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As the time of her rising drew near, if nothing set off the warning spells she had guarding the upper room, the staircase would reopen. Apparently Jacob had made good use of that effect when he'd managed to free himself again.
His blue eyes were steady, bluer than the daytime sky she'd never seen, the analogy coming from the imitation of it in picture books. But she sensed his were a reflection of the actual color, perhaps pieces of the sky itself, they were so vivid and real.
"I did spend the night thinking, my lady. Fully bound as you left me. " He inclined his head. "I chose to free myself an hour before dusk to prepare for your care. I ask your forgiveness and pray you won't view that as flaunting your will. "
Lyssa pushed herself up, blinking. Wetting the cloth and squeezing out the excess hot water, he spread it out over his hands. "May I, my lady?"
When she nodded, he brought it to her face, pressing comforting heat to her skin. She drew in a breath, letting it wake her up and drive grogginess away. She smelled the scent of the lotion she used to remove traces of makeup and realized she'd forgotten to remove it as she customarily did before she slept. Apparently he'd noticed and so did it for her now, withdrawing the cloth after a moment to wipe the lids, over and under, pass the cloth over her cheeks, her lips, so she could feel the touch of his fingers through it. He brought the basin onto the bed then, rinsed it out a couple times. When he was done, he put cloth and basin back to the side and lifted the robe. "If you'd like to slip into this, my lady, I'll brush and pin up your hair before you bathe. Unless you'd like me to help you wash it today. "
Once when she'd been angry with Thomas over something she couldn't even remember, she'd told him she was going to toss him over the next available cliff. Unruffled, he'd assured her she'd never do that. "If my usefulness to you expires on every level, you'll still need a mirror. " Perhaps that's why he'd taken such extra care to teach Jacob all the things involved in her daily toilette, and overlooked some of the other things that seemed so much more significant.
"What if I told you I'd make you leave if you don't tell me how you keep getting loose?"
"That threat is wearing thin, my lady. I need to have some secrets from you or I'll bore you within the first century. "
He held the robe by the shoulders. Lyssa pulled the black nightgown over her head. In a fit of petulance, she tossed it to the floor. Let him have his secrets. He could keep them while he picked up after her.
His gaze flickered to it, then back to her, but he didn't comment. His attention did slide down her throat though, to the slopes of her bare breasts, the nipples that tightened under his regard as she remembered his mouth there.
Sliding out of the bed, she turned her back to him. She expected him to rise, but he didn't. He moved down the bed until he was behind her, his knees close to the back of her legs. Touching her hands lightly with his, he guided them into the sleeves. When he brought the satin up, he stopped just short of pulling it onto her shoulders, restricting the movement of her arms unless she wanted to tear the garment. He'd adjusted his position so his long legs were on either side of her, his left foot next to her bare one on the floor. His heat was on three sides of her, his touch conveying a sense of reassurance.
Whatever she sensed from him, it wasn't censure for her treatment of him yesterday evening. She felt no emotional withdrawal from him at all. Intriguing.
"My lady, will you tell me what happened last night?"
"Not yet, " she said after a long moment. With renewed energy simmering in her blood, last night's episode was deceptively remote in her mind. "For now, you'll carry a backup for the powder I have. I'll show you the ingredients. As you saw last night, once I take it, I require a recuperation period. "
Even saying that much to him was difficult. She hated the necessity of it. So she didn't look at him. She gazed at the painting on the wall. Van Gogh's Cafe Terrace on the Place du Forum. It always made her slightly
dizzy, in a good way. It also reminded her of one night Rex had danced with her in a quiet deserted street under a jeweled sky in Italy.
"You now know when an enemy could kill me, Jacob. It would be child's play. Just a matter of waiting and watching. "
Ironic as well, considering the things she hadn't told him yet.
When he rose, she drew in a breath as his body touched her back. He finished easing the robe onto her shoulders and freed her hair with a brush of his big hands on her nape beneath it. Drawing her hair to one side, he bent his head and his lips grazed the side of her neck where he'd bitten her, making her shudder. Gods, did the man know nothing of showing a servant's respect?
"It will not be child's play for anyone as long as I watch over you, my lady. "
She closed her eyes, overcome by a sense of guilt. She needed to send him away, refuse him before his life was lost.
Thomas, you wouldn't have sent him if you'd known. It was pointless. Of course, she had already given him the first mark herself, so how could she cast stones? She wanted him, though it was the height of selfishness to do so.
"I didn't think vampires could hold their breath. Or had breath at all. "
He was actually teasing her for her reaction to that kiss on her throat. The scoundrel.
