The next month passed in a blur. Analisa had thought living at Blackbriar Hall to be the epitome of elegance and luxury, but Alesandro showed her a world of opulence and grandeur she had never dreamed existed. They went to the ballet, and to the opera again. The music never failed to sweep her away, and Alesandro was there to interpret the words for her, to explain what she did not understand. They saw Le Siege de Corinthby Rossini, La Muette de Porticiby Auber,Robert Le Diableby Meyerbeer,Faust, of course, and Le Prophete, which to her utter amazement featured roller skating. They dined in the finest restaurants inLondon andParis .

One night after the opera he took her to a small private club that was frequented by actors and singers. Analisa could only stare as the tenor she had seen on stage earlier that evening rose to his feet and began to sing. Alesandro asked if she would like to meet him, but she shook her head.

He took her to Westminster Abbey. She looked at him askance as they entered the Gothic style church.

"Never fear, my sweet," he had said with quiet reassurance. "I will not go up in a puff of smoke."

It was a place that inspired awe. She had knelt in a pew, her eyes wide as she looked around. Kings had been crowned here. Notables were buried here.

One night they passed through Covent Garden, which was the main fruit and vegetable market inLondon . Located nearCharing Cross , not far from the theater district, it was also a favorite haunt of prostitutes, a few of whom were plying their trade that night, their skirts tucked up.

"It is the badge of their calling," Alesandro told her.

Analisa saw a heavily painted prostitute approach a well-dressed young man. Eyes wide with the curiosity that chaste women always had for their fallen sisters, Analisa watched the prostitute and the young man strike a bargain, and then the prostitute went off, arm in arm, with her "escort" for the evening. It was a life Analisa could not imagine, being intimate with a complete stranger for a few shillings, especially when Alesandro told her that many of the women were mistreated, or died of diseases that decent folk did not discuss.

As time passed, Analisa found herself adapting her life to Alesandro's, sleeping far into the afternoon so she could stay up with him late at night. If Mrs. Thornfield and the rest of the household found the sudden change in her hours odd, they refrained from making any comment. She was the mistress of the house, after all.

As much as she loved seeing the sights, she especially liked the nights they stayed at home.

One evening after supper, Alesandro took her into the ballroom. At his look, the candles in the crystal candelabra overhead sprang to life. Another look, and the music box on a small octagon table in one corner began to play, filling the air with the strains of "Greensleeves." Making a courtly bow, he offered her his hand. "May I have this dance, my lady?"

"I can't... I don't know how..."

"Then it shall be my pleasure to teach you," he said.

Her body seemed to pulse with new life as he drew her into the circle of his arms. Lost in the depths of his eyes, every fiber of her being aware of his nearness, she found it difficult to concentrate on the steps of the waltz.

He smiled down at her, as if he knew perfectly well the devastating effect he was having on her senses.

"Relax, Lisa. Listen to the music. Follow my lead."

Follow his lead, she thought dreamily. She would have followed him anywhere.

He sang along with the music. His voice was deep and rich, as entrancing as his gaze. He held her close, his body brushing against hers in a most scandalous manner as he whirled her around the floor.

"To make it easier for you to follow my lead," he murmured, amused by her shocked expression.

She loved waltzing with him. It was exhilarating, being held so close in his arms, being twirled around the floor. He was so light on his feet, so graceful, she felt like a clumsy child in comparison, and yet they danced together perfectly, dipping and swaying and turning as if they had waltzed together for years.

Once she gained a little confidence, she had time to notice her surroundings. Placed at intervals around the room, were a number of chairs and settees covered in a rich green and gold damask stripe, as well as several low tables made of rich dark wood. Heavy velvet drapes hung at the windows. A delicate crystal chandelier hung from a thick silver chain. For softer light, there were candles in silver wall sconces. Mirrored panels set in the walls reflected the candlelight.

