She awoke late the next morning, wondering, hoping that her walk in the woods and all that had happened afterward had been a nightmare. And even as she hoped it had been nothing but a dream, she knew, deep in her heart, that it was all too real.

Alesandro de Avallone, Lord of Blackbriar Hall, was a vampire.

He had asked her last night if she wanted to stay with him. She didn't want to leave him, but, knowing what she knew now, did she really want to stay? And if she stayed, what would it mean? Would she be nothing more than a source of... of nourishment, or... Warmth crept up her neck and into her cheeks. Would he expect to share her bed, as well?

A knock at the door scattered her thoughts as Sally arrived with her morning chocolate.

The day had begun.

She drank her cocoa, bathed and dressed, then went downstairs to breakfast. She looked at the food on her plate - poached eggs and ham, scones and marmalade - and thought of Alesandro, who hadn't eaten real food in over four hundred years.

Later, walking through the rose gardens, she thought of him yet again. How awful, to be surrounded by such beauty and unable to enjoy it in the light of day, to spend every waking moment in darkness, to be unable to feel the warmth of the sun on one's face or enjoy a cup of hot tea on a cold winter night. And yet... how wonderful, to never grow old, never know sickness, or have to endure the ravages of disease and death.

All that day, she pondered what it would be like to live as a vampire, to crave the blood of others. She was aware of the passage of time as never before as she waited for dusk, both excited and apprehensive at the thought of seeing him again.

She dressed with care that evening in a gown of pale blue wool, brushed her hair until it gleamed.

She was nervous all through dinner, waiting for him to come to her, but the clock chimed the hours with annoying regularity - eight, nine, ten - and still he did not appear.

She was sitting in the library, a book on ancient vampire lore in her lap, when the clock tolled the hour of midnight. With a sigh, she closed the book and placed it on the table beside her. He wasn't coming. She didn't know whether to be relieved or disappointed. She didn't really know anything about him, she admitted. Not where he spent his evenings, not what he did to pass the long hours before dawn when the rest of the countryside lay sleeping. What a lonely life it must be, she thought, to be awake when everyone else was abed.

And that was where she should be. Upstairs, in her bed, but she was too restless to sleep.

Where was he? Why hadn't he come to her?

Unbidden came an image from the book she had read earlier, its lurid photograph burned into her brain - the image of a vampire lying in a coffin surrounded by men carrying knives and torches. And underneath the photograph, the words There is only one sure way to kill a vampire. Take the head and the heart and burn the body.

And hard on the heels of that ghastly image came the echo of Alesandro's voice in her mind. There are many who are searching for me, even now.

Had his enemies found him? She had a sudden, horrifying image of Alesandro being set upon by the townspeople during the day when he was helpless.

Grabbing her shawl, she wrapped it around her shoulders and went out into the garden. The night was cloudy and cold. A chill wind stirred the leaves on the trees and tugged at the hem of her skirt.

Why had he avoided her? Did he need to satisfy his hunger every night? And if so, had he gone elsewhere?

She was shocked by the rush of jealousy that consumed her at the mere idea of his going to another woman for nourishment.

Where was he!

Hardlyrealizing what she was doing, she walked to the crypt and placed her hand upon the cold stone marble, wondering why she felt his presence there so strongly when his resting place was in a small stone fortress in the woods.

"You should not be out here, my sweet Analisa. There is the smell of rain in the air."

She didn't move, didn't turn, only closed her eyes and let the sound of his voice move over her, embracing her.

He glided up behind her. Though he said no word, made no sound, she knew he was there, so close that if she leaned back she would be touching him. And that was what she wanted, she thought, to touch him. And be touched in return.

"Analisa. Look at me."

She shook her head, suddenly afraid. Of him. Of her own tumultuous feelings.

"Analisa."

She could not resist the pleading in his voice, any more than she could resist the siren call of her own desires.

She turned to face him and he drew her slowly into his arms, as if he was afraid he might frighten her away if he moved too fast.

"I waited for you all night," she admitted quietly.

"I know."

"You didn't come."

His arms tightened around her. "Analisa, you are so young, and I am so afraid of hurting you. You are so tempting, so fragile. I could crush you with a thought, destroy you with a touch. Why do you not run screaming from my presence?"

"Is that why you came here tonight? To frighten me away?"

"No. I came because I could not stay away from you any longer." He placed his finger beneath her chin, tilted her head back, and kissed her ever so lightly. "I came because I have been lonely for so long. Because, even though you are afraid of what I am,you do not flee from me in terror. Because you let me do this," he murmured, and kissed her again, more deeply this time. Her lips were soft and sweet and warm, so warm. "Ah, Analisa."

