The Lure of The Night Ch. 02

"Please, Mr. Ashford," Meredith moaned. "Let me... release me... please!"

Her body shuddered, slipping out of control, and she knew she was about to come. Her back arched as she tried with all her might to keep her balance, for Alex's hands on her buttocks were the only things keeping her from collapsing.

"Oh, yes," she cried hoarsely. "Oh, yes... please... now!"

His fingers traced the base of her spine, making small patterns, and moved lightly over her buttocks. Meredith felt a finger push between her cleft, seeking her anus. She had never been entered that way before, but was willing to let her tormentor explore every crevice in her body. Alex was surprisingly gentle as he stretched her with two extra fingers, awakening sensations she had never felt before. It felt incredible, too incredible, and it would only take either one rough flick of his tongue in her pussy or one merciless thrust of his fingers in her anus to...

Her orgasm was intense and prolonged, and she was still panting and shivering with aftershocks long after Alexander had released her. It subsided gradually, but exquisitely, and she almost swooned with rapture. Her knees wobbled, and she almost lost her footing, but Alexander held her by the waist and prevented her fall. Hazel eyes clouded with post-coital gratification, Meredith looked up at the tall figure standing over her, an odd expression on his handsome face. He had removed his mask, and she could now feast her eyes upon his masculine beauty, only slightly concealed by the unlit room.

"Meredith, my sweet torment. This is only the beginning. Things will go swiftly downhill from here." His eyes darkened. "I'm going to give you everything you want, and then I'll take it all away."

His words registered in her foggy brain. The threat was unmistakable, and for a moment she had no idea what was going on, or why he had uttered such words. Strange, she thought. You would think he would be as blissful as she was, or at the very least satisfied with the pleasure he'd given her, and yet he was not. Perhaps he would lighten up after she'd satisfied his physical needs. But when she tried to free his hard cock from his breaches, he quickly backed away, loosening his hold of her.

"All in good time," he said, his voice solemn and queer. "All of the pleasure will be mine from now on. It will no longer be this enjoyable for you, my sweet. There will be moments when you'll wish you'd never laid eyes on me."

Color drained from her face, and cold fear coiled in the pit of her stomach as she stepped back to have a better look at him.

"Alex," she breathed out. "What's wrong with you? What have I done to push you away?"

"At this moment in time, nothing, my darling. I'm talking about what comes later, after we're married."

She raised her eyebrows. "After we're married? Alex, you're talking crazy. What do you mean, 'after we're married'?"

"You'll understand soon enough."

"But I want to know now," she insisted, her mind spinning with confusion. "What happens after we're married?"

She looked deep into his eyes, and caught a glimpse of sorrow in their blue-violet depths. She opened her mouth to ask what was wrong, but instead let out a squeal of alarm when he reached out and eased the green and gold mask from her face. She'd forgotten she was wearing it, and she couldn't explain the stab of unease that seized her when it came off.

A look of surprise flickered in Alexander's face. Then surprise changed to horror and disgust. He pushed her away, and drew back with fear.

Frowning, she touched her face... And her breath left her when she trailed the sinuous shape of deep scars on her right cheek.

"Alex?" she screamed in fear. "Alex, what happened to my face? ALEX!"

She reached out to him, but he avoided her touch, his features contorted with revulsion. And suddenly he was not there anymore, and walls were all around her. She was standing in the center of an oval-shaped room, and nothing but the tragic aftermath of a fire surrounded her. The smell of smoke filled the air, filling her lungs.

And then everything went dark.

****

Sharp sunlight streamed through the stained-glass windows the next morning. Millie opened her eyes reluctantly, squirming lightly beneath the covers. She lifted one leg and stretched it, her body sore in all the right places. With the occasional aftershocks she was still experiencing, she could not deny the effect her dream had had on her.

And what a dream it was! So realistic, so... amazing. But also baffling. Not to mention distressing. It terrified her that it had felt so real. She shifted in bed, images from her dream flashing through her mind. The masquerade ball, Meredith Montgomery and her pushy mother, the viscount with the leering eyes, the colorful ball gowns, the brightly lit ballroom. The masks that hid everyone's faces. (She sensed some symbolism there.) The women corseted into their elaborate dresses, the men full of old-world grace and charm. And him. Alexander Ashford the Third. So beautiful, so seductive. So real.

