closed her eyes, soothed, like a child, by the steady beat of its mother's heart beneath her cheek.
He knew the moment sleep claimed her. Murmuring her name, he gathered her into his arms. With her eyes closed and the moonlight shimmering on her face, she looked like a princess in a fairy tale.
A wave of tenderness swept through him as he carried her out of the maze and into the silent darkness of the castle.
In her room, he put her to bed, still fully clothed, and drew the covers over her. She was innocence personified, he thought, and for the first time in years, he hated who he was, what he was, because it denied him all hope of a normal life, of love. He would never have a wife, never know the quiet joy of holding a child he had fathered.
Tenderness turned to regret, regret turned to anger, and anger burned into a hot fierce rage. He had resigned himself to his lonely life shortly after he'd been made. Knowing such things would be forever denied him, he had put all thought of a home and family out of his mind, his heart.
He had thought himself content, happy even, until Rhianna. Seeing her, holding her, had awakened feelings and desires that had lain dormant within him for centuries.
With a low-throated growl, he bent over her, hating her for the power she had over him, for the weakness he felt when he looked at her. His hand brushed a lock of hair from her neck.
Her scent filled his nostrils, stirring his hunger, kindling his desire. If this was all of her he could have, then so be it, he thought, and let loose the beast that dwelt within him.
Chapter Five
I look into her eyes
and find forgiveness there
and for a moment -
one brief, sweet shining moment,
I see an end to my despair.
It had been a mistake to touch her, to kiss her. Having once tasted of Rhianna's sweetness, he could think of nothing else. He sought her out at supper, sipping from his wineglass while he watched her eat, listening with rapt attention while she told him how she had spent her day. She had a bright mind, a keen intellect, and a delightful sense of humor. Bevins had told him she was a quick study, that she was making remarkable progress.
Rayven saw the results for himself each night when she read to him, as she was doing now.
He sat in his favorite chair, staring into the flames of a fire that did little to warm the coldness within him, listening to her read. The sound of her voice washed over him like silken sunshine, softer than eiderdown, hotter than the flickering flames that danced in the hearth. Through heavy-lidded eyes, he watched her, wondering how it was possible for her to grow more beautiful with each passing day. Her cheeks bloomed with color, her eyes sparkled, her skin glowed with youth and life. The firelight cast golden shadows on her profile. Mesmerized like a love-struck youth, he basked in her nearness, in the breathy sound of her voice.
Several minutes passed before he realized that she had stopped reading, that she was staring back at him.
"Is something wrong, sweet Rhianna?"
"No, my lord."
"Why have you stopped reading?"
A faint smile played over her lips. "I stopped some time ago."
He frowned. "Will you tell me why?"
"Because the story is over, my lord."
He looked at her for a long moment, feeling quite the fool, and then he laughed.
Rhianna stared at him. She had rarely seen him smile, never heard him laugh. It was a wondrous sound, deep and rich. And contagious. She felt a wave of answering laughter rise up within her, mingling with his, until the walls echoed with the sound.
And then, without knowing quite how, he was kneeling before her, and the laughter died in her throat.
"Rhianna." He took her hands in his and kissed each one. "Do you know how long it's been since I laughed like that?"
"No, my lord."
"A very long time," he replied, his gaze burning into hers. "Longer than you can imagine."
"Then I'm glad I made you laugh."
"What can I give you in return?"
"My lord?"
"A new dress to match the color of your eyes? A chain of fine gold?"
"I want nothing, my lord. You have already given me too much. And I..." She looked away. "I have given you nothing in return."
Guilt, sharper than the thorns on the roses she loved, pricked his conscience. She had given him far