Jane Austen & the Archangel

by Pamela Aares

  “Ummm,” he stalled. “Give or take a millennia, maybe a couple thousand, well several, at least.” Her giggle was not what he expected.

  “Thank you.” She said, her eyes lighting with a smile. “I don’t feel the old spinster anymore.”

  He reached to stroke his fingers along the back of her hand.

  “You never were,” he said gently.

  Raising her fingertips to his lips, he kissed each, as if they were covered with the sweetest nectar. Then with a resigned sigh, he steeled himself for one final revelation.

  “There’s more, Jane, perhaps the worst,” he admitted. “I should have told you this at first.”

  There was no judgment in her eyes as she listened, only trust. And her trust made him lament all the more. It crept, unbidden, into his voice.

  “We have only hours together. I must leave before first light. I’m forbidden to stay.”

  She studied him briefly, then closed her hand around his and pulled him to her.

  “Then I shall feast on these moments,” she murmured as her lips found his. Her kiss was an invitation, an acceptance, a decision.

  He kissed her back, stunned by the warmth of her lips, by the transporting taste of her, by the passion she fired in him. With a moan, he pulled her closer and deepened the kiss. As their lips and tongues and breath mingled, he felt the surge of power bind them, power he could only hope would please and not harm her. He slid his fingers to her throat and felt her pulse throb at his touch. With a jagged breath, he gathered her in his arms and carried her up the stairs to her bedroom. Silvered moonlight slanted in the window, infusing the room with a gentle radiance. He tipped her face to his and kissed her there, bathed in that gentle, radiant light.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Jane slid her hands around Michael’s neck, pulling him closer. Held in the warmth and strength of his arms, it wasn’t her heartbeat she felt—her whole body pulsed against him with an otherworldly rhythm, strange and yet familiar all at once. A deep liveliness coursed in her, one she could imagine the butterfly might feel after leaving its sheltering cocoon and spreading its newfound wings into the air.

  Michael brushed a kiss along the cusp of her ear, then dipped his lips to hers.

  “Perhaps it is you who are my angel.” His kiss was whisper soft, with all the power of a shout.

  Warmth, along with a surprising shyness, flooded her.

  “That line,” she murmured against him, “would pass no test of fine literature.”

  Yet at this moment, she could believe nearly anything. She curled into him and pressed her cheek against his shirt, felt the steely muscles of his chest just below it. His hands wrapped around her and pulled her closer. The steady beat of his heart pulsed against her temple. The sheltering peace of his arms, of his strength, and—dare she acknowledge it—of his love, enveloped her. He brushed a kiss to the top of her head. Surely she could rest, suspended forever in such bliss. For once, she didn’t need words to save her, to protect her, to guide her. This moment was beyond words.

  Without speaking, he carried her to the bed and laid her across. She felt weightless, as though she had no body at all. She was instead a weaving of swirling light and warmth and ... peace. She closed her eyes, savoring the lightness, his closeness and his breath against her cheek. A shiver ran through her as he gently took the pins from her hair. He dropped each onto the table beside her bed and time seemed to slip away. For once, she was glad to bid it farewell.

  Twining his fingers in her hair, he spread it across the pillow. Perhaps she was losing her mind, for she could swear she felt his touch along every curl, as if even her hair was energized by the spiraling light that pulsed from his body to hers,

  He tugged his shirt loose from his trousers and pulled it off, tossing it onto the floor by the bed. She’d never seen a man without a shirt, except for her brothers when they were younger. Michael looked nothing like them.

  Honed muscles carved across his broad chest and melded into taught planes that disappeared into his trousers. No sculptor’s hand had ever carved a body more sensual. She reached to press her palm to his chest and as she did, she saw the gash in his side. It was raw, red and recent. She froze, mid-motion.

  “That should be tended properly,” she said, trying to mask her alarm. “I have some witch hazel.” She moved to leave the bed.

