Beneath a Waning Moon
Page 16
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She started to laugh out loud.
“What’s so funny?” Tom asked. “Am I too clumsy for you?”
“Not at all. It strikes me that I am the sick maiden who is going to an isolated country house with the mysterious man who swept her off her feet and threatened to ravage her. This would make an excellent novel.”
“Do you think so?” Tom leaned down and played with her, snapping his teeth at the tip of her nose. “Never fear, Josie, my girl. If I’m a monster, I’m a proper sort of one.”
“Oh dear,” she sighed. “A proper sort of monster? How very disappointing.”
Chapter Five
TOM WOKE FOR THE NIGHT, his face already turned toward the door where Henry was chattering on to himself about some letters that had arrived from Dublin. The lad must have heard him move because he turned and gave Tom a silent nod that everything was well as he continued the one-sided conversation designed to give the illusion that Tom had been awake for hours.
“No sir, Mr. Murphy. I got them off to the post today, but there was nothing yet to bring to you.” The lad paused. “Yes, sir. I’ll check in the morning. Would you like to prepare for dinner, sir?”
Tom cleared his throat and said, “Yes, Henry. Please ask Mrs. Murphy to join me for a drink if she’s feeling up to it tonight.”
“Yes, sir.”
Stepping closer to the side of the bed where Henry had already laid out a set of evening clothes, the lad leaned down and said, “Nothing unusual today, sir.”
“Has my wife slept at all?”
“Yes, sir. Believe she woke for breakfast, then was locked in her room awhile with something or other. Slept this afternoon.”
“No coughing?”
“Not that I heard, sir.”
“Thank you, Henry.”
“Did you need help getting dressed, Mr. Murphy?”
Tom waved him away, and Henry slipped out of the room.
It was one thing to plan to marry a human and conceal his immortal nature; it was quite another thing to accomplish it. Especially while traveling. The house he’d intended to rent in Wicklow was owned by immortals and had a staff who was fully aware of their secrets. But when Josie’s doctor had suggested the seaside, he and Anne had quickly cobbled together a plan for Bray.
For the hundredth time since they’d arrived, Tom thanked the gods for Henry Flynn. The boy had been born to a couple who’d worked for Tom almost as long as he’d been a vampire. The lad had known about immortals since he was a child. Had never been terrified and had always known what it was to keep secrets.
Tom supposed every vampire had families like the Flynns. Or they did if they were lucky.
He kept his own chamber in Bray, which fortunately had very heavy drapes. And while he normally lay solitary in his secure day-chamber in his Dublin house, in the Bray house, Henry needed access to his rooms to maintain the illusion of humanity. The boy was trustworthy. That didn’t mean Tom didn’t help his loyalty along with a touch of amnis at times.
He’d planted subtle suggestions not to question his odd sleeping patterns in all the household staff and, unfortunately, his new wife. He hated doing anything to touch her mind, but it was necessary. Josie was simply too intelligent to fool by human means.
And gods, she was so very human.
Tom thought he’d planned for everything. But he could never have prepared himself for the feeling of helplessness that struck him when Josie was having one of her coughing fits. Or the raw guilt when he was forced to leave her at daybreak instead of staying at her bedside.
Tom wasn’t used to feeling helpless. His relief at hearing she’d had another day with no breathing problems struck him as more profound than it should have been for a man who’d only met his wife two months before.
That made six days with no coughing since they’d come to the seaside. He’d promised himself to stay away from her for at least a week after her collapse following their wedding ceremony. Seven full days without coughing before he attempted more than a chaste kiss.
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.
“What’s so funny?” Tom asked. “Am I too clumsy for you?”
“Not at all. It strikes me that I am the sick maiden who is going to an isolated country house with the mysterious man who swept her off her feet and threatened to ravage her. This would make an excellent novel.”
“Do you think so?” Tom leaned down and played with her, snapping his teeth at the tip of her nose. “Never fear, Josie, my girl. If I’m a monster, I’m a proper sort of one.”
“Oh dear,” she sighed. “A proper sort of monster? How very disappointing.”
Chapter Five
TOM WOKE FOR THE NIGHT, his face already turned toward the door where Henry was chattering on to himself about some letters that had arrived from Dublin. The lad must have heard him move because he turned and gave Tom a silent nod that everything was well as he continued the one-sided conversation designed to give the illusion that Tom had been awake for hours.
“No sir, Mr. Murphy. I got them off to the post today, but there was nothing yet to bring to you.” The lad paused. “Yes, sir. I’ll check in the morning. Would you like to prepare for dinner, sir?”
Tom cleared his throat and said, “Yes, Henry. Please ask Mrs. Murphy to join me for a drink if she’s feeling up to it tonight.”
“Yes, sir.”
Stepping closer to the side of the bed where Henry had already laid out a set of evening clothes, the lad leaned down and said, “Nothing unusual today, sir.”
“Has my wife slept at all?”
“Yes, sir. Believe she woke for breakfast, then was locked in her room awhile with something or other. Slept this afternoon.”
“No coughing?”
“Not that I heard, sir.”
“Thank you, Henry.”
“Did you need help getting dressed, Mr. Murphy?”
Tom waved him away, and Henry slipped out of the room.
It was one thing to plan to marry a human and conceal his immortal nature; it was quite another thing to accomplish it. Especially while traveling. The house he’d intended to rent in Wicklow was owned by immortals and had a staff who was fully aware of their secrets. But when Josie’s doctor had suggested the seaside, he and Anne had quickly cobbled together a plan for Bray.
For the hundredth time since they’d arrived, Tom thanked the gods for Henry Flynn. The boy had been born to a couple who’d worked for Tom almost as long as he’d been a vampire. The lad had known about immortals since he was a child. Had never been terrified and had always known what it was to keep secrets.
Tom supposed every vampire had families like the Flynns. Or they did if they were lucky.
He kept his own chamber in Bray, which fortunately had very heavy drapes. And while he normally lay solitary in his secure day-chamber in his Dublin house, in the Bray house, Henry needed access to his rooms to maintain the illusion of humanity. The boy was trustworthy. That didn’t mean Tom didn’t help his loyalty along with a touch of amnis at times.
He’d planted subtle suggestions not to question his odd sleeping patterns in all the household staff and, unfortunately, his new wife. He hated doing anything to touch her mind, but it was necessary. Josie was simply too intelligent to fool by human means.
And gods, she was so very human.
Tom thought he’d planned for everything. But he could never have prepared himself for the feeling of helplessness that struck him when Josie was having one of her coughing fits. Or the raw guilt when he was forced to leave her at daybreak instead of staying at her bedside.
Tom wasn’t used to feeling helpless. His relief at hearing she’d had another day with no breathing problems struck him as more profound than it should have been for a man who’d only met his wife two months before.
That made six days with no coughing since they’d come to the seaside. He’d promised himself to stay away from her for at least a week after her collapse following their wedding ceremony. Seven full days without coughing before he attempted more than a chaste kiss.
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.
