One With the Shadows (18 page)

“Can you help me find the proper angle?” His eyes closed once before he nodded and held her bottom with both hands to adjust her. God. There it was. Sensation ramped up. She pressed her hands against his chest, thumbing his peaked nipples, to push up and lower herself. Now he was helping her again. His chest heaved. Was that a low moan? He bit his lip, but he didn’t stop. She felt as though she was swelling around his erection. Each trip up and down his cock increased her pleasure, but she kept careful track that he was coming along with her. She wouldn’t let him hold back.

She knew he was near the edge when he tried to still her movement. “No, no you don’t,” she warned and pushed herself down again. She rocked against him and then thrust up. He groaned and sucked in breath. Sweat gleamed on his body in the lamplight. He was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen.

She couldn’t hold it back anymore. Inevitability washed over her. The world exploded a second time. This time she saved enough of herself to know she was contracting around him in rhythm to her shock waves, squeezing him, until he arched and grunted. Inside, she felt him spurting. That was familiar, though nothing else about this whole experience had been. He was trembling, his hips making small, fierce thrusts even at the maximum arch against her. It went on and on, much longer than the brief spurts she’d experienced with her former partners.

When at last he was done, they both collapsed together. He settled her in against his side. She looked up at him. “Not a flame in sight.”

He smiled. It was the most tender expression she’d ever seen. “Thank you for that.”

“I acted only in self-interest.” Not quite true, but near enough. “Dear me, but you were
très puissant
.” His smile grew. It looked a little smug. That was very well. If he had been that long deprived, he had a right to be satisfied with himself. Kate was satisfied with herself as well. She had done that to him. Even when he had tried to hold back.

It occurred to her that in some ways he was the opposite of arrogant underneath the surface. He had been so unsure of himself tonight.

And what had happened to her? Had she tumbled over that brink at last and been transformed? She couldn’t remember quite what the brink had been. Her imagination most likely. Still she had never realized such incredible sensation could be part of having a man’s cock inside you. Or maybe it was only Gian Vincenzo Urbano’s cock. She was glad she’d done it, even if it was over and done with forever. Even if he was gone when she woke. She settled in closer against him, drinking in his scent, and closed her eyes.

Eleven

That was a disaster. Gian looked down on her where she slept in his arms. She’d hardly wakened when he’d lifted her and pulled back the covers to lay her on the sheets. Her dusky lashes swept her cheek, the one without the scar. Her black hair gleamed in the guttering candlelight. He pulled the coverlet up over her shoulders.

Two disasters were avoided. He hadn’t set anything, including her, on fire. Or rather he’d set her ablaze only in the sexual sense. She certainly was a passionate little thing. And he had done his part from first to last. Even now his cock was willing. It rose where their thighs tangled wetly together. He was a man again, well and truly. That felt good.

The lazy smile rising to his lips turned sour. The true disaster was that he had not gotten her out of his system. Far from it. She had wound her way even more tightly into his psyche.

I … I think I’m in love with her.

The thought struck him like a blow. He had never allowed himself to fall in love in all his years. Was that why he hadn’t recognized it? They bickered. She was impossible. She was a charlatan and a thief who had not the slightest conception of duty and honor. They had nothing in common but a certain distance from their fellow man, and a biting, cynical perspective on the world. Strange in one who had lived not a single lifetime. And intelligence. He had always been a snob about intelligence. Courage? He should have so much courage as she did.

Still, they were different species altogether. But pleasing her, protecting her from her own insecurities or anything else that threatened her, was the most important thing in the world to him. Was that … could that really be love? All he knew was that he couldn’t imagine being without her. And that had never happened to him before. He wasn’t quite sure how it had come about. Who knew that love could coexist—no, flourish—with exasperation and annoyance?

And by the way, how could any prick have made love to this woman and never given her an orgasm? He was fairly sure tonight was her first. And second. The smug smile rose to his lips again. He could not help it. There were advantages to having a carnal knowledge of thousands of women. He’d given her pleasure. He would give her more tonight, and later today.