  ***

  Michael wrapped his fingers around Jane’s wrist, keeping her with him.

  “It’s been tended,” he said. “I still have powers beyond this body.” He raised her hand to his lips, kissing the tips of her fingers. “It’ll be of no consequence tomorrow.”

  If only that were true. For the pain of any mortal wound would be nothing to the pain of leaving her. Spirit, he reminded himself. They would be together in spirit, joined always. But he knew that if there were a rule he could break to stay with her, court her properly and share a life with her, he would seek to break it. Just as she would seek to prevent him from doing so.

  She lowered her eyes, and he wished he could take back his words. He’d meant to comfort her, to allay her concern, and instead he’d only reminded her how soon he’d be leaving.

  She motioned to his wound. “Your mission?”

  He nodded as he pressed his body to hers and found her lips. She opened to him in a trembling kiss. He felt desire rip though him before he could name it. Needing all the restraint he could call up, he pulled away from her.

  “Jane.” He stopped, still. She blinked, confusion and wonder misting her eyes. He took in a long, slow breath. “Tell me that you want this—that you want me. Or not. For I’m quite sure if I kiss you again, all the powers of the universe will not stop me.”

  In answer she pulled him to her, pressing her lips to his. Her gentle kiss undid him. The roar of passion that rushed through him had him fighting for control.

  “I want to be tender,” he murmured against her lips. But as she opened again to his kiss and met his passion with a heat of her own, he wasn’t sure he could keep his word. Though he wanted to lavish her with all the attention he’d waited eons to give, he felt driven to feel her skin beneath his touch, her body against his. He tugged at her gown, wrestling with the buttons, his fingers fumbling to release them. With a frustrated breath, he pressed himself up and flung out his hand, drawing down a swift shimmer of light that stripped their clothes from their bodies and landed the garments neatly folded on the chair beside the bed. Seeing Jane’s wide-eyed astonishment, he shrugged.

  “Pretend you didn’t see that,” he said as he pulled her to him with what he hoped was not a sheepish grin.

  They floated back across the bed as if it were a sea of clouds, a sea where time and the world had no purpose but to resonate the power and love that lit them. He covered her body with his and felt her heart pulsing against him. A wisdom older than the ages guided him as he trailed his lips to where her pulse throbbed in the soft, warm curve of her slender throat. He closed his eyes and inhaled, drawing her scent deep within. And then he tasted her, kissing and nibbling, wanting to know all of her. When her breath caught, he smiled against her throat. And then after pressing one more kiss to her thudding pulse, he shifted lower. He tracked his lips along her collar bone then slowly tracked them lower and heard her cry out when he brushed gently against her breast. He skimmed kisses along her ribs, then traced the curve of her waist with his tongue. Pressing up onto his elbows, he lifted his weight from her and looked his fill of her beauty. When he started to tremble, when he couldn’t hold back any longer, he leaned down and closed his lips around the rose-pink bud of her nipple. She lifted her head and, her eyes met his. He searched them in a final question. In answer, she arched against him, and he saw the coursing of joy as his body melded with hers.

  He took her hands and pinned first one, then the other above her head, held them there as an incandescent pleasure powered through him and ecstasy carried them in its grip. He felt the power enter her and, in that moment, it was she who held it, sh
e who held him, as each touch found its perfect answer in an ancient, wordless rhythm.

  ***

  Michael held her while the world returned. Though the moment felt timeless, she knew that soon the moment and he would be gone. As the moonlight waned, heralding the approaching dawn, she pulled him close and nestled her head against his shoulder.

  “Did you know I’d love you?” she asked.

  “I could only hope,” he answered as he stroked his hand along the curve of her belly.

  He seemed entranced by her skin. She was entranced by his expression. He looked bemused and delighted and so very satisfied. Heat rushed through her when she thought of the cause of his satisfaction.

