Midnight Pleasures Read online

  She was drowning in pleasure, melting with desire, and then, into her mind came a vision of darkness, and yet it wasn't darkness as she knew it, but a total absence of light, and interwoven with the darkness was an awareness of pain and anguish so vivid it felt like her pain, her anguish.

  She squirmed in his embrace, felt his arms tighten around her. She tried to open her eyes, but the darkness increased, and she felt herself being engulfed in that horrible blackness…

  "Rhianna?"

  "No. No, no… please."

  "Rhianna, open your eyes. There's nothing to fear."

  She blinked at him, feeling as though she had just emerged from a waking nightmare. "What happened?"

  "Nothing."

  "But…"

  "It was only a dream, my sweet, nothing more."

  "But I was awake!"

  "No. You fell asleep in my arms." He looked down at her, his smile strained, his eyes dark and compelling. "To bed with you, I think," he said, and stood up, carrying her with him as though she weighed nothing at all.

  "I can walk, my lord."

  "No need."

  Effortlessly, he carried her up the long flight of stairs to her room. "Rest well, sweet Rhianna."

  "Good night, my lord."

  He bowed his head, then left the room, his long black cloak swirling around his ankles like smoke.

  Chapter Seven

  Sunk in the depths of a black and bitter despair, Rayven stood before the hearth, staring into the flames. He could not keep her here any longer, could not put her life at risk. It was enough that he stole the very essence of her life. He would not take her heart and soul, as well.

  And yet, how could he let her go? He had walked often in her dreams, losing himself in her sweetness, her purity. In the power of her dreams, he could walk in the sun again, feel its warmth on his face. He could see the world bathed in light instead of darkness. Walking beside her, he could pretend he was human again, a man again.

  She was dreaming now, and in her dreams she walked along the banks of a sparkling blue river, pausing to pick a bouquet of bright yellow daisies, to wade in the sun-dappled water, and he walked beside her, feeling the sunlight like a benediction on his face.

  He drew his mind from hers. It was dangerous, letting his thoughts meld with hers. It was getting harder and harder to restrain himself, to keep his hunger under control, to keep his diabolical thirst separate from his desire. He could not, would not, defile her.

  With a sigh, he turned away from the fire.

  Tonight would be the last time.

  He was there, beside her bed, the same dark shape that had come to her so often in the past. A black velvet cloak lined with midnight-blue silk billowed around him, like the wings of a raven. She could not see his face, yet she recognized his touch.

  She felt his lips move over her brow, her cheeks, her temple, felt the heat of his tongue, trailing fire, as it slid down her neck. She turned her head to the side, her hands grasping his arms, her eyelids closing in ecstasy as his teeth grazed her tender flesh.

  She heard his low growl, like that of a wolf, felt the painful, pleasurable bite of his teeth, followed by the touch of his tongue stroking her neck. And then came the words, oddly familiar, soft-spoken hypnotic words that carried her down, down, into the darkness of a dreamless sleep…

  Rhianna woke with a cry, bolting upright in bed. Her gaze darted around the room.

  It was dawn, and she was alone.

  And yet, the dream had seemed so real. She lifted a trembling hand to her neck, terrified of what she would find. Her breath rushed from her lungs in a sigh of relief when her fingers encountered nothing but smooth skin.

  Weak with relief, she fell back on the pillow. There were no teeth marks on her neck.

  It had only been a dream, after all.

  She woke to the sound of a knock on her door. Her first thought was that it was Rayven, and then she heard Bevins's voice requesting entrance.

  "Yes," she called, "come in."

  "Good morning, miss," Bevins said in his carefully modulated voice.

  "Good morning. Is something wrong?"

  "Wrong? No, miss. I've come to inform you that Lord Rayven has made arrangements for you to go to Paris."

  "Paris? But why?"

  "You are to be tutored there. It seems Lord Rayven feels I have taught you all I can. He wishes for you to be instructed in more than merely reading and writing. He wishes for you to be taught etiquette and acquire other feminine arts."

