She drifted by the table with its mirror and shaving implements, setting the chamberstick upon it. Then she walked toward the bed and her fingertips brushed against the heavy coat that Arturo had draped over a chair, soft and luxurious.
“Uncle,” she said.
He opened his eyes and looked at her. He was either a light sleeper or had not been sleeping at all. He stretched his arms above the headboard, lazily, like a cat, and sat up.
“Are you feeling better, my sweet?”
“No thanks to you,” she said. “You’ve made me ill.”
He smiled and shrugged. His nightshirt was of a dark color, navy or gray, and in the dim light of the candle it made him blend into the shadows. The room felt rather cold, cold enough she thought her breath might turn into fog. She wondered if it was his presence that made it so, chilling her every bone when she’d burned feverishly only moments before.
“Perhaps you’ll learn to keep quiet about certain things.”
“And if I don’t, then what? Will I catch a dreadful chill and my death at the same time?” she asked, a hint of panic in her voice, but she smothered it, looking down at the floor as she sat on the chair by the bed, her left hand clutching his coat. “I want to know what you intend to do. You are pressuring my mother to sell the farm. What’ll happen to us if we have no place to live?”
“You’ll have a place to live. Perhaps in Pachuca. I will, of course, administer the finances for your mother, it’ll be my obligation now that she is a widow and her sons are not of age. I shall make frequent visits to your home, don’t worry.”
“Yes, I suppose travel won’t be an issue if you have the money for it.”
“You’re correct, it won’t be any trouble. I’m considering a tour of Europe and its greatest cities. A young man is expected to see a bit of the world. Of course, it would have to be after my father’sfuneral. The dear old man has been sick for quite a while. I suspect he won’t make it to the end of the year. My sister Julia is a dear but something of a hypochondriac. I wouldn’t be surprised if one of these days she grows truly ill.”
Alba shook her head, dismayed. “I suppose you know about sickness, and you intend to collect two inheritances, then.”
“I’ll soon be an independent man. As you can see, you needn’t worry about your mother. She’ll be cared for. As for my beloved niece, I would think it would do you good to see other countries. As long as a responsible member of the family can watch over you, I don’t think anyone would object.”
Even in the darkness his eyes burned bright, and when he smiled there was a flash of sharp white teeth. Everything about him was sharp and she had the burning need to take three steps back for fear of being snagged between his mandibles. She dug her hands into the softness of the coat on the chair, willing herself to remain there.
“It will be delightful. We’ve talked of Paris, haven’t we? Dancing the waltz, attending soirées. Upon our return, you might remain in my house. A bachelor such as myself needs a reliable housekeeper, and it wouldn’t be unusual for a family member to slip into the role.”
“Especially a girl with few prospects, and I suspect I won’t have many in the future.” She watched his lips curl back into an even bigger smile, sharper now. It was a blade. She clenched her fists. “I don’t want the farm sold.” Her voice was strained, barely a faltering murmur, shy and scared as she was, caught under his intense gaze. “This was my father’s land and his father’s before that. I hope it’ll be my siblings’ land one day. If you are to inherit a fortune from your father anyway, then the farm can’t make much of a difference. You’ll have your independence.”
“I’d much rather have two fortunes than one. And you come free in the bargain. Flesh and blood.”
“Then I was correct and you’ll drain me dry.”
“I hardly think a nibble now and then would qualify as draining.”
“Do you drink blood for pleasure or to kindle your magic?”
“For both. Besides, it need not be painful.”
“When you came to my room you hurt me, here,” she said, touching her chest. “It felt like a needle was driven through my heart.”
“A small mishap, easily corrected. I was angry and jealous.”
“Valentín,” she whispered.
“I smelled him on your skin, your lips.”
She let out a deep, shuddering breath. She thought of poor Valentín’s disfigured corpse. He’d paid a high price for his affection. What might Arturo do to her if he should suspect treachery? The words she’d thought to speak were lodged in her throat.
“I can refuse you,” she said at length.
“I’ll have you, one way or another,” he replied simply. He had a conqueror’s boldness. Doubtless he imagined that the deed to the farm, once in his hands, entitled him to possession of every single item inside it, and every single person. Including her.
Alba stared at him and laughed, which seemed to bother him. His face soured; the smile was wiped off.
“No. You wouldn’t like it that way. It wouldn’t be as you imagined it. I believe you’ve pictured it quite a bit,” she said, her voice low, but it didn’t falter now. “After all, I’ve wondered about it myself.”
