Authors: Amanda Ashley
Bound by Night (5 page)
His gaze moved to her lips, which were full and pink and inviting. Too inviting to resist. He heard the sudden intake of her breath as she realized he was going to kiss her. But she didn’t pull away when he lowered his head toward hers.
At the touch of his mouth, Elena went suddenly still. In a distant part of her mind, she admitted she had been longing for this since the first time he had kissed her. It was even better the second time. Just a kiss, she thought, until his tongue slid over the seam of her lips and coaxed her to open her mouth. Her uncle had kissed her like that and she had found it repulsive. But there was nothing repulsive about Drake’s kiss. It burned through her like chain lightning, heating her from the inside out.
She moaned a soft protest when he took his mouth from hers, leaving her aching for more than just kisses.
Drake gazed down at her. He wasn’t surprised by his body’s reaction to her. He was a strong, virile male, and she was a very young, very desirable woman. It was only natural for him to want her, just as it was in his nature to hunger for her blood. So easy to take what he wanted, to ease his lust while he slaked his thirst.
So easy. Tempting as she was, he knew that if he took her in his current state of mind, she would never survive. Somewhat taken aback, he realized that for the first time in years he was more concerned with a mortal’s happiness and well-being than with his own.
“We should go back,” he said abruptly. Releasing her, he struck out for the shore without a backward glance.
Elena stared after him. What had just happened? One minute he was kissing her like there was no tomorrow. And the next, he was gone.
Drake was waiting for her on the bank when she waded out of the water. His gaze caressed her. Never, in all his existence, had he seen anything as breathtakingly lovely as Elena as she stood naked on the moon-dappled sand, her long black hair falling over her shoulders, her damp skin glistening like alabaster in the silver light of the moon. Her limbs were long and perfect, her waist incredibly small.
His gaze moved to the graceful curve of her neck, to the pulse throbbing in the hollow of her throat. Need rose up within him, reminding him that he was a hunter and she his prey, and as much as a lion might love a lamb, there was little hope that the lamb would survive such a relationship.
Even though he had fed earlier, the need Elena aroused in him would not be denied. Drake dressed quickly, then waited impatiently for her to do the same. He escorted her back to the castle and saw her safely inside. Then he fled into the night without a word of farewell lest he take her in his arms and satisfy the thirst that burned hot and heavy within him.
Later that night, Elena lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling, her thoughts in turmoil. Why had Drake put her away from him so abruptly? Had she said something to anger him? Done something to displease him?
Troubling as his sudden leave-taking had been, it was the memory of his kiss that kept sleep at bay as she relived the incredible pleasure that had suffused her from head to heel when Drake’s lips touched hers. It had been so much more than just a kiss.
She touched her fingertips to her lips, wondering how she could get Drake to kiss her again. Wondering, as heat flooded her cheeks, what it would be like to share his bed. Shameful creature that she was, she couldn’t help imagining what it would be like to run her hands over that hard, male body, to feel his hands stroking hers. She knew she should be shocked to even think about such things, but after seeing Drake naked in the moonlight, after feeling the length of his body pressed intimately against her own, she couldn’t think of anything else. Couldn’t stop wanting him.
A bold idea came to her as she remembered something Drake had said earlier. She smiled, thinking it would solve all her problems, if she only had the nerve to propose it.
Elena was sitting on the rug in front of the hearth, thumbing through a magazine, when Drake entered the room. She looked up, surprised to see him so early. It was usually well after dark before he made an appearance, if he showed up at all. Could it be that, after last night, he was as anxious to be with her as she was to be with him? The mere idea made her heart skip a beat. In all the world, had there ever been a man who was as tall and dark, as sinfully handsome, as the one who now stood before her?
“Good evening, fair Elena,” he murmured, smiling.
His voice flowed over her like silk, soft, sensuous.
“Good evening, Drake. I didn’t expect to see you so soon.”
“Shall I leave?”
“No! I mean, it’s your home, after all.”
“Indeed.” He regarded her solemnly, one brow raised. “Is there something you wish to say?”
She blinked up at him. Did he know what she was thinking? But how could he? He couldn’t read her mind. Such a thing was impossible.
He took a seat on the sofa, then gestured for her to join him. Suddenly nervous, she hesitated a moment before taking a place beside him. What had seemed like such a good idea late last night now seemed utterly ridiculous.
“You look upset,” he remarked. “Is something amiss?”
“Yes. No.” She twisted her fingers together to still their trembling.
“Something obviously has you upset,” he remarked. “Why not tell me what it is? Perhaps I can help.”
