Beneath a Waning Moon: A Duo of Gothic Romances Page 6

  Oh, he’d have her, but Tom had to admit he’d been an insensitive fool. He’d not taken many lovers as an immortal. He found controlling his urges to be hard enough without adding in lust.

  But Josie…

  For once in his life, Tom had found a woman he enjoyed looking after. Maybe it was because she was so independent. Looking after her was a challenge. Her barely contained sensuality, a bonus. He still thought about their kiss in the carriage, though it did nothing to help his self-control.

  His unexpected eagerness for matrimony and the anticipation of bedding his new wife had been all he’d been thinking of in the days leading up to the small church ceremony. She’d looked lovely in the church. In the back of Tom’s mind, he’d imagined Josie dressed in a medieval costume with a flowing train and her hair falling past her waist rather than the fashionable dress and pinned hair she wore. That’s what her dressing gown had reminded him of that first night in the garden. No matter, he’d thought. He’d have her hair down that very night and finally indulge his imagination.

  But then came the horror of her collapse. The unexpected terror of her wracking coughs that simply would not stop. Tom had torn open her dress and corset in the carriage, which had helped, but it wasn’t enough. Then her fever spiked. Then more coughing. Her father had tears in his eyes, terrified he was losing his daughter, though the sensible Mrs. Porter simply barked instructions at his staff as soon as she arrived, accustomed to her mistress’s spells.

  Tom finished tying his cravat, eager to see her again.

  Six days. Tomorrow, perhaps.

  Apparently his body still thought he was a boy of twenty, because even the thought of seeing Josie’s hair fall down her back caused a very ungentlemanlike reaction. He straightened his waistcoat in the mirror and left his room, nodding to the maid as she passed him in the hall, noting her downcast eyes and ghost of a curtsy.

  He truly hated acting the gentleman.

  Following the sweet sound of Josie’s voice, he headed toward the library where they usually enjoyed a drink before dinner. His wife was sitting by the fire, a book on her lap, interrogating poor Henry about his education.

  “But you never went to school? Not even for a few years?”

  “Not… exactly, Mrs. Murphy. See, Mr. Patrick Murphy always kept… Well, see, there was—”

  “Tutors,” Tom said, rescuing Henry from the relentless curiosity of his wife. “My brother kept a tutor employed for all the servants’ children. There were enough to justify it, and that way the girls could take the same lessons as the boys, which Anne insists on.” He leaned down and pressed a kiss to Josephine’s cool cheek, happy to smell less sickness and more of the gardenia-scented soap she preferred. “Good evening, wife.”

  “Good evening.” Josie turned her head slightly, avoiding his gaze and the kiss he usually pressed to the corner of her mouth. “That’s very generous of him. It’s not many gentlemen who would keep tutors for their household staff.”

  Tom straightened, feeling the slight turn as if she’d given him a physical push. “Henry, if you would excuse us.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The lad fled the room, and Tom stood next to her. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

  A flush in her cheeks. “Nothing, Tom. You’ll be happy to know I’m feeling well tonight. No coughing at all today. Did you accomplish everything you needed to for work?”

  “Did I anger you? I did tell you I’d need to see to—”

  “It’s fine.” Her pulse was rushing, and her flush grew. “I had… matters to attend to this morning as well. Cook found some lovely fish at the market today. I hope you’ll enjoy—”

  “Don’t ignore me, Josephine. Tell me what I’ve done that made you turn away from me just now.”

  Her face reddened more, the flush spreading down her throat and across the high-necked dress…

  One of her old dresses. Not one of the more fashionable evening dresses she’d ordered for their honeymoon like she’d worn the night before.

  They’d played chess and he’d beaten her. Badly. Josie claimed she had no head for the game, but mostly she’d been making Tom laugh too hard with her stories as she narrated a melodramatic—and ultimately doomed—romance between the black queen and the white knight. It had him laughing so hard he could barely think to make a move.

  They’d been laughing. Then he’d lost patience with her silly commentary and swung her onto his lap, kissing her soundly before…

  He’d given her a chaste kiss and sent her to her bed because his own body was raging.

