In the room at the inn, Lavinia lay tight against Gabriel’s side, making soft cooing sounds. He smiled to himself. His recent restraint made him feel that the day could indeed come when he would be able to live an almost normal existence, one in which he did not need fear killing innocent people on a daily basis. Every encounter he had had for the past several days had ended with the women alive. And this woman was not only alive, she was nearly conscious.
And this time it hadn’t been a matter of him stopping before he was satisfied, felt the thirst abate. No, he was thoroughly satisfied. In all ways. Of course the duration of this satiated feeling was always in question, but one step at a time, he told himself. Enjoy this one victory for now.
He kissed the woman’s forehead. “Thank you, Lavinia. You were quite delightful.”
She murmured something unintelligible.
Gabriel knew it was very unlikely that she would come to before he returned, but just in case he left a few coins on the table next to the bed. He knew the extra money he’d paid the madam would not make it to the prostitutes and he felt he should compensate her for the time away from the brothel.
Noticing the time, he hurried to dress for the dinner. When he glanced in the looking glass he saw he had a faint flush in his cheeks. The day’s activities had erased some of his usual pallor. He hoped it would last for a little while, at least until the guests had all imbibed in some of Agatha’s fine wine and would not be so perceptive to notice his unusual paleness.
During the short carriage ride to Dartfourd Hall, Gabriel allowed himself to wonder who might grace the evening’s guest list. If the guests were to be of the political world the conversation held promise of being interesting, though not amusing. He held a foolish hope that someone, preferably a young lady, would be able to amuse him during the dinner. He smiled at the thought. It had been months, since before his change, that he was last amused by a woman. Recently, women had only been a means for sustenance and carnal gratification.
Chapter 3
“Do you not suppose it to be so?” the large, florid man was asking Gabriel.
Gabriel, however, had lost the thread of the dull conversation, something to do with the local MP’s stance on water rights.
A small gathering of people, twelve altogether, were mingling in Agatha’s finely appointed drawing room, champagne flutes in hand. The large man, whose name Gabriel had not bothered to remember, continued talking on, not noticing Gabriel’s now obvious abstraction. Just as he had surmised, there were two unaccompanied women in the room, one rather plain and middle-aged, the other younger and more attractive, and his eye was following the attractive one. Graceful and willowy, she moved about the room as if floating, like she was unencumbered by legs and feet. Her blond hair, a halo about her face. Gabriel was entranced, and though he knew on an intellectual level that such feelings would be dangerous tonight, he did nothing to stop them. He knew he should turn away, ignore her presence, and focus on the tiresome conversation he was meant to be a part of, but he found himself making his excuses, leaving the man, and walking over to the woman.
She was involved in a conversation that she seemed to be feigning interest in, and for a moment he, too, focused on the speaker, an elderly local politician he had known since childhood.
When the speaker paused briefly, Gabriel made a quick bow to the man. “Mr. Jones, I’m not sure if you remember me, Gabriel Augustine.”
Mr. Jones’s face lit up with recognition. “Of course, of course, indeed. Gabriel. It has been some number of years since last I saw you.”
“Indeed it has.”
A moment of silence reminded Mr. Jones of his manners. “Oh, Gabriel, may I introduce Miss Alice Goodhaven. Miss Goodhaven, Mr. Augustine.”
Gabriel bowed to the woman who in turn bobbed a quick curtsy.
“Mr. Augustine of Herrifield Court, brother of Her Ladyship, our hostess?” Miss Goodhaven asked, in a voice as lovely as her countenance.
“Yes, though not to be confused with my younger brother, Francis.”
“I met your brother earlier, and do not see how one could mistake one brother for the other.” She took a sip of her champagne without taking her eyes off Gabriel.
Mr. Jones quietly slipped off to join another small group. Left alone with Gabriel, Miss Goodhaven whispered, “I was beginning to despair of ever getting to meet the most attractive man in the county.” Her face flushed as she spoke.
