Books by Maggie Shayne (199 page)

"Why do you want to know?"

She shrugged.
 
"I...
 
I just do.
 
You're holding me prisoner here, the least you can do is make conversation."

"It isn't conversation, it's interrogation."

She scowled at him.
 
"It's curiosity.
 
Nothing more."

"It's a girl after a story.
 
That paper, my secrets, as you said."
 
He cleared his throat, staring at a spot just past her.
 
"However, maybe it's for the best that you still want to know.
 
I believe I've come up with a solution to our mutual problem here.
 
A compromise."

"Oh?"
 
She sipped soup from her spoon, and dipped in for more.
 
It was hot, tasty.
 
"A bargain, you mean?"

"Yes."

"Well, this is interesting.
 
How can you make a bargain with me when you've already made it clear I'm stuck here whether I like it or not?"

"At least this way you'll get something in return."

"What?"

"Everything you want to know, Rachel.
 
Stay with me, give me time to make certain... arrangements.
 
Do this, and I'll tell you my story.
 
And when I've done the things I need to do, I'll let you go."

She tilted her head to one side.
 
"What kinds of arrangements are you speaking of, Donovan?"

*
   
*
   
*
   
*
   
*

I shrugged, unable to take my eyes from hers, openly curious, the fear fading bit by bit.
 
"I'll need to change my name, establish a new identity, prepare a place for myself to live, a new place, where no one has seen me before."

Shaking her head slowly from side to side, she whispered, "But why?"

"Because you'll know all my secrets.
 
And when you write your paper, others will know.
 
They'll flock here in droves, some merely curious, others... others intent on my destruction."

"I think you're overreacting.
 
No one would even believe it was true..."

"The locals already believe it."

She lowered her head.
 
"This isn't 1898, Donovan.
 
The angry mobs you envision are in your imagination."

"No," I said softly.
 
"They're in my memory.
 
I saw the best friend I'd ever had driven to his death, Rachel.
 
I have no intention of ending my life that way.
 
I won't."

She lifted her gaze to mine, probed my eyes.
 
"I don't suppose I blame you."
 
Then she set her bowl aside, still half filled, as if she'd lost her appetite.
 
"You seem to have given this a lot of thought."

"I have."

"I believe there's one thing you haven't considered, Donovan."
 
I looked at her, waited.
 
She rose and paced to the hearth.
 
Bracing her arms on the mantel she stared into the flames.
 
Their light bathed her face, gleamed in her eyes.
 
"You haven't credited me with an ounce of humanity.
 
So it will come as a surprise to you to learn I am, indeed, human, since you seem to believe I'm the same sort of monster you keep calling yourself."

"I never implied—"

"I would never write a paper that would drive a man from his home, force him to give up his entire life.
 
Why would I?
 
For a degree?
 
"Tis hardly a fair exchange."

I searched her eyes, looking for the lie.
 
But I didn't find it.

"None of this is necessary, Donovan.
 
I'll simply find another subject for my paper."

My eyes narrowed.
 
I almost wanted to believe her.
 
"Lord, but you think I'm lyin' to ya, don't you, Donovan?"

I had to look away.
 
"You might be lying," I said.
 
"Or you might be telling the truth.
 
I can't be sure.
 
And I'm afraid I can't risk taking you at your word."

"I've never broken my word in my life!"

She declared it with such fierceness it nearly shook my
  
resolve.
 
Lowering my head, unable to face her, I whispered, "I'm sorry."

She faced me, then glanced beyond me toward the door, and when I managed to look at her again, there were tears building in her eyes.
 
"You really are going to keep me here—like a prisoner—aren't you?"

"I have no choice, Rachel."

"The hell you don't, Donovan O'Roark.
 
The hell you don't.
 
You've been right about one thing, I'll grant you that.
 
You truly are a monster.
 
And not because you're a vampire, but because you have no heart.
 
No trust.
 
Nor a care for anyone besides yourself.
 
Make your arrangements if you must.
 
An' when you're ready to set me free, come fetch me."