“Yes, you can,” she said, the words spilling out in a rush. “I don’t want to go back to my uncle, and I have nowhere else to go, and you live alone with no one to care for you, so I thought maybe, if it wasn’t too horrid a thought, that you might marry me. Not a real marriage, of course. It would just be in name only. . . .” she said, her words slowing as her cheeks burned with embarrassment.
“You want to marry me?” Of all the things she might have said, a proposal had never entered his mind.
“Well, my marrying someone else to get away from my uncle was your idea, after all. I can cook and clean and wash your clothes, and . . .” She swallowed hard, her courage suddenly deserting her. “I won’t be any trouble.”
Lifting one brow, he muttered, “Somehow I doubt that.”
At his words, she bowed her head, her shoulders slumped in defeat. It had been a stupid idea. “If you don’t want to marry me, maybe you could lend me some money so I can take a bus to Brasov and find a job. I’ll pay you back, somehow, I promise.”
“Elena?”
She didn’t answer, refused to meet his gaze. He was a grown man, older than she was, refined, educated. Why would he want a wife in name only when he could probably have any woman he wanted?
“Elena, look at me.”
“No.” She was too embarrassed to face him.
“Elena, I accept your proposal of marriage.”
She lifted her head. “Do you mean it?”
“Indeed, I do.”
For a moment, she could only stare at him. She hadn’t really expected him to agree and now that he had, she wasn’t sure how to respond. “I promise to do my best to keep your house clean, and to make you happy, except for . . .” Her voice trailed off as her gaze slid away from his.
“Never fear. I promise not to make any husbandly demands upon you unless you ask me to.”
“Thank you, Drake.”
“How soon do you wish to wed?”
“Oh, there’s no rush,” she said. “We can have a long engagement.” The longer, the better, she thought. After all, an engagement was almost as good as a marriage for keeping her uncle at bay.
“I think not.”
“What’s the hurry?”
“I have reasons of my own. Is tomorrow night too soon?”
She blinked up at him. “Tomorrow night?”
It was easy to see he had taken her by surprise. “Tomorrow night,” Drake said, lightly kissing her on both cheeks. “Be ready at sundown.”
Elena stared at him, unable to shake the feeling that he had somehow manipulated her into doing exactly what he wanted.
Chapter 6
Elena woke early after a restless night. Her dreams had been fitful, filled with shadowed images of Drake pursuing her through a long, twisting maze that had no end.
She spent a few minutes wondering what it meant, if it meant anything at all, then shrugged it off. Probably just a case of prewedding jitters manifesting themselves in a nightmare.
Sitting up, she stretched her arms over her head. It was her wedding day. Last night, marrying Drake had seemed like the answer to all her problems; now, she wasn’t so sure. He was devastatingly handsome and physically appealing, and there was no denying that she was attracted to him but—she didn’t really know anything about him. He was little more than a handsome stranger. And he didn’t know any more about her than she knew about him. Why would he agree to marry a woman he had known such a short time? What did he hope to gain?
Shaking off her doubts, she went downstairs for something to eat. As usual, a tray awaited her. While drinking a glass of orange juice, a new thought occurred to her. She had nothing suitable to wear to a wedding. True, Drake had gifted her with a number of dresses, but even though they were silk, they weren’t really elegant enough for a wedding. And she didn’t have any heels. Or a veil. Or flowers.
Of course, none of those things were necessary. All that was needed for a wedding was a bride, a groom, and a priest.
And then she frowned. She had no idea where the ceremony would take place, no idea what her future husband’s religion might be. For all she knew, he might not practice any religion at all. Her uncle professed to being Catholic, but in all the years she had lived with him, he had never accompanied the family to church, never attended Mass, not even at Christmas.
Elena glanced down as the cat rubbed against her ankles. “Where did you come from?” she asked, and received a loud “meow” in reply.
“I guess it’s too late to worry about where we’re getting married,” Elena mused as she lifted the cat onto her lap and idly scratched its ears. “I can either marry my uncle, marry Drake, or run away again, although I don’t know where I’d go from here. Do you?”
Smoke stared at her through unblinking yellow eyes.
“I just hope I’m not making a horrible mistake.”
A low rumble rose in the cat’s throat.
“I’ve never done anything so impulsive and yet, it feels right, somehow.” She glanced around the hall. “Maybe there really is some kind of enchantment on this place. Oh, I know, that sounds silly, and yet, ever since I walked through the door that first night, I’ve felt like I belong here, you know? It’s nonsense, of course. I don’t believe in Fate.”
The cat had no opinion on the subject. Instead, he rubbed his head against her breast.
