, that fitful shiver. Then her hoarse reply. “It’s what I want, too.”

  Her hands were on his shoulders, their slender fingers kneading the silken material in an expressive demonstration of desire. He leaned into her, trapping her body against the wall with the press of his own. She was frail for all her courage, slight for all her stature. Mortal. Vulnerable. As was he. And he was struck at once with the precariousness of their situation and with the fleeting nature of their lives. A panicked urgency spread through him, a need for a greedy, immediate gratification. Because he knew now, as he hadn’t before, how quickly the moment passed.

  “Bella, marry me. Be my wife. Share my days and nights. Let us live out our dreams and our desires as one.”

  There wasn’t the slightest hesitation. “Yes. Oh, yes, Louis. Yes.”

  “Soon. As soon as we can.”

  “Yes.”

  “If you want a grand wedding with all the pomp and trimmings, we can wait—”

  “No,” she interrupted hurriedly. “I don’t want a big wedding. I want you. I’ve always wanted you. Always.”

  He rested his brow against the top of her head and breathed in slow and deep. It was too good, too good to be believed. “Bella, are you sure? There is so much you do not understand.”

  “I know that I love you. And I know that I’m sure. My heart and mind are not of a fickle nature, sir.”

  He smiled at her staunch tone. With her chin in the valley of his cupped hands, he raised her face so their gazes could mingle. He looked deep and drank of the strength and sincerity he saw there. “Your father will object, and he has every reason to.”

  “Let him. I am of an age where I no longer have to listen.”

  “But you should, Bella, mia innamorata, my love. You should listen to everything he has to say. Listen, and weigh this decision carefully. If you’ve any doubts—”

  “I have none.”

  He smiled again, somewhat cynically. “But you will.”

  “Then you can conquer them.”

  Louis found himself as needful of her optimism as he was of her love.

  Then she smiled at him with a touch of playfulness. “You promised me eternity and paradise, remember?”

  “Alas, eternity is no longer within my grasp, but paradise, that you shall have.”

  “Then I’ll ask no more of you.”

  He was about to kiss her again to seal that vow upon her lips when he realized Takeo was waiting in the hall, his youthful features carefully guarded.

  “Our meal is ready.” He straightened into a pose of propriety and offered his arm in escort. She took it with trembling fingers and clutched tight.

  THERE WAS LITTLE conversation over their candlelit meal. Louis paid a concentrated attention to his plate, and Arabella was too excited for clear thought. She was distracted as the Asian boy leaned over her to pour her wine. When he withdrew as silently as he’d come, she looked to Louis in question. “He doesn’t have much to say, for a servant.”

  Louis glanced up and gave a bitter sigh. “Because he cannot. Takeo was born without the power of speech.”

  Her features crowded with compassion. “How sad for him.”

  “Oh, please, waste no pity on him. He wants none. A more prideful and resourceful child I’ve yet to meet.”

  “And where did you meet him?”

  “In the Orient. He was in the service of a man who fought children one against the other, like animals, for money. When I... removed the threat of his master, he attached himself to me out of gratitude. Ours has been a beneficial relationship since then. I provide for him and he watches over me. Much like your Mrs. Kampford.”

  “He is your only servant?”

  Louis shrugged. “My needs are few. I have no lust for luxury or pretense. Will that suit you, Bella? Should you need more—”

  “No.”

  What more could there possibly be?

  Silence settled again, and the canted looks shuttling between them simmered. Finally, Louis rose and extended his hand.

  “You should go now. Speak to your father and heed his words. I shall understand if, after listening to his arguments, you choose not to return.”

  She smiled faintly. “If I do not return, it’s because he’s had me committed to Bedlam.” She paused in the hall while he retrieved her wrap. When he slipped it around her and used the excuse to pull her close, her expression sobered. “This is not madness, is it, Louis?”

  “All love is madness. But I will suffer it gladly.”

  “As will I.”

  He kissed her brow, ignoring the way her body melted against his in tempting supplication. “I love you, Bella. Come back to me.”

  He stood at the door, watching her race the length of the walk to her waiting carriage while a brisk rain pelted down upon her. Then she stepped within, pausing long enough to wave the hand that held the onyx stone before the conveyance carried her into the night.

  Returning to the dining room he’d never used before this night, Louis picked up his glass of wine and sipped from it. How curious he found the differing tastes and texture of a human meal! He’d forgotten what it was like to eat from a varied plate.

