The next afternoon, Mrs. Thornfield approached Analisa in the parlor. "I've found a girl who I think might suit as your maid," the housekeeper said. "Would you care to meet her?"

Analisa nodded, though a new maid was the furthest thing from her mind.

Moments later, Mrs. Thornfield ushered a short, plump young woman clad in a plain gray dress into the parlor. She had brown hair tucked under a lace-trimmed cap, light brown eyes, and a nose that was slightly crooked.

The girl made a graceful curtsey. "Good afternoon, miss."

"Good afternoon." Analisa looked at Mrs. Thornfield, wondering what was expected of her. She had never hired help before.

Mrs. Thornfield smiled encouragingly. "This is Frannie Smythe. She's ten and seven, and was recently employed as Lady Heywood's maid."

"How long were you employed by Lady Heywood?"

"Five months."

"Why did you leave her?" Analisa asked.

Frannie clasped her hands together. "I was let go. I could never please her."

Analisa nodded. She had met Lady Heywood at the ball she had attended with Alesandro and had had the misfortune to sit beside the lady for a few moments. The woman had complained of everything. The room was too hot. The music was too loud. The wine was too bitter.

"I think you'll do fine," Analisa decided. "How soon can you start?"

"As soon as you wish," Frannie replied with an eager smile. "Right now, if you like."

Analisa returned her smile. "That would be wonderful. I'm to attend a masquerade ball tonight. Please attend me at seven. Mrs. Thornfield will show you to your room."

"Thank you, miss." Frannie curtsied and then, beaming, followed the housekeeper from the room.

Analisa sat at her dressing table while Frannie brushed her hair. The girl had a nice, gentle touch.

She had helped Analisa into her costume, and seemed competent if a little nervous, but that was to be expected. Analisa thought they would get on well together once they got to know each other.

When Analisa's hair gleamed like spun silk, Frannie laid the brush aside. Rising, Analisa studied her reflection in the full-length mirror, wondering what Alesandro would think.

"Thank you, Frannie, that will be all."

"Shall I wait up for you, miss?"

"No, that won't be necessary."

"Very well, miss. Good night." Bobbing a curtsey, the maid left the room.

With a last glance at her reflection, Analisa went downstairs, wondering if Alesandro had arrived.

He paced the parlor floor, wondering how he would get though the night to come, wondering how he would abide watching Analisa dance with one man after another. This was the last time he would play the role of chaperone. In the future, Mrs. Thornfield could accompany 'Lisa.

He turned toward the stairs, scenting her presence, his body tightening as he waited.

She appeared at the head of the staircase, a faint smile curving her lips as she moved toward him. She seemed to float as she descended the steps. He grinned inwardly as his gaze moved over her costume. Apparently she had taken his words to heart. It was no siren coming down the stairs. Quite the opposite. She was clothed as an angel in a long white gown that floated around her like a cloud. A golden halo sat atop her thickblack hair. Lacy wings fluttered with each movement she made.

She paused at the bottom of the stairs and struck a pose. "Do you approve, my lord?" she asked.

He felt a sharp pang in the region of his heart. Since his decision that she should make the acquaintance of other men, she rarely called him by name.

"It was to be a masquerade," he said. "And yet we have both chosen costumes that reflect what we really are."

Her gaze took in his costume. "Are you a devil, then, my lord?"

"Do you doubt it, my angel?"

She took her cloak from the hall tree where Frannie had left it for her. "It doesn't matter what I think," she answered as he took her cloak from her hand and placed it over her shoulders. "Is that how you see yourself?"

"A devil is the nicest thing I am," he replied. "Shall we go?"

The home of Mr. Geoffrey Starke was set amidst a vast green expanse of carefully manicured lawn. Gaily colored lanterns lined the broad, winding road to the house. Lights glowed in every window; the strains of a waltz floated on the night air.

Analisa felt a flutter of excitement as she tied her mask in place, then stepped out of the carriage. She had been a stranger at the last function she had at-tended; here, she would be welcomed as a friend of the host.

Alesandro offered her his arm and they entered the house. A maid took Analisa's cloak. The house was filled with music and laughter. Clowns mingled with kings and queens, a horse danced with a ballerina, Cleopatra danced with Cupid, Hercules stood in a corner, whispering in the ear of a plump lady in a medieval gown. A flame-haired Gypsy hung on the arm of a monk, a harem girl shared a glass of champagne with a Cossack.

The ballroom was ablaze with light. Benches covered in rich red velvet lined the dance floor. Musicians stood on a dais at the far end of the room. Servants in crisp black and white moved among the guests, offering champagne and sweetmeats.

Analisa looked up at Alesandro. "Will you dance, my lord?"

With a nod, he swept her into his arms and out onto the floor. Perhaps she really was an angel, he mused, because holding her was like holding a piece of heaven in his arms. Her hand rested in his, small and trusting. Candlelight shimmered in the wealth of her hair. He had fed earlier, but her nearness stirred his hunger even as it stirred his desire. Time and again, his gaze was drawn to the gentle curve of her throat, to the pulse beating there. Each beat of her heart called to him, reminding him of her sweetness. No other satisfied his hunger as she did. No other filled his heart with such aching tenderness, his soul with such peace. Analisa.

