Beneath a Waning Moon
Page 14
“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.
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.”
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.
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.”
