Midnight Secrets (7 page)

“The scent of roses,” a deep, cultured voice with a hint of an Irish burr whispered close to my ear, and I knew it wasn’t Jamie. “The feel of a woman.” As he spoke, his arm about my stomach slid higher, pressing beneath my bosom, almost caressing the undersides of my breasts a moment. I rammed my spine back, lifting myself to my tiptoes, trying to keep from knowing the warmth of his muscled arm so intimately against me. This brought his mouth and the heat of his breath closer to my ear.

“The actions of a thief.” His tone was soft, menacing. My heart thundered harder, more painfully. “Will you come to such an ill fate, lass? ‘Like a rose, she has lived as long as roses live…the space of one morning’? Or will it be even less for you?”

Any affinity I had for Malherbe’s poetry met a quick death at that moment. I shook my head, trying to speak, but only managed a muffled squeal.

“Let’s see what you’ve stolen, my rose.”

I didn’t understand what he meant to do until he moved his gloved hand from beneath my breasts, sliding downward, pressing firmly along the contours of my body all the way down to my hips, then brushing over my intimate flesh as he slid from one dress pocket to the other, and finding my father’s pistol. His body jerked with surprise and he drew a sharp breath.

“Run or scream and I will kill you instantly.” He pulled the pistol from my pocket. His voice chilled and became deadly. I’d never heard true menace before now.

“Are you an assassin?” He released me, shoving the muzzle of the pistol into my back, urging me deeper into the room.

My legs shook, and my vision blurred. “Assassin? Good God! Please. I don’t know what you’re talking about. I haven’t stolen anything either. The pistol is mine. To keep me safe.”

I heard him light a lamp, filling the dark-paneled room with a muted glow. I barely saw the billiard table before me and the numerous game tables beyond that. I was too aware of the man behind me with my pistol to my back.

“Take off your cap,” he ordered.

Squeezing my eyes shut, I pulled off my cap, feeling almost as if I was removing my clothes before him. I hadn’t taken the time to pin my hair and it spilled down my back.

“Turn around, slowly.”

I did as he asked. Opening my eyes to fearful slits, I kept my gaze on the pistol and his large, black-gloved hand. At that moment I wanted to know if and when he would pull the trigger more than who he was or what he looked like. He’d barely eased my pistol back enough to allow me room to turn. As soon as I did, he pressed the muzzle deeper into my breast, directly over my pounding heart.

When he didn’t shoot, when he didn’t say anything at all, I finally lifted my gaze and met his deadly green stare. Sean Killdaren was everything his portrait promised and more.

“Who are you?”

Swallowing a lump of pure fear, I found my voice. “Cassie Andrews. I’m…the new housemaid.”

“I don’t know how well you can see, but I assure you, I am not that stupid. You’re no more a housemaid than I am a street urchin. The truth.”

“’Tis the truth. I am Cassie Andrews, and I…I needed work. Hard times…my father lost his post.” I held up my blistered hands.

“Where are you from?”

“Oxford.” I cringed, realizing I should have lied.

“You’re educated. You can’t convince me that between this hell and Oxford there wasn’t a single teaching post.”

“I left home…there was a…scandal. I had to,” I said, desperate. Inferring that I was a fallen woman seemed the only plausible excuse for why an educated woman would seek employment as a housemaid so far from home. I took heart in that every word I’d said was essentially the truth. I considered Mary’s death a hidden scandal.

Bolstering myself with that, I met the fire of his gaze as he studied me. Dressed completely in black right down to the cape he wore, he was as dark as his midnight painting had portrayed him and just as dynamic. The cleft of his shadowed chin, the fullness of his mouth, the height and breadth of him in person loomed larger than life, even more so than the painting. Only the fire in his dragon green eyes gleamed brighter than his picture, and I noted a sharper, more sinister edge to him, as if he could very well be a vamp—

I mentally shook the ridiculous thought away.

“Why the pistol?”

I swallowed and shut my eyes. “Protection. The scandal.” Heat flooded my face.

“Look at me, lass.” He pressed his gloved fingers to my chin.

I met his gaze with trepidation. How could I so unashamedly lead another person to such untruths?