She stroked the cat’s fur for several minutes, her thoughts turned inward. “One good thing, when I’m a married woman, I won’t have to stay hidden away in this old castle during the day. I’ll be Mrs. Drake. . . .”
She shook her head ruefully. “I don’t even know his last name. But he’s been kind to me, you know. I told him I wanted a marriage in name only, because, after all, I don’t really know him, but—there’s no denying he’s very sexy, and I can’t help wondering what it would be like to taste more than his kisses.”
The cat looked up at her, its golden yellow eyes bright. If it hadn’t been impossible, she would have sworn the animal was smiling at her. Or maybe laughing.
Elena was torn between wishing the sun would set and hoping it would never go down when there was a knock on the castle door. In all the time she had been here, Drake hadn’t received any visitors. The only outsiders to come calling had been her uncle’s men. Had they returned?
Hands clenched, she glanced around the room. What should she do? If she stayed quiet and didn’t answer the door, maybe whoever it was would go away.
The knock came again. Harder. Louder. And then a voice. A woman’s voice.
“Miss Knightsbridge? Hello? Is anyone home? It’s Madame Raschelle.”
Elena frowned. Who on earth was Madame Raschelle, and what was she doing here?
“The dressmaker,” the woman clarified. “From Brasov. I have a delivery for Lord Drake.”
Lord
Drake? He hadn’t said anything about being royalty. Curious, she went to open the door.
Drake? He hadn’t said anything about being royalty. Curious, she went to open the door.
“Miss Knightsbridge?”
Elena nodded. Madame Raschelle was tall and lean. Her hair was bright red under a frilly bonnet that was the same shade of green as her eyes. Her russet-colored silk gown and colorful fringed shawl were like nothing Elena had ever seen before, except in period movies.
“May I come in?” Madame Raschelle asked, a note of amusement in her voice.
“What? Oh, yes, of course.” Elena took a step back, allowing the other woman entrance, only then noticing that she had several large plastic garment bags draped over one arm, and a large handbag over the other.
“I’ve brought you a number of gowns to try on, my dear,” Madame Raschelle said. She dropped the garment bags onto the trestle table, along with her bag.
“Gowns?”
“For the wedding.”
“Oh, but I can’t . . . I mean, I don’t have any money to pay for . . .”
Madame Raschelle dismissed Elena’s concern with a wave of one beringed hand. “Not to worry, my dear. Lord Drake has taken care of that.”
“But . . .” Elena sighed. There was no use arguing with the dressmaker. She obviously had orders from the master of the castle.
Madame Raschelle removed her shawl, then began unzipping the bags, pulling out one dress after another, each more beautiful than the last. Rich silks and brocades, lush velvets, smooth satins, most of them in varying shades of white from ivory to cream. Two gowns stood out from the rest, one the color of a midsummer sky, the other a pale rose. In addition, there were a number of undergarments.
Elena could only stare at the amazing assortment. So many styles and fabrics. How could she ever be expected to choose just one gown when they were all so exquisite?
Madame Raschelle held up a velvet gown with a square neck and long fitted sleeves that ended in points. “This is one of my favorites,” she said, smiling.
Elena ran her hand over the soft, cream-colored velvet. Lace edged the neckline. The skirt was gathered up on one side, revealing more lace. It reminded Elena of dresses worn in medieval times.
“Why don’t you try it on?” the dressmaker suggested.
With a nod, Elena took the dress and hurried up the stairs to her chamber. She changed under the curious eyes of the cat, then glanced around, only then remembering that there was no mirror in the room. She frowned as she realized there were no mirrors in any of the rooms of the castle.
Lifting her skirts, she made her way down the stairs.
“So,” Madame Raschelle asked, smiling. “Does it suit?”
“I need a mirror.”
The dressmaker glanced around the room, then rummaged in her bag and produced a large hand mirror, which she offered to Elena.
“Oh,” Elena murmured, “it is lovely, isn’t it?”
“Quite. Perhaps you should try them all on?”
There was no need, Elena thought. She had already made up her mind. Still, who knew when she would ever have a chance like this again? Between the two of them, they carried all the garments up to Elena’s room.
Trying on all the gowns was not only time-consuming, but a mistake. Elena had been certain the velvet was the gown she wanted, but there was a lovely silk adorned with pearls, a beautiful satin with an empire waist, an elegant ivory brocade fit for a queen. How was she ever to decide?
“Lord Drake instructed me to tell you that you might keep them all, if you so desired,” Madame Raschelle remarked.
“All of them?” Elena had never seen such lavish attire, could scarce imagine their cost.
“He is a man of wealth and power,” the dressmaker said. “He can well afford the price.”
