CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
The night darkened a deeper black than Mary had ever known.
It had been at least two hours since Polidori had bid her adieu on the terrace that he might find solace in his suite upstairs with his like-minded companion. Mary had stayed on alone in the warming coziness of the cushioned lounge, isolating her own comfort in the dead of night, in the darkness that surrounded her, that enamored her.
All visual sense was null, inked out by the complete absence of light on the terrace, in the garden, upon the lake, along the surrounding shores. So, too, was there little to hear other than the distant murmur of gentle waves and an even gentler rainfall far off upon the water.
Mary remained perfectly still, filled with wonderment that she was in a space she knew well and felt s