  And tonight she was wearing one of her old dresses, and all the teasing light had gone out of her eyes because she’d mistaken his self-control for disinterest.

  “Blast it, Josie!” He fell to his knees beside her. “No, no, no. It isn’t you. I’m only worried—”

  “It’s fine.” She turned her face to the fire. “I’m being silly. And… dramatic. It’s a failing of mine. I know my spell after the wedding put everything in perspective. We’re friends, Tom. I don’t want to damage that. I value your company too much—”

  “Friends?” He leaned forward, caging her on the blue chair though she still wouldn’t turn her eyes to him. “You think I no longer want you as my wife?”

  “Of course not. I know you’ll make an excellent husband—”

  “I’m not such an excellent husband if I’ve been ignoring what you need, am I?”

  She shook her head, still staring at the fire. “I won’t… I don’t want to be a duty or an obligation. I have my pride. I’d rather have friendship than pity.”

  “Bloody hell.” He grabbed her chin and forced her face to him. “You think my kisses are pity, do you? You think I don’t want you? That I don’t have to think of cold baths and the like when I leave you at night? I thought you were dying ten days ago, Josephine.”

  Her mouth trembled, and he saw the tears in her great dark eyes, though she blinked them back.

  “I am dying, Tom.” She put a hand on his jaw when he clenched it. “And I understand—”

  He cut her off with an angry kiss. How dare she! Tom grabbed the back of her neck and pressed her mouth to his, swallowing the quick cry she let out before her hands came to rest on his chest and her slim fingers dug into the muscle there. She kissed him back, opening her mouth to his, and he tasted the sherry she’d been drinking. A hint of pear and a bite of something salty on her tongue.

  “You understand nothing.” Tom hissed before he kissed her again. He wasn’t careful or chaste. She thought he didn’t want her, or wanted her only for pity.

  How dare she? How dare she make him laugh so? Make him hunger for her as he did? How dare she be so clever and generous?

  So terribly mortal.

  He pulled away from her mouth and bent to her ear, biting the lobe before he soothed the sting with his tongue. He pressed his forehead to her warm temple and fought to control the drop of his fangs when he heard the swift beat of her heart.

  “I want you,” he whispered. “I want to see you naked in the firelight. I want to see your hair loose when you’re wearing nothing but your skin. Want to see it brush the top of your arse. I want to see it tickle the tips of your pretty tits, Josie. I want my mouth on every inch of you. Want to feel you around me. Hot and—”

  Josie slammed a hand over his mouth. “I don’t want supper,” she gasped. “Take me to my room.”

  Had he shocked her? Offended her? Tom swore. “Jo—”

  “Take me to my room, Tom, and if you leave me without doing everything you just said, I’ll… do something horrible to you. I don’t know what. I can’t think right now. But I have a good imagination.”

  He picked her up without another word and carried her out of the library, almost running over Henry on the way toward the stairs.

  “Henry, tell Cook we don’t need supper.”

  The lad’s cheeks turned red, and he muttered, “Perhaps a tray later, sir.”

  “See that we’re not disturbed
.”

  “Yes, sir, Mr. Murphy.” He nodded. “Mrs. Murphy.”

  Josie, seemingly oblivious to the interchange, had her lips against his neck. Her skin was burning, but it was the healthy flush of arousal, not sickness. He carried her to her bedchamber on the second floor. The evening maid was bending over the newly lit fire and jumped when he practically kicked in the door.

  “Out.”

  “Yes, sir!”

  She slammed the door on the way out, and Tom locked it behind her.

  “We’re shocking the servants,” Josie whispered against his neck.

  “If they’re not scandalized by the time this night is over, then I’ll consider it a personal failure.”

  He laid her on the bed and immediately set to undoing the buttons at her neck.

  “I hate this dress,” he muttered as he stripped it off. “Don’t ever wear it again. Wear your new clothes. All the pretty things you bought. You should have pretty things.”

  “You can rip it if you’d like.”

