He was waiting for her at dusk the following evening. Her heart seemed to skip a beat when she descended the stairs and saw him standing there. He wore a black jacket over snug black breeches. His shirt was white, open at the throat.

"Come," he said, and ushered her into a room near the back of the manor. She stood in the doorway while he lit a fire in the hearth.

It was a large room, one she didn't remember seeing before. The walls were paneled in dark wood. There were no pictures on the walls save one of a tall masted ship riding a storm-tossed sea.

She moved toward a narrow bookshelf beside the fireplace. Many of the titles were in languages unfamiliar to her. A few sounded like medical journals or textbooks. She ran her fingertips over the volumes: A Study of Hemophiliaby Dr. Jonathan Forsythe,Diseases of the Bloodby Thomas Balderston, Die Ehre des Herzogthums Krainby Count Valvasor, Faustby Goethe, In a Glass Darklyby Joseph Sheridan Le-Fanu, The Count of Monte Cristoby Alexandre Dumas, The Tibetan Book of the Dead.

"You enjoy reading?"

She turned with a start to find him standing beside her. His nearness overwhelmed her.

"I've only just learned. Mrs. Thornfield has been teaching me every afternoon attwo. She says I'm doing very well..."

She stopped abruptly. She was babbling like a silly child, she thought. Indeed, she felt like a foolish schoolgirl standing there beside him. He was tall and dark and self-assured. She wondered suddenly how old he was. He might have been any age from twenty to forty. She wondered, too, why he wasn't married. Surely a man of his wealth and breeding could have any woman he fancied. And children. Surely he wanted an heir, someone to carry on his family name, to inherit his lands and wealth.

She felt a quiver of anticipation as he reached toward her, then a strong sense of disappointment as he reached past her to pull a book from the shelf.

"Come," he said, moving toward the high-backed sofa in front of the hearth. "Read to me."

She shook her head. "Oh, no, I couldn't."

"Of course you can." He sat down, looking at her over his shoulder. "Come, Analisa."

Trapped by his gaze, mesmerized by the smooth seduction of his voice, she went to sit beside him. He handed her the book, then sat back, one arm resting along the edge of the sofa, waiting.

Swallowing hard, Analisa opened the book and began to read. When she occasionally stumbled over a word, he supplied it for her. The story was titled Carmilla. It was a dark tale about a young girl named Laura who was attacked by a vampire. It told of Laura's childhood encounter with Carmilla, an incident near forgotten until years later when the vampire reappeared. In the end, the vampire was destroyed.

With a sigh, Analisa closed the book. "A troubling tale, my lord. I am glad that such creatures as vampires do not exist."

But exist they did, and he was not the only one. He thought of his ancient enemy. Would he be able to keep Analisa safe should Rodrigo learn of her presence at Blackbriar?

His dark gaze met hers, glittering strangely, a fact she ascribed to the light of the fire. "There have always been tales of vampires, Analisa. Every civilization has its own legends and myths. The ekimmuof Sumeria, the chiang-shihofChina ,the vrykolakasofGreece ."

"Yes, my lord, but they are only stories told to frighten children."

"Are they?"

"Aren't they?"

"Of course." He plucked the book from her hand and placed it on the table beside the sofa. "Come," he said, rising. "Your dinner is ready."

She was about to ask him how he knew when Sally rapped lightly on the door to announce that very thing.

Alesandro offered Analisa his hand. "Shall we?"

He escorted her into the dining room, took his proper place at the head of the table, indicated she should sit on his right. As usual, the table was covered with a lace cloth and laid with fine china, gleaming silver flatware, and crystal rimmed with gold. She thought the cost of one plate alone would probably have fed her family for a month.

Sally served dinner shortly thereafter: tender roast beef swimming in gravy, Brussels sprouts and mashed potatoes. And Yorkshire pudding.

Analisa frowned. "You're not eating, my lord?"

"No."

The look in his eye, the clipped tone of his voice, effectively stilled any further questions.

He requested a glass of dark red wine, which he sipped while she ate, ever aware of his deep blue eyes watching her.

"Tell me of your life, Analisa."

"There is nothing to tell, my lord. Were it not for your kindness, I should be quite lost."

"You have no family?"

"No, my lord. Nor any friends left."

"The epidemic?"

"Yes, my lord." She looked down at her plate. "Sometimes I wish I had died, as well."

"No! No, Analisa, one must never wish for death. Life is far too precious, and too fleeting."

"Have you lost loved ones, my lord?"