Gabriel smiled at her. She was just as lovely up close and his mind went places he knew it shouldn’t. Perhaps if he took her outside to show her the gardens he could . . . But no, of course that was not possible.
As he mentally shook himself, the plain woman stepped up and joined the two of them. She was taller than was common, slender, and had dull, mousy-brown hair that was having a hard time staying in its place. But he noticed her eyes were a bright hazel and looked as if they hid a spirited person behind them. Her lips turned up in a half-smile before she boldly introduced herself.
“I find the custom of waiting to be introduced quite tiresome, so please allow me to introduce myself. I am Miss Jane Austen, and you I believe are Lady Dartfourd’s brother.”
Though briefly taken aback by her forwardness, Gabriel smiled broadly at the woman. Yes, there was some fire behind those eyes. And upon closer inspection, she wasn’t entirely unattractive. There was a certain softness about her eyes and mouth that was appealing.
Miss Jane Austen. He knew of that name. Certainly from the Hampshire area. There was a reason he was familiar with the name, though he couldn’t immediately identify it.
“Yes, I am Her Ladyship’s brother, Mr. Gabriel Augustine. It is a pleasure to meet you, Miss Austen.”
Miss Austen! Of course. He had heard rumor—indeed, from his sister—that she had written the surprisingly amusing book that so many were talking about, and that he himself had thoroughly enjoyed. Written under the simple pseudonym, A Lady, few knew who the true writer was, though he suspected that number was growing. How his sister had learned of her identity, he did not know. In truth, he admired the writing in the book so much he had read it a second time, something he rarely ever did. The well-drawn characters, the truthful portrayal of country people, and the humor above all had enchanted him. And here the authoress herself stood before him.
Suddenly he was tongue-tied, in awe of this woman who could write so deftly. Indeed, her writing was admired throughout England. It was even rumored that the Prince Regent was an admirer.
“Oh my, Miss Austen, you must forgive me, I . . . I did not at first realize to whom I was speaking. You are, are you not, the true authoress of the book written under the pen name A Lady?”
She cast her eyes down, examining the bubbles rising to the surface of her champagne, and a blush began to rise on her cheeks.
“I am afraid you have me out, Mr. Augustine.” She raised her eyes to Gabriel’s. “I am indeed the authoress. It is quite remarkable how one’s true identity becomes known, however much one tries to hide it behind a pseudonym. When in social circumstances, I prefer simply to be Miss Austen of Hampshire, the late-vicar’s daughter. No more, no less.”
“Forgive me, I understand. So I will refrain from taking this opportunity to tell you how greatly I admired Pride and Prejudice, that I read it twice, and am now considering reading it a third time, that your portrayals of the Bennets and their friends and neighbors was highly amusing, and that you are an exceptionally talented lady. No, I will refrain from such talk.” Gabriel smiled and winked at Miss Austen.
The laugh that came from the intriguing woman was not the drawing-room chuckle of a lady, but a full-throated laugh from deep within her. Gabriel couldn’t help himself but to join in.
Miss Goodhaven cleared her throat and leaned in more closely to Gabriel.
“Well, Mr. Augustine, it is such a relief to know that I will not be hearing such praise heaped upon me tonight.” Miss Austen wiped at a tear that escaped an eye. “And may I assume you have no
t read either of my other published books, and I will not be forced to hear praise lavished upon them either?”
The other books. How could he have forgotten there was more than the one? The humiliation he felt at slighting this talented woman was great.
“Miss Austen, please accept my apologies. I, of course . . .”
She interrupted him, raising the palm of her hand. “Mr. Augustine, please say no more. I did not mean to make a plea for further praise, and now I am afraid I will be quite embarrassed if we do not quickly change the subject.”
He looked into the eyes of the lady, trying to formulate the most seemly apology, when he was most pleasantly surprised to see one corner of her mouth raise in a flirty half-smile. Her charms were growing.
