Immortal Darkness (Phantom Diaries #3) (11 page)

“I’m no Chef Gilrod, but I can hold my own.  I usually don’t have the time to prepare much of a meal.  I’m at the Opera House early in the morning and usually don’t get home before seven. But tonight…”

The elevator door opened and he headed straight for the kitchen. “If you want to settle into the tub to read, I’ll bring you a cool flute of sparkling water. The steam of a hot bath will do your voice good and I’m sure you could stand to get off your feet for a while.”

“Don’t you want me to help you out with dinner?”

He shot me a disarmingly charming grin and cocked his brow in mock disdain.  “Do I look like I can’t handle it?”

I laughed and he simply spun me around and pushed me in the direction of the bathroom.

I’d just barely settled into the tub and I was already heavily engrossed in the new passages of Kristine’s diary.  I’d finally come upon the time in her life when she met Rupert.

Le 2 juillet, 1881

My run at the Opera House has opened so many doors. Men of all levels of importance come around just begging for a moment of my time.  Among these men is, none other than Mr. Rupert Aragon, the handsome young owner and proprietor of the Opera House.  He is from one of the most reputable families in all of Paris, if not France. 

Last night he came to my dressing room, a dozen or so breathtaking white roses in his arms.  He was charming, elegant and suave, though he did show a slight penchant for being a tad arrogant.

He apologized for not coming to see me sooner, stating a whole host of tasks, details and problems he’d had to tend to since the start of the run.

All and all, I enjoyed meeting him.  Just the name Aragon is enough to make any girl dream big. And that seems to be all I’ve been doing since then.

He’ll be there again tonight, as he’s promised never to neglect me again.  As he so gracefully put it, I am his star and he needs to ensure I’m happy with that role.

Le 3 juillet, 1881

Rupert arrived last night with a fabulous gift; a magnificent sapphire brooch.  Though he said it was in honor of the rave reviews I’d received, I believe he may be more smitten with me than he wants to admit.

He’s unbelievably attentive and makes me feel like a queen.

I am ashamed to report that throughout this second encounter with Rupert, I’ve not given a single thought to Eric.  But I can’t help how I feel.  I can’t help but follow my heart’s urges.

As much as I love Eric and everything that is wild and unpredictable about him, there is something timelessly alluring about a man as worldly and refined as Rupert.  How can I possibly resist?  Haven’t I had enough hardship in my life?  Do I not deserve a small taste of high society, of mingling with the upper classes… of being a part of the upper echelons of the Parisian elite?

Le 14 juillet, 1881

My time with Rupert has taken on a whole new depth. Mid costume change, he entered my dressing room last night, and the lust sizzled in his eyes like never before. Strange how the fleeting flame, that momentary lapse of control on his part, brought out a completely different performance on my part.

Once the curtains close, I knew I’d find him in waiting for me in my dressing room. 

Indeed. He’d found me exquisite and irresistible.  Blinded by my beauty he’d been unable to think of anything else since our very first encounter.

I was thrilled and couldn’t contain my desire for him.

Yes, Eric is still in my heart, but Rupert… there’s something undeniable in the connection we have, and that connection was made all the more evident last night.

His hands were careless as they tore my gown off, and hungry as they grasped my flesh.  Oh, how heated his hands were, how expert his fingers.

Some say money and power are aphrodisiacs, but I think it was far more than that at work.  It was who he is, the knowing movements of his body as he pressed against me, and the way he slipped his hands over my skin.

I’ve known pleasure before, and I’ve given pleasure, but nothing as intense and earth shattering as Rupert.

Who would have thought a man from such an noble and aristocratic family could harbor such passion.

Le 16 juillet, 1881

Rupert has once again proven to me that he is the man I should marry.  In addition to his amorous abilities, his amusing tales, his dignified stance and the power he brings, last night he showed me his true soft side.

He’d invited me to his estate for a horseback ride across the Aragon countryside.  I was amused and charmed by the wholesome and simple activity.  When midway through our ride, my horse showed discomfort and unease, he quickly stopped, helped me down and tended to the injured beast.

His gentleness was something I’d never seen in a man.  He removed the saddle and found a small welt where a pebble had lodged between the saddle and flesh of the animal.

“He’ll need a few days to recover and shouldn’t bear the burden of a saddle until this wound heals.”

I was touched by his care and thrilled when he then invited me to climb atop his horse for the ride back.  As we slowly clopped our way back to the main house, Rupert’s arms securely wrapped around me, the sun descended over the hills of the Aragon property.  It was a magical moment I’ll never forget.  Unable to resist the moment, I leaned into his chest, fragrant with the scent of power and riches.

