A Kiss at Midnight

Chapter Seventeen

On the edge of Peyton, a colossal manor of beige stone and columns of ivory commanded the land with Douglas St Vincent, Duke of Peyton and Dorsal at its helm. A generous patron of the foundling hospital, each year in April he would open those large doors of mahogany and invite all to his charity ball.

Footmen in cream and daffodil yellow livery offered an arm to guests descending from their carriages. Heads tilting upwards, awe and excitement sparkling in their gazes. Inside, dancing slippers took their places on the oak coloured parquet floor of the ballroom. Gowns of fern green, cerulean and mauve gathering beneath the soft yellow glow of candle lit chandeliers. Gloved fingers adorn with gems of emerald and sapphire tapped against wine glasses.

Fanning out from the centre of her bodice, deep pleats of admiral blue draped upwards to meet sleeves of daisy white, reaching them just as they began to slip off the edge of her shoulders. While a single curl sat upon one creamy ledge, the rest of her hair was twisted into tight coils atop her head. A bell shaped skirt, its hem decorated in ruffles which skimmed the ground as Annalise Bennett stood off to one side, away from the other ladies absorbed in conversations.

She preferred it this way for one fumble or lips loosening by a glass of brandy could see a person's true feelings inscribed on the pages of the latest scandal sheet.
All it took was one false word to condemn someone in the eyes of Society as Annalise knew painfully well.

The memory of him, a dark curtain falling on her.

Aristocratic features rotted by repulsion. Gold threaded through his brocade jacket of navy and sable black as Nathaniel raised one hand.
A thunderous crack as it connected with Annalise's cheek, tearing a cry of agony from her lips.
He had never done this before, always keeping himself at a distance. His touch refrained.
Tears rolling down long before she could clutch at her stinging cheek.

"I had no clue it would be this easy to convince them all that you, my dear wife are nothing more than a monster," Nathaniel said, venom dripping from each word.
"All I had to was sliced a few villagers to ribbons. Well, with a small amount of help from the wolves and the people believed it was you."

A cry of denial escaped her.

The door opened and a senior council member walked in. Strands of midnight rose up from his widow peak, the ends brushed the pointed chin of his angular face as his dark gaze flickered to Nathaniel then to Annalise. Nathaniel took a step back at his approach. The man knelt down next to his queen. Annalise held out a trembling hand to him.

"Please, help me." Desperation clawing at her voice.

He regarded her for a moment then his lips curved into a cruel smile. "I think not, your Majesty."

He grabbed her arm, nails biting into her skin as the other hand reached for his robes, retrieving a silver stake. Her frantic plea falling on deaf ears as he drove it through her side...

Annalise flinched as the memory loosened its hold. She clasped a shaking hand to her left side, unable to escape the haunting echoes of her screams. Nathaniel and her council were dead but in the darkest of nights, their voices still whispered in her ears.

"Anna, are you alright," a familiar male voice said, his words punctuated by an Irish accent which was growing more and more pronounced over the years from the summers they spent in Kildare, Ireland.

His arms encircling her waist causing her soft curves to brush up against the hard panes beneath his starched white shirt and penny brown frock coat. Her fingertips grazing the silken fabric of his pine green waistcoat. Her scent of lavender wrapping around him in an embrace he never wished to be parted from. She met her husband's gaze.
Unlike her first husband, Zane would never deny her a simple act of affection.