And then what? That was the disadvantage to his centuries. He could not lie to himself. It was one hell of a disadvantage.

I am a vampire, just as you suspected, a monster who drinks blood, and I will live forever while you fade and age. Join me.

Hardly an alluring proposition for any woman. One he had vowed never to propose. If she somehow could manage to care for such a monster, the difference in life span stood between them and would ultimately break her heart as it had his father’s. And if he didn’t tell her and she accepted him … well, then he could conceal his failure to age for a few years. A dozen? Two? Such a short time in the span of things. And after that there was only telling her or desertion. How could he abandon her, who was scarred by her parents abandoning her?

Perhaps there was no choice about that. Better early when she was not involved emotionally with him than after they had spent a dozen years together. That would be even more of a betrayal. A dozen years with Kate would be heaven. But he could not be so selfish. He must begin imagining life without her.

He settled her more securely in his arms and brushed his lips across her hair. The air around him felt thick, like a weight on his chest. The ache inside him couldn’t decide whether to come to rest in his heart or his belly. He almost wished he hadn’t realized he loved her. How would he bear giving her up? He had thought his life seemed bleak when he returned from Algiers. Now the landscape of his life was dry and featureless.

“Kate,” he murmured. “Kate.”

Rain began to hammer at the roof. Outside the open doors to the balcony, it came down like a curtain of tears. He looked down at her again, sleeping so securely in his arms. He must not let her become attached to him. That would be difficult. Women always seemed to fall in love with the first man who gave them an orgasm. Yet another reason for his rule against virgins. But was she attached? He wasn’t sure. Maybe she had just wanted his body. If that was true, it was just as well. He would not let her see his sorrow. He would do his duty and send her on her way. No, better, he’d ask her to stay here with his mother while he went to Mirso with the stone, then he’d accompany her to London himself, see that she was settled. And then he’d have done his duty all around. Maybe he’d return to Mirso, for good this time, and take the Vow. He squeezed his eyes shut. All that was for later. For the next hours, he just wanted to take care of Kate.

He eased himself out of bed. He’d start by getting her some food. She’d be hungry when she woke. Some wine from his vineyards at Montalcino, cheese, fresh tomatoes from the garden, olives, a little bread and olive oil …

He dressed hastily and slid out the door to find a servant. Or no … he’d go directly to the kitchens.

*   *   *

Kate rolled over and considered opening her eyes. The bed was empty. She could feel that. What had she expected?

What she had not expected was how much his leaving hurt.

You are in trouble, Kate, my girl. Best get out your suit of armor. Because if he ever knew how vulnerable your heart is, he would use it against you in a second.

She had taken him to bed for purely selfish reasons. And some deity or other had dispensed her comeuppance. Because she had lost her heart. Actually had probably lost it long before he ever stripped and made love to her so tenderly. How had this happened? She had never loved anyone before. Maybe she loved her parents, but she couldn’t remember that. And it had turned out badly anyway.

This would turn out badly too. She had thought when she first met him that he was just a pretty face that turned her head. A pretty face and an exquisitely masculine body. But what she felt was more, much more than that. She liked him. And it was comforting that she was not the only one. His servants, his mother, even his horse Piccolo doted on him. But somewhere along the line in the last days he had wormed his way past liking.

Her mind returned to how generous he had been, how … sweet to her. Not a word she would have associated with Gian Urbano before this night. Why had he done it? Why had he bothered to give her so much pleasure? No other man had ever done so. And no one had ever had the inclination to bed her at all since the scar. The way he had lifted her face and looked full in her eyes without flinching had been … unbelievable. What must it have cost him to make love to a woman who looked like her? She had not expected such generosity. Even if he was lacking for other partners (which he couldn’t be, could he?) she would have thought when he had been ready to get past his fear of being impotent, he’d have chosen one of the servants, or … or anyone besides her. And once she knew he was willing to bed her, she would have been content to have him in the same way she had accommodated Matthew’s arranged partners, but he had given her so much more. And he seemed to want so little in return.