  Rhianna could only stare at him. To her knowledge, no woman in their town had even received a formal education, though a few fortunate ones could read and write their names.

  For a moment, she let herself be caught up in the possibilities, and then she shook her head. "I don't want to leave here."

  "I'm sorry, miss. The arrangements have been made."

  "How soon?"

  "Sunday a week, miss. Lord Rayven has instructed me to take you to town to purchase whatever you think you might need. An account has been opened in your name in the bank near the school."

  "He is most generous," she said, blinking back her tears.

  "I have always found him so."

  "Thank you, Bevins."

  "Breakfast will be ready when you are."

  Rhianna shook her head. "I find I have no appetite this morning."

  "I understand, miss."

  She was going away to school. It was something she had never even dared dream of. Yet the thought of leaving this place, of leaving Rayven, filled her with inexplicable sadness.

  The days passed all too quickly, and soon it was her last night at the castle. After the evening they had spent at the opera, she had expected Rayven to seek her out, but he never did.

  That night, at supper, she asked Bevins if Rayven was at home.

  "I believe so, miss."

  "Would you take me to him?"

  "I'm afraid that's impossible."

  "Why?"

  "Because it is."

  "But I'm leaving in the morning. I just want to tell him good-bye and… and thank him for his kindness."

  "I know, miss. I am sorry."

  He meant it. She could see it in his eyes, hear it in his voice.

  Leaving the table, she went outside. She would miss this place, she thought as she wandered through the gardens. She had been happy here. Far happier than she had ever expected. She wondered how her mother was, if her sisters ever thought of her. No doubt they missed her help in the house and fields, but did they ever miss her? She had not missed them as much as she'd thought she would. In truth, she had hardly thought of her family at all these past months. To think of them living in poverty while she dwelt in luxury was far too painful. The few times she had let herself think of home, she had been filled with an overpowering sense of guilt, though why that should be so, she didn't know. She had not left her family by choice. And yet, being sold to Rayven had turned out far better than she had ever hoped. She had long ago forgiven her father for selling her. Rayven had been kind to her, generous, undemanding.

  Hardly aware of what she was doing, she followed the path that led to the labyrinth. It didn't frighten her anymore. Drawing her shawl around her shoulders, she walked on until she reached the heart of the labyrinth.

  Rayven looked up, startled to find Rhianna gazing down at him.

  He slanted her a wry grin. "No mortal has ever crept up on me like that before," he remarked.

  "No mortal?" she asked, confused by his odd choice of words.

  "Thank you for this," he said, ignoring her question. He gestured at the roses and shrubs that grew in artless profusion around the statues so that the wolf and the raven seemed to rise up out of a crimson sea. "It's beautiful."

  Rhianna nodded. She had spent the past week here, wanting to leave something of herself behind, something for him to remember. She had planted dozens of bloodred rosebushes interspersed with delicate lacy ferns. The result was striking and somehow masculine. She thought
it suited Rayven perfectly.

  "I'm leaving tomorrow," she said quietly.

  "I know." Oh, yes, he thought, he knew. Even now the thought of her going was tearing him apart inside.

  "Why are you sending me away?"

  "It's for the best."

  "Best for who?"

  "For you. For me."

  "I don't want to go."

  He stood up, towering over her, his dark eyes glowing. He was tall and lean, his shoulders broad, his arms well-muscled. She noticed that the scar on his cheek was shaped like a V. Funny, she had never noticed that before.

  Following an inexplicable urge, she traced the fine white line with her fingertip, felt a catch in her heart as his hand covered hers.

  "Rhianna."

  "Please, Rayven, please don't send me away."

  "Ah, Rhianna, I would keep you with me forever if I could."

  "And I would stay. Only ask me to stay, and I will."

  He shook his head. "No."