Her anger washed over me like a tempest, and I actually staggered backward under its force.
 
Then she whirled and stomped up the stairs, intent, I was certain, on finding her room, slamming its door and throwing the lock.
 
And it would have been a very dramatic exit, too, if she hadn't paused, panting, halfway up the stone staircase.
 
Without looking back she said, "Kindly guide me back to my room, O'Roark.
 
I've no desire to become lost in this mausoleum again."

I nodded, and slowly mounted the stairs.
 
When I got to her, I touched her elbow, cupped it in my hand, and she pulled away.
 
"I am the way I am because I have to be," I said slowly as we moved up the stairs.
 
"It's a matter of self-preservation.
 
If Dante didn't teach me another thing, he taught me this.
 
We're meant to be alone.
 
To live alone.
 
To trust no one.
 
It's the only way we can survive.
 
He forgot his own most important lessons.
 
And he died because of it."

She'd stopped walking, and when I glanced down to see why, she was staring at me, still angry, but there was something else in her eyes as well.
 
"Alone," she whispered.
 
"An' just how long have you been living by those words, Donovan?"

"Ever since Dante died," I told her softly.

"A hundred years..."

I shrugged and started walking again, touching her elbow, propelling her upward.
 
"One gets used to it."

"No, I don't believe one does.
 
"Tis little wonder you've no idea how to behave toward another."

I turned at the head of the stairs, stopped before a large door.
 
"I think you'll like this room better, Rachel.
 
I...
 
I had it decorated myself."

She blinked.
 
"For whom?"

I looked at her.
 
"I... for no one.
 
It was a whim.
 
A foolish whim."
 
I pushed the door open, turned a knob affixed to the wall, and watched as the gaslights slowly came up.
 
I'd connected the lines while she slept, ignited all the pilots, even cleaned the glass globes.
 
I hadn't really expected her to leave as I'd ordered.
 
But I hadn't expected her to find my resting place either.

She stepped past me into the room I'd had built for no imaginable reason.
 
I remembered more than Dante's betrayal at the hands of a woman, and subsequent death.
 
I also remembered my friend's happiness, the glow about him when he'd been in love, and believed himself loved in return.
 
Even I had been hesitant to berate Dante or speak my doubts of Laura Sullivan's loyalty aloud.
 
There must be no other happiness in the world like that of love.

And while I'd existed in utter solitude all this time, my mind had opportunity to wander.
 
To wonder.
 
To dream.
 
What would it be like?
 
What if it happened for me?

And that fantastical dream had inspired me to build these rooms.
 
The suite I'd created for a dream lover I would never know.
 
The rooms I would give to her if she were real.
 
The rooms we would share.

Empty.
 
They stood empty and likely always would.

Except for Rachel.
 
For a few nights, they'd be filled with a woman whose beauty was worthy of them.

"Lordy, but this is lovely..."
 
She stepped inside, twirling in a slow circle to take in the sheer mauve fabric draped from the bed's canopy to form curtains.
 
The carpet, a similar color and so thick her feet left imprints as she moved.
 
The glass doors, that opened out onto a stone balcony fit for a princess.
 
The elaborately hand-tooled woodwork, painted gold to match the trim on the velvety wallpaper, and the tiebacks for the mauve drapes.

Her smile came, despite the situation.
 
And I secretly relished it.
 
The rooms were wasted with no one to enjoy them.
 
That they gave her pleasure pleased some secret part of me.

"There's more," I told her, taking her hand and drawing her toward one of two doors.
 
"The bath, here."
 
She gasped at the sunken tub, the golden fixtures.
 
Plump towels in deep green lined every rack, and deep rugs the same shade covered the floor.
 
Bottles of expensive oils and fragrances lined the shelves.

"Who did you dream of entertaining here, Donovan?
 
A queen?"

My lover.
 
The one I would never know.
 
But I didn't tell her that.

"There's a sitting room as well," I said, going back to the bedroom and pushing open a second door to reveal a room lined with bookshelves, two window seats, a small pedestal table with a pair of cushioned chairs, and a settee sofa, and rocker.
 
