Free His Dark Desires by Jennifer St Giles Page B

Everyone, Mr. Fitz, Mr. Gallier, Mrs. Gallier, and Miss Vengle, had been at the carnival. Mr. Trevelyan had been away from my side long enough to have hired a man to harm Mignon, and that bothered me. I didn't like questions and doubt, yet my life was filled with them. Even Mr. Davis could have had cause. How desperately did he want Mignon? What I didn't know was why. I didn't think the incident related to Mr. Latour's threat, but I couldn't rule that out completely. As I sealed the envelope, I heard the faint tones of music coming from outside.
    Going to the French doors, I opened them wider, and the soft melody went from a whisper to the hush of a lullaby. Curious, I stepped onto the gallery, keeping to the shadows cast by the moon. The coolness of the night air rustling through the palmetto ferns and the sweet acacia brushed the tendrils fringing my face. It took a few moments for my eyes to adjust to the dimness, but my pulse already thrummed to what I knew I would see.
    Across the courtyard, Mr. Trevelyan sat upon the brick wall that overlooked the oak-strewn park. As usual, he turned my way, uncannily sensing my presence, strengthening the connection between us. I didn't think I would be able to sleep, as troubled as I was, and thought he might be suffering from the same. The doubts I'd had moments ago wavered as I relived the memory of dancing with him in the moonlight.
    I wanted to go down the galley stairs and dance again. But to do so would be to succumb to the passions he awakened inside me with a single look, his brushing touch, or his softly spoken words. I had to go inside—yet I couldn't make my feet move. My need to gaze upon him burned stronger than any tenuous threads propriety still had on me tonight.
    He was made for the shadows of the night. His dark hair gleamed in the moonlight, and his movements held a predatory grace akin to the black panther we'd watched at the carnival. I had the urge to reach out and stroke the sleek power I sensed in him as he slid off the wall and walked toward the house, looking up to where I stood in the shadows.
    I could hear his silent plea, to join him, to finish that almost kiss. He stopped at the fountain where the statue of Saint Catherine of Siena beseeched the heavens for mercy with folded hands. I knew the words engraved in the stone at her feet: "Everything comes from love, all is ordained for the salvation of man, God does nothing without this goal in mind." Though I believed Saint Catherine meant well, life had taught me differently. Not all things came from love. The war hadn't. Betrayal didn't. What almost happened to Mignon tonight didn't.
    I didn't know this man, and I couldn't go to him. I whirled about, ducking into my room, locking the French doors firmly behind me. For a long time I stood there, pressed against the cool doors until I heard the sound of him climbing the gallery stairs. I waited, straining to hear if he would be so scandalous as to climb the stairs to my room and knock upon my doors. I didn't draw an easy breath until his footsteps ended on the floor below.
    Climbing into my bed, I stared into the darkness for a long time, trying to sort though the turmoil surrounding my family as well as the storm inside of me. I felt as if I had just drifted off when I awoke shivering, chilled to the bone. Thunder announced an approaching storm, and an icy chill filled my room. It was as cold as the cutting gust at Blindman's Curve, and the heavy sensation that had pressed on me then pressed forcefully upon me now, urging me from the bed. There seemed to be a shadow, blacker than the night there, fighting me. I wrenched back, striking blindly at it in the darkness around me. My fist hit nothing but air and tangled in the mosquito netting. I panicked, fought desperately to free myself, and jumped from the bed.
    I heard no other sound but that of my harsh breathing and approaching thunder. Lighting a lamp, I found myself alone, and knew I'd just wrestled with