She gazed up at him, her heart pounding, her body aching in places coming alive for the first time. "Are these feelings my own? Or am I under your spell?"

"No, my sweet Analisa, it is I who am under your spell."

"What spell is that?"

"Love, my sweet one. Dare I hope you are caught in its web, as well?"

"I don't know." Was it love she felt, this fluttery feeling in the pit of her stomach, the happiness that bubbled up from the deepest part of her whenever he was near? "I've never been in love before."

"Nor I. Perhaps we will discover its joys together, if you are not afraid."

"Will you kiss me again?"

"As often as you wish," he murmured, and claimed her lips with his own. She fit into his arms as if she had been made for him, and him alone. He heard the increase in her heartbeat as he drew her closer still, sensed her anxiety, her eagerness. She was so young, so innocent, he was afraid of defiling her with what he was, and even more afraid of yielding to the sweet temptation of her lips, to the hours of forgetfulness to be found within her embrace.

With an effort, he drew back. "Will you stay here with me, Analisa? Can you trust me enough to stay?"

"Yes, Alesandro."

"Will you do whatever I say?"

"What do you mean?"

"What do you see when you look at me?"

"A man, my lord. What else?"

"But I am not a man, Analisa, and if I tell you to go to your room and lockthe door, you must do so immediately, without question."

"All right. Will you tell me why?"

"There are times when my control is tenuous at best. At those times, it will not be safe for you to be near me. Do you understand?"

"Like last night, you mean?"

"Yes. If I have not fed for several days, or if I have been wounded, the hunger can be overpowering."

"What happened to you last night? You were in pain. Were you injured?"

"There is another vampire roaming in the vicinity..."

"And he hurt you?"

Alesandro nodded. "He has no right to be here. I have held this territory for almost four hundred years..."

"You were fighting with him? Over who has a right to be here?"

"Yes."

"You were badly hurt. Is he stronger than you are?"

He shrugged. "Perhaps. But these are my people. It is my land. He will not have it."

"Why does he stay?"

"He is preying on the people of the village."

"Isn't that what you do?"

"Yes. But he is taking too much, leaving his victims on the brink of death, or killing them outright." His expression grew hard. "It is not my way."

"But you've killed."

He did not deny it. "I do not want to hurt you, Analisa. I have not taken a life in over two hundred and fifty years, except to defend my own."

She leaned back a little in his arms and looked up at him through guileless eyes. "Will I be safe in my room?"

"I hope so."

"You hope so?" she exclaimed softly. "Don't you know?"

"The truth is, my sweet Analisa, that there is no way for you to be truly safe from me, not so long as you dwell within my house."

"But... what about crosses, and... and holy water?"

"Daylight is the only thing that will keep you truly safe. A silver cross will burn me, as will holy water, but they will not keep you safe."

She shivered in his embrace. "Why are you telling me this? You ask me to stay, and then try to scare me away."

"I am afraid for you," he said solemnly. "And afraid for me."

"What are you afraid of?"

"I have never loved anyone before." He ran his knuckles back and forth across her cheek. "I am trusting that I can control the hunger, that I can keep you close and keep you safe. If I am wrong, if I hurt you, it will destroy me as surely as the touch of the sun."

"We must be very careful, then," she said solemnly.

"You are not afraid to stay?"

"I am more afraid of being without you."

He gazed deep into her eyes, charmed by her innocence, captivated by her beauty. Though he knew she could not be his forever, it was enough that she was here now, that, for a short time, he would have the company, the comfort, only a mortal woman could give.

"If you ever wish to leave, you have only to tell Mrs. Thornfield. She will see you safely gone."

"Are we to be" - her cheeks turned scarlet - "lovers?"

He laughed softly. "No, my sweet Analisa, it is enough that I take your blood. I would not steal your virginity, as well. You must save that for the man you will someday wed."

"You don't want to marry me?" she asked, confused. "But I thought... you said you loved me."

"I do."

"But - "

"It is because I love you that I will not defile you. Your virginity is a prize you must save forthe man who will be your husband. We can have no lasting future together, Analisa, you must realize that. In six months, a year perhaps, I shall send you away."

"What if I don't want to go?"

"We will burn that bridge when we come to it. For now, let us be happy together."

She smiled up at him, her thoughts as familiar to him as his own. She would not argue with him now. She would bide her time, certain that eventually she could convince him to change his mind.

Their new life together began the following evening.

He appeared at dusk clad in black broadcloth. His shirt was snowy white, his boots polished. A black cloak fell from his broad shoulders.

"Good evening, my sweet Analisa," he murmured, and bowed low over her hand. "Alesandro. How handsome you look." He smiled his pleasure. "You must change quickly, my sweet one. We are going to the opera."

Her eyes widened. "We are? Where?"

