Bound by Night

“I think not.”



“What’s the hurry?”



“I have reasons of my own. Is tomorrow night too soon?”



She blinked up at him. “Tomorrow night?”



It was easy to see he had taken her by surprise. “Tomorrow night,” Drake said, lightly kissing her on both cheeks. “Be ready at sundown.”



Elena stared at him, unable to shake the feeling that he had somehow manipulated her into doing exactly what he wanted.



Chapter 6



Elena woke early after a restless night. Her dreams had been fitful, filled with shadowed images of Drake pursuing her through a long, twisting maze that had no end.



She spent a few minutes wondering what it meant, if it meant anything at all, then shrugged it off. Probably just a case of prewedding jitters manifesting themselves in a nightmare.



Sitting up, she stretched her arms over her head. It was her wedding day. Last night, marrying Drake had seemed like the answer to all her problems; now, she wasn’t so sure. He was devastatingly handsome and physically appealing, and there was no denying that she was attracted to him but—she didn’t really know anything about him. He was little more than a handsome stranger. And he didn’t know any more about her than she knew about him. Why would he agree to marry a woman he had known such a short time? What did he hope to gain?



Shaking off her doubts, she went downstairs for something to eat. As usual, a tray awaited her. While drinking a glass of orange juice, a new thought occurred to her. She had nothing suitable to wear to a wedding. True, Drake had gifted her with a number of dresses, but even though they were silk, they weren’t really elegant enough for a wedding. And she didn’t have any heels. Or a veil. Or flowers.



Of course, none of those things were necessary. All that was needed for a wedding was a bride, a groom, and a priest.



And then she frowned. She had no idea where the ceremony would take place, no idea what her future husband’s religion might be. For all she knew, he might not practice any religion at all. Her uncle professed to being Catholic, but in all the years she had lived with him, he had never accompanied the family to church, never attended Mass, not even at Christmas.



Elena glanced down as the cat rubbed against her ankles. “Where did you come from?” she asked, and received a loud “meow” in reply.



“I guess it’s too late to worry about where we’re getting married,” Elena mused as she lifted the cat onto her lap and idly scratched its ears. “I can either marry my uncle, marry Drake, or run away again, although I don’t know where I’d go from here. Do you?”



Smoke stared at her through unblinking yellow eyes.



“I just hope I’m not making a horrible mistake.”



A low rumble rose in the cat’s throat.



“I’ve never done anything so impulsive and yet, it feels right, somehow.” She glanced around the hall. “Maybe there really is some kind of enchantment on this place. Oh, I know, that sounds silly, and yet, ever since I walked through the door that first night, I’ve felt like I belong here, you know? It’s nonsense, of course. I don’t believe in Fate.”



The cat had no opinion on the subject. Instead, he rubbed his head against her breast.



She stroked the cat’s fur for several minutes, her thoughts turned inward. “One good thing, when I’m a married woman, I won’t have to stay hidden away in this old castle during the day. I’ll be Mrs. Drake. . . .”



She shook her head ruefully. “I don’t even know his last name. But he’s been kind to me, you know. I told him I wanted a marriage in name only, because, after all, I don’t really know him, but—there’s no denying he’s very sexy, and I can’t help wondering what it would be like to taste more than his kisses.”



The cat looked up at her, its golden yellow eyes bright. If it hadn’t been impossible, she would have sworn the animal was smiling at her. Or maybe laughing.



Elena was torn between wishing the sun would set and hoping it would never go down when there was a knock on the castle door. In all the time she had been here, Drake hadn’t received any visitors. The only outsiders to come calling had been her uncle’s men. Had they returned?



Hands clenched, she glanced around the room. What should she do? If she stayed quiet and didn’t answer the door, maybe whoever it was would go away.



The knock came again. Harder. Louder. And then a voice. A woman’s voice.



“Miss Knightsbridge? Hello? Is anyone home? It’s Madame Raschelle.”



Elena frowned. Who on earth was Madame Raschelle, and what was she doing here?



“The dressmaker,” the woman clarified. “From Brasov. I have a delivery for Lord Drake.”



Lord Drake? He hadn’t said anything about being royalty. Curious, she went to open the door.



“Miss Knightsbridge?”



Elena nodded. Madame Raschelle was tall and lean. Her hair was bright red under a frilly bonnet that was the same shade of green as her eyes. Her russet-colored silk gown and colorful fringed shawl were like nothing Elena had ever seen before, except in period movies.



