"A visitor?" Analisa looked up from her needlepoint in surprise. "Who would be coming to see me?"

"A young man," Mrs. Thornfield answered, handing her a small ivory-colored card.

"Mr. Geoffrey Starke," Analisa said, reading the name aloud. The name was vaguely familiar, but she couldn't recall where she had heard it before. "What does he want?"

"He's come calling," Mrs. Thornfield said. "He's waiting in the parlor."

Geoffrey Starke? Analisa frowned, and then it came to her. She had danced with him last night. Of all the young men who had partnered her, he had been the most persistent, claiming two waltzes and a quadrille. A fourth dance would have been a breach of etiquette.

"Miss?"

Analisa stared at the housekeeper, her thoughts befuddled. Never before had she entertained a gentleman caller, especially a member of Mr. Starke's class. "What should I do?"

"Why, you must make him feel welcome, of course," Mrs. Thornfield said. "I'll bringtea and some of the sweet cakes Cook baked this morning."

"What will I say to him?" Analisa asked, getting more flustered by the moment.

"If he's like most young men, you'll not need to say much," Mrs. Thornfield replied with a rare grin. "All you'll need do is nod from time to time."

Analisa slipped the card into her skirt pocket. "Couldn't I just send him away?"

"If you wish."

"What do you think I should do?"

"I think you should see him. He seems a pleasant fellow. It will do you good to make some friends in the city."

"Oh, very well. Do I look all right?"

Mrs. Thornfield looked her over carefully, then nodded. "You'll do. And don't worry, social etiquette dictates that his call will be brief."

Taking a deep breath, Analisa smoothed her hands over her skirt, patted her hair, then made her way toward the parlor. Outside the door, she took a deep, calming breath. Mr. Geoffrey Starke didn't know she was just a poor country girl with no home and no family of her own. And there was no need for him to know. Lifting her chin, she opened the door.

Geoffrey Starke stood as she entered theroom. He was of medium height, with wavy brown hair, hazel eyes, and a fine straight nose. Clad in a crisp white shirt, buff-colored trousers and a matching coat, and carrying his hat and riding whip in one hand, he looked quite dapper. And quite handsome. Of all the young men she had danced with the night before, he had been the one she favored the most.

"Miss Matthews." He bowed over her hand. "I hope you don'tmind my calling without an appointment."

"No." She withdrew her hand from his. "Sit down, please." She took a seat on the sofa, indicating he should take the chair.

"Thank you."

"I must admit, I was quite surprised when Mrs. Thornfield gave me your card."

"I hope the surprise was a favorable one," he said, smiling.

He had a ready smile. And a dimple in his left cheek.

They spoke of the weather, of the dance the previous night, of the masquerade ball Geoffrey was hosting the following week.

"The invitations have already gone out," he said, "which is why I came to call on you today." Reaching into his pocket, he withdrew an envelope and handed it to her. "I was hoping I could persuade you to attend. I know it's rather short notice, but..." He shrugged. "May I hope to see you there?"

"I'm not sure." She looked down at the envelope, addressed to her in a bold hand, then placed it on the table beside the sofa. "I'll have to ask - "

"Of course. The gentleman who was with you at the ball, is he your guardian?"

Analisa was trying to decide how to answer that when Mrs. Thornfield entered the room. She served them tea and cakes, smiled reassuringly at Analisa, then left the room.

Mrs. Thornfield had spoken true. Analisa did not have to think of anything clever or witty to say. Mr. Starke dominated the conversation, telling her of his sister's upcoming wedding, the thoroughbred mare he had recently purchased from America.

Analisa had expected to feel ill at ease in his company, but, to her surprise, she was quite charmed by his quick smile and mild manner.

Half an hour later, Mr. Starke stood to take his leave. At the door, he took her hand in his. "I hope I may call on you again."

Flustered, she smiled politely and said that would be agreeable.

Returning to the parlor, Analisa sank down on the sofa. What would Alesandro say when he learned she'd had a gentleman caller? Would he be angry? Jealous? She didn't thinkhe would be pleased.

