Elle realized as a draft arose in Rossetti's departure, eliciting a tremor down her spine that she had adapted to his nearness, so much so that she briefly mourned the loss of his warmth, taking her completely by surprise.

           "May I have my staff, please?" she requested of the maid.

           "Aye, of course, miss."

           She felt a rush of relief as her fingers curled about the gnarled wood, feeling a semblance of security once again.

           "If you'll just follow this way," The maid advised gingerly.

           Elle listened to the chambermaid's steps, committing her nimble and light strides to memory, noticing they differed tremendously from the swift and measured stalk of her large and foreboding captor.

           She followed behind Lucy, shivering against the cold, musty air that held steadfast to the corridor.

           "Here we are," Lucy called followed by the sound of a large door creaking on its hinges.

           Elle stepped with some reluctance, half-expecting to smell the fetid odor of waste and death clinging to the oppressive, chill-riddled air of a dungeon. But there was no caustic bite of air; naught but blessed warmth diffused with the faintest trace of dust.

           She paused just over the threshold, puzzlement furrowing her brow as she shifted in the direction to where the maid waited. "I do not understand."

           "Miss?" the maid questioned with uncertainty.

           "I thought ..." Elle hesitated, debating whether or not to divulge her horrid expectations of her captor, that she had fully anticipated being pitched into some forlorn chamber where she would spend the duration of her captivity.

           "What chambers are these?" she inquired.

           "These are the lady's chambers, miss."

           Elle's mouth parted with astonishment, taken aback by this unforeseen kindness. Why would Lord Rossetti allot her such comely accommodations?

           "Is there nothing else I can do for you, miss?"

           She managed a small shake of her head.

           "Very well, then. I have already stoked the fire. You'll find that it gets a bit cold here at night. If you'll just make yourself comfortable I will see to bringing you supper shortly."

           The door closed with a resounding boom, leaving Elle to the emptiness of the room. She listened to the rhythm of sounds offered to her, but strangely enough, the chambers were flat of noise, all but the clamor of wood burning within the hearth. The frequencies of sound were what aided her in depicting a visual path, without that, she had no perception of the things around her aside from what she discerned beneath her touch.

           Her throat constricted around the knot of fear lodged there as she exhaled an uneasy breath. Not wanting her trepidation to get the best of her, Elle tightened her grip around the crest of her wooden staff and set to exploring the chambers. She maneuvered her way around, the end of her staff connecting with various objects of the room. She uncovered a wooden chest with bracketed feet, a small table sheathed in fine linen and an adorning upholstered chair with embellished cushions. Her foot caught on the lining of a carpet and she knelt, her skirts pooling around her as her hand grazed delicately over the embroidered covering.

           Lastly, she discovered the bed, and it was the most extravagant piece of furniture occupying the chambers. Her hands whisked curiously over the silken hangings suspended on all corners of the canopied posts. The feathered mattress was draped with lovely fabric and lush coverlets, with large pillows situated at the head, all of which she discovered beneath fleeting fingers. She had never slept in anything so massive, so extraordinary. It was fit for royalty.

           The excitement that flourished in her veins diminished, forcing her to retreat with a sudden stab of guilt.

           Why would Lord Rossetti give her such luxurious chambers? Though she could not see every remnant of the gilded room, its extravagance was palpable. How could she accept this knowing her family slept on pallets of straw?

           The thought of her family seized her heart with grief and the emptiness she felt in her chest all but ached tenfold with an invariable measure of apprehension. She mustn't lose courage. She had to do this, for her family, for herself. She wanted to prove to them, all of them, that she was not some stumbling halfwit without feelings. No matter what Rossetti intended for her. But doing and saying were two very different things and Elle could only pray that she had the strength of character to face whatever forthcoming demise awaited her.

           Disconcerted, she stepped away from the bed and sank into the cushioned chair, and there she remained for the duration of the next hour, contemplating her fate to come.

           It wasn't until a knock rapped on the door, jarring Elle from her thoughts, that she abandoned her seat, straightening to her feet.

           Her heart careened against her ribs as the door opened and Rossetti's voice came to her from across the room, equally dark and fathomless, reverberating with authority.

           "You are settled then?"

           Elle clasped her hands together to still their sudden trembling, "Aye, my lord, but surely this room cannot be mine?"

           His boots scraped across the floor, bringing him further into the room. "Are you not pleased?" he snarled with derisiveness.

           Elle winced, startled by his tangible aura of anger. "Nay, I am most grateful. I merely thought ... what I mean is – "

           "That your accommodations would be far less ... agreeable,"

           She felt her cheeks flush and quickly averted her face; realizing with some contrite that her assumption of the dungeon had been very narrow-minded. But what was she to make of his demeanor or his plans for her? What if this unexpected kindness of allotting her befitting chambers was all a pretense to some ulterior motive? He was an enigma of masked emotions and that troubled her, being that she was so equipped in reading others.

           He was upon her suddenly, reaching her in swift, purposeful strides that hooked a breath from her lungs, rendering it audible to the air as it took every bit of her courage to not draw back.

           "If the dungeon is what you prefer, I can have that arranged." He muttered in a sardonic tone.

           Her heart plummeted at the prospect of it, all the while, heedful of his burning gaze. She could feel the intensity of it, assessing her, "If that is what you desire, my lord."

****************

           Desire. Don's stomach clenched at the word, uttered innocently from a mouth forged of sin.

