A Lady by Midnight

Author:Tessa Dare [Dare, Tessa]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780062049896
Amazon: 0062049895
Publisher: Avon
Published: 2012-08-28T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter Fourteen

He dreamt of a giant serpent. A thick rope of ominous power, sliding down the narrow alleys of London. Twining through gardens and thickets in Kent. Last, snaking over the low, rolling hills of Sussex . . . tracing the scent of salt all the way to the ocean. It had followed him here, to this ancient castle, where it slithered in through the turret’s smoke vent and dropped to the bed. It wound its length again and again about his arm.

It squeezed.

Devil take me.

The pressure was so intense, Thorne sensed his very bones pulverizing. Then, as if inflicting that flesh-grinding pain wasn’t enough, the dream snake settled on his chest. Each breath felt like a struggle to lift a hundredweight with his ribs.

Thorne wrestled the scaly beast for untold hours, thrashing and grappling with the pain. Finally, mercifully, it faded into blackness.

Sometime later he woke with a start.

All was dark, save for firelight. He couldn’t move. Repeated efforts to draw up his legs or rise to a sitting position came to naught. His limbs wouldn’t obey his commands.

He stared up at the ceiling, panting for breath. A bead of sweat trickled from his brow to his ear. The room was thick with the scents of herbs and tallow.

How much time had passed? Hours? Days?

He heard someone rustling over by the hearth.

“Katie?” he croaked.

She didn’t hear him. As she went about stirring the fire, she hummed a little tune.

He closed his eyes and went back to that very first day. He’d entered the Bull and Blossom and there she’d been. Singing.

He hadn’t recognized her, not at first. How could he? She was a woman now, near twenty years older than when he’d seen her last. And her profile was to him—the unmarked side. To his battle-weary eyes, she was just a fresh-faced girl in white.

To his ears, she was some sort of angel.

She hit this note—a soft, plaintive trill—and that was it. He was done for.

That note found the vulnerable slot between his plates of armor, wriggled in deep and sank in teeth. Her voice was the sweetest venom. It was in his blood, his heart, pumping all through his body before he could muster any defense. All sorts of impulses swelled in response: affinity, desire, protectiveness. An intense, sudden hunger for her approval.

Naturally, a well-bred lady of accomplishment would not look at a man like him. Nor should she. He’d formed no plans or expectations. But simply to know he could feel such things was a source of true wonder. He’d been numb for so long.

She’d struck the last chord, and the music eased into a full, vibrating silence. He would not have noticed a powder blast in the lane.

Then she’d risen from the pianoforte to take her seat. He saw the mark at her temple, and the truth detonated.

Good Lord. It was her. Katie.

Waifish, sweet-faced Katie, all grown up. Now it all made sense. There was a reason he felt a strong sense of recognition—because he did know her.

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