  An impish grin curled his lips as he swirled a random pattern around her belly button. “Well, hope and a bit of handy, but allowable, conjuring.” Then he lifted his head to stare at her with a look that pierced her. “I was in the middle of loving you before I even knew that I’d begun.”

  Any response she might have made was lost as he bent to her and plundered her lips, delving, devouring. Shock blazed through her and she could’ve sworn that the room dissolved, that they dissolved and were floating in a sea of fiery light. She gave over and allowed the sensations to swim over her, through her, to carry her to a place beyond all imagining.

  When he entered her, the fire he lit in her was sure to consume her, perhaps already had. Tingling power rushed through her, the power she’d felt the moment she’d first touched him, a power that drew them together beyond will or sense. A power that until this moment she could not name.

  Love.

  Love was more potent, stronger, than she’d ever fathomed. The truth of it, the depth of it, the absolute certainty of it was so much more than she’d ever written.

  As she moved against Michael, soaring pleasure overtook her and all thought melted away. He whispered something. The words were foreign, not human sounds. But their message was unmistakable. As their cadence washed over her, a wildness unfurled within her and she gave more than she ever knew she could. Seeing the answering look in his eyes, she understood he was as lost as she was. They’d found a gaping space in the fabric of time and were suspended, gliding, floating, in the bliss that needed no words.

  In the shimmering quiet afterward, he cradled her in his arms. His breath was soft against her, and she nuzzled her cheek against his chest. He looked down at her, and she read the question in his eyes.

  “If I’ve not spoken,” she whispered, “it’s because I’m afraid words will shatter this dream.”

  He pressed his lips to the base of her throat, and she felt the pulse of her heart beat against them. Could it be that they shared one heart, or was that merely a lovers’ fancy?

  “I didn’t know I could feel like that,” she murmured.

  “A lapse of the heavens, if I may say so,” he said. “You were made to be loved.” He brushed a kiss to her lips.

  The chasteness of it surprised her.

  He slipped off the bed and knelt beside it.

  “You are a vision, dear Jane,” he whispered.

  Tipping her face to his, she saw the golden light in his eyes that she’d seen before. But he wasn’t smiling. A silent click turned in her heart. It was time. He was leaving. She wanted to grasp the moment, to make it last, to hold onto it, hold onto him. How many lovers, across all time, had faced the knowledge that they’d have one moment like this and then no other? If she’d had the power, she would have created happy endings for all of them.

  He’d given all that was allowed. It would be enough.

  It had to be.

  “Those who know love will never be alone,” Michael whispered, as if he’d read her thoughts. “You will never be alone.”

  He took her hand in his and she watched the smile return to his face.

  It didn’t light his beautiful, somber eyes.

  It was no time for grasping. She wanted to call up her gratefulness for this gift of grace—for him—to make her best effort to honor it and honor him. She wasn’t sure she could do it. She had to try. Nestling her hand in his, she whispered, “I always felt I had a guardian angel. I never once imagined meeting him would be like this.”

  He traced a kiss along each of her fingers. Turning her hand, he kissed her palm. That kiss sent a scorching fire through her, one ardent enough to warm her for a lifetime.

  “Everyone has a guardian angel, Jane. It’s just that most people don’t believe, or if they do believe, they forget to ask.” His eyes crinkled in a smile. “But I’m not your guardian angel—at least I wasn’t. I might consider the job, though.”

  She reached to cuff him, laughing. “Well then, I can only imagine what meeting my real guardian might be like.”

  “I won’t give him that chance,” Michael said closing his lips to hers.

  Lost in their kiss, her sadness began to shimmer away. Questions that lurked in her mind quickly dissolved into joy that powered through her. And while the writer in her knew she’d regret not seeking answers to every one of them, at the moment, she couldn’t care.

  “I don’t, can’t, fully comprehend your world, but it is something to know that there are such realms, such love. This time with you shall be my refuge. Forever.”

  “As you offer refuge to those who would love, Jane.”

