As if attracted by the scent of it, Smoke appeared with a loud meow.
“What do you want?” Elena asked irritably. Sitting on the newly cleared bench, she pulled a tissue from the pocket of her jeans, but before she could wipe the blood away, the cat lapped at the thin line of crimson on her arm.
Horrified, Elena sprang to her feet. She was about to lash out at the animal when she realized that the pain was gone, the shallow cut was no longer bleeding, and the skin was, in fact, knitting together even as she watched.
She stared down at the big gray cat, who stared back at her. What kind of creature was it? Surely this was no ordinary cat.
Telling herself she was thirsty, she hurried into the kitchen, shutting the cat outside.
She paused a moment, her back to the door, the image of the cat licking her blood melding with a similar image of Drake doing the same thing.
Shaken, she went to the ice chest for a bottle of water, then made her way up the stairs to the main hall. With a shake of her head, she sank down on the sofa in front of the hearth, felt an odd foreboding when the cat padded into the room.
Jumping up on the back of the sofa, the cat purred loudly, then sat down and began to wash its paws.
Elena shivered as a chill ran down her spine. She had shut the cat up in the garden only moments ago. How had it gotten into the castle?
Chapter 7
Knowing that Drake would appear with the coming of nightfall, Elena felt a growing sense of excitement as the shadows grew long. She was anxious to tell him about the odd behavior of the cat, curious to hear what Drake’s reaction would be.
But as she thought it over, she began to wonder if she had imagined the whole incident. After all, how could a cat’s tongue heal a scrape on her arm? But something had happened, because there were no scratches on her arm, nothing to show where the thorns had nicked her skin. There should have been something there—a red line, a scab. Something. But her skin was smooth and clear.
She was still pondering how the animal had managed to get inside the castle when Smoke jumped off the sofa and ran out of the room.
With a shake of her head, Elena went down the stairs to the kitchen to prepare her evening meal, something simple tonight. Just a tuna sandwich, a bowl of tomato soup, and a glass of milk.
She was washing the dishes when Drake strolled into the kitchen, his own steps as silent as those of the cat.
“Good evening, my lady wife,” he murmured.
“My lord,” she replied with a smile. Living here, in the castle, it was easy to believe he was indeed the lord of all he surveyed.
Her heart fluttered with excitement as he drew her into his arms. He was so tall, so broad, so overpowering, just looking at him filled her with a warm longing to touch him and taste him, to feel his hands caressing her.
“So, wife, what would you like to do this evening?”
“Whatever you wish, husband,” she replied, her voice breathless with anticipation.
His gaze moved over her, his eyes hot. “Surely you know how I would wish to spend the evening.”
Heart pounding, mind racing, she stared up at him, mute. As enticing as he was, she was not yet ready to surrender her virtue.
Drake chuckled softly. “Fear not, sweet wife,” he chided. “I do not intend to ravish you against your will, though you are a sore temptation. So,” he said, slipping his hands into his pockets, “would you care to go for a drive?”
“Oh, yes,” she said quickly. “Very much.”
Drake smiled at her. “My carriage awaits.”
His carriage turned out to be a sleek black Porsche convertible. Drake opened the door for her, then went around the car and slid behind the wheel.
“Where are we going?” Elena asked as he turned the key and the engine purred to life.
“Nowhere in particular,” Drake replied. “Is there somewhere you wish to go?”
“No.”
It was a lovely night for a drive. He put the top down, giving her a clear view of the sky. The air was warm, fragrant with the scent of night-blooming flowers. But it was the scent of the man beside her that held Elena spellbound. His profile was sharp and clear in the faint light of the dash. He glanced over at her now and again, and each time, the look in his eyes made her heart skip a beat.
She searched for something to say to break the taut silence between them. The incident with the cat came readily to mind, but in the here and now, it no longer seemed real. Or important.
The road they followed meandered through a moon-dappled forest and then along the edge of a cliff that plummeted straight down.
“Do not worry, wife,” he drawled. “I have driven down this road many times.”
Comforting words, she thought, but if the car went over the side, only an angel would be able to save her from being broken to pieces on the rocks below.
She studied him surreptitiously as they drove along the narrow road. She couldn’t see much of his face in the light of the dash, but she couldn’t stop staring at him. There was something about him, something that drew her gaze again and again. It was an aura of power that clung to him, she realized, a sense of strength that was more than physical. But how was that possible? He was just a man like any other. Wasn’t he? And yet, there was an air about him, an old-world courtliness in the way he spoke, in some of the words he used.
“Where do you go during the day?” she asked, somewhat abruptly. “Why is it I never see you until after dark?”
“I have matters of business to attend to,” he replied curtly. “Matters that do not concern you.”
“But . . .” She bit down on her lower lip. She reminded herself that she had no right to ask, that being his wife in name only didn’t entitle her to pry into his secrets. And she had a feeling there were many things he was keeping from her. Was one of them a mistress? Was that where he went during the day? And if so, she had no one to blame but herself. Not that she cared, of course. He could have a hundred women hidden away.
Elena ran her fingers over the crease in her jeans. She would prefer a hundred mistresses over one, she thought. With a hundred, it was unlikely he would be overly fond of any of them. But if there was just one, that implied caring, perhaps even a sense of sharing and belonging.
She was startled to realize that the mere idea of Drake being with another woman, sleeping with another woman, was too painful to contemplate.
“You’re very quiet, wife,” he remarked. “Have you fallen asleep?”
“No, of course not. I was just enjoying the night.”
“It is lovely,” he said. “Quiet. Intimate. So few mortals take the time to appreciate its beauty.”