telling you." His voice was soft and low, as intimate as a caress.
"She lied, then."
"At my request."
"But why?"
"I have my reasons for avoiding the constabulary."
She stared at him, astonished that he spoke of lying to the constable so easily, that he seemed so unconcerned. "But there was a murder…"
His expression grew dark. "Do they think me responsible?"
"I… I don't know," she stammered. "The constable didn't say."
"Do you?"
Her mouth went suddenly dry, and she clasped her hands in her lap to still their trembling, frightened by the way his gaze burned into hers, by the fine edge of anger she heard in his voice.
"No, my lord," she said, her voice no more than a squeak.
"You think me capable but not responsible?"
She stared at him, not knowing what to say, but knowing, deep inside herself, that he was capable of violence and, yes, even murder.
He lifted one brow, his grin mocking the growing fear in her eyes.
Analisa rose to her feet. "If you'll excuse me, my lord, I need to… to…" She searched her mind for some urgent matter of business. "To study my lessons."
In a lithe movement reminiscent of a cat intercepting a mouse, he stood, blocking her path.
He was tall, so very tall. She looked up at him, her heart pounding wildly. Mrs. Thornfield had told her she was safe here, but she didn't feel safe, not now, not with Alesandro standing so close. His eyes burned into hers, so dark they looked almost black. She wanted to look away, but try as she might, she could not draw her gaze from his.
His hands folded over her shoulders and slowly, slowly, drew her closer, until she could feel his breath on her face.
"Please." Even as the word whispered past her lips, she wondered what she was trying to say. Please don't hurt me? Please don't let me go?
His head lowered toward hers, until all she could see were his eyes burning like blue fires into her own.
"Analisa. Yield to me."
His voice was soft yet rough, like velvet rubbed the wrong way. It surrounded her, wrapping her in seductive warmth, beguiling her senses. She didn't know what it was he wanted, knew only that, whatever it was, she yearned to give it him, to ease the pain underlying his command.
"Analisa."
Her eyelids fluttered down and her head fell back, exposing her throat. As from a great distance, she heard a low sound, almost a moan; felt his breath, hotter than any fire, along her neck; heard him swear as he released her.
Feeling dazed and disoriented, she looked around. Mrs. Thornfield stood in the doorway, a look of disapproval on her face.
"What is it?" Alesandro snapped.
"Judith Wentworth is here, Doctor. She's wanting you to come look at her grandmother."
He nodded curtly. "Get my cloak."
Mrs. Thornfield glanced at Analisa, then turned and left the room.
"Go to bed, Analisa," Alesandro said brusquely. "And lock your door."
----
Chapter Six
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
"She lied, then."
"At my request."
"But why?"
"I have my reasons for avoiding the constabulary."
She stared at him, astonished that he spoke of lying to the constable so easily, that he seemed so unconcerned. "But there was a murder…"
His expression grew dark. "Do they think me responsible?"
"I… I don't know," she stammered. "The constable didn't say."
"Do you?"
Her mouth went suddenly dry, and she clasped her hands in her lap to still their trembling, frightened by the way his gaze burned into hers, by the fine edge of anger she heard in his voice.
"No, my lord," she said, her voice no more than a squeak.
"You think me capable but not responsible?"
She stared at him, not knowing what to say, but knowing, deep inside herself, that he was capable of violence and, yes, even murder.
He lifted one brow, his grin mocking the growing fear in her eyes.
Analisa rose to her feet. "If you'll excuse me, my lord, I need to… to…" She searched her mind for some urgent matter of business. "To study my lessons."
In a lithe movement reminiscent of a cat intercepting a mouse, he stood, blocking her path.
He was tall, so very tall. She looked up at him, her heart pounding wildly. Mrs. Thornfield had told her she was safe here, but she didn't feel safe, not now, not with Alesandro standing so close. His eyes burned into hers, so dark they looked almost black. She wanted to look away, but try as she might, she could not draw her gaze from his.
His hands folded over her shoulders and slowly, slowly, drew her closer, until she could feel his breath on her face.
"Please." Even as the word whispered past her lips, she wondered what she was trying to say. Please don't hurt me? Please don't let me go?
His head lowered toward hers, until all she could see were his eyes burning like blue fires into her own.
"Analisa. Yield to me."
His voice was soft yet rough, like velvet rubbed the wrong way. It surrounded her, wrapping her in seductive warmth, beguiling her senses. She didn't know what it was he wanted, knew only that, whatever it was, she yearned to give it him, to ease the pain underlying his command.
"Analisa."
Her eyelids fluttered down and her head fell back, exposing her throat. As from a great distance, she heard a low sound, almost a moan; felt his breath, hotter than any fire, along her neck; heard him swear as he released her.
Feeling dazed and disoriented, she looked around. Mrs. Thornfield stood in the doorway, a look of disapproval on her face.
"What is it?" Alesandro snapped.
"Judith Wentworth is here, Doctor. She's wanting you to come look at her grandmother."
He nodded curtly. "Get my cloak."
Mrs. Thornfield glanced at Analisa, then turned and left the room.
"Go to bed, Analisa," Alesandro said brusquely. "And lock your door."
----
Chapter Six
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
Similar Books