Millie rose up on one elbow and squinted at the room. What had made her dream about the Ashfords? Had her conversation with Marla made such a big impression on her? And why had her dream been so—detailed? So specific? She knew of Mr. and Mrs. Ashford, but who were the other players? And how had she known that Meredith had been a widow before she married Alexander? And had her first husband's name been Joseph Montgomery?

And then there was Meredith's mother. Her name had been Mrs. Foster, same last name as her own. Could Millie be this family's descendant? After all, she held a striking resemblance to Meredith, at least in the eyes, and she had the portrait on the landing to prove it. She'd never know. Her parents had died in an automobile accident when she was only five years old, and after that, the only Fosters she had ever known were the number of foster parents she'd been forced to tolerate throughout her childhood. She was nobody, a throwaway, with no history or pedigree to speak of. Besides, Foster was a common surname; almost every other person had it.

And yet her connection with Meredith Ashford and the Ashford estate were undeniable. Had she somehow channeled Meredith through her dream? Was such a thing even possible? It was insane to even think it. Perhaps some thought process had passed over her as she fell asleep, influencing her train of ideas. The Ashfords had been the last subject on her mind before sleep claimed her, and her subconscious had done the rest. She supposed that was as good an explanation as any, or at least the most logical, even if certain details about the dream were still puzzling her.

Like Alex. Alex, whose feelings for Meredith had been intense before and after their tragic ending. During the seduction, he had wanted her, and Millie had sensed love there as well, but he also had been pulling back, as if he knew something that Meredith hadn't. He was acting with hindsight, that much was obvious.

Ugh, Millie thought. Enough! It's just a stupid dream. None of that stuff actually happened. Forget about it and move on.

In an effort to shift her thoughts to more pleasant things, she kicked off the covers and jumped out of the bed, padding barefoot along the narrow passage that led to her bathroom. The bedroom was small, an L-shaped sardine can with a miniature closet and a tiny bathroom, situated in an area of the house that had once been the servants' quarters, but it was clean and pretty. Marla had brought in plenty of towels and blankets last night, and despite Millie's protests, she'd even brought in a tray full of sandwiches, pastries and tea. Millie had everything she could possibly need, including a nice and chatty maid on her beck and call. She smiled to herself. Who would have thought that little old scarred Melinda Foster would get a job with such unique accommodations?

After her bath, wrapped in a silky kimono she'd found in one of the drawers, she was about to reach inside her garment bag when a flash of movement stopped her. Startled, she turned to the direction of the movement and found... herself. A severely scarred woman stared back at her. It was that dreadful mirror from last night. Someone had removed the blanket from it. Had Marla reentered her room while she slept? How dare she take such liberties?

Irritably she searched for the white blanket and found it draped over a reading chair in the far corner of the room. She was about to conceal her reflection when she spotted a small yellowish envelope taped to the mirror. Frowning, she snatched the piece of paper and examined it. It was closed with a wax seal on which she could make out a face so monstrous and distorted that it resembled a demon or a gargoyle or something. How odd. Even stranger was the beautiful penmanship within. What a fine hand, Millie thought. It appeared to have been written with a fountain pen. These details shouldn't surprise her, not in a place that mimicked another time, but the envelope and handwriting seemed genuinely archaic.

Perplexed, Millie read the letter. The message was short and direct.

Meet me tonight at the master bedroom. Yes, that master bedroom. At midnight. And not a second later.

It was signed with an "A." Millie stared at the letter with amazement. Who was "A," and what did he or she want from her? And was this person referring to the master bedroom that had been destroyed in a deadly fire one hundred years ago?

Fear momentarily gripped her. Could it be...? Surely not. It was impossible. Marla's erotic story had really made an impression upon her. There was a rational explanation for this letter. Perhaps this "A" person was a member of a secret society or something, or maybe it was Marla herself, planning some scheme or other. She seemed like the naughty, troublemaking type. Millie sighed. She would talk to the maid after the meeting, which she'd hoped to avoid. She didn't want to see or talk to anyone. She wasn't ready to make such a huge step. What the hell was she thinking when she took this job?

Her gaze fell on the mirror. How would they react to her scars, and would she want to spend every working hour avoiding her colleagues?

With that sobering thought, she covered the mirror and braced herself for impending doom.