“But . . . all of them?” Aside from her wedding, when would she ever again have need of such finery? “Perhaps just the velvet. And the blue satin. And the rose silk. And the ivory brocade.”
Madame Raschelle laughed heartily as she began hanging the gowns Elena had selected in the wardrobe.
“Of course, you will also need shoes.” Reaching into her valise again, the dressmaker produced a pair of satin pumps and placed them on the floor.
She reached into her valise yet again and pulled out a long, thin box. Lifting the lid, she shook out a shoulderlength veil.
“Oh, it’s lovely,” Elena murmured, stroking the delicate lace.
“I knew you would like it. And now, the pièce de résistance,” the woman said, and dipping into the valise once more she withdrew a long white nightgown that was so sheer, it was little more than a mere whisper of diaphanous cloth.
Elena stared at it, thinking it was as delicate as a spider web. A web for catching a man’s interest.
“For the wedding night,” the dressmaker said, a knowing twinkle in her eyes.
“But . . .” Elena bit down on her lower lip. Had Drake misunderstood her? Theirs was to be a marriage in name only.
Madame Raschelle smiled. “The nightgown was my idea. I added it to his order when I saw that he had neglected to think of it.”
Elena forced a smile. She was relieved that the nightgown hadn’t been Drake’s idea. Wasn’t she?
“I wish you every happiness, my dear,” Madame Raschelle said. “If you have need of more gowns, you have but to let me know.”
“Thank you,” Elena said sincerely, though she doubted she would be calling on the dressmaker any time soon.
Elena accompanied the older woman to the front door, bid her good-bye, and then closed and locked the door behind the rather eccentric dressmaker.
She stood there a moment; then, realizing it would soon be sundown, she hurried back to her room to bathe and dress.
Drake stood in front of the fireplace, a glass of wine in one hand as he waited for his bride to appear. The priest from the next town sat in one of the chairs facing the fire, his hands folded in his lap, his benign expression belying the nervous tic in his left eye, the rapid beating of his heart.
Drake grunted softly. He had never seen the cleric until tonight, when he summoned him to the castle, yet it was obvious that the good Father possessed a strong inner sense that warned him of danger. Though Drake meant the man no harm, it was an instinct for survival that would serve the priest well if he but listened to it. The priest’s cook and her husband stood nearby, called to serve as witnesses.
At the sound of footsteps, Drake glanced toward the staircase. For a moment, he stood frozen as he watched Elena descend the steps. She was exquisite. The cream-colored velvet gown clung lovingly to each curve, outlining a figure so perfect as to make other women weep. A delicate lace veil covered her face, giving her a ghostly appearance in the flickering light of the candles. Her hair fell over her shoulders like a fall of thick black silk.
He moved quickly toward her, eager to be near her, to touch her. To taste her. Reining in his rampant lust, he took her hand in his. Her skin was cool; he could feel her trembling. “How lovely you are,” he murmured. “And how lucky I am.”
She blushed prettily. “Thank you, Lord Drake,” she replied, emphasizing the last two words.
He lifted one brow.
“Why didn’t you tell me you had a title?”
“It is merely a title of respect,” he said with a shrug. “Are you ready?”
“Yes.”
Keeping hold of her hand, he led her into the hall where the priest waited. “Elena, this is Father Andrew. He will be performing the ceremony.”
Elena smiled tentatively. “Good evening, Father.”
Rising, the priest offered her his hand. “Good evening, my child.”
Elena smiled at the man and woman who were to be their witnesses. She thought they both looked ill at ease. Certainly they didn’t believe the rumors about ghosts in the castle?
Elena tried to concentrate on what the priest was saying, but she couldn’t stop stealing glances at Drake. He was devastatingly handsome in a pair of black trousers, black boots, and a long black coat over a white silk shirt. When he looked at her, a thousand butterflies took wing in the pit of her stomach. Was it fear? Or excitement? Or perhaps a bit of both?
When he squeezed her hand, she realized Father Andrew was waiting for her response. She blinked at the priest. If she said yes, there was no turning back, no changing her mind. How could she marry a man she hardly knew?
Panicked, she looked up at Drake. The calm assurance in his eyes drove her uncertainty away. Lifting her chin, she murmured, “I do.”
A rush of heat warmed her cheeks when the priest pronounced them man and wife. And then Drake was lifting her veil, taking her into his arms, lowering his head to kiss her, and everything else faded into the distance. There was only a pair of strong arms to hold her, a pair of firm lips playing over hers, his tongue teasing her own. She leaned into him, wanting to be closer. A soft moan rose in her throat as she slid her fingers up his nape to curl in his hair.
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