He placed a tender kiss on my temple and I was charmed. So many men would have taken advantage of the situation, pushing for too much heat too soon, but Rupert showed great restraint, all while making it quite clear how infatuated he was.

Just as I’d been moved by the love she’d shown for Eric, I now understood her attraction to Rupert.  For all his high standing and riches, he had a good heart and was truly a good man. If he had the handsome looks of Aaron, who resembled him, then he was also a very attractive man.

But this made it all the more difficult to understand how she could come to plot Rupert’s murder.  So far, all of Kristine’s writings showed her to be loving and truly compassionate. Sure, she showed signs of being taken in by the great wealth of the Aragon’s, but most young girls would do the same.

I couldn’t understand what had brought her from being this good girl to the woman who ended up filled with such spite and anger.

Eager to get to the heart of that question, I reopened the journal, but Aaron popped his head into the bathroom.

“I hope you're hungry, because dinner is served.”

“I’ll be out in a minute.”

Though all I wanted to do was slip into a comfy pajama, I knew I should dress up a bit for dinner.  Finally, I compromised and put on new but very comfortable yoga pants with a fresh white button down shirt. Smelling fresh and feeling more than relaxed, I entered the dining room a few moments later.

“Smells interesting,” I said as I took to my chair.

“I’m not really sure how I should take that,” he called out from the kitchen.

“I admit I’m a bit intrigued by this hidden culinary talent you claim to have.”

He arrived with two plates steaming with rich aromas. “Seasoned veal cutlets with almond slivers and a splash of parmesan.”

“Well, it certainly smells good.  That’s a good start.” I took a bite and glanced up at Aaron in amazement. Setting down my fork, I leaned back and peered into the kitchen.

“What are you looking for?” He took a tentative bite.  “Is something wrong with it?”

“I’m looking for the real chef you must have hidden in the kitchen.” I looked at him with a teasing grin. “This is really great, Aaron.”  I dug in, relishing the rich blend of flavors.

“What a relief.  For a moment there I thought I’d screwed it up.”

“I never would have thought you had so many hidden talents, Aaron.  Is there anything you can’t do?”

“Well, I can’t sing to save my life, or at least not as well as you do.”

The sweet and amicable conversation ran throughout the course of dinner and I enjoyed every moment.  I could see the great lengths he was going to in order to make me feel comfortable in his home.  Not once did he mention our relationship or his feelings for me.

“For dessert I have strawberries with fresh cream.”  He rose and picked up our empty plates.  “I could use a hand with whipping the cream up a bit.”

“Sure.” I followed him into the kitchen, pleased he’d included me in the preparation of the dinner.

I automatically reached for one of the strawberries in the bowl he’d set on the counter while he went to the fridge to pull out the carton of whipping cream.

“Here,” he said as he set the cream and a bowl in front of me.  “You can start whipping this up and I’ll prepare us each a cappuccino.”

I whipped at the cream as best as I could while the aroma of coffee quickly took over the kitchen.  “How’s this?” I asked, knowing full well the cream was still too liquid.

He came to my side and shook his head in mock disappointment then dipped his little finger into the cream.  “Good thing you know how to sing.”

He winked playfully and I felt a sudden surge of affection. My gaze caught on his eyes a moment, suspended.

“Did you put any sugar in?” he asked.

“No.  I just whipped.”

With a teasing grin, he reached for the sugar bowl just off to my right.  “Sorry, I didn’t mention you had to put some of this in there.”

“Wow,” I said, a little surprised by my lack of know how.  “Guess it really is a good thing I can sing.”

He handed me the sugar bowl and picked up the whip.  “Sprinkle a bit in as I whip.”

Whipping vigorously, the cream took on a whole new form, and as I poured the sugar in, it thickened more and more.

“Turns out it’s a job for two,” he said as he set the whip down and dipped his finger into the high and fluffy cream. 

“No wonder I couldn’t handle it on my own.”

“Sweet enough?” He brought his finger to my lips.

I hesitated just a fraction of a second, but the playfulness of the moment took over and I got in the game. Parting my lips I licked the cream off his finger. “Just barely.”

“Just barely what?”  His voice had taken on a whole new register. Playfulness was gone and a strong undercurrent of sexual tension quickly built up.

“Sweet,” I mumbled through my own arousal.  Without thinking my actions through, I dipped my index into the cream and brought it to his lips.

A feathery gasp escaped me as his lips took hold of my finger. My lips parted and I watched, mesmerized as the length of my finger disappear into his mouth.

“Aaron,” I whispered. My voice was feeble while my desire for him soared. I shook my head in a vain attempt to silently convey my disapproval of the situation.