His thumb caressed my cheek and a different sensation besides that of fear, coiled inside of me. The unknown emotion gripped me just as strongly as my terror had, but left me wanting to know what his ungloved touch would feel like against my cheek.

Whatever he looked for, he must have found it in my gaze, for he lifted the pistol from my breast and stepped slightly back, releasing my chin. “You’ll not need a weapon in my home, so I will keep it safe for you for now. Before you go, I want to know why you were eavesdropping on my father and Sir Warwick.”

“I…got lost. I wanted a book to read.”

“And you thought making use of the library a servant’s right?”

I shook my head no and lowered my gaze, feeling the sting in his question, but then couldn’t stay silent. “Don’t you think servants thirst to know things?”

“Perhaps,” he said oddly. “The library is down the opposite corridor from here.”

I nodded, starting to back away from him.

“I’ll escort you.”

“That’s not necessary.”

“You know the way?” He lifted a brow, clearly questioning the validity of everything I’d just said. His gaze bore down on me, and I backed away faster even though he didn’t move.

“No. I just…don’t think I’ll be able to read after…this. I’d like to retire now.”

A ghost of a smile seemed to curve his lips, but it came and left so quickly that I thought I imagined it. I kept backing up until I felt the door behind me and found the doorknob. Opening it, I winced at the pain from my blisters. Just before I escaped, he spoke so softly I almost didn’t hear him. “Perhaps you’ll meet me there some night.”

I immediately dismissed the words. Never would I do such an outrageous thing as meet a man alone at night. I moved so quickly with my blood roaring in my ears and my thoughts running so wildly that I didn’t see anything of what I passed on my return to my room. Once there, I pressed the door firmly closed and tried to draw an easy breath, but I couldn’t. I was too vulnerable. My body burned and shivered in places too intimate to acknowledge.

Bridget slept, softly snoring, completely oblivious to my tumultuous state. I wanted to shake her awake so I wouldn’t be alone with
him
, the feel of him, the exotic scent of him, the presence of him that seem to cling to every corner of my mind and body as if a magic spell had been cast over my person. But I was too ashamed to have anyone know, too shocked to speak about the surging, unknown feeling that had coiled inside of me the moment my terror had fled.

Moonlight spilled through the open window, allowing me enough light to see, and I grabbed a spindly chair from a corner, propping it beneath the doorknob. The precaution made me feel only marginally better. For in truth, I had little fear he had followed me. And the vulnerability preying on me had little to do with what might happen and everything to do with what had happened.

I’d dismally failed in my first investigative venture. The man had stolen my father’s pistol! He’d touched me, almost intimately, had held me at gunpoint no less, and I was too enamored by the man to even think about Mary and what may have happened to her.

Stripping off my dress in a disgusted huff, I slipped beneath the worn blanket of my cot and willed myself to forget everything and go to sleep, yet couldn’t.
He
wouldn’t leave me alone. He preyed upon my every thought, and the feel of his gloved touch irritatingly lingered upon my skin as much as the chafing wool.

Eventually, I resorted to whispering nursery rhymes and counting sheep. My mind and body would have none of it, and kept clamoring that I dwell on Sean.

Sean? Not Sean Killdaren or Mister Killdaren, or even The Killdaren, but Sean? Good heavens. Had I lost my mind? I was now even thinking of the man more intimately than propriety would allow. Yet his name and his lilting Irish brogue had delved deep inside me, all the way to the hidden places where I kept my grandfather’s stories of fairies and magic.

Desperate, I lit a candle and dug out the vampire book I’d borrowed from the library. Surely a story would wipe the man from my mind.

The woman entered the dark stone church, fearful of what she would find, but too alone in life to miss speaking to the man again. Earlier, when she’d been at the altar praying for the love she’d never known, he’d arrived. He’d knelt at the altar and prayed aloud, almost jovially, asking for the blessed blood of the Lamb. His comfortable manner with God had brought her prayers to a halt. She’d studied him, noting his dress, all somber black, with an edging of white at his collar.

“Is there something that I can pray for you?” he’d asked, startling her.

She’d shaken her head. After a long moment her curiosity grew too great to ignore. “You are a minister?”

