Dark And Dangerous Part 19

"I refused to wed again, but after the deaths of my parents I came to realize that it was my duty to produce an heir and wed for the third time. My third wife produced my heir and lived to the ripe old age of sixty. No doubt she would have followed my first two wives if I had not been ... ah ... constrained from doing her in."

"It wasn't really unusual for women to die in childbirth back then, though, was it? From what I've read, it was pretty common well into the 1900's."

He turned slightly, his brows rising. "What is the year?"

Samantha was a little taken aback by the direction of his thoughts. "It's 2004."

He stared at her in disbelief for several moments. "Could it be that so much time has pa.s.sed?" he murmured, more to himself than to her.

"The part about the curse, was that true?"

For several moments, she thought he wouldn't answer. Finally, however, he seemed to emerge from his dark thoughts. A wry smile tipped the corners of his lips. "Behold me. Trapped for near an eternity. Does this seem to be a blessing to you?"

Samantha's lips tightened. "You wouldn't be the first spirit trapped long after your death in a h.e.l.l of your own making."

A wave of fury abruptly washed over his features. "Then I am justly served, am I not?" he ground out, seizing her waist and jerking her full length against him.

Before Samantha could protest, he caught a fistful of the hair at the nape of her neck and kissed her brutally, his mouth hard, punishing. Despite that, or perhaps because she knew it was pain, not true anger, that inspired his roughness, Samantha felt herself responding. Lifting her arms, she laced her fingers together behind his head, pushing against him, soothing the rape of his tongue with a caress of her own. A shudder went through him. He lightened the pressure of his mouth over hers, lessened his bruising grip, but there remained the savagery of a deep hunger for all that that poured through Samantha's veins like a drug, making her dizzy, bringing heat and moisture to her s.e.x.

She might have many doubts about Gerard, and in fact did, but she was in no doubt at all that she wanted him deeply inside of her as she had never wanted any other man. Restless to feel more intimate contact, to feel his bare flesh against her own, his body striving toward fulfillment, she moved against him, mindlessly, silently, urging him to claim her completely.

It was Gerard who broke kiss, as abruptly as he had claimed her. Through narrowed eyes, he studied her, breathing heavily. "You do not protest?"

Disappointment flooded her, but a touch of amus.e.m.e.nt, as well. "Should I?"

"A lady who would not, would most certainly have a motive."

Samantha's lips tightened. "If you're so d.a.m.ned certain I only came to add to your torment, why even come to me? Why start something you're not going to finish!"

Briefly, a look of surprise crossed his features. "Because I can not help myself."

He looked chagrined that he'd admitted that much, and then angry because he no doubt felt she'd somehow forced him to say it. "I am not a witch. I couldn't put a spell on you if I tried!"

"Release me, then," he said tightly.

Samantha pushed away from him. "I just told you, I'm not a witch. I can't release you. The curse, if it is a curse, isn't of my making and I can't break it."

"You lie," he said through gritted teeth. Turning, he strode across the room. Fully expecting him to simply disappear as he had before, Samantha was surprised when he turned to look at her once more. "You alone of all who have come have breached the barrier that imprisons me from life. You could not do that unless you were a powerful witch. You could break the spell that binds me if it was your wish. I can only conclude that it is not and that your only purpose in being here is to add to my torment."

"Then tell me what the curse is!" Samantha demanded. "I can't help you if I don't know what it is!"

His eyes narrowed suddenly. "You do know it. It was you who placed the curse upon me."

"Me?" Samantha gasped, stunned, indignant. "You think I'm ... the reincarnation of the countessa?" she added with sudden insight.

"I do not think ... I know who you are ... Juliette."

He vanished. Some moments pa.s.sed before Samantha realized that her jaw was hanging at half mast. Juliette? That didn't make any sense at all.

Frowning, Samantha turned to study the gardens as Gerard had before, her mind elsewhere.

It was completely absurd to try to make any sense of a situation that made no sense, that had no foundation in logic, or the real world. Yet, it would have made a strange sort of sense if he'd accused her of being the reincarnation of the Countessa, the woman who had purportedly cursed him to begin with.

She rubbed her aching temples. She didn't believe in reincarnation. She never had. It would have been a great comfort to her if she'd been able to. Since she didn't, though, it made it very difficult to try to unravel the possibilities.

It occurred to her, briefly, to wonder how much personal reluctance was currently influencing her reasoning. She couldn't deny that she'd felt resentment at the suggestion that she was not a unique person, that she was nothing more than a newer version of someone who'd lived before. It was worse, even, than being told you were 'just like so-and-so' or reminded someone of someone else. She didn't think she would've liked it if anyone had suggested such a thing, but it had genuinely hurt coming from Gerard.

