across her skin as his hand moved up to envelope her breast. His thumb flickered over her nipple, sending spasms to her toes, an inferno to her stomach. She was helpless at his stroke, weightless in his arms.
“Kiss me.” Vivian reached out to his face, desperate to touch him. But he recoiled, then stumbled back.
“Where are you going?” She propped up on an elbow.
He disappeared into the sea of flowers. Lightening pulled her attention back to the sky. Lying back, Vivian stared at the rain falling straight down upon her. Coldness bled into her skin, chasing her internal fire.
Thunder exploded overhead.
Vivian awoke, shivering.
Between the flashes of lightening and the dying fire, she looked about the shadowed room. The tapestry quivered, cobwebs danced, but no mortal assaulted her. Somewhere far beneath the chilled skin, her body hummed. But she was alone.
Tomorrow, she would stand her ground. Lord Ashworth could not send her away.
Chapter Five
Ashworth sank to his knees. Though a suffocating blackness enveloped him, he knew where he was.
The same spot he’d been last night. With the same throbbing erection.
Damn.
The potion was a wonder drug. It helped him sleep at night, cured him of the devastating nightmares.
Every morning he’d awaken to find himself well-rested and free from dreams.
But then Vivian arrived.
Now scorching dreams of desire blazed in his veins. Now he roamed the darkened hallways of Silverstone. But if he denied himself the elixir, he would relive the horror of that London night within ghastly, vivid dreams.
Ashworth pushed himself to stand. He had to send Vivian from here. The Monster must live alone.
Vivian tapped her nails on the dining room table. Lord Ashworth slept late. She’d learned that in two days.
She stared at the dry scone on her plate. Although the strong scent of bacon permeated the air, she wasn’t terribly hungry.
Heavy footsteps lifted her attention. Her stomach fluttered as Lord Ashworth entered the room. Aside from his deep scar, his face was as beautiful as ever, though smudges of purple underlined his eyes. It was as if she had imagined his sudden change last night. Dressed in his customary breeches and plain white shirt, he looked harmless. And dangerously charming.
Without a greeting, he sat at the far end the table. She watched him wave to the shadows beyond the door and Mrs. Plimpton immediately poured him some tea. Finally, after a few sips, he looked up and noticed her.
“Sleep well, Vivian?”
Only if dreaming about her body being warmed and caressed by a stranger was called sleeping well.
She nodded, but was unable to dismiss the quiver in her belly. “Yes, my lord.” She dared not ask him how his night progressed after she left.
Mrs. Plimpton set a platter of scones before him and he reached for one. Chewing, he said, “I have some coins for you. Enough to take you back from where you came.”
Her chest squeezed, her lungs stop functioning. He had not changed his mind. “No.”
“No?” His gaze narrowed, but his next response was interrupted when the servant named Pinkley shuffled into the room. He carried a tarnished silver platter. An envelope teetered precariously on its surface. “Post came for ye, mi’lord.”
Lord Ashworth sighed and took the letter. “Thank you, Pinkley. You may go now.”
The old man gave her an evil glare, then hobbled from the room.
Vivian ignored Pinkley and studied the paper in Lord Ashworth’s hand. “What is that on the corner?”
He flipped over the envelope. “Ah, this is the Penny Black.”
She leaned forward. “Penny Black?”
“Have you not recently mailed a letter? This has changed our world. A sender pays for postage, not the recipient.”
If that were indeed the case, Vivian could send her mother letters! She’d not wanted her mother to have to pay for the correspondence, but neither did she want her to go without any communication.
Lord Ashworth glanced at the writing on the
“Kiss me.” Vivian reached out to his face, desperate to touch him. But he recoiled, then stumbled back.
“Where are you going?” She propped up on an elbow.
He disappeared into the sea of flowers. Lightening pulled her attention back to the sky. Lying back, Vivian stared at the rain falling straight down upon her. Coldness bled into her skin, chasing her internal fire.
Thunder exploded overhead.
Vivian awoke, shivering.
Between the flashes of lightening and the dying fire, she looked about the shadowed room. The tapestry quivered, cobwebs danced, but no mortal assaulted her. Somewhere far beneath the chilled skin, her body hummed. But she was alone.
Tomorrow, she would stand her ground. Lord Ashworth could not send her away.
Chapter Five
Ashworth sank to his knees. Though a suffocating blackness enveloped him, he knew where he was.
The same spot he’d been last night. With the same throbbing erection.
Damn.
The potion was a wonder drug. It helped him sleep at night, cured him of the devastating nightmares.
Every morning he’d awaken to find himself well-rested and free from dreams.
But then Vivian arrived.
Now scorching dreams of desire blazed in his veins. Now he roamed the darkened hallways of Silverstone. But if he denied himself the elixir, he would relive the horror of that London night within ghastly, vivid dreams.
Ashworth pushed himself to stand. He had to send Vivian from here. The Monster must live alone.
Vivian tapped her nails on the dining room table. Lord Ashworth slept late. She’d learned that in two days.
She stared at the dry scone on her plate. Although the strong scent of bacon permeated the air, she wasn’t terribly hungry.
Heavy footsteps lifted her attention. Her stomach fluttered as Lord Ashworth entered the room. Aside from his deep scar, his face was as beautiful as ever, though smudges of purple underlined his eyes. It was as if she had imagined his sudden change last night. Dressed in his customary breeches and plain white shirt, he looked harmless. And dangerously charming.
Without a greeting, he sat at the far end the table. She watched him wave to the shadows beyond the door and Mrs. Plimpton immediately poured him some tea. Finally, after a few sips, he looked up and noticed her.
“Sleep well, Vivian?”
Only if dreaming about her body being warmed and caressed by a stranger was called sleeping well.
She nodded, but was unable to dismiss the quiver in her belly. “Yes, my lord.” She dared not ask him how his night progressed after she left.
Mrs. Plimpton set a platter of scones before him and he reached for one. Chewing, he said, “I have some coins for you. Enough to take you back from where you came.”
Her chest squeezed, her lungs stop functioning. He had not changed his mind. “No.”
“No?” His gaze narrowed, but his next response was interrupted when the servant named Pinkley shuffled into the room. He carried a tarnished silver platter. An envelope teetered precariously on its surface. “Post came for ye, mi’lord.”
Lord Ashworth sighed and took the letter. “Thank you, Pinkley. You may go now.”
The old man gave her an evil glare, then hobbled from the room.
Vivian ignored Pinkley and studied the paper in Lord Ashworth’s hand. “What is that on the corner?”
He flipped over the envelope. “Ah, this is the Penny Black.”
She leaned forward. “Penny Black?”
“Have you not recently mailed a letter? This has changed our world. A sender pays for postage, not the recipient.”
If that were indeed the case, Vivian could send her mother letters! She’d not wanted her mother to have to pay for the correspondence, but neither did she want her to go without any communication.
Lord Ashworth glanced at the writing on the
Similar Books
Wyoming Sweethearts
Jillian Hart
Gently French
Alan Hunter
Dead of Night (Ghosts & Magic #1)
M.R. Forbes
Russian Roulette
Anthony Horowitz
Sword of Light
KATHERINE ROBERTS
The Hunger Trace
Edward Hogan
An Outlaw's Christmas
Linda Lael Miller
Such Good Girls
R. D. Rosen
As Luck Would Have It
Mark Goldstein