His warm smile broadened, making her examine the dark of his eyes more closely. “In a way. I live here; just beyond those doors there’s a stairwell.” He’d nodded toward carved wood panels behind her that she’d never noticed before. After he’d spoken with her for some time, he’d stood, citing an important meeting. Then just before leaving, he’d invited her to come back tonight to pray again.

And she had.

The church was empty when she arrived, but the carved wood doors stood open, inviting yet darkly forbidding. She called out several times, only to hear the echo of her own voice. Peering beyond the doors, she found a stone stairwell, lit by sconces. She hesitated a few moments, watching the candle flames dance upon the walls. Then, taking one last look over her shoulder, she descended the steps, coming unexpectedly to a richly appointed circular room. Ensconced in the center of the chamber upon a raised dais lay a lonely crypt shaped like a man. It reminded her of him in some way, and she wondered if perhaps she’d in some way seen his ghost.

Rather than being frightened, she was compelled, drawn by the loneliness in him that matched hers. Tentatively, she approached, reaching out to touch the unfamiliar words and geometric shapes engraved on the crypt. When she did, the stone beneath her fingers began to warm. Surprised, she pressed her palm to the stone, feeling heat throb in rhythm to the beat of her heart. Drawn, unable to do aught but follow the force urging her to explore, she splayed both of her hands against the stone. Vibrations started to shake the crypt, and in an explosion of light, the lid popped open. The man she met earlier, still richly dressed, in black, rose up.

“You came.” He took hold of her arms, his demeanor much darker than before. She screamed, frightened by the dangerous gleam in his eyes. He pulled her to him, toward the red velvet bed in which he lay. He smiled, showing sharp fangs. “Fear not. Your pleasure will be great. As will mine.” His lips sought the throbbing pulse at her throat and she moaned.

I snapped the book closed, startled by the rekindling of the heat Sean, uh The Killdaren, had seeded within me.

My word, what was happening to me? I stuffed the book into the farthest corner of the room from me and buried it beneath the potato sack that I’d packed my belongings in. Then I firmly blew out the candle and determinedly directed my mind to think only of Mary. The reason I’d come here. My thoughts still drifted toward
him
again, but this time, I focused on what his father, the Earl of Dartraven had said.
I’d hire a runner if I was sure neither of my sons had killed the chit, but I’m not.

Having now met
him
, I knew without a doubt he could have, and would have killed me, had I given him cause.

Chapter Five

“Blimey. What did ya think was biting ya last night?” Bridget’s red hair, lifted by the sea breeze, fluttered about her mob cap and face. Freckles dotted her nose and her blue eyes sparkled, giving her a striking, almost earthy, beauty. The sea, sun and warm wind bathed the morning in a comforting light, making the sand dunes glisten and the maritime forest lushly green.

“A spider,” I muttered, my cheeks flaming. I’d die before telling the truth. The vampire had been dressed in black with fiery green eyes. For the first time in my life, I’d actually had a real dream. Not a dream about someone’s death or of trouble as always before, but a real, normal dream. I didn’t doubt that it was a dream, because no sense of impending doom had accompanied it. No deep dread filled my heart. And though the vampire had an uncanny resemblance to Sean, I somehow didn’t fear for Sean’s life. At no point in my dream did he disappear into darkness or die. In fact, I feared more for myself than for him. I’d been naked and he’d been touching me, and the thoughts wouldn’t go away no matter how much I willed them to do so.

And maybe deep inside myself I didn’t want them to. The man had given me something I’d never had before—a pleasurable dream. Somehow insisting that I continue to think of him as The Killdaren or anything other than Sean was too hypocritical for even my proper driven soul, so I allowed myself the fantasy. But it would be in my mind only, no one would ever know.

The man had captured me in a web of awareness I couldn’t escape. I shivered every time I shut my eyes and relived my first sight of him, his touch, the lilt of his voice, and the lure of his scent. He was in my mind and in my thoughts. A man so dangerous that he seemed capable of anything, so why did I have this desire to think of him so intimately? Why was I so curious about him? Why did I want to see him again?
 

It was Sunday, my first half day off. Five days since I’d met him. Five days since I had unsuccessfully committed myself to forgetting him, at least in terms of my physical reaction to him.