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 had happened.
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 her gown 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. "Who is 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 scent of 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
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 had happened.
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 her gown 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. "Who is 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 scent of 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
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