Beneath a Waning Moon: A Duo of Gothic Romances (6 page)

Her cheeks pinked. “Josie? No one calls me Josie.”

“I do.”

“Very well,” she whispered, “Tom.”

He took her hand in both of his. “Do you think… you might like to marry me, Josie?”

Josephine’s smile lit up the room. “I believe I might.”

 
Hello, butterfly.

Chapter Four

My dearest Lenore,

You’ll think me caught up in one of my stories, but indeed, I am not. I am engaged to be married. His name is Mister Thomas Murphy of Dublin. He has two brothers, and he is old! But not too old. He is not handsome, but he is very tall. And, I daresay, his shoulders are dramatically broad. He does, as the housemaids have mentioned, cut a very striking figure.

We suit each other, Lenore. Far more than I ever expected a man to suit me.

I don’t think we will have a large wedding. I don’t want one, and I don’t think Father will insist on it.
 
Tom and I are both too old for foolishness.

I am happy and maybe a little frightened by it. It seems too easy. At some point a monster is sure to intrude, don’t you think? We’re going to the theater tonight. Tom (he insists I call him Tom) said we must celebrate because I did not cough once yesterday.

I like that he does not avoid my illness. He is thoughtful but not overly solicitous.

I haven’t told him about Miss Dioli or Mr. Doyle yet. It might be foolish, but I find I want to ensnare the poor man in matrimony before I announce my alter egos. (This will surely be my tragic downfall, don’t you think? I can see the shadows lurking at the edge of this letter.)

He is no flattering suitor, which I like. He is, however, very excellent company and has a dry wit I value highly. He also gave me a copy of
Ivanhoe
with a very sentimental inscription. Do not reveal this to anyone (unless you’re taken by villains and tortured for it, of course), but my intended might be a romantic.

Wish me luck, dearest Lenore. I have absolutely no idea what to do with him.

Your faithful friend,

Josephine Shaw

P.S. Tom calls me Josie. Isn’t that grand?

JOSEPHINE held the handkerchief to her mouth, wishing she could shrink back into the seat. Wishing for the first time since she’d met him two months before that Tom Murphy would disappear.

“It was likely all that close air in the theater,” Tom said, flipping open his watch and closing it. “I nearly passed out myself from Mrs. Lark’s perfume. Horrid stuff.”

Fidgeting. He was fidgeting. Tom didn’t fidget.

“It’s not too late to change your mind,” she rasped out, then put the muslin to her mouth again to catch the cough. After the spell had passed, she continued. “It’s not going to get better, Tom.” Josephine looked up and almost reeled back at the anger on his face.

“Get your mind off that,” he said. “What kind of man do you think I am?”

“A single man until next week. A healthy man. Not one who needs to be saddled with a—”

“Do not finish that sentence, Josephine Shaw, or you’ll be insulting both of us.”

She fell silent and watched the dark streets of Dublin pass, the steady trickling rain pattering on the roof of the carriage. Tom, never shy about ignoring propriety, shifted across the carriage to sit next to her. He closed his hand around hers, and she struggled not to pull it away.

“I want to marry you, Josie.”

“Why?”

He was silent for a moment. “Well…,” he finally drawled. “I’m quite eager to bed you, and you seem the kind who’ll want matrimony for that.”

Josie’s eyes popped open and her jaw dropped. She swung her shocked gaze to his laughing one and tried pulling her hand away, but he only pulled it closer. “Tom!”

His eyes were all innocence, but the devil was lurking around his mouth. “What?”

“You did not just say that to me.”

“I did. It’s the truth.”

Cough forgotten, her face felt as if it were on fire. “Mr. Murphy!”

“Is that what you’re gonna call me when we f—”

She slapped a hand over his mouth. “Don’t you dare.”

He nipped at her fingers and pulled them away. He’d captured both her hands, and Josephine sat helpless, not sure whether she was more shocked or aroused.

