"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."