  “Oh, but I’m cynical,” she protested, “and critical, and point out people’s follies and—

  He put his hand to her lips, tracing them with a gentle stroke and sending a shiver of silence through her.

  “That is your gift. You see both love and truth. Your readers experience a new possibility for seeing the world. For seeing themselves.”

  “I wish I believed that. Sometimes I hope.”

  “There is no darkness like the clouding of a mind,” he said. “It can keep a heart from seeing. You help people to feel and, by feeling, to see anew—beyond their restricted vision. You give company to those who have none, hope to those who despair, and you help the frail and the pure of heart find strength. It’s a gift. Your gift. One I promise will be treasured for many years to come.” He grinned at her. “You put my efforts to shame.”

  A laugh burbled from her. “And now you mock me with flattery, you”—she swatted playfully at him—“you beast! Don’t you have dragons to slay?”

  He snatched her hand and held it. “You encourage hope.” He flashed another grin. “Angels can do no more.”

  She wrinkled her nose. “Disarming me with my own words—you’re no better than Serena! Now I know you to be a rascal; it’s a wonder Gabriel rescued you at all.”

  “I’m simply your purest admirer. You write and hope springs.” He drew her to him, stopping her protest with his kiss.

  As he pulled away, a glint came into his eyes.

  “You speak of forever—Jane, forever is a very, very long time. I should know. In that long interim you just might meet an angel you prefer over me.”

  She smiled, but it didn’t erase the sadness creeping through her.

  “And about the dragons ... that’s all rubbish. All those paintings of me slaying the dragon-devil—it never ceases to amaze me what gets lost in translation.” He shook his head. “I like dragons—wouldn’t hurt one for the soul of me. Besides, there are precious few left. You’ll have to take my word for it that their good deeds have been highly underrated.”

  “It appears I’ll have to take your word for quite a few things,” she quipped, but her lighthearted bravado was draining away from her.

  “And you’ll have to put up with Gabriel. He’s promised to look after you. Behind the scenes, of course.”

  Sadness shot through her as the reality of him leaving again crashed in. Her smile froze on her face.

  “I warn you, he’s bossy,” Michael said. “But he has a wicked sense of humor, one I think you’ll appreciate.”

  She knew he was trying to comfort her and as tears welled in her eyes, she batted at them, not wanting him to see her cry.

  “I think I
may need him, Michael. I can’t imagine life without you. Not after this.”

  He brushed a tear from her cheek. “I wish it weren’t so, but there are powers beyond mine that affect the course of life.”

  She shuddered against him as a sob escaped her.

  He kissed her cheek where the tear had run its course. “Though my spirit will be with you, I can’t shelter you from sorrow or pain.”

  “I ask it not. Besides”—she smiled weakly through wet lashes—“I am a writer. One cannot write with any conviction and avoid either.”

  He tugged her closer. “I swear by all in Heaven, that you will be safe and know joy. That I can do—never forget. It seems a small gift considering what you’ve given to me.”

  “What I have given?”

  He gathered her in his arms. “Your love.”

  He traced the curve of her ear with his lips. “And know,” he whispered, “that you, that we ... that our love has strengthened the force of good. I can’t tell you why, nor how—honestly I don’t know.” He attempted a light smile. “Those are mysteries—and unfortunately still under Gabriel’s purview. I’ll have to speak with the powers that be about that.”

  “Having known this, having known you ... ” She wrinkled her nose in protest. “What is it about you that makes words run and hide?” She offered a wavering smile. “I shall always carry you with me. My hero’s ardor and my lover’s sighs will bear your mark.”

  “In that case, I’ll expect royalties,” he said.

  And though she smiled, he understood that she did not laugh.

  Though there wasn’t a breath of wind, Jane thought she could hear the leaves quiver in the garden trees. Then she was vaguely aware of a bird singing outside the window.

  “That is the lark, Jane.”

  “It can’t be.” She tipped her head up, holding him in her gaze. “Never before have I regretted the sunrise.”