  His hand tightened on hers as tears welled in her eyes and trickled down her cheeks. In the moonlight, her tears sparkled like flawless diamonds, but they were far more precious to him than jewels. They denoted caring and affection, willingly given, and for that he would always love her. And because he loved her, he would let her go.

  "Someday you will thank me for this, sweet Rhianna."

  "No," she said, sobbing.

  She twisted away from him, her blue eyes awash with tears. "I'll never forgive you. Never!" she cried, and then she was running away from him, taking the sunlight from his life, leaving him in the vast empty darkness of the night, alone, as he had always been alone.

  He contemplated leaving the castle, certain he could not stay there now, could not walk the rooms she had walked, breathe the air she had breathed, and know he would never see her again.

  He would have to leave soon at any rate. He had overheard the men in Cotyer's talking about him, wondering why they never saw him during the day, why he never joined them for dinner, why his appearance never changed, why he didn't seem to age.

  And yet, even knowing he should go, he knew he would not. The castle was filled with her essence, and as painful as it would be to be reminded of her, it was better than forgetting.

  He laughed softly, bitterly. As if he could ever forget.

  Part Two

  Four Years

  Later

  Chapter Eight

  Millbrae Valley, 1847

  Blinking back her tears, Rhianna stood at her father's graveside. She had left the convent school as soon as she received word that her father was dying, but she had arrived too late to bid him a last good-bye.

  Standing there, she remembered how kind and jolly he had always been when she was a little girl, before times got hard and the laughter forever left his eyes. Once, she had thought him calloused and unfeeling. And even though she had understood his reasons, she had hated him for selling her to Rayven, but she had forgiven him for that long ago. She wished she had told him so. She murmured the words under her breath, hoping he could hear them.

  She glanced at her sisters, who stood on the opposite side of the grave. They had grown from pretty little girls into lovely young women since she had last seen them. Aileen, the eldest, was engaged to be married in the spring. Rayven had given her a generous dowry that would enable her and her future husband to buy a small piece of land and build a home of their own.

  She had been surprised to see how well they all looked. Their clothes were new and fashionable. The cottage, once little more than a hovel, was in good repair. Two large rooms had been added. A small stable had been built behind the cottage. It housed three milk cows, a goat, a sheep, and two fine horses.

  When she'd questioned her mother about the changes in their circumstances, Ada had explained that Lord Rayven had refurbished the cottage and built the barn. Each year he sent a generous allowance.

  "It was so good of you to think of our needs, Rhianna," her mother had said, "especially when your father sent you away."

  "I had nothing to do with it," Rhianna had replied, though of course, in a way, she had.

  "But why else would he do such a thing?" her mother had asked. "We are nothing to him."

  He had done it because of her, Rhianna thought, and knew she could never repay him for his kindness to her family, for the education he had provided her.

  The graveside service was brief. When the last prayer had been said, her mother dropped a handful of earth on the simple wooden coffin, and then each daughter, starting with the youngest, did the same. Rhianna knew it was a sound she would never forget.

  Putting her arm around her mother's shoulders, she led her away from the grave.

  Back at the cottage, Rhianna brewed a pot of tea, then sat at the table across from her mother.

  Rhianna picked up her cup, holding it in both hands, hoping the warmth would ease the coldness that she'd felt inside ever since she left the convent.

  "How is Lord Rayven?" she asked after a while.

  "How should I know? I heard he left the castle shortly after he sent you to Paris."

  "He's not here?"

  The coldness that had invaded her body now crept into her heart. He was gone. For four years, she had dreamed of seeing him again. Such a short time they had spent together, yet he had been in her thoughts every hour of every day, in her every dream at night.

  "An odd man, that one," her mother mused. "I only saw him once." Ada shivered. "Such cold eyes. Never have I seen such cold eyes."

  "Cold?" Rhianna shook her head. He had not seemed cold to her. Lonely. Isolated. But not cold. She had seen the warmth in those eyes. The heat of desire. The flame of passion.