Tom took a deep breath and smiled wickedly. “You knew I was lacking in manners when you agreed to marry me, Miss Shaw.”

“What if Mrs. Porter were here?”

“Mrs. Porter isn’t here. And I’d hardly talk about the pleasures of the marriage bed with my future wife while her companion was in attendance, now would I?”

Her heart raced. “Pleasures of the marriage bed?”

“Don’t tell me you haven’t thought of it. I know what kind of books you read.”

“Tom—”

“Why are you embarrassed?”

Tom hadn’t let go of her hands. He’d crossed them over his chest as if embracing her. Her fingertips flexed against the crisp cotton of his shirt, and she wondered at the thick muscle on his chest. He was solid as a wall. She couldn’t even feel his heart beat, though her own was racing. His eyes were intent and his smile was still wicked.

“Come now, Josie. Why are you embarrassed? You’re no blushing miss. Are you frightened?”

“I don’t want to say.” Her voice sounded tiny to her ears. She cleared her throat and tried to take a deep breath, but it rasped out of her.

Tom immediately let one of her hands go and put a cool palm on the side of her neck. “Shhh,” he murmured. “Easy now. I’m sorry. I was just teasing you. Try to relax.”

“Hard to do with you so close.”

He leaned away, but she grabbed his sleeve and pulled.

“Josie, I’m trying to—”

“I
am
afraid.”

They both fell silent, and the only sound was the rain on the roof. She felt her face flush with embarrassment again. She closed her eyes and pressed her lips together when Tom’s thumb stroked her neck.

“Why are you afraid?” he asked, his voice as hoarse as hers. “Is it me? I know I’m not—”

“
No
. Just… the unknown, I suppose. Reading isn’t doing, is it?”

“No, it’s not.”

“And I can assume you have…?”

“Yes.”

“Probably a good thing one of us knows what goes where then.”

His chest rumbled with laughter, but his voice was gentle. “Josephine, open your eyes.”

“Is my face still very, very red?”

“Yes, but it’s lovely.”

“Oooh,” she groaned and let her head fall forward, only to feel his shoulder catch it. She pressed her face into his coat. “I’m very glad Mrs. Porter is not here.”

“So am I.” His lips touched her forehead. “Josie?”

“I’m going to hide here until we reach my home. As my intended, it is your duty to let me use your shoulder this way.”

The aforementioned shoulder shook with more laughter. “What are you frightened by?”

“Are you truly forcing me to speak of this?”

“Yes.”

“Fine.” She sat up but kept her eyes closed. “I have been informed by several well-meaning but terror-inducing friends and household staff that things do… hurt quite a bit.”

“Hmm.”

“That’s the only thing you’re going to say? ‘Hmm?’”

“Nothing much to say about men who don’t know their way about pleasing a woman.”

Josephine had no vocabulary to respond to that.

“I can assume you know the mechanics of the act?” he asked.

“I’m an educated woman. Obviously, yes. Also… I have read more than one book that mentioned it.”

“You’re going to keep your eyes closed the entire way home, aren’t you?”

“Yes, I am.”

Tom laughed. “Fine. But even though you’re hiding, you have to tell me…” He leaned close enough that she could feel his breath on her neck. “Your books? Do they… excite you?”

His voice moved along her skin like a physical caress.

“Josephine?”

“You know they do.”

“Aye, I can tell they do by that gorgeous color on your face. Your lips are flushed and swollen. Your breathing is faster. But do you know what, Josie?”

“You have no manners at all, Tom Murphy.”

“I know. Don’t change the subject.” His finger trailed along the curve of her ear. “Do you know what?”

She was going to burst out of her skin. “What?”

His lips were at her ear. “I’m better than your books.”

And when the gasp left her lips, he captured them with his own. Tom’s kiss burned through her. One hand cupped her jaw while the other hand stroked her neck. His mouth wasn’t still or chaste. His hands lifted her face to his until the angle suited him. Then, he devoured her.

