Jonathan Barrett Gentleman Vampire (73 page)

“The man I married is dead,” she told them. “I am content to bury him with his name and get on with things. I am Miss Barrett once more and Miss Barrett I shall remain. To call me by any title would be a source of profound pain to me. I hope you will all understand.”

Brave words, and such was the esteem she enjoyed in our community that they respected her request.

The butler, Harridge, was provided with respectful services and a plot in a far corner of the churchyard reserved for retainers. All our servants attended, and even Jericho professed pity for the man’s ugly fate.

It was hard going, but the worst wounds can heal given enough time and care. Father and I did our best for Elizabeth. Her grief was genuine, her healing slow, but she had no want for support and sympathy from all who knew her.

“How could I have been so wrong?” Elizabeth asked many, many times, often more to herself than anyone else.

“You weren’t wrong, he was,” Father and I would tell her.

She wore mourning clothes and went through the motions and rituals expected of widows, and people assumed that her reason for not wanting to talk about Norwood was a measure of the depth of her grief.

Given the turbulence of the times, other events soon crowded the tragedy from peoples’ minds as the realization asserted itself that the war was not going to be over within the year as was hoped. More raids took place, more raids were staged, crops matured for the commissary to take away. Summer waxed and waned, and little by little my nights began to lengthen.

I wrote to Oliver about the disaster of the false marriage and enjoined him to say aught to the rest of the family about the business. I owed him the truth, for when it came down to things it was he who had saved her life.

So far as that side of the family was concerned, Elizabeth’s “Lord Norwood” had been killed by the war. Months later Oliver’s sympathetic answer assured me that they knew nothing of their Cousin Elizabeth’s true plight and never would from him.

He had no new word on Nora, except to say that the Warburtons had not seen her for some months. They did not know where she had gone. I grew restless with worry, snappish with unexpressed anger and by the close of September had made a startling decision of my own.

I would return to England.

It had been a long year full of too much waiting. The time had come for me to look for Nora myself, to let her know what had happened to me, to ask her such questions as still remained. After much talk with Father about the practicalities of the journey, I won not only his consent but full support. He and I began making arrangements for the passage.

Elizabeth was anything but overjoyed. “But how will you feed yourself?”

“I’ll be taking along livestock, of course, though Father thinks a sea voyage might be rough on them. But I shan’t be doing any flying about, so each meal should last me a few nights.”

“I don’t see how you can do it. You’re utterly helpless during the day. You’ll need a guardian.”

“That’s why Jericho will be with me, but I should really like more company, just to be safe . . . . Will you come?”

That surprised her. In fact, it took all the speech away from her for some minutes. “
Me
go to England?”

“You’d love it there. I did, when it wasn’t raining. Damnation, I loved it when it was raining. Please say yes.”

“But what should I do there?”

“Anything you like. You’re independent now.”

That won me a sharp look, but I knew of what I spoke. Her marriage had been illegal, but the law did not know that, and to save face we were not prepared to say otherwise. She’d come into her inheritance money. I saw no reason why she shouldn’t get some enjoyment out of it.

“There’d be parties . . . .”

She shuddered. “I’m not ready for those.”

“Sight-seeing, then. Cousin Oliver can take you ’round. You can skip Bedlam, if you like.”

“Oh, thank you very much.”

“You know what I mean. Please come.”

“Is this as company for you or to get me out of this house?”

“Both and neither.”

“I don’t
know. . . .”

She didn’t. Not really. Not at all.

My heart sank. She’d been like this for far too long: withdrawn, visibly hurting and in doubt of herself. No matter how much help and love she had, it would never truly be enough. At some point she would have to learn how to help herself. Elizabeth had not yet reached it, and I sadly wondered if she ever would.

Then out of nowhere the idea came to me, or perhaps it had been thrown up from some past memory of a time when my sister had been a happy and confident woman.

“Tell me this, then: if you had never met him, would you go?”

“Why, yes, of course,” she answered without really thinking. Then she thought about it . . . .

And the thought surprised her.

CHAPTER ONE

LONG ISLAND, SEPTEMBER 1777

Molly Audy opened her eyes, smiled sleepily and said, “I’m that sorry to lose you as a caller, Johnny-boy, I really am.”

“You’re most kind, Miss Audy,” I replied lightly, looking down at her with my own smile firmly in place. Her little bedroom was a haven of fond smiles for both of us, but soon to end, alas.

“You’re the kind one, I’m sure.” She brushed a light hand over her bare breasts. “Some gentlemen I’ve known couldn’t care less about how I feel, but you take the trouble to do things right by me every single time. It’s just as well you call as late as you do. Come ’round any sooner and I’d not have strength left to deal with the others.”

“You mean none of them bother to?”

“I didn’t say that. Some are just as nice, but if I let myself be as free with them as I am with you . . . well, in a month I’d turn into an old woman from all the good feeling.”

I laughed softly. “Now you’re just flattering me, Molly.”

“Not a bit of it. On nights when I know you’re coming over, I hold myself back with them and save it for you.”

My jaw dropped quite a lot. “Good heavens, I had no idea. I
am
honored.”