  "Did he say where he was going? When he would be back?"

  "Not that I recall." Ada sipped her tea. "Did he… Forgive me, Rhianna. I said I wouldn't ask, but I must know. Did he defile you, child?"

  "No, Mother. He was kind to me."

  "Kind?"

  Rhianna nodded. "I had the best of everything while I was with him. He sent me to the best school in Paris, made sure that I had new clothes every year. I was the only girl who had a room of her own. He sent me an allowance each month so I would have spending money of my own. In truth, he has been most generous to me. And to you, it seems."

  "Aye. It's glad I am that you're back, child. Have you come home to stay?"

  Rhianna thought of what it would be like to live in the village again. She would miss Paris, miss her companions at school. But this was Rayven's home. Surely one day he would return. And she would be here when he did.

  "Yes," she decided, "I'm here to stay." And knew that she would have stayed in any case. Her mother had never been strong; now she looked frail.

  Ada smiled. Setting her cup on the table, she stood up. "I'm tired. I think I'll go lie down for a while."

  "Rest well, Mother."

  "Welcome home, daughter." Giving Rhianna an affectionate squeeze on the shoulder, she left the room.

  Her sisters came in then. Aileen, the eldest, was now 17. Lanna was 15, Brenna almost 14, and Bridgitte had just turned 12. Subdued by the funeral, they sat at the table, reminiscing about their father, remembering the good times and ignoring the bad.

  "He never forgave himself for what he did to you," Aileen remarked. "Even though the money Lord Rayven paid him put food on our table." She paused, her fingers toying with the sash of her dress. "Was it awful, living with Lord Rayven?"

  "No." Rhianna glanced around the cottage. How different it looked. And yet, even though it was now clean and well-equipped, it still looked like a hovel when compared to the castle's opulent furnishings.

  She spent a quiet evening with her mother and sisters, reminiscing about old times, listening to their plans for the future.

  Later, when everyone else had gone to bed, Rhianna saddled one of the horses and rode to Castle Rayven.

  The castle was as she remembered it, a stark and lonely sentinel looming over the town. The mist, ever
constant, shrouded Devil Tree Mountain, so that only the tallest spires were visible from a distance.

  He wasn't there. She knew that, yet she needed to see the castle again, to walk through the gardens, to say good-bye…

  Dismounting at the side gate, she tethered the horse to a tree, opened the gate, and stepped into the garden. Gone were the beautiful flowers she had planted, the shrubs, the roses. The trees, once flourishing, were dry skeletons.

  Heavy hearted, she wandered up and down the narrow twisting paths. All her hard work gone for naught.

  Only the maze remained, standing stark and green against the gray stone walls.

  With a sigh, she made her way back to the side gate and took up her horse's reins. It was time to go. Everything she had planted, everything she had once hoped for, was gone, like a bad dream.

  She was here. Cloaked in the shadows of never-ending night, he watched her walk along the moonlit paths. She had changed in the last four years. Youthful curves had matured. She moved with womanly grace and self-assurance, and he watched her with a sense of pride, knowing that he was, in part, responsible for what she had become, though her inner beauty had always been there.

  Rhianna. Her name rose in his mind, chasing away centuries of darkness. Rhianna… Why have you returned? Come to torment me anew? To remind me of what can never be? Rhianna… beloved… how I have yearned for you… dreamed of you… Rhianna…

  "My lord?" She turned around, expecting to see him standing behind her, his dark cloak swirling around him like smoke, but there was no one there.

  Confused, she peered into the shadows. She had heard his voice so clearly, she could not have imagined it.

  Dropping the horse's reins, she hurried along the narrow brick path that led to the front of the castle and pounded on the door.

  She waited. And listened. And knocked again.

  After what seemed an interminable length of time, the door creaked open. "Good evening, miss," Bevins said.

  "Bevins! What are you doing here?" He looked much the same, she thought, though his hair seemed grayer than before, thinner with the passage of time.