His silly fear of starting fires—what was that about? No matter that it was born of his fear of failing as a man, it was real enough to him. She was glad she could help him get past it. Perhaps that had been recompense at least in part for the realization he had given her that pleasure could be shared. Lord knows, he’d be back to arrogant again now.

She remembered how angry she had been at him about the fact that he was centuries old and hadn’t told her. He did seem to be the nexus of all the chaos in her life. But she couldn’t be angry with him, not anymore. Indeed, what point to accost him about it at all? Just to hear him lie? One thing hadn’t changed. He was a consummate liar. He’d probably tell her he loved her, as he must have told a thousand other women, right up until the moment he paid her, packed her off for England, and never thought of her again.

She sat up, sighing. Best she get her clothes on before the servants saw them scattered all over the carpet. His own clothes were already gone. He had exacted his price for the lovemaking after all. Or soon would. He was about to break her heart.

Nonsense,
she told herself.
You had never known what making love was before tonight, and your life was poorer for it. Now you do. That was a generous gift. Don’t be greedy.

*   *   *

Gian picked up the tray from the table in the hall where Kate’s dresser had set it. The world looked … clean from the arches in the hallway that looked out over the Uffizi. He had put on a silk jacket over a pair of breeches he wore without the benefit of smalls and picked out several books from his mother’s excellent library. For Kate a first edition of Dante’s
Divina Commedia
to introduce her to Firenze’s most famous literary son, and, since she seemed to like the Romantics, he brought his copy of
Don Quixote.
He’d also brought a very special book he had from India. He grinned. She might be offended by that one. Or she might just like it very much. He’d been surprised at how open and sensual she had been this night, for one who had never experienced a generous partner. It was bad that he loved her. But on the other hand, he hadn’t set his lover on fire. And he was more than capable for the first time in more than two years of holding up his end of the sexual bargain. Which he intended to do repeatedly tonight and right through the day.

“Bring up some extra candles, Carina, if you would.” The serving girl looked remarkably radiant, though her eyes were red. She had been moping about since the moment he first gave her orders for Kate’s comfort after the journey. “You seem more cheerful.”

“Giovanni proposed to me, just like the Signorina said he would, in my room with the rain coming down. I expect I has her to thank for it somehow.”

Gian drew his brows together. “Miss Sheridan told you he would propose?”

“She saw my eyes last night, all red they was from cryin’ over that fat girl that delivers the shellfish, because I thought he was making eyes at her, and the Signorina went all funny like for a minute, and then she comes to herself and says I wasn’t to worry, that a groom would propose to me up under the eaves with the rain coming down. And he did, just now.”

Gian managed a smile. “And you said yes, I presume.”

The girl beamed. “I hope the mistress don’t mind. I mean, I’d hate for one of us to have to find another situation.”

“I’m sure she looks fondly on true love,” Gian said. “My congratulations.”

“Just call if there’s anything you or the Signorina need. I expect you won’t want to be coming out for a while just yet.” Carina waved most improperly as she skipped toward the narrow servants’ staircase.

Gian sighed. Well, he and Kate hadn’t actually been quiet. It wasn’t surprising that the whole household knew. They would also shortly know that Kate had “predicted” the proposal of the feckless Giovanni. Had she? If she had just been playing at her chicanery and she’d been wrong, the girl would have been devastated. Kate wasn’t that cruel, was she? She pretended to be hard and uncaring, but he had seen beneath that. She might have guessed the girl was crying over a man. But the detail of the rain and the fact that he was a groom?

Everything he’d heard said about her fortunes indicated they were humdrum predictions about whatever her victim wanted to hear. Except that very pointed warning to the conte about staying home on Thursday and avoiding coaches. He wished he knew exactly what had happened to the conte on Thursday, but they had left Rome by then.