She smiled when she saw her image in one of the mirrors as they twirled about the room. Her gown swirled around her ankles. Her hair gleamed in the light of the fire. Her eyes were shining with pleasure... she felt her smile wilt when she realized that he cast no reflection.

She stopped abruptly, staring at the mirror.

"What is it?" Alesandro asked with a faint smile. "Have I made you dizzy?"

"No." She pointed at the single image reflected in the glass. "I... you... you don't..."

He followed her gaze, his smile fading.

She glanced at him, at the mirror, at him again. "Why?"

"Did no one ever tell you? Vampires cast no reflection."

"Why not?"

He shrugged. "Some say it is because vampires have no soul."

She stared up at him. Vampire. Sometimes she forgot what he was. She saw the pain in his eyes, and even though he made no move, she felt him withdraw into himself.

Not wanting to spoil the mood of the evening, she placed her hand on his arm and said, "Shall we finish our dance?"

One evening, sitting on the sofa in front of the hearth in the parlor, she asked him about the collection in the cabinet. "Are they things from your childhood?"

"In a way." He glanced over his shoulder. "The jade animals belonged to my mother. The books belonged to my father. My sister gave me the bird's nest. The seashell and the stone are souvenirs of home."

"And the heather?"

"It was given to me by a witch in Scotland. She said it would bring me luck." He gazed into her eyes. "I did not believe her at the time, but now..." He brushed a kiss over her lips. "Perhaps she was right, after all."

Several times during the month, Alesandro was called away from the house by those needing aid. She worried each time he was called away, knowing that he was going out to treat those who had been attacked by the other vampire, afraid that he might be attacked again, that he would be destroyed.

And late one night the constable came calling again.

Analisa followed Mrs. Thornfield to the door, listened quietly as the housekeeper informed the constable that Dr. Avallone had been called away on an emergency.

"Bit of a coincidence, don't you think? His being absent every time I arrive?"

"I wouldn't know, sir," Mrs. Thornfield answered, her voice cool.

"And who might this be?" the constable asked. Removing his hat, he turned his attention to Analisa.

"This is Analisa Matthews," Mrs. Thornfield replied in the same cool tone. "She is a friend of the doctor's, recently come to stay with us."

The constable's gaze moved over Analisa, missing nothing. Clad in a gray uniform and a brown overcoat, he was of medium height, with sharp brown eyes, a bald pate, thin lips, and a nose that was too large for his face.

"I don't suppose you would be knowing where the good doctor might be found this evening?" the constable asked.

Clenching her hands to still their trembling, Analisa shook her head.

The constable nodded. "I believe I'll just wait for his return."

"He may not be back for quite some time," Mrs. Thornfield remarked, her tone and expression making it clear the man was not welcome in the house.

"That's quite all right," the constable said. "I'll wait."

"Very well," Mrs. Thornfield said, a note of exasperation in her voice. "You may wait in the library. Come along, I'll show you the way."

Analisa waited in the parlor while the constable followed Mrs. Thornfield into the library.

"What do they want with Alesandro?" she asked when the housekeeper returned.

"They suspect he is guilty of the murders in the village."

"But why?"

"He keeps strange hours, is never seen during the day. There have always been rumors about him. The villagers fear him."

"But I don'tunderstand. If they're afraid of him, why do they come to him for help?"

"They only come to him when they've nowhere else to turn."

"Alesandro told me there was another vampire in the area, that he was the one responsible for the deaths."

Mrs. Thornfield nodded, her expression somber. "His name is Rodrigo. He is a wicked, evil creature, as old as Lord Alesandro. He is a very powerful being."

Analisa's eyeswidened. "You know him?"

"I only know of him."

"Is Alesandro in danger from this other vampire?" Analisa asked, and even as she did so, she remembered that night in the rain. Alesandro had been hurting then, in desperate need of blood because of Rodrigo's attack.

Mrs. Thornfield nodded. "They have been enemies for four hundred years."

"Why?"

