Free A Diamond at Midnight by Anne Rainey

 
     
     
     
     
     
    Prologue
     
     
     
    New York City, New York
     
    1840
     
     
     
    The time was midnight. Someone was following Diamonique and had been since she’d left the party. His rapid footfalls seemed threatening on the quiet New York street. Curiosity caused her to turn and look. Between the light of the full moon and the dim light of the gas street lamp, Diamonique was able to see a tall, muscular man several feet behind. His well-groomed black hair and evening attire should have made him seem less sinister but it didn’t. The unholy gleam in the stranger’s eyes made her feel as if he were seeing right into her soul—enticing it, cajoling it to do as he commanded. She couldn’t look away from his mesmerizing gaze. It positively glowed.
     
    She forced herself to turn back around and increased her speed. The bloom of fear in her stomach grew until it threatened to squeeze her insides. Desperation made her quicken her footsteps even more. Dear heaven, what had she done? In her haste to leave the party and her carousing fiancé, she’d waved off her carriage driver and started walking. She should have known better. She wished now she’d practiced a small amount of good sense and stayed at the party. At the very least, allowed one of the men to escort her home.
     
    The wind blew her hair across her face, and a shiver ran the length of her spine—with cold and growing fear. Any hope of rescue grew bleaker by the second. Diamonique hazarded another glance backward. Her breath caught in her throat, and she picked up the train of her skirts and ran.
     
    As she tore around a corner, the frightening stories her mother used to tell her sprang to mind. In the hopes of making Diamonique too afraid of going out after dark, thus ensuring her safety, her mother had told her scary tales of winged creatures that sucked the blood of innocent virgins. She now wished she’d taken them more seriously.
     
    A hand closed around her shoulder, bringing her to an abrupt stop. She screamed, and he swung her around as if she weighed no more than a child.
     
    Diamonique stared into death’s unholy eyes. The man smiled, although Diamonique knew it was only a veneer. Death came in many forms. In her case, it presented itself as a handsome, caped stranger, with eyes the color of night and a smile to melt any woman’s heart. In other circumstances such a demeanor might have fooled her. Out here, on the street, Diamonique only felt terror. Chillingly, bone wrenching terror.
     
    “What a little vixen you are.” His voice seductive and tempting as chocolate.  
     
    The frighteningly sensual man pulled her flush against his well-muscled body and used his mouth like a weapon. Holding Diamonique’s inert body, he kissed with a practiced mouth and tongue. It was nothing like the tepid kisses of her fiancé. Her feminine instincts screamed this man was an expert at pleasuring a woman. Helpless, Diamonique succumbed to his ministrations. Soon she was engulfed by his whole being, not even sure where he left off and she began.
     
    A sharp stab pierced the sensitive skin of her neck. She whimpered. Quickly, as if by magic, the pain was nonexistent.
     
    As if she’d only imagined it.  
     
    In its place, euphoria. The kind Diamonique had only dreamed of in her nighttime girlish fantasies. He was all over her, even inside her soul. Diamonique’s body tightened and she rode out the surge of pleasure with a climactic moan.
     
    “Lift your skirts, love.”
     
    Powerless, she obeyed his voice. Her hands moved to the hem of her skirts and she lifted them high. The soft night breeze caressed her calves and thighs.
     
    “ Mmm , yes, that’s the way.”
     
    The man’s hands scorched her skin while his face continued to nuzzle her neck. He was taking liberties that no one, not even her fiancé, ever had. Diamonique moaned, her pleasure mounting all over again. Suddenly, he was stroking her feminine spot and her body flew out of