Jonathan Barrett Gentleman Vampire (59 page)

“Gi’ my regards to Molly Audy, will ye?” he bellowed across the room. This raised a tidal rush of laughter that swept me right outside. I wasn’t so sophisticated yet that I couldn’t blush, but I may have escaped into the dark before anyone saw it.

Most of the villagers were indoors and either in bed or getting ready for it; of course, that meant something different to a woman like Molly. Going to bed and going to sleep were often mutually exclusive, depending on the success of her business. She was apparently doing well enough tonight. Lights burned in her front room and bedroom. I quietly let myself in the door to wait until she finished with this other customer. There were some interesting sounds issuing from beyond the closed door in the back, but I could not judge just how far along they were to concluding things.

Hat in hand, I paced a little. Friendly curiosity aside, my experience with Cousin Anne had provided me with sufficient inspiration to carry what she’d initiated forward to a satisfactory conclusion. Further inspiration was this time provided by the noise Molly and her friend made, and I grew naturally impatient for my turn. After what seemed like an indecently lengthy interval, the bed and its occupants finally made their last groans together. The voices resumed normal speech, Molly murmuring admiration and the man making similar responses.

Oh, dear.
Sudden recognition of the man’s voice froze me. My mouth went dry as sand. All the enthusiasm that had been building in me abruptly fled. Molly’s customer . . . .
Damnation.

Flat-footed as I was with surprise, I had enough time to recover and completely vanish before they emerged. I stayed that way until he was well and truly gone and even then waited long before returning.

Molly had gone back to the bedroom again and so I found myself alone in her “parlor” where she conducted her sewing business during the day. Bits of fabric, thread, and pins littered the place, adding a legitimacy to this half of her livelihood; as for the other half . . . .

Well, she was the favorite of some of the more moneyed gentlemen of the village, so I needn’t have been so startled by this latest visitor. The way things were, especially in the more civilized parts of the world, it was fairly common for a man to seek a degree of physical satisfaction with any lady who might take his fancy. Whether she was his mistress or a paid prostitute depended on his situation and the depth of his pockets.

But in this instance I was so deeply disturbed because this particular fellow was also paying suit to my dearly beloved sister.

Visions of rushing after Lord James Norwood and demanding an explanation or wrenching a promise from him to cease and desist clouded my vision. Others intruded, including a tempting one of caning him within an inch of his life. Oh, but
that
would bring a lovely and wicked fulfillment to my baser nature; to thump him about the shoulders and smash his handsome face to a pulp for this insult to Elizabeth. How
dare
he pay honorable court to her one day and then—literally—pay out to Molly the next?

He’d be on the road back to the house for certain, easy enough for me to catch up and then serve him a solid lesson in polite behavior toward. . .

Damnation.

Elizabeth.

My anger leached from my heart at the thought of her. Certainly I could think of ways to deal with the man, but that would hardly change his status in her eye. In fact, if he turned up in a less than perfect condition, it would rouse a great sympathy from her. And if she demanded why I’d misused the fellow so, then I’d have to tell her the painful truth and. . . .

Damnation
. Again.

Of course, Norwood was within his right to do what he liked. He and Elizabeth were not engaged, after all, but this discovery was a singularly unpleasant one, made the more so because I didn’t know what to do about it.

Questions tumbled through my mind as I wondered if he planned to pursue his courtship of my sister. If so, and they were married, would he continue to improve the trade for women like Molly? That was enough to set my jaw and turn my hands to fists.

If Norwood caused Elizabeth the
least
unhappiness, by God, he
would
answer to me.

Molly emerged, saw me, gasped, and gave a jump. “Goodness, Johnny-boy! I never heard you coming in. Why didn’t you call out?”

I was almost as surprised as she, so involved was I in my speculations. Shoving them forcibly to one side, I assumed what I hoped to be a pleasing expression to cover my true feelings and went to kiss her hand. “I’m sorry, but I didn’t want to disturb you if you had company.”

“Oh, my company’s been and gone. I was just starting to feel lonesome again. Glad I am that you happened by.” She wriggled into my arms and made a good-natured inquiry on whether I planned to stay awhile.