Deciding she had no desire to probe those thoughts or emotions further, she resolutely dismissed it from her mind and concentrated on Gerard's revelations, such as they were.

She wondered if he'd been suggesting that Juliette had been a witch.

Now that she thought on it, it seemed plausible. He'd begun to dabble in the black arts, according to the stories, after her death. What might have turned him in that direction if his young wife had not practiced the arts? It wasn't something, as far as she knew, that men and women of the aristocracy had seemed inclined to dabble in. Maybe Juliette had introduced him to the craft?

Even if she had, though, he'd lived many years after her death. If it had been Juliette who'd cursed him, he, surely, would have vanished after her death, not married twice more and met his end at the age of thirty six, or there about.

What, she wondered, was actually known about his first wife? She had been so young when she died that it was hard to believe that she might have lived long enough to have accomplished anything more noteworthy to history than her marriage.

After a while, she left the room again and headed downstairs to ask the concierge the directions to the family cemetery the guidebook had talked about. She was supposed to join a tour the following day, and the cemetery would be a point of interest on that trip, but she felt an odd sort of urgency to see it now.

The concierge suggested she wait for the tour, but finally shrugged and gave her directions. It was considered to be within walking distance of the chateaux, but it was nearing dusk by the time Samantha reached it.

A low, wrought iron fence surrounded the small plot. In the center stood a mausoleum, which took up most of the small cemetery. Around the mausoleum, there were several other, newer graves with headstones, but Samantha focused her attention upon the mausoleum.

Dredging up her rusty French-which she'd learned to read and write better than to speak-she studied the writing carved into the front of the mausoleum on either side of the door. The name 'Juliette du Beauchamp' practically jumped out at her. Despite the intervening years since it had been carved into the stone, the letters had obviously been cut deep and were still easily read. Below her name was a male name-Gerard. Her heart skipped several anxious beats, but it occurred to her after a moment that it was the infant, the child that she'd born.

A wave of terrible sadness washed over her. How devastating it must have been for poor Juliette, to carry that child for months beneath her heart, to feel the life inside of her, and then labor to bring him into the world, only to discover that he had died even before he had had the chance to live. Juliette had not been much more than a child herself-not in modern terms, anyway-but in her own time she would've been considered a woman full grown, would've thought of herself in that light. She would have suffered, no doubt, both the emotions of a child and a woman.

It occurred to her that Gerard had professed a great love for Juliette. He had not said that Juliette loved him as he had her. An oversight? Or had he been nothing more to Juliette than her duty?

She finally decided that that was unlikely to have been the case. Juliette would've had to have felt strong emotions toward Gerard to consider cursing him, wouldn't she?

But then, everything, including the circ.u.mstances of Gerard's disappearance, pointed to the fact that the Countessa had placed the curse upon Gerard.

The conclusion she finally arrived at wasn't very palatable.

Gerard had loved Juliette beyond reason. He had had no interest in marrying again after her death. He must have meant, rhetorically speaking, that Juliette had cursed him because she had deprived him of his joyeux de vie. He had not found love again, only heartache-which was a curse in itself and required no magic beyond a deep emotional attachment.

She couldn't help but wonder how she reminded him of Juliette. It seemed doubtful that it was her appearance. Surely, if it had been that, he would have pointed it out?

Realizing that it was growing late, Samantha shook the thoughts and turned her attention to examining the mausoleum while she still had enough light to see. On the opposite side of the door, she found two more inscriptions. Both of the names were women's names-his second and third wives, undoubtedly.

It struck her as a little odd that his last wife, who had outlived him by many years, had taken her place in the mausoleum with the others, but, perhaps, it was only because it was her place and had nothing to do with an emotional attachment to the man she lived with so briefly?

Sighing, she left the small cemetery and headed back toward the chateaux. She'd only arranged to stay at the chateaux a few days. Truthfully, she really couldn't afford to stay longer, even if she decided against going to the other places she'd had it in mind to visit. Considering the way they'd done her about arriving late, it seemed doubtful that she could convince the management to allow her to stay longer anyway.

She wasn't certain she wanted to.

She'd achieved what she'd set out to do-met the spirit that inhabited the chateaux. She would never have thought in her wildest dreams that she might get caught up in trying to solve a several hundred year old mystery.

She certainly hadn't expected to be drawn in emotionally.

She realized with a great deal of dismay that she had, though. It was the very fact that she was reluctant to leave that made her all the more certain that she needed to go. If she'd had any sense, she would've packed her bags and left already.

