Gothic Blue by Portia Da Costa

Author:Portia Da Costa [Costa, Portia Da]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Romance, Erotic, Adult
ISBN: 9780352330758
Google: qlTd5zu65r8C
Amazon: 0352330759
Goodreads: 549615
Publisher: Virgin Books
Published: 2000-03-08T11:00:00+00:00

Chapter Nine

Japanese Whispers

Has she understood me? thought Andre, arranging his star-strewn cloak around him as he lay down among the books and parchments tumbled across his bed. It was close to dawn, and soon he would be compelled to go to sleep again, but until that happened he could nurture his hopes and dreams.

To his great relief, Belinda Seward had expressed no horror at his unusual longevity and shown very little fear of him, but he did sense that she harboured many questions. Questions, and an instinctive awareness of her own importance in the scheme of things; an importance that transcended simple dalliance.

Not that the love they had made had been insignificant, he realised. Far from it. Abandoning himself to memory, he lay back and hugged his silken cloak around him, thinking of the pleasure he had experienced just hours ago.

Touching and caressing Belinda Seward had been frighteningly like his recurring dreams of Arabelle. Their bodies and faces were so similar, or at least alike in the fact that Belinda was his Arabelle matured to womanhood. If Belle had not been taken from him before she had even achieved her twentieth birthday, she would have looked very much as Belinda looked now. He smiled, wondering if Belle would ever have considered cutting off her lustrous titian hair and sporting the short, elfin crop that Belinda favoured. He would have to ask her. What he was sure of though, was that she would certainly have had the same sensual nature; the same sweet blend of naivete and daring. A rich amalgam of the pure and the profane.

As his penis began to rise again, stirred both by recent acts and by long-lost dreams, Andre sat up, squared his shoulders, and reached for a book. It had always seemed odd to him, but he had discovered that he did his best and clearest thinking while he was aroused. Whenever he cast an enchantment, he incited a state of desire for the process - either by stimulating thoughts or by touching himself - and he ascribed much of his magic prowess to the powers of lust.

And he would need every last scrap of that prowess if he were to achieve the difficult goal that lay ahead of him. Opening the grimoire, he turned quickly to the relevant pages, to a ritual that he already knew by heart yet which was so hazardous it had never been given a name.

Would it work? he wondered, wrinkling his nose as a familiar but hated perfume rose up from the age-darkened paper. This grimoire might be the only means by which he could achieve what he wanted for himself and Arabelle, but its origins inspired a deep revulsion. It seemed like only yesterday that he had snatched it up from among the clutter on Isidora's work table, then fled into the night, taking only it and Arabelle's crystal vial.

The book of enchantments had not come to Isidora by fair means though, he knew that. She had probably stolen

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