“May I come in?” Madame Raschelle asked, a note of amusement in her voice.



“What? Oh, yes, of course.” Elena took a step back, allowing the other woman entrance, only then noticing that she had several large plastic garment bags draped over one arm, and a large handbag over the other.



“I’ve brought you a number of gowns to try on, my dear,” Madame Raschelle said. She dropped the garment bags onto the trestle table, along with her bag.



“Gowns?”



“For the wedding.”



“Oh, but I can’t . . . I mean, I don’t have any money to pay for . . .”



Madame Raschelle dismissed Elena’s concern with a wave of one beringed hand. “Not to worry, my dear. Lord Drake has taken care of that.”



“But . . .” Elena sighed. There was no use arguing with the dressmaker. She obviously had orders from the master of the castle.



Madame Raschelle removed her shawl, then began unzipping the bags, pulling out one dress after another, each more beautiful than the last. Rich silks and brocades, lush velvets, smooth satins, most of them in varying shades of white from ivory to cream. Two gowns stood out from the rest, one the color of a midsummer sky, the other a pale rose. In addition, there were a number of undergarments.



Elena could only stare at the amazing assortment. So many styles and fabrics. How could she ever be expected to choose just one gown when they were all so exquisite?



Madame Raschelle held up a velvet gown with a square neck and long fitted sleeves that ended in points. “This is one of my favorites,” she said, smiling.



Elena ran her hand over the soft, cream-colored velvet. Lace edged the neckline. The skirt was gathered up on one side, revealing more lace. It reminded Elena of dresses worn in medieval times.



“Why don’t you try it on?” the dressmaker suggested.



With a nod, Elena took the dress and hurried up the stairs to her chamber. She changed under the curious eyes of the cat, then glanced around, only then remembering that there was no mirror in the room. She frowned as she realized there were no mirrors in any of the rooms of the castle.



Lifting her skirts, she made her way down the stairs.



“So,” Madame Raschelle asked, smiling. “Does it suit?”



“I need a mirror.”



The dressmaker glanced around the room, then rummaged in her bag and produced a large hand mirror, which she offered to Elena.



“Oh,” Elena murmured, “it is lovely, isn’t it?”



“Quite. Perhaps you should try them all on?”



There was no need, Elena thought. She had already made up her mind. Still, who knew when she would ever have a chance like this again? Between the two of them, they carried all the garments up to Elena’s room.



Trying on all the gowns was not only time-consuming, but a mistake. Elena had been certain the velvet was the gown she wanted, but there was a lovely silk adorned with pearls, a beautiful satin with an empire waist, an elegant ivory brocade fit for a queen. How was she ever to decide?



“Lord Drake instructed me to tell you that you might keep them all, if you so desired,” Madame Raschelle remarked.



“All of them?” Elena had never seen such lavish attire, could scarce imagine their cost.



“He is a man of wealth and power,” the dressmaker said. “He can well afford the price.”



“But . . . all of them?” Aside from her wedding, when would she ever again have need of such finery? “Perhaps just the velvet. And the blue satin. And the rose silk. And the ivory brocade.”



Madame Raschelle laughed heartily as she began hanging the gowns Elena had selected in the wardrobe.



“Of course, you will also need shoes.” Reaching into her valise again, the dressmaker produced a pair of satin pumps and placed them on the floor.



She reached into her valise yet again and pulled out a long, thin box. Lifting the lid, she shook out a shoulderlength veil.



“Oh, it’s lovely,” Elena murmured, stroking the delicate lace.



“I knew you would like it. And now, the pièce de résistance,” the woman said, and dipping into the valise once more she withdrew a long white nightgown that was so sheer, it was little more than a mere whisper of diaphanous cloth.



Elena stared at it, thinking it was as delicate as a spider web. A web for catching a man’s interest.



“For the wedding night,” the dressmaker said, a knowing twinkle in her eyes.



“But . . .” Elena bit down on her lower lip. Had Drake misunderstood her? Theirs was to be a marriage in name only.



Madame Raschelle smiled. “The nightgown was my idea. I added it to his order when I saw that he had neglected to think of it.”



Elena forced a smile. She was relieved that the nightgown hadn’t been Drake’s idea. Wasn’t she?



“I wish you every happiness, my dear,” Madame Raschelle said. “If you have need of more gowns, you have but to let me know.”