"Lord Alesandro has never seen fit to confide in me. Perhaps - "

"Mrs. Thornfield, perhaps you should take some tea in to our guest."

Analisa's heart seemed to skip a beat at the sound of his voice. Turning, she saw him stridingacross the floor, his long black cloak billowing behind him.

"Yes, doctor," Mrs. Thornfield said. "Analisa, would you care for a cup?"

"No, thank you." Analisa smiled at Alesandro. "Good evening, my lord."

"Lisa." He brushed a kiss across her lips, then turned his attention to the housekeeper once more. "What does the constable want now?"

"There's been another murder," she replied.

"Yes," he replied curtly. "I have seen the body."

"You couldn't help?"

"No, I arrived too late." Removing his cloak, he handed it to the housekeeper. "Thank you, Mrs. Thornfield, that will be all."

With a nod, the housekeeper left the room.

Analisa looked up at Alesandro, her gaze searching his. "Was it Rodrigo?"

"Yes, damn him!"

"That night you were hurt, did he... ?"

He nodded. "Yes, he attacked me."

"Has it happened before?"

"Many times. Do not worry, Lisa, you are safe here." A dark shadow passed behind his eyes. "As safe as you can be with a vampire in the house."

"I'm not worried about myself," she said.

You should be. She heard the words as clearly as if he had spoken them aloud.

His hand caressed her cheek. "Go have some tea with Mrs. Thornfield while I speak to the constable."

"But - "

"I won't be long." He silenced her questions with a wave of his hand. "Go along now. Have some tea and cookies with Mrs. Thornfield."

With a little "humph" of pique, Analisa turned and flounced out of the room. She was a woman, for goodness sake, not some child to be sent off to another room while the grown-ups talked.

She paused at the end of the hallway. She stood there a moment andthen she turned and tiptoed toward the library. Holding her breath, she pressed her ear to the door, frowning as she strained to hear what was being said.

"Good evening, Constable Drummond." Alesandro's voice came to her, strong and deep, filled with self-assurance.

"Dr. Avallone."

"Please, be seated."

"No, thank you."

She could almost visualize the two of them, facing each other in front of the hearth, the constable as short and squat as a mushroom, Alesandro tall and elegant.

"You wished to see me?" Alesandro sounded faintly bored.

"Yes, I would like an account of your activities tonight."

"I was treating the butcher's wife." Alesandro's voice turned soft, mesmerizing. "She cut her hand on a knife and lost a great deal of blood."

"Yes," the constable repeated, his voice strangely flat. "The butcher's wife."

"I was with her most of the evening," Alesandro went on in the same hypnotic tone. "She will be on her feet again in a few days. As soon as her condition was stable, I came home. You were waiting for me. We took tea together in front of the fire. Mrs. Thornfield brought us a tray of bread and cheese. You questioned me quite thoroughly."

"Yes, thoroughly," the constable repeated.

"My answers satisfied you completely."

"Completely," the constable agreed.

"There is no reason for you to come here again."

"There is no reason for me to come here again."

"I trust there are no further questions," Alesandro said briskly.

"What? Oh, no. No further questions. Thank you for your time, Dr. Avallone. And don't worry, we'll catch this madman, whoever he might be."

"Yes, of course you will," Alesandro said. "Come, I will see you out."

Lifting her skirts, Analisa turned and ran down the hallway toward the parlor.

"Heavens, child," the housekeeper exclaimed as she burst into the room. "Are you being chased?"

"No, of course not." Blowing out a breath, she turned and peeked out the door in time to see Alesandro bid the constable a final good night.

Alesandro stood there a moment, staring out into the darkness before he shut the door, and then he was striding toward her.

"My lord," she murmured as he entered the room.

"Come with me." He didn't wait for an answer; didn't look to see if she followed him.

She trailed in his wake, her gaze fixed on his back. How tall and broad he was. Elegant. Handsome. Forbidding, at times.

He opened the door to the library, held it for her, then closed it firmly behind him.

