Beneath a Waning Moon: A Duo of Gothic Romances

by Elizabeth Hunter

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. P
orter 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.

  He held a cool cloth to her head as Mrs. Porter eased her back.

  “Wait here,” she said. “I’ll clear the room and bring the onions.”

  Her fevered eyes shifted to Tom. “And thus begins the romance of marriage,” she wheezed. “It all begins with onions.” She reached out and tried to smooth away the groove between his eyebrows. “Careful now. You’ll look an old man too soon, husband.”

  “The doctor said it was likely the stress of the wedding and all,” Tom said. “We should a’ just run away, Josie.”

  “It’s not your fault I fainted walking out of the church.”

  “No, but it’ll give the papers something to write about.” He pressed her hand to his freshly shaved cheek. “The poor Shaw heiress overcome by the idea of her wedding night with the scandalous Murphy brother.”

  Her rasping laughs turned into coughs. She closed her eyes again and focused on relaxing her chest. In. Out.

  “Have you ever felt,” she wheezed out, “as if you were trying to breathe through water?”

  “Jaysus,” he swore. “Don’t do this to me, sweet girl. Give me a little longer, eh?”

  She blinked her eyes open and lifted a hand to the corner of his eyes where the skin was creased with age and worry. “Your eyes are all red, Tom.”

  He blinked and looked away. “Must be all the smoke. And worrying about you.”

  “I told you…” She traced a fingertip around his stern mouth. “I’m not going to get better.”

  “And I told you I was marrying you. And I did, wife.”

  She smiled. “That’s right. We’re married.”

  “We are.”

  “I like you so much, Tom. Far… more than I could have imagined. So unfair—”

  Another coughing fit took her, and Tom helped her sit up, rubbing her back and placing the cool cloth at the nape of her neck.

  “Tell me what to do,” he whispered. “Anything.”

  “There’s nothing… The onions will help,” she rasped when the cough had passed.

  Mrs. Porter bustled in, a smelly poultice in her hands and a stern look on her face.

  “Mr. Murphy, sir, I must insist you clear your brother and sister-in-law from the room. The less company the better for Miss Shaw. I’m in no danger of infection, you see. I had it as a child and recovered. But the rest of you could be at risk.”

  “I’ll clear them out,” he growled. “But then I’m coming back to sit with Mrs. Murphy, so don’t you bar the door.”

  She pursed her lips. “As you like.”

  The door closed a few moments later, and Mrs. Porter opened up Josephine’s gown, carefully placing the steaming poultice on her chest. It was so hot she felt as if her skin would peel off.

  “Oh, the smell,” she groaned. “What horrid thing did you add this time, Louisa?”

  “Smells like clear breathing is what it smells like. And the Murphys’ cook had garlic. She said it might help.”

  “Well, it certainly”—Josephine coughed some more—“smells vile enough to be medicinal.”

  Mrs. Porter sat silently for a few more moments while Josephine breathed in the onion fumes.

  “I think I heard them mention the house in Bray.”

  “Bray would be nice,” she wheezed. “Take… you and Tom.”

  “And his valet, of course. Young man by the name of Henry. Seems a nice boy, and Mr. Murphy said he was good driver too.”

  The house at Bray was hers. Father had put it in her name years before. Josephine found she liked the idea of sharing the simple house with Tom. They’d planned to travel to Wicklow for their honeymoon, but Bray would be far more relaxing.

  She felt herself slipping to sleep as her breathing eased. “Tell Tom…”

  “What, dear?”

  “See him in my dreams.”

  Mrs. Porter brushed Josephine’s hair back from her damp forehead. “Course you will, lovey. Rest now.”

  But when she dreamed, Josephine was steeped in nightmares. Tom was there, but his eyes were bloodred and his skin ice-cold. He took her in his arms and kissed her, but when she pulled away, her mouth was bleeding and a childish voice whispered:

  Are you afraid to die?

  THE next time she woke, Tom was carrying her. She took a breath and realized the horrid onions had done their job and her breathing had eased. She pressed her cheek into Tom’s shoulder, amazed by his strength.

  “You’re not even breathing heavily,” she murmured.

  “Are you awake then?”

  “Hmmm.” She burrowed into his shoulder. “Are we in Bray already?”

  “We’ve just arrived.”

  “How long did I sleep?”

  “Your fever broke around noon today, Mrs. Porter said. We both slept until late afternoon, then I decided we’d better get started. You woke a little in the carriage, but not for long. No coughing.”

  “Oh good.” She took another easy breath. Ah, the wondrous onions. Vile, but effective. “I feel like a damsel in a novel with you carrying me like this.”

  A laugh rumbled in his chest. “Just to the house.”

  “No, no,” she murmured. “You must carry me up to the top of a tower and ravish me. Or perhaps carry me over a hill as we run from bandits.”

  “I’m afraid there will be no ravishing until your strength is back.” His voice wore a smile. He almost sounded as if he was laughing. “What an imagination you have, Josie.”

  “You have no idea.”

  “Are you a good one for stories? I love a good story.”

  “You might say that.”

  She felt him jostle her feet a bit as he maneuvered her through the small entry hall. The sea air nipped her too-long nose, and she could still feel the edge of the fever, but she didn’t care. She felt as romantic as a heroine in one of her Gothic tales.

  Which, being Gothic, didn’t bode well for her long-term health.

  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 co
ughing?”

  “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.