“For as long as you’ll have me,” I replied.

“Then that depends on how long
you
plan to have
me,”
she returned. “It’s been much too long since I’ve seen you. Whatever have you been doing with yourself? Or is that it? Have you been doing it with yourself?” She ground her body against mine in a delightfully suggestive way.

“Never,” I said with utter sincerity. Since my change, that was one form of carnal pleasure denied to me. But though my body’s expression had altered, the appetite for it remained, and so Molly and I did share company fairly often. I had an idea that my maternal grandfather would have been rolling in his grave if he knew where a fraction of my inheritance from him had ended up over the last few months. That idea added a certain . . . piquant flavor to my frequent beddings with Molly.

The memory of Cousin Anne’s curiosity reasserted itself and combined with the actuality of Molly; I found myself easily sweeping the latter up for a sound kissing. Her laughter—somewhat smothered by my lips—was genuine and I was once more pleased to realize that I was certainly her favorite customer. What matter to her if I drank her blood? She seemed not to mind, but relished it as much as I, since it never failed to impress a lengthy and highly satisfying climax upon her. So when it came down to it, I could be said to be paying her to have a good time. She’d once joked about paying me, but I never took her up on it. Thanks to Grandfather Fonteyn, I could afford to be generous.

She finally pushed me away, puffing for air. “This is lovely, Johnny-boy, but it’s drafty out here. Wouldn’t you like to find a warmer place to finish things?”

“Indeed, yes.”

It didn’t take long for us to settle ourselves in her bed. She’d been wearing a thick wrapper of some kind and shed it quickly, throwing it atop the coverlet for extra warmth before diving into the sheets. She had good cause to complain of the cold, since the only thing she’d worn under the wrap were a number of goosebumps. I liked to think that some were due to my actions rather than the chill of the outer room. Perhaps so, as she was eager and called for me to hurry myself.

I took off my cloak and spread it on the bed as well. My coat and boots went on a chair, but I kept the rest of my clothes on, as part of Molly’s own pleasure included a great fondness for unbuttoning things. I slipped into the sheets with her. They smelled of her . . . and others. It had not bothered me before. Which of those musky scents had been left behind by Norwood?

“Was that Lord James I spied leaving here a bit ago?” I asked.

She’d just started to work on my waistcoat. “Mayhap it was, but then lots of gentlemen come here. You know that.”

This, I remembered, was “Molly the Mum” talking. She never gave away names or told tales. Any other time I’d have applauded her discretion, but not now. “Decent fellow, I hope?”

“Very decent . . . but you’re better.”

“Tell me about him, Molly.”

She finished the last button and paused. “Now, Johnny-boy, that wouldn’t be right. You know I don’t gossip about any of my gentlemen. ’S not nice to gossip.”

“I’ve a special reason, though.”

“What’s that?”

“He’s courting my sister.”

“Lucky girl, then.”

“He’s likely to marry her, too, so I’m curious—”

“What, you want to know what he’s like with me so you can tell your sister?”

“Ahh, no! I mean, that’s not— Good God!”

Molly’s giggles for my shock finally subsided. “Oh, I do like you, Mr. Barrett, and I understand why you want to look out for your sister, but I can’t just tell tales whenever a gentleman gets curious.”

“Perhaps I’ve not been as liberal with you as I should be . . . .” I dug into a pocket with some spare coins in it.

She gave a firm shake with her head. “It’s not that at all. I have my rules and I stick to ’em.” Her manner indicated she was not be moved on the subject.

But there were ways around this. At least for me.

I looked right into her eyes. There was enough light. “That’s good of you, but you can make an exception this time.”

Which she did. Not that I gave her a choice in the matter. But now that she was willing to answer my questions, I wasn’t sure what to ask. Her thought that I might inquire about Norwood’s habits in bed struck me as being far too personal, though I wouldn’t deny the temptation was there. No . . . I’d let that one go. Better to find something else.

“Molly, tell me what you think of Lord James.” That was the way to do it: ask for an opinion she might have offered anyway if not for her damned rules.