"So," he said abruptly. "What did you hear?"

She looked up at him with feigned innocence, her heart pounding erratically. "Hear, my lord?"

"Do not play childish games with me, Analisa. I know you were listening at the door."

A guilty flush warmed her cheeks. "What did you do to him?"

"I merely planted a suggestion in his mind."

"You hypnotized him?"

He shrugged. "It is fortunate that his mind is susceptible to suggestion. I had no wish to kill him." He spoke as if it were a matter of no consequence, but his eyes belied his calm demeanor.

She bit down on her lower lip. He had told her before that he had killed in defense of his own life, but to hear him speak of it so openly chilled her to the marrow of her bones.

"I have distressed you."

"Oh, no... well, yes. I mean... would you really have killed him?"

"If I thought it necessary. Do not be fooled, Analisa. As I told you, I am a killer by nature, a predator."

"Alesandro - "

"It is late," he said quietly.

It wasn't that late, she thought. He was just giving her an excuse to leave the room. And, coward that she was, she took it.

"Yes, it is," she said. "Good night."

"Good night, Analisa."

She didn't see him the next night, or the next. As always when he wasn't there, she felt a keen sense of loss, of emptiness. She picked at her food, couldn't concentrate on her lessons, slept poorly. She had disappointed him in some way she didn't quite understand, she thought. He had told her the truth, told her from the beginning that he was a predator, a killer, but she had been too caught up in going to the opera and the ballet, in seeing the beauty of Paris and London, to think about the rest. She had been so mesmerized by the magic of what he was, by the powers he possessed, that she had blocked out the rest of it, refused to see the danger, the ugliness, that was also a part of what he was.

On the third night, she went upstairs to her chamber early. Unable to sleep, she paced the floor.

Alesandro, come to me.

Again and again, she called to him in her mind.

Come to me, come to me, come to me...

She felt his presence. She turned as a whisper of air brushed her cheek, and then he was there. Tall and dark, his hair tousled. He wore a loose-fitting white shirt open at the throat, snug black breeches, and knee-high black boots.

"You came," she said.

"Did you think I would not?"

"I don't know what to think." She looked up at him, wanting to feel his arms around her, but lacking the courage to ask him, or to move toward him. "I disappointed you. I'm sorry."

He shook his head, his eyes filled with pain. "I forget how young you are, how innocent. How vulnerable. I am afraid I expect too much of you."

"Where have you been the last three nights?"

"Nearby."

"Alesandro..."

She gazed up at him, all her longing, her confusion, visible in the depths of her eyes.

"Analisa," he murmured. "What am I to do with you?"

Hold me.

She didn't speak the words aloud, but he heard them clearly in his mind, knew that if he took her in his arms now, their relationship would somehow be irrevocably altered. The smart thing, the best thing for both of them, would be to send her away. He did not deserve her, did not deserve the light she brought into his dark existence. Her mere presence in the house had added color to his bleak life. He had never intended to keep her with him forever, only long enough to ease his loneliness. He could salve his conscience by sending her away with enough money to live on for the rest of her life. And that was what he would do, he thought, until he saw the single tear glistening in the corner of her eye. He watched it slide down her cheek. One single tear. It was his undoing.

Murmuring her name, he drew her into his arms.

She leaned into him, so young, so vulnerable. How could he send her away?

He carried her to a chair and sat down, cradling her in his lap. It was heaven to hold her in his arms, to hear the soft beat of her heart, to feel her skin beneath his hand, the touch of her hair against his cheek.

Curled against him, she fell asleep in his arms, as trusting as a child. Time passed. Her scent filled his nostrils, awakening a myriad of emotions within him. Desire. Hunger. Lust. A need to protect her, to see her smile, hear the merry sound of her laughter.

He brushed his lips across the crown of her head, breathed in the scent of her hair, her skin, and knew he was lost, knew that, no matter what the future held, no matter what the cost, he would never willingly let her go.