“That should be obvious,” he replied.

“ Yes, but . . . we . . . you . . .”

“I am your husband. You are my wife. I promised not to consummate our marriage. I never promised not to share your bed, which is, after all, my bed.”

She stared at him. Even though the room was dark, she could see that he was shirtless. Was he completely naked under the covers?

“Go to sleep, wife,” he said, and turned his back toward her.

She sat there a moment, her heart pounding. This was something she had not bargained for. Slowly, she slid under the covers, careful to avoid touching him. Turning onto her side, she closed her eyes and took several deep breaths.

Was he really naked?

She fought the temptation to ease her foot across the short space between them and satisfy her curiosity. Oh, this was never going to work. How did he expect her to sleep when he was lying there beside her—maybe stark naked—and taking up most of the bed?

She flopped over onto her stomach, opened her eyes just a bit, and glared at the back of his head. His hair was long and thick and black and straight. Ever so slowly, she eased one hand out from under the covers, and like a soldier sneaking across a battlefield, she inched her fingers toward a lock of his hair. It was remarkably soft. She jerked her hand away when he rolled over to face her. His eyes glinted in the darkness.

“What are you doing, wife?”

She swallowed hard. “Nothing.”

“Turnabout is fair play.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” she replied indignantly.

“Do you not?”

She stared at him, mute, as his fingers sifted through her hair.

“Anything else you would like to touch?” he asked.

With a shake of her head, she put her back to him again. Oh, but he was the most aggravating man!

Smiling inwardly, Drake closed his eyes and let himself disappear into the dark sleep of his kind.

Elena was surprised to find herself alone in bed when she awoke in the morning. Not exactly alone, she thought. The cat lay curled up on Drake’s pillow.

She lingered there for some time, contemplating the night past, recalling Drake’s kisses, the sensual heat that had flared between them. In spite of her insistence that they not make love, she couldn’t stop wondering what it would be like to let him have his way with her. Would it be wonderful ? Or degrading? She supposed it all depended on who you talked to. There had been girls in school who claimed to enjoy it, girls who did it just to be popular, and girls who did it once and said it was disgusting. Maybe a girl’s point of view depended on the guy’s expertise.

Sighing, Elena stroked the cat’s head. At the first touch of her fingers on the animal’s fur, her mind flooded with images of herself and Drake lying in each other’s arms, making love.

With a start, Elena jerked her hand away.

The cat purred loudly, its golden yellow eyes unblinking. And then it pushed its head under her hand.

“Go away!” Elena gave the cat a shove. “Go on! Get out of here!”

With lazy grace, the cat hopped off the bed and padded silently out of the room.

Elena stared after the beast. What on earth had just happened?

Later, after breakfast, Elena decided she had been cooped up inside long enough. An earlier exploration of the castle had revealed a small door in the kitchen that led to a large garden surrounded by a high stone wall. The door creaked loudly, making her wonder how long it had been since anyone but herself had opened it.

Crossing the threshold, she stepped outside, then lifted her face to the sun. Its warmth felt wonderful on her skin and she stood there for several minutes, absorbing the warmth of the light, the chirping of the birds, the faint breeze that stirred the leaves of the trees.

A glance around showed the garden to be badly overgrown. A few primroses fought for survival in a forest of weeds. A small round fountain and a wrought-iron bench were almost completely hidden under a mass of tangled vines.

Her only experience with gardening was growing tomatoes and carrots in a small garden in her uncle’s backyard, but she found work gloves and a pair of shears in a wooden shed and went to work with a vengeance. She worked steadily for two hours before taking a break. Stepping back, she removed the gloves and wiped the perspiration from her brow as she eyed her handiwork. With most of the weeds removed, she saw that a few daisies and daffodils bordered the primroses.

She regarded the weeds piled to one side. She would have to dispose of them, but not just now.

She sat in the shade of one of the trees for twenty minutes, then attacked the vines that shrouded the fountain and the bench. The vines proved to have very small, very sharp thorns. She let out a little yelp of pain when one of the nasty little spines scraped her arm, drawing blood.

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?”