“He’s a nice enough sort,” she intoned, a little flat, slurring her words.

“Do you like him?”

“Well enough.”

“Anything bother you about him?”

She made a face. “ ‘E does like to haggle the price. Spends more effort trying to save a penny than ’e puts into ’is bedding. Must think I don’t lave to work lard for it, but I do. ’E won’t find no better than me for the price. Skinflint.”

Interesting. From this I might deduce that Elizabeth need not worry about him squandering her dowry, though too much thrift can be just as burdensome.

“How does he treat you, Molly?”

“Well enough,” she repeated. “ ’E’s nice as it suits ’im. Not as nice as my Johnny-boy, but all right.”

“Thank you. Do you like him?”

“ ’E’s a nice sort. . . ”

“Do you
like
him?”

Her answer was long in coming. “Not really,” she said with some reluctance.

“Why not?”

She shrugged.

“Then why see him?”

“I need the money, love.”

A foolish question, that. Like any person in trade, Molly would have to deal with all sorts of customers and be polite no matter what. I could certainly respect her dedication to her work. “Think he’ll be coming back to you?”

“S’pose ’e will when ’e’s a mind for it.”

“Think he’d have a mind for it were he married?”

Another shrug. “Won’t be able to tell that ’til it ’appens. Wouldn’t be the first time, nor the last.”

I wasn’t about to question her experience there.

* * *

Molly woke out of things gradually, unaware of what had happened, ready to pick up where we’d left off as though no time had passed. My influence had put her into an even more receptive mood than before, but my own was considerably dampened. I’d fed heavily and had a lot on my mind. It took a bit more effort on her part to drag me back to the business at hand, but we eventually made a consummation that satisfied us both. She’d had a long day, though, and the extended pleasure my nature provided for us only added to her exhaustion. She was asleep almost as soon as I pulled my lips away from her firm, sweet throat. I dressed quietly, made sure the covers were pulled up and tucked about her, put out the candles, leaving my usual payment next to them on the table, and departed.

The wind was worse than before, harsh and gusty. Better not to vanish and travel on the air in these conditions. I’d tried enough before and found myself carried along out of control, which is a vile feeling. I got my flapping cloak wrapped tight around me, held my hat in place and started down the road leading home.

Miserable stuff, wind. It roars in your ears, deafening you to all other sounds. If cold, it cuts through your clothes with more surety than the sharpest knife. It buffets the body, stealing your balance, and it makes harmless things like trees and grass seem more alive than they should be. When it’s really strong it makes them whisper and laugh to one another, mocking and vindictive to all who pass them.

I felt their rancor, or fancied I did, while trudging along. The road was full of ruts and icy, but easier going than the banks of snow on either side. There was no point complaining about any of it, and it failed to keep my mind off the intrusive problem of Norwood. It was one matter for me to be seeing Molly, but quite another for him. The basic unfairness of my judgment was of fleeting concern. My worry was that Elizabeth should somehow discover his out-of-house activities and be wounded by them. That was
not
to be. Something would have to be done about him, but for the moment annoyance had the upper hand over reason. I grumbled and mumbled my way through it, my voice a small and fragile distraction.

Then another sound intruded upon my preoccupation, at first so faint and uneven that I wasn’t sure I heard anything. It was behind me, that was certain; the wind saw to that. I waited, listening, and finally caught the jingle of bits and the crunch of wheels and hooves going over the frozen ground. There was a slight bend in the road, and soon a wagon came around into sight.

There were no lanterns showing, which was understandable. As unsettled as things were in the area, it was a wise course not to draw attention to oneself.

Though going at a good pace afoot, I hoped the rough conveyance might stop long enough for me to get a ride to my gate. It would be a poor Christian indeed who would deny so small a favor to another soul on such a night. I walked a little more, but slowly, and let it catch me up.

The driver crouched over his reins, urging his horses forward. He was not much more than a shapeless hump. He wore a heavy coat and his hat was tied to his head by a rag of a scarf, the ends of which snapped in the wind like tattered banners.