“And you mean that, too. Some men don’t give two figs for a whore’s feelings, but not you.” She tucked her lower lip in briefly, then lifted her head enough to kiss my cheek before dropping back onto her pillow. “You’re a lovely, lovely man, Mr. Barrett, and I’m going to miss you terribly.” Now her smooth face wrinkled up and her arms went hard around me and she abruptly hiccupped into a bout of heartfelt sobs.

I held her close and made comforting noises and wasn’t quite able to blink back a few tears of my own that unexpectedly welled. In a strangled voice I assured her that she was a lovely, lovely woman and I would also miss her, which was entirely true. In the year since the start of our pleasurable exchanges, she’d become a dear friend, and it was a raw blow to realize anew that this was the last night we’d be together for some considerable time to come, if ever again. I had a long journey ahead and no way of knowing whether or not I would return home.

“Just look at us,” Molly said, finally straightening. She groped for a handkerchief from the small table next to the bed. “Goodness, you’d think someone had died. You’ll be coming back, won’t you?”

“I . . . don’t know.”

Her face, reflecting her spirits, fell, but she nodded. “We’re all in God’s hands, Johnny-boy. Well, I can at least pray for a safe crossing for you, if there is such a thing these days.”

“We’ve been told that there will be no trouble from the rebel ships.”

“Rebels?” She snapped her fingers to dismiss their threat. “It’s the sea itself that’s so dangerous. I lost my poor husband to it years back, so don’t you be forgettin’ your own prayers as you go.”

“I won’t,” I promised.

“There now, you come here for cheering up and I’ve gone grim as a taxman.”

“It’s all right.”

She made herself smile once more, then slipped from the disarray we’d made of the bedclothes. She rose on her tiptoes, arms high overhead in a luxuriant stretch. I watched the easy movement of her rounded muscles, of how the candlelight caught and gilded the sheen of sweat clinging to her skin, and wanted her all over again. The need swept into me, playing through my body like a swift red tide. If my heart were still capable, it would have been pounding merrily away with desire for her.

Evidence of our latest fleshly encounter still marred sweet Molly’s pale throat, but as always she seemed none the worse for it. I’d long ceased inquiring after her well-being in that specific regard. When once upon a time I had been the recipient of such small woundings resulting from the course of passion they’d not bothered me in the least. Of course, when fresh they were an alarming display, but faded in the span of only a few hours, seeming to heal with uncanny speed. In less than a week Molly’s would be gone with no scars to show. Such had been my experience. What hurts remained with me were within, not without, and ultimately the reason why I’d leave my familiar hearth and home for a foreign shore.

“La, but I wish it was cooler,” Molly murmured, lifting her thick hair from the back of her neck. “I’ve half a mind to sneak down to the stream for a quick wash before I sleep. Want to come along?”

The sight of a half-naked Molly Audy splashing like a woodland nymph in the starlight was not something I could deny myself. On past occasions when we’d stolen off for such adventures, the outcome had ever proved to be a pleasing one for both of us. “I should be delighted to provide you with safe escort, Miss Audy.”

She turned and saw my look, reading it correctly. “Oh, you’re a wicked ’un, all right, Johnny-boy. Goin’ to make an old woman of me before the night’s done, is that it?”

She danced clear of my playful reach and pulled on a light wrapper and shoes; I left my coat, hat and neck cloth, knowing I’d be back for them, and didn’t bother fastening up my shirt. My breeches and boots I’d left (mostly) on throughout our recent lovemaking. Perhaps it was not gentlemanly, but Molly had often expressed to me that she sometimes found their retention on my person to be rather rousing to her when she was in the mood for it. Being no fool, I was too happy to acquiesce to her preferences; the warmth of the night was of no concern to me.

The lane that her house faced was silent at this late hour, but we left by her back door rather than the front. Besides being the quickest route to the little stream that flowed through this part of the village of Glenbriar, it spared us from any unexpected observers who might also be wakeful from the heat. Witnesses for what we had in mind would have been an unwelcome inconvenience. Events during the last year in my life had provided much fodder for the village gossips; I was loath to add more to the feast.

Enough moonlight showed to allow Molly to pick her way without much effort or noise. I could see perfectly well in the dark. As long as some bit of the sky was visible, the night was as day to me, and I could keep an eye out for unwanted attention. The locals did not worry me so much as the Hessians. There had been many terrible incidents involving the army sent to protect us and put down the Rebellion. The soldiers, sold from their lands into the service of some German lord, who in turn shipped them off (for a price) into the service of England, were for the most part peasants or even prisoners fresh from gaol. Only a few had knowledge of gentlemanly behavior, and the rest were as dangerous as the rebels and responsible for the horrors visited upon defenseless townspeople.

Fortunately, many of those troops had left our little portion of the Island for other places by now, so perhaps I was being overly cautious. Then again, how
could
one be overly cautious during these turbulent times? Not only Hessians, but packs of booty-seeking rebels from across the Sound might be lurking about. My past experiences taught me that avoidance was far preferable to contact when it came to dealing with either of them.

Molly and I reached the stream without trouble, though, and strolled along its bank until coming to a spot lending itself to an easy descent into the running water. Giggling, Molly stripped off her thin garment and shoes and gingerly stepped into the shallows.