  Leave it to the woman to make him laugh when his cock felt like it was going to revolt in his trousers if it wasn’t released soon.

  “Ripping corsets,” he said as he unhooked her at the back, “is seldom as comfortable or as quick as novels make it out to be.”

  “Do you speak from personal experience?”

  Her proper accent undid him. “You do ask the most inconvenient questions.”

  “I consider it part of my charm. Good God, you’re right. Why are there so many layers?”

  He finally removed everything but the thin cotton of her camisole. Her breasts pressed against it and he bent down, putting his mouth on them as she arched under his hands.

  “Oh Tom!” she gasped. “That feels… I’m finding it very hard to describe at the moment.”

  Teasing his tongue over the thin cotton, Tom lifted her and tried to remove all the skirts hindering him. “Much prefer the dressing gown,” he muttered.

  “What?”

  “Nothing. Take everything off if you don’t want it ripped.” He started removing his own clothes, more than ready to join her.

  “I thought you didn’t believe in ripping clothes.”

  “I’m losing patience with ladies’ fashions.”

  He stripped off the blasted waistcoat and shirt, ridding himself of the excess clothing before he turned back to the bed.

  “Oh, I…” Her face was burning as she surveyed his bare chest. “Oh, my.”

  Josie lifted the edge of her camisole but didn’t pull it off. Clad only in the light cotton of her undergarments, she was as bare as Tom had ever seen her. He decided to wait to take off his trousers. Best not to scare the woman.

  She was nervous, which he supposed was natural. He climbed into bed next to her and pressed soothing kisses to her shoulder.

  “We’ll slow down,” he said. “I’m losing my head like a randy lad, aren’t I?”

  She laughed nervously. “I lost my nerve when your shirt came off. You have a startling number of muscles.”

  And scars. And burns. His human life hadn’t been an easy one. “I’m not so easy on the eyes as you, sweet girl.”

  “You?” Her eyes widened. “You’re magnificent. Like one of those statues the Italians sculpt. And I’m so very thin.”

  He continued kissing her shoulder, teasing the edges of the lace camisole with his callused fingers. “You’re good for my ego. I know I’m not a handsome gentleman. And you’re not thin. You’re…” His fingers drifted between her breasts. “Slender. Gorgeous. Like one of the willow trees in your garden.”

  Her heart raced under his fingertips, but she said nothing. Tom’s fangs throbbed in his mouth, but he beat back his instinct to bite. Tonight was about taking care of Josie. Bloodlust had no place here.

  “Can I see you?” He reached up to tug at the pins he could see in her hair. “Here now, sit up.”

  She did, and he scooted her forward so he was sitting behind her. He leaned against the headboard, pleased at her shiver when he drew her back against his bare chest. “I’ve been dreaming about feeling all that hair against my skin. Let me take it down.”

  “If you thought the buttons were frustrating…”

  He laughed and her small breasts shook with the movement. He grew impossibly harder, and he knew she felt it because her shoulders tensed.

  “That does seem… rather impossible from my perspective. You realize that, don’t you?”

  “It’s as natural as breathing. Just takes a bit of getting used to, like anything else.”

  “Are you abnormally large? Or are things always… proportional?”

  Tom bit his lip to keep from laughing. “I think you’re assuming a level of knowledge on a subject I haven’t taken time to study.”

  “Oh?”

  “And you’re talking too much.”

  Her head fell to the side when he put his mouth there and tasted her. His left hand continued extracting the pins in her hair while his right cupped her breast over her camisole. Slowly, he worked his hand under the fabric and finally, finally he felt her skin.

  He groaned. “You’re so soft.”

  “And you’re not soft at all.”

  Her hair tumbled down, and Tom luxuriated in the chestnut silk that smelled of gardenias and lilac. Dark scents from her garden. Heady scents that wrapped around him as she arched back into his chest. He drew her hair around her as he eased the camisole off. Silk and warm skin and Josie. He banished the sickness from his memory and set his mind to her pleasure. He slowly turned his wife until her breasts were against his chest, and his hands trailed down her back, over the curve of her hips and the swell of her bottom.