He nodded, his expression suddenly wistful. "Many." Far too many, he mused. His parents, his beloved sister, the friends and colleagues of his youth, so many deaths, until the pain had become too great and he had cut himself off from the world and the people in it.

"My lord?"

"Yes, child?"

"You seem very far away."

"I am afraid I was. Forgive me."

"Why do you call me a child? I'm ten and seven. Hardly a child."

"Ah, ten and seven. A vast age, to be sure."

"Are you mocking me, my lord?"

"No, Analisa."

His voice moved over her, slow and sweet, like thick, dark honey. And his eyes, those blue, blue eyes... they seemed to see into her mind and heart. Indeed, into the very depths of her soul. Did they see the loneliness she felt? Her sorrow over the loss of her family? Her fear of the future? If he turned her out, she had nowhere to go, no one to turn to for help.

"Analisa."

"Yes, my lord?"

His hand cupped her nape and drew her closer, until she felt as though she were swimming in the blue depths of his eyes. His kiss, when it came, was excruciatingly tender, hardly more than a whisper across her lips, yet she felt it in every fiber of her being.

"You have nothing to fear from me," he said, hoping he spoke the truth. "My home is yours for as long as you wish." He kissed her again, ever so gently. "My life is yours."

She looked up at him, not knowing what to say, but knowing that, from this moment on, her life was irrevocably bound to his.

She dreamed of him that night, a dark, erotic dream that faded upon awaking, leaving her with only a vague memory of smoldering indigo eyes and his mouth on hers.

Feeling a sudden inexplicable urge to go to the grove, she slipped out of bed. Dressing quickly, she ran down the stairs and went out the side door.

Heavy gray clouds hung low in the sky; the grass was still damp with dew; the flagstones were cold beneath her bare feet.

She entered the grove, expecting somehow to find him there, disappointed to find herself alone. What was there about this place that called to her? Going to the crypt, she put her hand upon the cold stone, but it did not warm to her touch as it had before.

Because the crypt was empty?

She folded her arms over her breasts, wondering where such a ridiculous thought had come from.

Shivering, she ran back down the path to the house. Reentering by the side door, she hurried up the steps to the second floor, paused, and continued on up to the third floor.

Her heart was pounding erratically when she reached the room at the end of the hall. She stood there a moment, feeling foolish for what she was thinking. Hand shaking, she reached for the doorknob. The door was locked.

Turning away, she went downstairs tobreakfast. If the crypt was empty, she mused, was it because the occupant was now asleep upstairs in the master's bedchamber?

She was on edge all that day, waiting for him to come downstairs, waiting to see him again. But morning turned to afternoon, and still there was no sign of him. She spent two hours in the library with Mrs. Thornfield, but her mind kept wandering to the upstairs bedroom and the man who was sleeping there.

"Analisa? Analisa!"

"What? Oh, I'm sorry, Mrs. Thornfield, did you say something?"

"I asked if you were ready to continue."

"Yes, of course." She bit down on her lower lip. "Where were we?"

"Your mind isn't on reading today," the housekeeper said, sitting back in her chair. "Is something amiss?"

"No, no... I was just wondering if... if Dr. Avallone... is he here?"

"Yes, I believe so."

"Oh. I was wondering... that is..."

"Go on."

Analisa shook her head, suddenly embarrassed. She had been disappointed when he hadn't joined her for breakfast. She recalled he had told her he was never home during the day. It was none of her business where or how Alesandro spent his days, but she couldn't help wondering.

"Analisa?"

"Nothing," she said, and picking upher book, she began reading again.

She had just finished her lesson when Sally burst into the library.

"Mrs. Thornfield, the constable is at the door."

"The constable!" Analisa exclaimed.

Mrs. Thornfield stood slowly. "I'll take care of it, Sally."

"What can he possibly want here?" Analisa asked.

"There's nothing for you to worry about," Mrs. Thornfield said. And so saying, she left the room.

Sally cast a worried look at Analisa, curtseyed, and hurried after the housekeeper.

Analisa sat there a moment, her finger tapping on the cover of the book. Laying it aside, she left the library. When she reached the parlor, she slowed, then stopped, careful to stay out of sight. She could hear the voices coming from the other room quite clearly now.

"When do you expect Dr. Avallone to return?"

"I'm not sure," Mrs. Thornfield replied. "He was called away on business."

"I see," said the same deep male voice. "He was away the last time we tried to contact him, as I recall."