“It’s just right!” she gasped. “Oh, do come in!”

I laughed, shaking my head. “You know it doesn’t like me much.” She was well aware of my singular problem with free-flowing water, but chose to ignore it as part of her play.

“Coward,” she called and bent to sweep her hand in the stream to splash me.

“Right you are,” I called back. I made no move to dodge, but waved and teased her on, getting a good soaking. My hair fell dripping and untidy about my face, and my shirt clung like a second skin. Though the heat of summer had even less effect upon me than the cold of winter, I had some sense of it for this state of damp dishevelment to feel so pleasant. Or perhaps it was Molly’s undemanding company; her acceptance of me, of my shortcomings as well as my gifts, was a precious delight to my soul.

I dropped upon our favorite grassy spot where she’d left her clothes. Propped on my elbows, I had a fine view of her bathing. Moonlight filtered through the scattered branches overhead, making irregular patterns in black and silver over her body that shifted and shimmered as she moved. She didn’t look quite real; she’d become a creature of mist and shadow. Even her laughter had been turned into something magical by the wide sky and the woods as it merged with the small sounds of hidden life around us. I could scent that life upon the warm wind: the green things, the musk of passing animals, the last of the summer flowers, the vitality of the earth itself where I lay. To my sensitive ears came the soft drift of leaves in the wind, the creeping progress of insects, the annoyed call of a nearby bird and answering cries from those more distant.

This unnatural augmentation of my senses was part of my changed condition, of course, and could not be ignored any more than I could ignore the blinding explosion of a sunrise. But I was well content, something that would have seemed impossible for me a year ago when a musket ball had smashed into my chest one sweltering morning, changing everything.

Thinking me dead, my poor family had buried me, but it was not my lot to remain in the ground, for the legacy hidden in my blood soon expelled my reanimated body from that early and unfair grave.

Asleep during the day, abroad during the night and able to command some useful if alarming new talents, I had no name for this change nor did I know whether it was a curse or a miracle, though the latter seemed most likely, once the shock of my resurrection had been overcome. Few knew the truth behind it, and I was content to keep it that way.

And now a full and instructive year had passed; I’d learned of and explored my new gifts . . . and limitations, but was yet consumed with questions about my condition. Only one person in all the world could possibly answer them, but I’d exceeded the last of my patience waiting for a reply to my many letters to her. The emptiness within could no longer be pushed away. The time had come for me to somehow find her again.

“What a dark look you have, Mr. Barrett,” said Molly, who had left the water.

I gave a small start, then smiled at my own foolish lack of attention to her.

“Thinking about your lady, the one you left in England?” she asked, lying down next to me.

“How the devil did you know that?”

“Because you always wear that same long face when she’s on your mind. I hope you don’t hate her.”

Molly was well known for her discretion. I’d long since confided to her about my other lover. About Nora Jones.

“Of course I don’t hate her. I’m . . . disappointed. And hurt. I understand why she ill-used me at our last parting, but that hardly makes it easier to live with.”

“As long as you don’t hate her.”

“I could never do that.”

“Then no more long faces, or you could frighten her away.” One of Molly’s hands stole into the folds of my wet shirt. “You should take this off and let it dry out. Don’t want to catch a fever, do you?”

“No, indeed. But are you comfortable yourself?”

She was still dripping from her bath, the ends of her loose hair sticking to her shoulders. “I feel just fine, though I should like to feel even better, if you please.”

“And how might that be accomplished, Miss Audy?” I asked, falling in with her humor.

“Oh, in any way as seems best to you, Mr. Barrett.” She helped remove the shirt and tossed it out of the way on a convenient bush, then proceeded on to less prosaic pursuits. My arms were quite full of Molly as we wrestled back and forth in the grass until she began panting less from the exertion and more from what I was doing to her.

“Off with them,” she murmured, plucking at the buttons of my breeches.

“As you wish,” I said. Soon my last garments were shoved down about my knees and Molly was straddling my most intimate parts, writhing about with delightful enthusiasm. I lay back and left her to it, reveling in the fever building within me as the central member of those parts began to swell under her ministrations.

I’d learned early on that I had no need to make use of that portion of my manhood to bring us to a satisfying conclusion, but old habits die hard. So to speak. Though no longer able to expel seed, I was yet capable of using it pleasure a woman, though it was no more (or less, for that matter) important to my own climax than any other part of my body. My release now came in a different way from that which other men enjoy. It was far more intense, far longer in duration, far superior in every aspect; so much so that to return to the old way would have meant a considerable lessening of my carnal gratification.

And so Molly made warm use of my active, if not wholly functional member as she pleased, bringing herself up to a fine pitch of lust, then, leaning forward, gave me that which
I
most desired.

The marks I’d left upon her throat earlier in the evening were long closed, but that was easily remedied. Mouth greedily wide, I brushed my lips over them, tongue churning against her taut skin. She gasped and drew back, then came close for more, playing upon this pattern until she could no longer bear to pull away. My corner teeth were out, digging into her flesh, starting the slow flow of blood from her into myself.