A fireplace laid ready, but unlit, and gas lamps lined the stone walls.

But she wasn't looking at the room.
 
She was looking at me.
 
"Why all this?" she whispered.
 
"Why go to all this trouble if you truly intended to live your life alone, Donovan O'Roark?"

I shook my head.
 
"As I said, a foolish whim."

"No, I don't think so."
 
She came closer, tipping her head back, searching my yes.
 
"You're lonely.
 
And tired of being, I think."
 

"That has nothing to do with..."
 
I lowered my eyes, my voice trailing off.

"With what?
 
With why you're keeping me here?"
 
She blinked and looked around her.
 
"You might believe that, Donovan, but I don't think it's true.
 
I think you built this room with every intention of bringing someone here to fill it.
 
To fill... you."

I turned fully now, glancing at the fireplace as if it fascinated me and trying not to tremble in fear at her words.
 
"Thinking that way will only confuse you, Rachel.
 
I need no one.
 
I share my life with no one.
 
You're here because I cannot let you leave.
 
But I will, the moment my arrangements are made and it's safe for me to do so.
 
That's all.
 
There is no more to it than that."

I felt her staring at my back.
 
"All right.
 
If you say so."

I turned to go.
 
She stayed silent as I stepped into the hall and closed the door.
 
And then I stood there, trembling.

God, could she be right?

All the modern conveniences," she muttered, alone in her suite of rooms.
 
He'd gone, left her here on her own, and he probably believed she preferred it that way.

She didn't.
 
This place was too large, too hollow and quiet.
 
Like a tomb.
 
She soaked in a tub brimming with steamy water, and sprinkled some of the aromatic oils in with her.
 
Her bruises needed the pampering, and the heat did ease her aches somewhat.

But she'd have to put her torn, dirty clothes back on when she got out, and the idea didn't appeal.
 
She didn't suppose he'd let her go long enough to rush back to her room above the pub and fetch her own things.
 
So would he expect her to spend her entire time here in the same clothing?

Moreover, did he expect her to spend it alone, in these rooms?

He couldn't.
 
She wouldn't stand for that.

When the water began to cool, she got out, wrapped
  
herself in a thick green towel, and stepped back into the bedroom.
 
The double doors of a built-in wardrobe beckoned, and she went slowly toward them, hesitantly reached out, and pulled them open.

"Lordy..."
 
The closet nearly spilled over with clothing.
 
Satins, silks and lace in a hundred shades cascaded from hangers.

To one side were drawers built into the wall, and as she tugged them open she found nightgowns almost too fragile to touch, and underthings.

"But why?"
 
She touched the garments, pulled the hangers along the rack one by one, saw that the sizes varied as widely as the colors and fabrics did.
 
She paused at a long full skirt, paired on the hanger with a white off-the-shoulder blouse.
 
It looked like something a Gypsy might wear.

"Take anything you like."

She caught her breath and whirled, automatically clutching at the towel around her.
 
"Donovan.
 
I didn't hear you come in."

"I expected the door to be locked."

She blinked, saying nothing.
 
But as she searched his eyes this time, she saw the pain there.
 
The loneliness.
 
He'd built these rooms on a whim, he'd said.
 
But it was obvious to her he'd prepared them for a woman.
 
Was she real? she wondered.
 
Or only some distant wish he'd allowed himself to indulge in secretly?

When she still didn't speak, he took a step backward, his hand still on the doorknob.
 
"I'm sorry.
 
I'll leave you alone."

"No, don't go."

He stopped abruptly, looking at her.
 
And she saw his gaze dip beyond her face, very briefly touching on her body, covered only by a towel.
 
And she knew her bruises showed, and her hair was damp and tangled, hanging over her shoulders.
 
And still she felt some deep reaction to that gaze.
 
As if it were truly admiration in his eyes, and not only surprise.

"You... want me to stay?"

She turned back to the closet, removing the clothes she'd been drawn to, not looking at him.
 
"If you're going to keep me here, Donovan, the least you can do is entertain me.
 