She opened the envelope she had dropped on the table and withdrew the handwritten invitation. She read it once, then read it again:

Mr. Geoffrey Starke requests the pleasure of Miss Analisa Matthew's company at an Evening Masquerade Ball on Friday, April 8th.

An answer will oblige.

Dancing.

She felt a flutter of excitement. It was the first time in her life she had ever been invited anywhere. It had been such fun last night, being the center of attention, being flattered by handsome, well-dressed young men. She had not for a moment believed their flattering words, but they had been pleasant to hear nevertheless.

Leaving the invitation on the table beside the sofa, she went upstairs to dress for dinner.

A stranger had been in the house. Alesandro caught the man's lingering scent as soon as he entered the dwelling. He took a deep breath, his eyes narrowing. Geoffrey Starke. He did not have to wonder what the man had been doing there. He had seen the way Starke had looked at Analisa the night before, the way the man's eyes had followed her every move.

He fought down the jealousy that engulfed him. Whether he approved or not, Analisa had every right to have visitors. Once, he would have encouraged it. Once, he had thought to keep her with him only a short time, and then find her a husband. The idea no longer held any appeal. He could not abide the thought of her spending time with another man, smiling at someone else. Loving someone else. Once, he had told her they could not have a life together; now he could not imagine his existence without her.

She had said she was in love with him, but was she really? She had never known another man... He closed his eyes, his hands clenching into tight fists at his sides. If she decided she wanted to marry a mortal man and raise a family, he would not stand in her way.

"Alesandro?"

He opened his eyes to find her regarding him curiously.

"Are you all right?" she asked, moving across the floor toward him.

He nodded. She was more beautiful each time he saw her, he mused, or perhaps it was only that he loved her more each day.

Rising on tiptoes, she kissed his cheek. It wasn't enough. Wrapping one arm around her waist, he drew her against him and claimed her lips with his. He kissed her hungrily, more forcefully than he intended, wanting to wipe the thought of any other man from her mind and heart.

She gasped when he released her, her gaze searching his. "What is it? What's wrong?"

"You had a visitor today."

She nodded, a guilty flush staining her cheeks. "Yes, Mr. Starke."

"Did you invite him here?"

She shook her head vigorously. "No, of course not."

"What did he want?"

"He invited me to a masquerade ball."

"And did you accept?"

"No. I said I would have to ask you."

He loosened his hold on her waist, suddenly ashamed. He was questioning her as if she belonged to him, as if he had every right to demand an accounting of her time, her actions.

"You need not ask my permission, 'Lisa. You are not a prisoner in this house. I am not your guardian."

"But..." She looked confused, and then hurt."We... I thought..."

She looked away, but not before he saw the tears in her eyes. Feeling like a cad, he pulled her into his arms.

She buried her face against his chest. "You said you loved me," she said, her voice muffled.

"I do love you, 'Lisa. More than you can imagine." He ran his hand over her hair. "But you deserve to have a life of your own. Perhaps I should go away for a while and give you a chance to mingle with people your own age."

"No!" She looked up at him. "I don't want you to go. Please, Alesandro. I love you."

"Have you ever been courted, 'Lisa? Ever had a beau?"

"No."

"I would not deprive you of your youth." It was bad enough that he had stolen her innocence. "You should go to dances and parties, make friends, do all the things young women do before they settle down."

"You're trying to send me away again, aren't you? Like before. You're going to tell me this is for my own good, aren't you? Aren't you?"

"Analisa, listen to me. I just want you to be sure that this" - he made a gesture that encompassed himself and the house - "is what you want. I do not want you to be sorry later, or feel that you have missed out on something that could have been yours. Think about it carefully, before it is too late. Think about what you will be giving up if you stay with me. Will you be happy with someone who can share but half of your life? Someone who cannot give you children. Someone who is no longer mortal. Perhaps not even human."

She stared up at him, her eyes wide, and he knew that, for the first time, she was seriously considering the consequences of being with him, loving him. It was no small decision.