A servant entered the room and announced dinner.
“Miss Austen, may I escort you into the dining room?” Gabriel offered her his arm.
Miss Goodhaven’s eyes widened, her displeasure clear on her face. Francis, who had been watching the last minutes of the encounter, hurried to her side and offered her his arm.
Gabriel could see that he was silently cursing him for his lack of grace and gentlemanly conduct. And Gabriel did not care.
“Your Ladyship, might I thank you again for your kindness to me in arranging this dinner party,” the obsequious, middle-aged man sitting to Agatha’s left said for the third time since the start of the dinner.
Gabriel recognized Agatha’s impatience, though she was trying hard to mask it. She waved aside his expression of gratitude, and turned to the gentleman on her right, to ask him some unimportant question.
Despite the guest of honor’s fawning, the party at the table was a lively one. As they were seated, Gabriel had ignored the instructions to sit where his brother Francis now sat, and instead took Francis’s assigned seat, allowing Gabriel to spend the dinner conversing with the increasingly attractive Miss Austen. Miss Goodhaven, sitting across from him with Francis, was long forgotten.
“I, too, have a brother named Francis, Mr. Augustine. A very dear brother. Though we have always called him Frank. Has your brother ever been known as Frank?”
Gabriel stifled a laugh he was sure would offend Miss Austen. “I cannot imagine Francis ever being Frank. He has always been simply Francis. I am afraid, Miss Austen, our family lacks the imagination to come up with names of endearment. It sounds like your Frank is a lucky man to be held in such affection.”
“Indeed, he is held in great affection. And you, I imagine, could only be known within your family by your given Christian name.”
“Yes, and a few carefully chosen oaths on occasion.” Gabriel smiled at the surprise on the lady’s face, but when she laughed he joined her.
Taking in the elegantly appointed room, Miss Austen remarked, “Your sister, the Lady Dartfourd, has a most prodigiously fine estate. I can imagine she is quite happy here.”
At this comment the woman on Gabriel’s other side interrupted, “Oh yes, she made a most advantageous marriage when she married Lord Dartfourd.”
Gabriel’s back stiffened at the rudeness of the woman. But before he could utter a word, Miss Austen replied, “I have never understood the term, ‘advantageous marriage.’ One hopes that all marriages are to the advantage of both parties. I personally believe that a marriage without love is no marriage at all. I am sure that the Lord and Lady Dartfourd have affection at the foundation of their union.”
Pleasantly astounded by Miss Austen’s rejoinder, Gabriel turned to her as a smile spread across his face. To speak so in such company took a confidence few men possessed, let alone women. She had so gracefully and yet pointedly put the rude woman in her place.
With the woman now silent, Gabriel tried to steer the conversation in a new direction. “So, Miss Austen, as we are not to discuss the writings of a particular lady this evening, perhaps I can instead ask your opinion of Walter Scott’s Waverly?”
Slowly Jane turned toward Gabriel, fixed her gaze on him, then blinked three times in quick succession. After taking a deep breath, she answered, “Was it not enough for the man to make his fame and fortune as a gifted poet? To be lauded throughout the land? To have his name spoken with such respect and admiration? Truly, what business did he have writing an excellent novel, thereby taking the bread out of the mouths of the rest of us trying to make our way as novelists?” She raised her brow and smiled wryly. “Months ago I had quite made up my mind to read only the novels of Mrs. Edgeworth, or those of my niece Anna, or those from my own pen. I find I can always amuse myself with Mr. Darcy and the Bennets. So naturally upon the publication of Sir Walter’s novel I was quite set on not reading it, simply by way of making a statement.” She took a quick sip of wine before continuing, her eyes again boring into his. “Of course I succumbed, and dash if it isn’t superb. Naturally. What else would one expect from Sir Walter? Drivel? But, it does not signify, does it? His gift only serves to enrich us all.”