  “Let me,” he said against her neck. He fought back the instinct to bite. “Let me—”

  “Yes. Anything.” Her voice was high and needy. “Everything, Tom.”

  Her trust undid him. He lay back, Josie draped across his chest, her hair falling around them like a curtain. His hands slid down, caressing the slick heat between her legs. He slowly worked her body until her eyes glazed over with longing and she fell to the side, begging for release. Then, with a gentle kiss, he pushed her over and she arched her back, shuddering with pleasure.

  He carefully removed the rest of their clothes, scattering kisses over her skin and murmuring soft words to soothe her.

  “So lovely, my wife.” He lay at her side, his hands and lips arousing her again. “So perfect. So soft.” He wasn’t a small man, and he didn’t want to hurt her, but some pain would be inevitable.

  “Please,” she whispered. “Don’t make me wait.”

  Tom drew back. There were tears in her eyes and a tremulous smile on her lips.

  “Josie?”

  “I’ve waited so long,” she said, her voice soft and urgent. “For you. For this. Don’t make me wait, Tom.”

  He kissed her, pressing their lips together as he rose and parted her legs. He shifted up and felt the tight squeeze of her body. Slow. So slow. When her muscles tensed, he whispered and kissed her neck, pausing until her body melted for him again. He worked himself slowly to the hilt and then stopped.

  “Josie?”

  She nodded. “I’m… it hurts a little, but not as bad as I’d imagined.”

  “Well, you do have an awful imagination,” he said with a smile, his body locked still so she could grow accustomed to him.

  “You’re not moving.”

  She squirmed beneath him, and he groaned.

  “Wait for it. God, you feel good. Just want to give you a moment.”

  Josie reached up, stroking his cheek with her hand. “Oh, my Tom. You take such care with me.”

  She filled his heart and broke it all at once.

  Tom couldn’t hold back longer. He started to move. Josie’s eyes fluttered closed, but her lips were flushed and red. Her heart raced, and he could feel the swell of her body around his, tight and slick. Her neck arched back, and he bent to kiss her again.

  “I will never forge
t this,” he whispered against her lips. “Not a moment. If I live a thousand years, I will never forget this. Do you understand? I will never forget you.”

  She cried out and threw her arms around his shoulders, wrapping herself around him as he let himself go. Tom lost himself in her body, in the smell and taste and feel of her. Hunger for her blood forgotten, he fisted a hand around her wild tangle of hair and tugged, holding her in place as she writhed beneath him.

  Josie. Josie. Josie.

  She had captured him. Enchanted him. He’d never stood a chance.

  He fell.

  Chapter Six

  JOSIE’S CHEEKS ACHED from laughing as she walked into the library, Anne on her heels. The two had taken in a concert that had been advertised heavily for the previous month but had proved to be less than promised in person. They’d left early, and Josie had agreed to a drink with Anne before she slipped away to write.

  “But the tenor—” Anne was laughing. “I think he might have been a she. I’ve never heard a man sing that high.”

  “It was extraordinary. Pity he was the only talented one among— Oh! Hello, Tom. What are you doing home?”

  Tom was sitting near the fireplace… glowering.

  Yes, she did believe that was the appropriate verb. To glower. Her normally composed husband was glowering.

  Unsurprisingly, this did not make him any less attractive to her. Josie had become quite his sycophant, though she’d never tell him. In the three months they’d been married, her feelings had deepened to far more than mere affection for her rough-mannered, taciturn husband. She was, quite simply, besotted. And glowering did nothing to quash that.

  “What are you doing back from the warehouse?” she asked, frowning.

  Anne asked, “Is everything all right? I know there was supposed to be a meeting with Beecham tonight.”

  “And I forgot one of my reports. Realized I’d left it in Josie’s sitting room last night, so I went looking for it.” He held up an envelope. “What is this?”

  “As I’m rather far away at the moment, I cannot tell you.” Josie stepped forward with her hand out. “Give it here, Tom.”