"At the Royal Opera House inCovent Garden ."

"Covent Garden!London !" She had heard of it, but never dreamed she would go there. "But it will take hours to get there." She glanced down at her dress. "I've never been toLondon , or the opera. I don't have anything to wear."

"It will not take hours," he assured her. "And a new gown awaits you upstairs."

The dress was the most beautiful creation Analisa had ever seen. Made of mauve-colored silk, it had long sleeves, a square neck, and a modest train. Looking in her mirror, she felt quite elegant, though she felt she was looking at a stranger. Sally had done her hair up in a loose coil, leaving one long curltofall over her left shoulder. Sally had insisted on adding a bit of rouge and a touch of powder to her cheeks.

Analisa sighed. Her mother would have fainted if she could have seen her daughter now. Ann Matthews had considered paint and powder to be tools of the devil.

Alesandro was waiting for her at the foot of the stairs. Heat flared in the depths of his eyes when he saw her, flowed between them until her cheeks grew warm beneath his gaze.

He took her hand in his and raised it to his lips. "Youare more beautiful than sunlight," he murmured. The sight of it, the feel of it, was something he had almost forgotten, until now. Had the sun glowed as brightly as Analisa's smile, or warmed him as much?

He placed her shawl around her shoulders. "Are you ready?"

She had no sooner nodded than she felt herself swept into the same vortex she had experienced once before. It was a sensation beyond words, a feeling of being swept through time and space that left her momentarily disoriented.

When she opened her eyes, she was in a box at the opera house with Alesandro. She sat down, waiting for her breathing to return to normal, and then leaned forward, her eyes wide. There was so much to see. Men in stylish evening attire, women in elegant gowns, the musicians tuning up in the pit, the conductor, the theater itself with its lavish scrollwork, plush carpets, expensive murals and paintings, the fresco on the ceiling. The prevailing colors were a rich dark red and gold. The pillars of the proscenium were made of veined marble. Alesandro told her that the first theater, built in 1732, had burned down in 1808. It had been built again, and burned again in 1856. The current theater had been built in 1858.

No sooner had he finished speaking than the curtain went up and the opera began.

She tried to take it all in, the singers on the stage, the costumes, the sets, the music. She had never heard an orchestra before, never heard such singing. It brought tears to her eyes; she tried to wipe them away without letting Alesandro see, and failed. He leaned toward her, his thumb catching a tear, and then he handed her his handkerchief.

She applauded wildly when the curtain came down.

"I take it you enjoyed the production?" Alesandro said dryly.

"Oh, yes, it was wonderful. Thank you so much."

"I shall bring you again, just to see you smile."

"Really?"

"Really. Are you ready to go home?"

She hesitated before nodding.

"What is it?" he asked.

"I've never been toLondon before."

"It is a grand city. I wish I could show it to you."

"Couldn't we see it tonight?"

"Would you not rather come during the day with Mrs. Thornfield?"

She laid her hand on his arm. "I'd rather see it with you."

Her words warmed him. "As you wish, my sweet one."

He was as good as his word. He hired a carriage and they spent the rest of the night driving throughLondon . They sawBuckinghamPalace , which had been built in 1703 by John Sheffield, the first Duke of Buckingham.

"Have you ever seen the Queen?" Analisa asked as she gazed at the palace.

Alesandro shook his head.Victoria had been in seclusion ever since her husband died in 1861. She no longer resided atBuckinghamPalace , but lived at Windsor or Balmoral instead.

They drove aroundHyde Park . Alesandro told her it had been a royaldeer park during the reign of Henry VIII. He told her that the famous bridle path known as Rotten Row was located there.

They went toLondonBridge , which, until theWestminsterBridge had been built in 1760, had been the only thoroughfare across theThamesRiver . He told her there had been houses, shops, and a church built on the original bridge, but they had been removed in 1763. He even described them to her. In 1831 the old bridge had been replaced by a granite one designed by John Rennie.

They drove past Newgate Prison. It had been destroyed in the great fire of 1666 and rebuilt,he told her, and then destroyed again during the Gordon Riots of 1780, and rebuilt.

They stopped atSt. Paul 's Cathedral and she stared up at it, enthralled by its age and beauty.

"It was built by Christopher Wren," Alesandro remarked. "BeforeSt. Paul 's, there was an old Gothic church here, but it too was burned in the fire of 1666. It took thirty-six years to buildSt. Paul 's."

"It was time well spent," Analisa murmured. She glanced up at Alesandro. He had been alive when the original church burned down.

It was near dawn when they returned to the carriage.

She was better prepared for the journey home. When Alesandro took her arm, she closed her eyes and held her breath, and when she opened her eyes again, she was in her own bedroom.

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