By the time she'd reached the chateaux once more she'd decided that she would leave. She would stay and take the grounds tour the following day, do a little sightseeing in the nearest town, and then she would hit the road and put as much distance between the Chateaux du Beauchamp as she possibly could and put it, and Gerard du Beauchamp, out of her mind.

Chapter Five.

Although she didn't realize, at first, what it was, the sensation of being watched woke Samantha. Confused, she opened her eyes slowly. As her vision focused, she discovered that Gerard was seated in the chair at the desk near her bed.

He stood up. In an almost leisurely fashion, he began to disrobe, tossing each article of clothing to one side without glancing to see where they landed.

Samantha's heart skidded to a halt, then leapt into a frantic pace. Her mouth went dry at the purposefulness of his expression. It never occurred to her to protest. A sense of glad antic.i.p.ation filled her as he advanced toward her. Her flesh tingled. Her nipples rose, hardened, throbbed. Her belly tightened, flooding her feminine pa.s.sage with hot lubrication as he placed a knee upon the edge of the bed and flipped the covers away from her.

She stared up at him as he paused, mesmerized by the sheer beauty of his form as moonlight, streaming through her window glinted off of the play of muscles with every breath he took, every slightest movement.

Capturing her wrists, he tugged her upright.

Samantha stared into the gleaming eyes of a predator and still could not find voice to protest.

"I may be twice d.a.m.ned," he muttered, "but I cannot stay away."

It delighted her. Resolutely, she closed her mind to the little voice in her head that pointed out that he yearned for life itself, had been deprived of it for centuries. His desire might have all to do with that and nothing to do with her. With an effort, she pushed the warnings from her mind, and the hopelessness of the situation, even if his feelings were indeed for her alone.

His words sent a thrill of need through her and Samantha leaned toward him, tilting her head upward. A faint cleft creased his chin. She traced the indentation with her tongue and lightly nibbled the edge of his chin with her teeth.

He caught her face between his palms, covering her mouth with ravenous urgency that made the muscles in her belly jump and clench. Samantha ran her palms along his biceps and then downward along his sides. His flesh was warm, silky smooth, the underlying muscles taut and hard-his body was lithe like the body of a dancer-or swordsman, as he had no doubt been in his time.

Like duelers, their tongues danced one along the other, entwined, stroked. His breath came hard and fast. Her own struggled from her chest and their breaths mingled as they kissed, each sharing their essence with the other, feeling their desire reeling out of control.

He broke the kiss, skating his hands down her throat and over her shoulders, following with his mouth. Samantha dug her fingers into him as a rush of heat washed over her skin, making it hypersensitive to the touch, as if she was flushed with fever.

It had become a fever. She ached. His touch soothed the needs of her flesh and at the same time made her body demand more. Lowering her head, she nipped and then sucked at his shoulder as he caught the spaghetti strap of her night gown with his teeth and tugged it down her shoulder. Abruptly, he caught her shoulders in his hands and pushed her back against the pillows, following her down. Capturing her hands when she reached for him, he clamped them to the pillows on either side of her head and, dipping his head, tugged the neck of her gown down with his teeth, nuzzling the cleft between her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. Then he traced a path along the upper slope of her b.r.e.a.s.t.s with his tongue and lips, pausing to suck a string of love bites.

Moaning, Samantha arched her back, thrusting her b.r.e.a.s.t.s upward, urging him to caress her more thoroughly. Restlessly, she twisted beneath him, grinding her hips against his thigh as he insinuated first one of his thighs and then the other between her own.

Opening his mouth, he covered one nipple where it thrust against the sheer fabric of her gown. The heat and moisture of his mouth sent a shudder of pleasure through her. His tongue teased her, sending sharp currents of delight sizzling along her nerve endings that nevertheless left her wanting.

She began struggling to free her arms. She wanted to feel nothing between them. His hands tightened, imprisoning her. Panting from her struggles as well as the desire that stifled the air in her chest, she went limp abruptly. "Gerard?"

He caught her lips beneath his once more, kissed her, silencing her, making her heart race with an element of uneasiness as well as need. Despite that, or perhaps because of it, she felt herself falling deeper under his spell, felt all consciousness spiral away as her senses narrowed in upon the sensations he created inside of her.

She wasn't even aware that he'd released his almost bruising grip on her wrists until she felt the tug on her nightgown, heard the snap of breaking thread and felt the coolness of night air on her bare b.r.e.a.s.t.s. His hand covered one breast, ma.s.saging. Capturing the distended nipple between two fingers, he pinched it lightly, rolled it between his fingers, sending delightful shocks through her. Abruptly, he broke the kiss and covered the nipple he'd been toying with with his mouth, sucking hard as he cupped her other breast with one hand and teased the nipple as he had the first.