She looked up at him as though he had spoken her name aloud, a tentative smile curving her lips.

"I love dancing with you," she murmured.

"And I with you," he replied, and then scowled as he glanced over her shoulder.

"You look troubled, my lord. Is something amiss?"

"Young Geoffrey comes to claim you."

The ill-disguised jealousy in his voice pleased her beyond measure. He had been distant these past few days, making her wonder if he had stopped caring for her. But the look in his eye, the jealousy in his voice, proved otherwise. Perhaps she would tweak his possessiveness just a bit.

She smiled at Mr. Starke as he cut in.

With a curt bow, Alesandro surrendered her to the other man.

"I'm so glad you were able to make it," Geoffrey said as he took her in his arms.

"Thank you. Your home is lovely."

He nodded. "I can't take credit for it. My late mother took care of decorating it."

"She had excellent taste."

"Indeed." He smiled at her, his eyes filled with admiration. "Your costume suits you."

"But didn't fool you."

"No." He caught up a lock of her hair, let it run through his fingers. "I'm afraid this gave you away."

"I guess I should have worn a wig."

He shook his head. "It would be a sin indeed to cover such beauty."

"You are too kind, Mr. Starke."

"Geoffrey," he said. "I would be pleased if you would call me by my given name."

"Perhaps," she said, "when I know you better."

He laughed softly. "An occasion I shall look forward to."

The next hour passed swiftly, and not the way she had planned. She had hoped to make Alesandro jealous; instead, she found herself caught in her own trap, watching in silent fury as he dancedwith one woman after another, twirling them effortlessly around the floor, holding them far too close to please her. She was so intent on watching him, she paid little attention to her partners, hardly aware of who they were or what they said.

And then, to her dismay, she lost sight of him. She was about to go in search of him when a tall man clad in the costume of a white knight appeared before her. A silver helmet covered his head; there were leather gauntlets on his hands.

"May I have this dance?"

She started to refuse and then thought better of it. If Alesandro didn't want her, then she didn't want him, either.

She forced herself to smile at the knight, let herself be led onto the dance floor once again.

For a moment, they danced in silence, which suited Analisa quite well. She couldn't stop thinking about Alesandro, couldn't help wondering if he had gone in search of some private corner where he could be alone with his last partner.

"Your thoughts are far away."

The knight's words brought her back to the present. She looked into his eyes, pale gray eyes barely visible through the slit in his helmet - and felt a chill slide down her spine. She had never seen such empty eyes, almost as if there were no soul behind them.

She recoiled instinctively.

The knight's hold on her tightened. A knowing smile played across his face. "Not yet, my pretty one." His voice was a low rasp, filled with carefully controlled rage and subtle menace.

"Who are you?" she asked, refusing to meet his gaze. Looking into his eyes was like looking into the face of death. "What do you want with me?"

"Who am I?" He laughed. It was a cold, bitter sound, like dry leaves rattling over a grave. "Can't you guess?"

"Rodrigo!"

He inclined his head. "At your service, my lady."

She was shivering now, the foreboding within growing with each passing moment. "You killed Sally," she said, surprised to find that her anger was stronger than her fear. "Why? Why? She'd done nothing to you."

He dismissed the maid's death with a shrug. "I was hungry. She was there."

Analisa shook her head. "I don't believe you."

"I killed her to punish Alesandro." His laugh was harsh, filled with contempt. "He bruises so easily, my old friend."

She tried to pull away from him, but his hand tightened on hers, squeezing, squeezing, until she was afraid he meant to crush her very bones. Tears of pain welledin her eyes.

He smiled, enjoying her discomfort. "Many women have died in the last four centuries. But the debt is not yet paid," he murmured, his voice bitter. "The debt is not yet paid!"

Fear threaded through her, turning her insides numb, making her heart pound, her throat dry. She had known fear before - when she watched her parents die, when she lay in the hospital too weak and sick to care if she lived or died - but never like this. Never this gut-wrenching, paralyzing sense of terror. She could feel the evil that clung to him.

The music faded into the distance. The other dancers turned into a swirling mass of colors spinning in endless circles around her. The pain in her hand crept up her arm. She felt suddenly light-headed. Darkness seemed to enfold her and she felt herself slipping away, falling into the darkness...

And then she heard Alesandro's voice, deep and filled with anger and authority. She concentrated on the sound of his voice, clinging to it like a lifeline.

"Rodrigo, let her go."

The other couples continued to waltz around the dance floor, laughing and talking, completely unaware of the tension that flowed between the two vampires. But Analisa could feel it. Power lifted the hair on her arms, beat against her skin, filled her with the urge to flee, but she couldn't move. Rodrigo's hand imprisoned hers like a vise.

"Let her go," Alesandro repeated, his voice blade sharp.

"And if I don't?" The challenge glittered in Rodrigo's soulless gray eyes.

"This is neither the time nor the place," Alesandro replied coldly.