I'll go crazy if I'm to spend all my time in these rooms alone.
 
Lovely though they are, I'd soon die of boredom."

He lowered his head.
 
"I... thought you'd want to rest."

"It's too early to rest.
 
Besides, if I'm to sleep all night and you're to sleep all day..."
 
She blinked, and tilted her head to one side.
 
"You do, don't you?"

He only nodded.

"Well, then how are you going to keep to our bargain?
 
When will you have time to tell me all your secrets, Donovan?"

He brought his gaze level with hers quickly, and a frown marred his brow.
 
"So you've decided to write the paper after all?"

She shrugged, draping the clothes over her arm and heading toward the bathroom.
 
"You can believe what you wish.
 
You will anyway.
 
The truth is, I'm curious."

"That's all?" he asked.

She paused in the doorway to glance back at him.
 
"Yes.
 
That's all.
 
I'll only be a minute."
 
And she closed the door.
 
Quickly, she donned the skirt, long and loose, and moving around her like a spring breeze.
 
Then the blouse, its sleeves dipping low on her shoulders, and the elastic waistline clinging high enough so that a bit of her midriff was visible.
 
She ran a brush through her hair, frowning at the lack of a mirror in the room.

No mirrors.
 
As if, even in his fondest fantasies, he hadn't allowed himself to imagine a mortal woman filling his loneliness.
 
Only another creature like him.

She didn't fit the bill in the least, did she?

She blinked, and then frowned hard.
 
It didn't matter!
 
What made her think such a thing?
 
Oh, but she knew.
 
Was knowing more and more with each moment that passed.
 
He was that gentle soul who'd pulled her from the river, he was that dark angel who'd comforted her when she'd cried in her bed, alone and afraid.
 
And she'd loved him all her life.

He didn't trust her.
 
She wasn't even certain she could blame him for that.
 
She was a Sullivan.

But she was meant to set it right, she sensed that.
 
She was meant for him.

Finally, clearing her throat and gathering her wits about her, she stepped back into the bedroom.

Donovan looked her up and down, blinking as if in surprise.

"It's hardly modern," she said, fingering the fabric of the skirt.

"It's lovely.
 
You're
lovely."

She averted her face, feeling the heat creeping into her cheeks.
 
"These rooms are so different from the rest of the castle... so is the great hall."

"Actually, it's only the north wing that's still in disrepair.
 
Unfortunately, that's where you ended up earlier.
 
Most of the place has been restored, updated."
 
He reached out to move her hair off her forehead, and
 
gingerly examined the bump there, a result of her collision with the wall.
 
"There's even electricity."

"But you use the gas lamps?"

"I prefer them.
 
Are you hurting much, Rachel?"

"I'm sore, but only a wee bit.
 
I'll be fine," she told him.
 
She eyed the soft golden glow emanating from the fixtures in the room and nodded.
 
"I agree, the gas lamps are far nicer.
 
Will you show me around, then?
 
Um... the restored parts, I mean.
 
I've no interest in seeing the north wing again."

"That's good.
 
I'm afraid that wing is off-limits while you're here, Rachel."

She searched his face.
 
"So there are some secrets you won't be sharing with me?"

His eyes hooded, he shook his head.
 
The north wing is unsafe, as you've already learned.
 
Stay out of it, Rachel."

Her curiosity rose to new heights.
 
"All right," she said.

She didn't think he believed her.

"Come."
 
He offered his arm.

She took it.
 
Closed her hand around his upper arm, and felt him.
 
Warm, not cold as one might expect.
 
He felt real.
 
He felt like a man.
 
Not a monster.

He had, she mused, the deepest, bluest eyes she'd ever seen, and hair a soft, dark brown, nearly black.
 
She'd been incredibly attracted to him at first.
 
And she still was.

He led her through the main hall of this wing.
 
Showing her other bedrooms, none in use, but many ready for company.
 
Odd, for a man who expected to be alone forever.
 
Then he guided her back down the stairs, where he showed her the library, a huge room lined with books on shelves that towered to the ceilings.
 