  And so had his system, he discovered quite acutely, as his stomach wrenched in sudden distress. Unused to the process of digestion, it rebelled with violent heaves and spasms until emptied of the foreign sustenance. It took some time for the cramping to ease, but even as he rose weakly from hands and knees, he had no regrets.

  For this day, he had his first walk in daylight, his first normal meal, and his first taste of passion in over
three hundred years. It was worth the pain of adjustment. It was worth all the risks. He would be a normal man again. And he would have Arabella Howland.

  Chapter Ten

  THE FIRST THING Arabella noticed was Wesley Pembrook’s sensible cloak. It was then she heard voices raised in animated discussion. Frowning, she started toward her father’s study and was intercepted by Bessie.

  “Thank goodness you be home, Miss. Mr. Pembrook has closeted himself with the doctor, and they’ve been going on like this for some time. I quite fear for the doctor’s state of health.”

  “I’ll see to it, Mrs. Kampford.” And she strode forward purposefully, intending to dress down Wesley for agitating her father in his precarious condition. Just as she opened the door, she heard the haughty medical student’s claim and was astounded by its audacity.

  “For my silence, I’ll insist upon a partnership and the hand of your daughter.”

  “I think not!”

  Both men turned at her steely words. Her father was half reclined upon his sofa. He was pale and perspiring, obviously failing the strain of the interview. Wesley, on the other hand, looked flushed with power and confidence. And he regarded her with a smug smile. She spared him no quarter.

  “Mr. Pembrook, you show a singular lack of intelligence for a man of medicine. My father is in no shape to discuss business arrangements with you. They can wait until he is stronger and you are closer to taking your licensing exam. As for the other, the state of my affections is not something that can be bartered, and I highly resent being plied in such a manner.”

  “Bella—” Stuart cautioned. He looked unsettled, and had she been less incensed, Arabella might have been warned by his hesitation. But Wesley’s manner of condescending address quite sealed her ire.

  “My dear Miss Howland, I fear you mistake the matter.”

  “I mistake nothing, sir. My father needs his rest. He will contact you when he is able to continue talk of your future. As for our future together, let me make this clear: my interests are otherwise engaged. Now, if you would be so kind as to retrieve your cloak, I’ll bid you a good night.”

  Wesley stared at her in a sullen silence; then he turned back to his mentor. “You would do well to inform her of the facts. It is your future in the balance, not mine.”

  And with that, he swept out, sketching a bow to Arabella in passing. She stood back to give him plenty of space, then nearly slammed the door behind him. After a sharp, composing breath, she went to her father’s side.

  “Really, Father, you have little sense entertaining him in your weakened state. You should be abed.”

  “Where have you been, Bella?”

  She rushed on, evading the inevitable. “Let me call Mrs. Kampford, and we can get you up—”

  “Arabella! Where have you been?”

  “Attending to a personal matter—”

  “You’ve been with Radman, haven’t you?”

  She lifted her chin. “Yes. I went to see how he fared. I knew you would be concerned.”

  “And?”

  “He is well. Stronger, and coping nicely. He invited me to dine with him—”

  “Did he touch you?”

  “Father, we had dinner!” But beneath her outraged bluster, her face was fiery.

  “And upon what did you dine?”

  “I don’t know. His servant prepared some Oriental dish with beef and spices. Did you want the recipe?”

  “Do not adopt an attitude with me, girl. And Radman, he dined with you?”

  “Yes.”

  “On beef?”

  “Yes.”

  Stuart remained wary. “And about what did you converse?”

  “His travels and his homeland, mostly. He gave me this. Isn’t it lovely?”

  Stuart paid scant attention to the mysterious black stone. “And?”

  “He wished me to convey his regards to you and to tell you he was sorry for your discomfort.” She was studying the stone with its ancient writings. The warmth was still high in her cheeks, and her father must have guessed she was avoiding something.

  “Bella?”

  “He asked me to marry him.”

  “Wha—”

  “And I said yes.”

  “You said—what?”

  “Yes.”

  If Stuart Howland was pale before, now he was completely void of color. He seemed at a loss of what to say. And to her horror, she saw his eyes well up with anxious tears. “Bella, you cannot. Please. You do not know—”

  “I know that I love him. I cannot imagine a future without him. He’s told me to listen to you, to heed your advice, and I will do the first, but as to the latter, I will marry him, Father. There is nothing you can say to dissuade me.”