Releasing Gabriel from her glare, she turned back to her glass of wine and took a long, slow sip. He could see the corners of her mouth turned up in a smile. Was she teasing him?
He didn’t have to wait long for her to clarify the issue.
“Never mind me, the silly, jealous author. Indeed, I am a great admirer of Sir Walter, and only wish my gift were a fraction of his. I hope you did not think me serious. I am afraid my sarcasm sometimes gets the better of me, Mr. Augustine. I must learn to watch my tongue.”
A flush covered the fascinating woman’s fair cheeks, an outcome of both the wine and the current topic of conversation he thought. Her hair was no longer what he would call mousy, but rather the soft brown was catching the light of the candles and warmed and illuminated her features, including the dancing hazel eyes. She was biting her lower lip absently as she moved her vegetables around on her plate. He couldn’t take his eyes away from that lower lip, and imagined himself kissing it.
He shook himself out of this dangerous reverie. “Miss Austen, I appreciate your insight and feel moved to not only read your other novels, but also to find something by this Mrs. Edgeworth. Such a recommendation from you must not be ignored, I would think.”
Jane turned her head to him, and seeing her jump ever so slightly, Gabriel knew she had not realized that he had leaned toward her, head just inches from hers, his dark eyes now lazily half-closed as he took in her face. She caught her breath, and he watched the lively eyes take in his own, then wander down the length of his nose until they rested upon his lips, lips that were half-cocked in what he knew was a seductive smile, despite his knowing it was wrong of him to do so.
Releasing a soft sigh, she muttered, “Yes, yes, I think you should try Mrs. Edgeworth’s books.”
He allowed their moment to last much longer than it should, but couldn’t bring himself to end it any sooner. The desire to kiss her full lips was overwhelming him, and unless he was reading her signals wrong, she was attracted to him as well.
As if she had heard an alarm, she sat upright, avoiding his gaze. Without looking at him, she whispered in his direction, “Mr. Augustine, I was warned about your ways before I arrived this evening. Not only were the cautions as to your charms quite accurate, but also so were the ones about your handsome countenance. I am afraid I could be quite led along the garden path by your temptations, and know I should use care.”
From the moment she had come up and boldly introduced herself, through her sardonic response to his question about Walter Scott, to now when she so openly confessed to an attraction to him, the woman had beguiled him. And beguiling was turning to arousing—a physical response he could not afford to have under the present circumstances.
Gabriel shifted his weight so that he was leaning away from her, then picked up his wineglass and took several sips, before answering. “Yes, care should always be used by women when I am involved.” He knew this would only raise more questions in her mind, but he couldn’t say more, and to say anything less would be wrong. No harm could be allowed to come to such a
charming and intelligent woman.
That was it. That was what attracted him to her: she was unafraid to display her intelligence in the presence of a gentleman. Having a sister, he knew that young women were taught to hide their intelligence, to be demure and simple in front of men, so as to inflate the men’s self-worth and make themselves more attractive. Not so with Miss Austen. Her writing proved her to be one of the cleverest women in the nation, and as he had seen this evening, she was not afraid to show that intelligence in person.
Her intelligence. And the way she bit her lower lip. Beguiling. Arousing.
Flirting through the rest of the dinner brought Gabriel more human pleasure than he had enjoyed since his turning. By the time dessert was finished he was fully entranced by the lovely Miss Austen, and was fairly certain she felt something for him as well. That nothing could happen between him and the famous authoress was a given, though he found himself wishing fervently that he was still human. However, the hours of pleasant flirtations had left him with a growing appetite, for both blood and a willing, or unwilling in a pinch, sexual partner. Before he could unwittingly do anything to harm Miss Austen he needed to get out of the room. Then he could turn his attentions to finding what he required.
Gabriel excused himself from the table, telling the ladies on either side of him that he would return shortly. His situation was turning desperate and he feared he could make a foolish error of judgment when so needy.
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