Finding her hands free, Samantha lifted them, threading her fingers through his long, silky hair, holding him to her. She'd become desperate for more, however, felt the need rising inside of her to feel him stroking the walls of her s.e.x, filling her.

Slipping her hands along his back, she caressed him, urging him to fulfill her.

He ignored her urgings, moving to her other breast and stimulating her to mindlessness. Moving restlessly beneath him, she caressed every part of him that she could reach and finally began to work her hand between them. He lifted slightly away from her as she struggled to curl her fingers around his erection. Grasping him at last, Samantha stroked him as he reached between their bodies and slipped a finger into her cleft, rubbing tiny circles against her c.l.i.t.

Samantha jerked, moaned and released her grip on his c.o.c.k, clutching the sheets as she arched upward to meet his teasing finger, feeling the muscles of her pa.s.sage clenching and relaxing in an ever increasing rhythm as her body surged toward culmination. Leaning forward, he caught one throbbing nipple in his mouth once more, teasing it in concert with her c.l.i.t until, abruptly, her climax seized her, making her cry out with pleasure too intense to contain.

Even as the quakes began receding, however, he grasped his distended flesh and thrust inside of her. The walls of her pa.s.sage, quaking with the echoes of her climax, clutched at him, impeding his possession. He struggled, gritting his teeth as he pulled away slightly and thrust again. Samantha lifted her hips and met him. Her heart felt as it if would explode with joyful thunder as his flesh melded with her own, as she felt him sink to her depths.

Lifting her arms, she locked them around his shoulders, gasping as she met him thrust for thrust. Her body, only just fulfilled, responded to the feel of him inside her with renewed need, climbing again toward completion.

His thrusts, hard, demanding, shifted her upwards on the bed. She dug her heels into the mattress, opening her body fully to him, feeling a rising ache with the abrasion of his hard flesh against the inner walls of her body.

A thin sheen of sweat broke from her pores, bathing them both in the scent of her desire. His body began to shudder and jerk as he neared his release, feeding her own desire until she felt herself on the verge of coming and then felt release explode inside her so powerfully she felt as if she would faint. Her gasping moans sent him over the edge. He groaned, a low, animalistic sound of pain and joy and release, shuddered, lost the rhythm of his thrusts as his body moved beyond his control.

The strength fled their muscles. Weak, trembling, they collapsed together, struggling for breath. With an effort, Samantha lifted her hands, stroking his back soothingly, brushing the damp hair from his forehead. He went perfectly still for several moments and then, abruptly, he vanished.

A coldness washed over Samantha. Stunned, disbelieving, she hardly breathed for a handful of seconds. Finally, slowly, her heart still hammering in her chest, she sat up and looked around the room.

There was no sign of Gerard-no sign that he'd ever been with her. The clothing he'd discarded-that she'd thought he had discarded on the floor, was gone. She glanced down at herself and saw that her gown was intact.

Lifting a shaking hand, she pushed her hair from her face, taking in a deep, shuddering breath. As she did so, ever so faintly, she smelled him on her skin.

Hurt surged through her and behind that, anger. "You take, but you can't give. Is that why she cursed you, Gerard? Because your heart was stone cold dead already?"

There was no answer. She hadn't really expected one.

She lay down again, staring at the ceiling.

She hadn't imagined it. She could still feel the heat and pressure of his body. Her s.e.x still throbbed from his possession. She could taste him on her lips.

A knot of misery gathered in her throat. Resolutely, she pushed it from her mind and turned over, punching her pillow. Despite her misery, her sated body begged for rest and eventually sleep claimed her.

When she rose a sense of purpose filled her. She would join the tour as she'd planned, and visit the nearby town and then, the following day, she would cut her trip short and return home. She'd looked upon the trip as a getaway to escape the sense of loss that still lingered from her mother's death. She'd hoped that she would become engrossed enough in the search for restless spirits to banish her own ghosts so that she could look forward once more to a future. Instead, she'd taken on more baggage and the only way to escape that was to leave as soon as possible.

After showering, she dressed in comfortable clothing and walking shoes and went downstairs for brunch. She didn't know whether to be glad or sorry that she saw no sign of Gerard, but she finally decided that she was glad. She hoped she wouldn't see him again. Perhaps, since he appeared to be so convinced that she was only here to cause more trouble for him, he would avoid her.