           He couldn't believe his ears. The little nymph practically consented to his confining her. He didn't know whether to be insulted or amused. And it baffled him. He knew she was frightened, he could virtually taste her fear of him on his tongue, yet, she stood her ground, prepared to endure whatever he deemed fit. Why didn't she recoil from him or plead for her freedom? He had fully anticipated hysterics and revulsion, that's what he was accustomed to, not this quiet, accepting demeanor that left him feeling discomfited. Don tried convincing himself that she was no different from all the others, but repelled that thought the moment it flitted through his mind. She wasn't like the others. She couldn't see him, and that alone made all the difference.

           His body and mind were still reeling from the affect she'd had on him when first encountering her at the edge of the forest. Little did he know that entertaining the notion of kissing a blind maiden, something he would have never considered with another, would result in the staggering arousal of stark, primal need. For the first time, in a long time, it was as if the curtain of fog and nothingness had fallen away. He clung to that conscious kindling, unwilling to let it go. And no matter his efforts, he had a growing need to be near her, and that demand gained the upper hand contrary to every alarming bell advising him to stay away.

           It was practically unbearable standing in such close proximity of her, drawing in that alluring scent of jasmine, captivated by errant strands of black hair framing her face, coaxing his fingers to brush them into place.

           His body's initial response to her took him completely by surprise. He was conscious of her as a woman, and that awareness completely unhinged him. When last had he felt such a thing? It was crazy to think after decades of nothingness, that one dark-haired maiden bereaved of sight, had sparked feeling in him.

           His eyes, of their own accord, fell unbidden to the soft pink of her mouth and he was riveted with visions of stealing her against him and catching her stunned breath in the sweet fervor of a kiss. How would her lips feel beneath his? How would she feel in his arms? How would she respond to him? Would she respond to him?

           Don gnashed his teeth, his body stiffening against the surge of heat coursing through his limbs like liquid fire. He wrenched his gaze away from her mouth, muttering a curse beneath his breath as he retreated abruptly from the intoxicating air of jasmine.

           His expression darkened, reverting to its visage of indifference, "Here is where you will stay," he grumbled with petulance, "Lest, you provoke me into reconsidering your quarters." He paused, surveying her in earnest, "It would serve in your best interest to not provoke me. You are free to roam about the keep but heed my warning, if you flee; I have no qualms in giving chase. You would not like the outcome."

           The latter part was meant to frighten her, and judging by the sudden lack of color in her face, realized he had accomplished his feat – making him feel every bit the monstrosity that he was.

            "I will have your word that you will not escape," he demanded, observing her from beneath the brim of his hood.

           She nudged her chin to the air, her courage astounding him. "You have my word, my lord."

           "Don," he corrected, his eyes never deviating far from her mouth.

            Her lips parted as though to utter his name, but halted on a bated breath. His eyes fixed on the frantic pulse at her throat, coercing him to press his mouth hot against that alluring column of ivory skin.

           "I would think, given your standing – "

           He snickered, taking a deliberate step toward her. "Ah, but have I not already addressed that propriety is of no importance to me? Would you not agree that your presence here is unconventional? Can you not abandon a smidge of what is proper for the sake of – oh, enlightening a beast?"

           Elle's chest expanded with another breath as she felt him drawing nearer, the air between them brimming with an electrical charge, its current whisking over her in a thrilling, undulating heat. She was rendered frozen, words stalling her as an unrelenting rush of emotions assailed her. She was frightened – nay terrified of these extrinsic, new feelings he roused in her, alarming feelings she had never before encountered. It was both exhilarating and beyond fathoming.

           Rossetti exhibited an air of danger and masculinity that suggested an unwavering lethal prowess to likes of which she wasn't familiar with.

           Her stomach fluttered madly with his presence, the heat of his body reaching for her as he came to stand over her once more. She felt his breath on her forehead, a testimony to just how close he stood. Her heartbeat strained on her eardrum, a wild thrumming coaxed by the magnetism of this hot-blooded man.

           "To do so would imply – "

           Her words failed her as his knuckles grazed her cheek, the contact so obliterating to her senses that her knees nearly buckled from it.

           She froze as though spellbound beneath that callused hand as it turned lean, masculine fingers to trail tentatively over the curve of her jaw, his thumb taking possession of her lower lip, igniting a fire deep within the recesses of her soul.

           "It would suggest that we are intimate." He stated bluntly. "And if I were to ask again for a kiss?"

           Elle gasped, relinquishing her space as she retreated from that masculine wall of heat as though it threatened to incinerate her. Twice now he had asked to kiss her, and twice now he could have easily overpowered her and done so. But he hadn't. What if she denied him again? What if she didn't?

           She felt the magnitude of his size in the air around her, and knew he was large of stature. There was nothing and no one that could prevent him from doing whatever he pleased. So why bother with her consent?

          Mustering a breath, she feigned a fraction of courage she didn't necessarily feel as her following words left her in a fortifying breath, "I would think, my lord, given your displeasure in maintaining decorum, matters of compliance would be of trivial consequence to you."

           At the cessation of her words, she held a breath, fearing she may have said too much. The impression of his stare kept her immobile, pinning her where she stood with a combined feeling of unease and exhilaration. Her disquiet wasn't entirely contributed to her fear of him, but partly from the shock of a sensual awakening, and a part of her, beneath a variable layer of fear and curiosity, wanted him to do as she unintelligibly challenged – and kiss her.

           After what seemed a lifetime of silence, he answered with impartial dryness, "Quite the opposite, nymph, submission is all I seek." And like that, he stalked from her chambers, taking with him, all the warmth of the room.

                                                                                              **********