"Of course vampires breathe, " she said impatiently, covering the warm rush of response that went through her skin. "You can't speak without breath. Cough, or yawn. It's just that the lack of breath won't kill us. We don't require oxygen to live. "
Pulling the robe closed, she tied the sash and turned to face him.
Jacob sitting was distracting. Standing before her with those vivid eyes studying her face and firm mouth within touching distance, he was overwhelming. It made her need oxygen, despite what she had just said.
It infuriated her suddenly, the frustration of having to be one thing and say another, of having him not understand and take it all so lightly. Of course, that was likely because she hadn't told him the things he really needed to know. He was having trouble understanding the full impact of the situation because she herself didn't want to accept it.
"My lady. " His hands touched her face. He'd stepped forward to close the small gap between them, and she hadn't even noticed the movement. "Sometimes you look so sad. Please let me help you. "
Raising her lashes, she looked up at his concerned expression. "You are too good-hearted for this task, Sir Vagabond. I think you need to move on, continue your wanderings. "
He shook his head. "My feet have grown heavy and clumsy since yesterday, my lady. I'd trip over them and fall flat on my face if I got more than a hundred paces from you. " When he traced her brow with a finger, something passed through his eyes. "I'm not as good as you think, Lady Lyssa. I'm no saint, and I'm far from harmless. "
"My mind does not tell me false, knight. You're too pure a soul for this work. So was Thomas. That's why he's dead. "
She walked away from him, the staircase opening so she could ascend to the upper level where she could see the light of the moon glittering through the stained glass.
He'd collected the items from her bed and was following, so she sat down at her vanity, drawing her robe around her ankles in a sweeping fan. She needed to have Jacob remount the mirror on the wall. Since she showed no reflection, she hadn't been able to bear the absence of Thomas in the glass standing behind her, dressing her hair, his hands moving in an odd mime over empty space while she felt every touch. So she'd removed it, putting Edward Hughes's Midsummer Eve there, the human girl daring to stand among the fairies, foolishly bent over as if she thought she'd happened upon charming miniature children. She heard his footsteps, let the tension flow out of her shoulders as he began to brush her hair. Firm, full strokes, easy pressure to remove tangles. He didn't speak again, apparently picking up on her mood.
"I'm having a dinner party here three weeks from now, " she said, looking at that girl. At the fairies studying her, amused with her naivete. "A party of eight. The two of us, and three other vampires and their servants. Once I get bathed and dressed, we'll go over the details, the contacts. You'll call their servants directly as well as send it by sealed invitation. I'll prepare the invitations. "
Suddenly, she couldn't handle his touch a moment longer. Rising abruptly, she turned to face him. "We'll select the catering choices together. I'll tell you what I want and how I want it done, and it will be your responsibility to coordinate it. "
When he laid the brush on the vanity, her gaze strayed to the long fingers, the way they handled such a feminine object with ease. "As my lady wishes. "
She didn't see any apprehension in his expression, so he obviously knew how to do this part. "Go to the kitchen. You'll need to familiarize yourself with everything to instruct the caterers properly. The same goes for everything else in the house. If I have overnight guests, you should be able to provide them whatever they need. "
The original works of art in the room mocked her with their realism, their value, as she spouted nonsense she was sure Thomas had gone over with him a hundred times.
"I'll provide you an allowance to do whatever you need to serve my household, and you'll let me know whenever more needs to be transferred into that account. I check the books once a week. You'll be given a salary for your own needs, of course. "
He nodded. "Do you want me to help you bathe, my lady?"
She blinked. She'd fired words at him intended to point out his inferior status and he'd rebounded with something that reminded her of the intimacy she could require from him. That he offered freely and so temptingly.
"No, " she snapped. "Go to the kitchen. Do as I've asked. "
Pivoting on her heel, she strode to the bath and closed the door, turning the key in the lock with a decisive, unmistakable click.
Because the first mark told her where he was, she knew he stood in the same spot several minutes before leaving to do her bidding. When she turned her gaze to the tub, her forehead still pressed against the cool wood of the door, she saw steam rising from it. It brought her the scent of lavender and rose petals, telling her he'd sprinkled oils for both in the water. He'd also placed a vase of flowers on the foot of the tub, artfully strewing a handful of the mixed petals down along the damp side of the porcelain. It created a pale pink and lavender-colored path that made her dizzy, much like the Van Gogh. In the rising steam she could imagine herself dancing with Jacob, twined around him, immersed in him.
Thomas, who the hell is this human?