"He travels extensively," Mrs. Thornfield said.

"So it would seem."

"Might I tell him why you wished to see him?"

"There was a murder last night. A right grisly one it was, too."

Analisa gasped, then quickly covered her mouth with her hand.

"A murder?" Mrs. Thornfield didn't sound shocked, only mildly curious.

"Yes, not far from here. When Dr. Avallone returns, tell him we want to see him."

"Yes, I will. Good afternoon, Constable."

"Good day to you, mistress."

Analisa released a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding when she heard the door close. She flushed guiltily when Mrs. Thornfield entered the parlor and saw her standing there.

"You heard?" the housekeeper asked.

"Yes. A murder. How awful!"

"There's nothing to fear, Analisa."

"But - "

"You're in no danger here," Mrs. Thornfield said with a tight smile. "In fact, this is the safest place you could be."

Mrs. Thornfield had intimated that Alesandro was away, so Analisa did not expect to see him that evening. She wondered why he hadn't told her he was going away, though there was no reason why he should. He owed her no explanations for how he spent his time. Still, she couldn't help feeling hurt, and rather disheartened that she wouldn't see him that evening.

She had just finished dining on a succulent Cornish game hen and was sipping a glass of syllabub when he suddenly appeared in the room, silent as a shadow.

"My lord," she exclaimed.

He raised one black brow as he took the seat across from her. "You seem surprised to see me."

Sally hurried into the room carrying a bottle of wine and a crystal goblet on a silver tray. "Will there be anything else, my lord?"

He dismissed her with a wave of his hand, leaving Analisa to wonder how Sally had known he was in the house, or that he had wished for wine.

The girl bobbed a curtsey and left the room.

"Will you not have dinner, my lord?" Analisa asked.

"No. I... dined earlier."

"Oh. There was a constable here today, looking for you," she said. "Mrs. Thornfield told him you were away."

"I would not leave without telling you." His voice was soft and low, as intimate as a caress.

"She lied, then."

"At my request."

"But why?"

"I have my reasons for avoiding the constabulary."

She stared at him, astonished that he spoke of lying to the constable so easily, that he seemed so unconcerned. "But there was a murder..."

His expression grew dark. "Do they think me responsible?"

"I... I don't know," she stammered. "The constable didn't say."

"Do you?"

Her mouth went suddenly dry, and she clasped her hands in her lap to still their trembling, frightened by the way his gaze burned into hers, by the fine edge of anger she heard in his voice.

"No, my lord," she said, her voice no more than a squeak.

"You think me capable but not responsible?"

She stared at him, not knowing what to say, but knowing, deep inside herself, that he was capable of violence and, yes, even murder.

He lifted one brow, his grin mocking the growing fear in her eyes.

Analisa rose to her feet. "If you'll excuse me, my lord, I need to... to..." She searched her mind for some urgent matter of business. "To study my lessons."

In a lithe movement reminiscent of a cat intercepting a mouse, he stood, blocking her path.

He was tall, so very tall. She looked up at him, her heart pounding wildly. Mrs. Thornfield had told her she was safe here, but she didn't feel safe, not now, not with Alesandro standing so close. His eyes burned into hers, so dark they looked almost black. She wanted to look away, but try as she might, she could not draw her gaze from his.

His hands folded over her shoulders and slowly, slowly, drew her closer, until she could feel his breath on her face.

"Please." Even as the word whispered past her lips, she wondered what she was trying to say. Please don't hurt me? Please don't let me go?

His head lowered toward hers, until all she could see were his eyes burning like blue fires into her own.

"Analisa. Yield to me."

His voice was soft yet rough, like velvet rubbed the wrong way. It surrounded her, wrapping her in seductive warmth, beguiling her senses. She didn't know what it was he wanted, knew only that, whatever it was, she yearned to give it him, to ease the pain underlying his command.

"Analisa."

Her eyelids fluttered down and her head fell back, exposing her throat. As from a great distance, she heard a low sound, almost a moan; felt his breath, hotter than any fire, along her neck; heard him swear as he released her.

Feeling dazed and disoriented, she looked around. Mrs. Thornfield stood in the doorway, a look of disapproval on her face.

"What is it?" Alesandro snapped.

"Judith Wentworth is here, Doctor. She's wanting you to come look at her grandmother."

He nodded curtly. "Get my cloak."

Mrs. Thornfield glanced at Analisa, then turned and left the room.

"Go to bed, Analisa," Alesandro said brusquely. "And lock your door."