Leather chairs sat in pairs by the towering windows.

"'Tis a sad room," she said, speaking in muted tones as if she were at a funeral.

"Sad?
 
Why do you say so?"

She walked forward slowly, pausing between two chairs beside a tall window that was completely enshrouded by heavy velvet drapes.
 
"The seats... they're in pairs.
 
All of them.
 
But you've no one to sit in them with you."

When she glanced back at him, he only shrugged.
 
She turned forward again, and fingered the deep honey velvet.
 
"It's as if the world is a place you'd rather not see.
 
But it's too beautiful to shut out, you know."

Stepping forward, he pulled the cord and opened the drapes.
 
"Yes, I know."

She glanced out, then drew a surprised breath.
 
The windows looked out on a flagstone path that meandered amid lush shrubs and bushes she couldn't identify.
 
In the center, the moonlight glistened on a fountain, ancient, but completely restored.
 
A stone image of some pagan goddess stood on a pedestal, spilling clear water from her outspread palms to splash into the pool spreading below her.

"'Tis beautiful," she whispered, but then she drew her gaze away, staring in confusion at the other windows, their draperies drawn tight.

"They're only drawn by day, Rachel.
 
As soon as darkness falls, I part them."
 
He looked past her, into his garden.
 
"I love the night."

"And the daylight?" she asked, in a voice that emerged as a bare whisper.

"It would kill me.
 
The way it killed Dante."
 
He turned to face her.
 
"Would you like to walk in my garden?"

"Yes.
 
Yes, I'd like that very much."

He reached for her hand.
 
He seemed to make a habit of doing that.
 
She let him take it, though, and followed as he led her to the far end of the library, to yet another set of drapes.
 
These parted to reveal French doors, that opened onto the garden.

"It's larger than I could tell from the window."

Nodding, he cradled her hand in his, perhaps unaware of doing so.
 
Or maybe not.
 
"It stretches out on this side, and around to the rear of the castle, reaching nearly to the cliffs."

She fingered a delicate-looking vine that clung to the castle wall.
 
Narrow green buds nodded heavily from it.
 
"I've never seen this before."

"Wait," he told her.
 
"We'll sit.
 
Here."
 
He pointed to a stone bench with claw feet and lion's heads for arms.
 
They went to it, sat down.

"Is that why you rest by day?
 
Because you can't be exposed to sunlight?"

He turned toward her.
 
"Not entirely."

She only waited, willing him to answer while he searched her face for... something.
 
Her true evil intent, she imagined.
 
"As daylight approaches our functions begin to slow.
 
By dawn we're usually unconscious, whether we want to be or not.
 
And it's not the sort of sleep from which one can be roused."

"Like... death?"

"Not so deep as death, I imagine.
 
But far deeper than any mortal's sleep."

"So if someone were to poke you, or shake you or shout in your ear....."

"Or set me aflame or drive a stake through my heart," he finished for her.
 
"I'd be aware of it, but likely unable to react enough to defend myself."

"That must be frightening."

"It's the reason for the coffins, hidden in the bowels of the castle.
 
I'm most vulnerable while I rest... and why I'm telling you any of this I can't say."

"Maybe you're starting to trust me?"

"I trust no one, Rachel.
 
Beautiful mortal females least of all."

She blinked.
 
"You... find me beautiful?"

He stared at her for a long moment, and his eyes seemed to heat as they moved lower, raking her before slowly meeting hers again.
 
Then he simply turned away, facing the castle, and the curious vines.
 
"Look."

She looked.
 
Then she caught her breath as one by one, the green buds seemed to split.
 
Bit by bit they opened, milk-white petals unfurling, their faces turning up to the moon as if in welcome.
 
Welcoming the night.

"I've never seen anything like them."

"They're very rare.
 
Moon lilies.
 
I had them imported."

"They're beautiful."
 
As she looked around, she noticed other plants in bloom.

"I have no flower that closes up by night.
 
Everything either remains open through the dark hours, or only blooms in darkness."