His tongue licked out at hers, darting to taste her as if she was a delicacy he wanted to sample. He captured her lower lip with his front teeth and bit softly. Then his lips seized hers again. She heard him groan.

The hand holding her jaw slid back, and his fingers dug into her hair. They caressed the nape of her neck, tugging at her hair as his mouth—wondrous mouth—continued to kiss her senseless. Josephine felt the dampness between her thighs. Felt her small breasts swell as they pressed against his chest. His lips left her mouth and traveled across her cheek, nibbled her earlobe, slipped down to her neck.

“Tom…” Her eyes still closed, she held him close. One hand gripped the lapel of his coat while the other pressed to the nape of his neck. She could feel the shorn hair at his collar, the rough texture of his skin. She must have been feverish, because his skin felt
so
cool. She sighed when she felt the bite of his teeth at her flesh. A tingling against her skin. Sharp and teasing.

Tom’s hand was still tugging at her hair.

“What are you doing?” she asked as he licked and kissed her neck. She finally opened her eyes, only to have them roll back in pleasure.

“Want your hair down.”

She blinked. “What?”

“Hair. Want it—”

“No!” She pulled away. “Tom, we’re in a carriage.”

Did he actually just growl?

“Do you know how long it takes to pin my hair up? If you take it down, everyone in Merrion Square will know what you’ve been doing.”

He pulled back, his lips pressed together. His chest heaved as he attempted to control himself, and Josephine saw him not-at-all discreetly adjust his trousers. Her eyes widened before she swung her gaze to the window again.

“You’re marrying me next week, and then I’ll have it down,” he muttered.

“I usually braid it when I sleep.”

“Not when I’m sleeping with you.”

Could her heart beat any faster? “Oh.”

“You still frightened?”

“Possibly more than I was before.”

For some reason this amused him,
 
and he laughed. “No, you’re not.” He reached out and took her hand, sliding his fingers between hers in a suggestive way.

Josephine shivered.

“You’re marrying me next week,” he said again, his voice bordering on smug. “I’ll bed you then, and Josie? You’ll like it.”

“MISS Shaw? Mrs. Murphy, that is. Josephine?”

Was that Tom? Something cold touched her chest. Her back. Cool pillows at her neck as someone pulled the damp ones away and replaced them.

“Her temperature is no longer rising, but it is still very high. I would recommend a cool bath for most fevers, but because of her lungs—”

“Just tell us what to do.”

Not Tom. The doctor. Tom had that lovely, deep voice that made her belly tremble for mysterious and exciting reasons. His voice had sounded so lovely in the church. It had resonated through the stone chapel as he said his vows. He was always so serious…

She heard someone sigh. “She needs fresh air. Relaxation.” It was the doctor again. “Get her out of the city if you can. The air right now is noxious. It’s the worst place for her.”

Josephine struggled to open her eyes. “Tom?” she whispered.

He grabbed her hand. She’d know those calluses anywhere. “Josie?”

“Not… Not the wedding night we planned,” she said before her chest was racked by another cough.

“Hush, Miss Jo.” Mrs. Porter was there. She propped her up and untied her shift at the neck.

“Louisa.” She tried to protest, but the cough surged up and stopped her voice.

“Now, child, you’re married. I’ll send the others away. None but your own husband here. Nothing to be embarrassed about.”

Nothing to be embarrassed about? Her wedding night had ended in a fever, wracking coughs, and a house call from the doctor. Thank God Mrs. Porter had come with her to her new home. Poor Tom would have had no idea what to do otherwise.

Josephine finally felt strong enough to open her eyes. The room was lit by lamplight and full of more people than she was accustomed to. She could see her wedding dress draped over the chair in the corner of the room. Her new brother-in-law and sister-in-law were speaking with the doctor, and Tom and Mrs. Porter knelt by her bed.