  He closed his eyes as if in pain and a haggard helplessness came over him. Setting Louis’s gift atop her father’s desk, Arabella took up one of his hands and he clutched at it. For a long moment, they were silent. Then he looked up at her from a heartbreaking depth of despair. “I am too weary now for this discussion. I should like to rest. We will talk in the morning, Bella. Until then, I would have you know how much I love you.”

  “I know. Please don’t be upset—”

  “We will talk tomorrow.”

  And that’s all he would say. Arabella called to the housekeeper, and between them, they aided the doctor to his bed. It was a long while before Arabella sought sleep. When she did, she dreamed of Louis Radman. And his eyes were red and his teeth long.

  STUART HOWLAND visited Louis the next day . Louis greeted him in the rear conservatory. He was stretched out on a chaise, all sleek grace, basking in the sunlight.

  “You are looking well, Doctor.”

  “What are you doing to my daughter, Radman? What kind of tricks are you playing with her?”

  “Why, none, sir. That is quite beyond my capabilities now. As for what I am doing to her—nothing.”

  “That’s not what she has said.”

  “Oh?” An arrogant brow arched. “And what has she said?”

  “That she’s going to marry you.”

  There was a subtle relaxation to Radman’s pose that the doctor took no comfort in. “She is a woman who knows her own mind.”

  “I will not brook your interference here. I have plans for Bella. She is to wed Wesley Pembrook.”

  “Ha! That miserable worm? Never.”

  “She will, and you will not meddle.”

  “My dear doctor, the choice is hers and the answer freely given.”

  “If you persist in this—this obscenity, I will—”

  “What?” His drawl was low and icily polite. “You will what, Doctor? Do you threaten me? You forget with whom you speak.”

  “I do not forget to what I speak. The threat is from Pembrook.”

  “He knows nothing. Arabella will be my wife, and I will take care of Pembrook and his paltry blackmail.” He looked aloof and supreme in his confidence. And Stuart was sorely afraid. He knew his daughter; he knew how determined she was once her mind was set on something. And her mind was set on having Radman. The tragedy, the horror of it was staggering. To think he’d been responsible by bringing the marquis to their house, by letting Arabella associate with him. Surely if she knew—

  “She doesn’t know what you are.”

  Radman smiled and tented his long-fingered hands upon his taut midriff. “What I am, thanks to you, is a man who can love and care for her—and for her father. Do not forget that I have three centuries of wealth and power at my command. I do not threaten or take threats lightly. I can be generous or I can be cruel. You could do worse than to have your daughter married to a title such as mine, to an influence as far reaching as mine. Think of what I can do for both of you.”

  And Stuart thought for a mome
nt, but his greed was subdued by his fear. “I am thinking of what you could do to her.”

  “I will not harm her. I will give her a life of—”

  “Uncertainty! That is the best you can promise her.”

  For an instant, Louis’s attitude faltered and shadows crossed the haughty features now cast in golden warmth. Then he answered softly, coolly. “But life is uncertain, Doctor. I will marry Bella, and I will have what I’ve longed for these past centuries: a normal existence. And you will have all the funding you desire for your research. Think of it. Your daughter’s happiness, and your own success. What more could you possibly want?”

  “I want to know I’m not giving my only child to a monster.”

  Louis smiled at him grimly. “If I were a monster, would I be sitting here, or closed below, out of daylight’s reach? You have given me life, and I will see you well rewarded. Is there anything else, Doctor?”

  Stuart hesitated. He would not underestimate this man. Man or beast, he was powerful. As a friend, he could supply unlimited benefits to his field of study. As an enemy... he didn’t want to consider that. “Yes,” he said at last. “I would like a sample of your blood for study.”

  Calmly, Louis extended his arm. He sucked a harsh, surprised breath when Stuart cut him. It still amazed that such a small thing could hurt him. Patiently, he pumped his fist and watched the vital fluid spill into Howland’s jar.

  “You’ve had no ill effects since the transfusion?” Howland was now all clinical in his approach.

  “None.”

  “No reaction to sunlight or silver? No... unnatural appetite?”

  “No”

  “My daughter said you were taking in food.”

  “Yes.” Louis didn’t add he’d yet to keep any of it down. He assumed that would come with time. His body had a lot to adjust to.