After Midnight Read Online Free Page B

Angus moved quietly about the tower bedchamber, tidying up. It was their usual routine, one they had carried on for the twenty years since the bright, young, seasick Angus had come to work for him at the age of twelve.
    Gordon sipped the century old French brandy he'd bought just before the French revolution. It was as smooth as silk. "Nay. 'Twould make no difference. I'm not in a mood for reading tonight."
    "The guests," Angus said simply, as he returned several books to the shelf beside Gordon's curtained four poster bed.
    "Aye." Gordon leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. He'd dressed for bed in a Chinese silk robe and slippers with gold tassels at the heels. "She's so damned beautiful, Angus."
    His manservant paused. "The companion, master?"
    "Nay. Miss MacDougal. Emily. She's so damned beautiful, and her mind, her mind." He gestured with his hands. "She's so bright and articulate. Did you see the way she smiled politely when I told her I was one of the undead? That woman isn't afraid of anything, Angus. Sweet heather! I love a woman with a spine."
    Angus went back to picking up books, papers, and assorted clothing from the floor, chairs, and tables. "She didna believe ye, master."
    "Nay. She did not." He rose, casting a long shadow across the plastered wall. "For a short while I felt like the old Gordon Fraser I was, though a little older, a little wiser. It's been so long since someone showed interest in me, the man I am." He touched his left breast, then let his hand fall. "Not what I have become," he finished bitterly.
    "Ye canna help what ye are, master."
    Gordon glanced up, thankful for Angus's companionship. "No more than ye can help being born a fisherman with a weak stomach."
    "Ye have told me many times." A path cleared to the bed, Angus pulled back his master's bedcovers. "We are what we are, my master."
    "And thankful to have each other, aye, Angus?" Gordon patted his manservant on his back.
    Angus took Gordon's drink from him. "Sleep, master; ye will nay feel so melancholy on the morrow. Ye have a full month of the lady's companionship to enjoy."
    "And then what?"
    "Ye will send her on her way, master… or keep her."
    Gordon turned sharply and the round tower room seemed to spin with him. "Ye do not suggest I drink of her blood, Angus? Ye know I do not take women against their wills. Above all else, despite my curse, I am a Highlander and a gentleman."
    Angus halted at the door and lifted his candle so that the light cast across his broad, plain Scot's face. "Mayhap it wouldna be against her will, master."
    "I'd sooner die," Gordon said softly, "than take her life."
    "I dinna say you must take her life. Ye could…" Angus hesitated. "Ye could make her one of your own, master, and then ye would share the joy of your books forever."
    "A companion," Gordon said softly, turning away. "I yearn for a companion. A woman." He lowered his hands to his sides, tightening them into fists. "But I willna do it. I willna force my way of life upon her."
    "Ye said yourself she had a mind of her own. There are many advantages to eternal life. Ye are a charming man. Perhaps she would choose to—"
    "Nay, Angus." He took a swipe at the air with one hand. "I willna have it."
    "As ye wish, master." Angus left the room and closed the door behind him.
    Only once the door had shut and he was alone did Gordon realize the depth of his loneliness. Six hundred years was a long time to endure without a shared kiss, a caress, without a woman he cared for… loved. Emily MacDougal would be so easy to love. But would she be easy to kill?
     
    Emily turned slowly in a circle as she stared at the shelves of books that lined all four walls, floor to ceiling, of Gordon Fraser's library. She was overwhelmed by the vast collection. She'd never thought there was another with a passion for old books to match her own, but she knew she'd found him. Gordon's interest didn't seem to be in the monetary worth of the tomes so much as the worth