The music came to a stop and the dancers began to leave the floor. Analisa stood there, waiting, wondering what would happen if Rodrigo refused to release her.

The tension between the two men was a palpable thing, overpowering her senses.

And then, abruptly, Rodrigo released her. Taking a step backward, he made a low bow in her direction, then turned and left the floor.

Analisa released the breath she had been holding. Feeling suddenly weak, she would have fallen if Alesandro hadn't slipped his arm around her waist.

"Are you all right, 'Lisa?" he asked. His gaze searched hers, his fingers gently explored her throat. "He didn't..."

"Bite me? No."

He led her off the dance floor, found her a quiet place to sit down, brought her a glass of champagne.

She took a sip and wrinkled her nose, not liking the taste.

"Drink it," he said. "It will do you good."

With a grimace, she did as he asked, then put the glass aside.

"How do you feel?"

She hiccuped. "Better."

He took her hand in his, his thumb lightly stroking the back. The pain eased at his touch. She moved her fingers tentatively, her eyes filled with wonder when she looked up at him. Was there nothing 'he couldn't do?

"Come," he said. "I'll take you home."

She didn't argue. He offered her his hand, and she took it, grateful for the strength of his touch.

He retrieved her cloak and settled it around her shoulders.

"Shouldn't we thank Mr. Starke for inviting us and tell him we're leaving?" she asked.

"Send him a note in the morning," Alesandro said. "I'm taking you home. Now."

She knew a moment of fear at the thought of going outside. What if Rodrigo was waiting for them? She had no desire to be caught in a fight between the two of them, but she need not have worried. Alesandro guided her into an empty room. Taking her into his arms, he held her close and willed them back home.

Alesandro swore under his breath as he placed Analisa on her feet. She looked pale, her face almost as white as her costume. Sheswayed unsteadily. Lifting her into his arms, he sat down on the chair in the corner and settled her on his lap.

"Analisa?"

She stared at him, her expression troubled.

"What is it?" he asked. "Your hand... ?"

A tremor ran through her. "No. Rodrigo. He..."

"What? What did he do?"

"He said... he said, 'The debt is not yet paid.' "

Alesandro's arms tightened around her. Fear. He had not felt fear like this for centuries, not since the night Tzianne had brought him across. But his fear now was not for himself, it was for Analisa.

"He means to kill me, doesn't he?" she asked. "The way he did Sally. To settle the debt he feels you owe him."

" 'Lisa - "

"It's true, isn't it?" Her voice rose. "Isn't it?"

He wanted to deny it, but he couldn't lie to her. "You will be safe here," he said.

"Sally wasn't safe."

"She would have been if she had stayed inside after dark. He cannot come in here, 'Lisa, unless he is invited."

"He was at the masquerade."

Alesandro nodded. "Someone must have invited him into the house. The butler, perhaps."

"What's to keep that from happening here?"

"Mrs. Thornfield knows better than to invite a stranger into the house. Or to look one in the eye."

She huddled against him, shivering uncontrollably.

He wrapped his arms around her and held her close. He had been content thus far to let Rodrigo live. In spite of all that had happened, he could not forget that Rodrigo had once been his closest friend, nor could he castigate Rodrigo for blaming him for what had befallen Serafina. The responsibility rested squarely on Alesandro's shoulders and no one else's. No matter that he had revealed himself to his sister in hopes of saving her from a similar fate, no matter that she had died by her own hand; the fact remained that he was the one to blame. He could understand Rodrigo's pain and anger; knew he would suffer as deeply, and as long, if anything happened to Analisa. But, guilty or not, hewould not allow Rodrigo's need for revenge to touch Analisa.

And so he held her close and rocked her until her trembling ceased.

"Stay with me tonight," she whispered. "I don't want to be alone."

"Tonight and every night, my sweet Analisa." His lips brushed her cheek. "By all that I hold sacred, I swear I will never leave you again."

He helped her out of her costume and into her nightgown, then carried her to bed. He tucked her in, then removed his clothing save for his trousers and slid into bed beside her. He put his arm around her and she snuggled against him, her head pillowed on his shoulder, one hand resting on his chest. He stroked her hair, his mind lightly touching hers, easing her fears so she could sleep.

He held her all through the night, his senses drinking in her nearness, reveling in the warmth of her hand on his chest, the silky feel of her hair against his shoulder, the scent of her perfume, the touch of her breath whispering over his skin. Holding her, being so close to her, was pleasure and torture rolled into one.

How had he survived so long without her? She had brought light and meaning into his existence. He had taken her to the opera and the ballet, had shown her London and Paris, and seen them anew through her eyes. He had smelled the warmth of the sun on her skin and in her hair, savored the near-forgotten taste of tea and chocolate on her lips.

It still amazed him that she knew him for what he was and loved him in spite of it, that she trusted him enough to sleep in his arms.

He stirred as he felt the night fading away. Slipping his arm out from under her shoulders, he left the bed. Drawing the covers up over her, he kissed her lightly.

"Rodrigo will not have you, my sweet Analisa," he vowed quietly. And then, with a last glance at her face, he left the room to seek his lair.