"But I love you," she whispered.

"Have you ever been in love before?"

"No."

He swore under his breath, unable to believe what he was about to say. "Then I suggest you do as I said. Go out and meet people your own age. Find out if what you feel for me is truly love, or merely gratitude."

She looked up at him for a long moment, her eyes again reflecting her hurt and confusion, and then she nodded. "Very well, my lord, if that is what you wish."

Alesandro paced the floor of his study long after Analisa had retired for the night, wondering what perverse imp had taken over his tongue and mind that he should tell 'Lisa to go out and meet other men. He had never intended to fall in love with her. Never intended she should stay with him for more than a short time. He knew what he was, knew what atrocities he was capable of committing. He had never been one to lie to himself, to try to paint himself as anything but what he was: a hunter, a predator. A killer. He had done many things of which he was ashamed in order to survive. Despicable things. Cruel, evil things that weighed heavily on what was left of his conscience. He had never made excuses for himself, or for what he had done in the past. But wanting Analisa, wanting to keep her here, to share his wretched existence, was perhaps the worst sin of all. The least he could do was give her the chance to decide for herself, to make sure she wanted to stay here, with him. And she must be sure, for once she was truly his, nothing but death would take her from him.

Caught up in a maelstrom of emotions the likes of which he had not suffered in more years than he could recall, he willed himself out of the house and into the heart of the city. There were hours yet till dawn. Hours in which to torment himself.

He walked the quiet streets, gazing up at the darkened houses he passed, imagining the families inside, ordinary people living ordinary lives, worrying about finding enough food to eat, fuelto burn, raising children, always overshadowed by the specter of disease and certain death. How did they bear it? He had long ago forgotten what it was like to be weighed down by mortal worries, to be concerned about anything other than having a safe haven where he could spend the deadly hours of daylight, and the means to ease his insatiable craving.

He moved silently over the cobblestones, drifting like smoke through the darkness. Driven by his hunger, he left the residential area behind, his instincts taking him down a rabbit warren of dark streets until he came to a narrow alley where he found a tart plying her trade.

She looked at him over her trick's shoulder. "Be right with you, Your Lordship," she said with a wink.

Alesandro nodded. He could wait. If there was one thing he had in abundance, it was time.

Analisa sat at her bedroom window, staring out into the darkness. Alesandro had left the house. She had not seen him go, but she knew he was gone. His absence caused a sense of loss deep within her, as if a part of her soul had been cut out, leaving a great, gaping hole.

He wanted her to go out, to see other people. Other men. She knew he was offering her a way out, giving her a chance to make sure that what she felt for him was real and not girlish infatuation or gratitude. He was being noble, and it was making her angry, partly because he seemed so willing to let her go, and partly because, in spite of everything, she couldn't help having second thoughts from time to time.

He had been honest with her almost from the beginning. He was a vampire. He needed blood to survive. He was, in his own words, a predator, a killer. She thought perhaps she could learn to live with all that. But there were other aspects she had never dwelled upon. Like the fact that she would grow old and he would not. Her skin would wrinkle, her hair would turn gray, her body would grow old and weak, while he stayed forever young, strong and vibrant. If she stayed with him, could she bear it when she began to grow old and he did not? Would the love she felt for him turn to envy and then hatred when she peered into her looking glass and saw an old woman staring back at her? And what of Alesandro? How would he feel when she was no longer young? Would he grow to hate her? Pity her? Abandon her?

Alesandro, Alesandro, where are you? Where had he gone? To feed? It hurt that he had not come to her, as he usually did. Couldn't he see that what he was asking of her was going to cause a gulf between them? That it already had?

She slammed her fist down on the windowsill, her hurt turning to anger. If he wanted her to meet other men, then she would! She would show him! She would have men lining up outside the house, waiting to meet her. She would have so many men wanting to court her, she would have to turn them away in droves. She would marry the first rich man who asked her and have a dozen children and...

She dashed the tears from her eyes. She didn't want anyone else. She wanted Alesandro.

And she meant to have him.

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