Miss Austen's Vampire by Monica Knightley Page A

dismounted Greystone, and headed to the still lit kitchen. Whoever was so unfortunate to still be working, would be his unwilling donor. Hopefully it was someone who was employed by him prior to his change and who would readily recognize him, making the inevitable that much simpler.
    Yes, to be recognized would make the matter simple.
    But, of course, it would require that the unwilling donor not be left to share her knowledge afterward.
    Following the hasty burial in the woods, Gabriel forced Greystone to gallop the full distance back to Dartfourd. Were his absence to be noticed he would have a difficult time making excuses. Energized by his meal, he leapt off the stallion’s back, hurriedly placed him in a stall, and ran back to the house, letting himself in through a servants’ entrance. He took the stairs three at a time, and entered his room quietly. When he had come in he’d heard some of the guests in the drawing room, but knew that now was not a time for him to be around others.
    The blood, a full body’s worth, not only acted to energize him but also awakened his other appetite.
    Not just awakened. Made every part of him scream with need.
    Hours earlier, during dinner, Gabriel had been able to enjoy the charms of Miss Austen as any human man would have. Yes, he admired her figure, and the way she moved when walking across the room, but mostly he was attracted to her wit and intelligence. He had delighted in the repartee the two of them had engaged in.
    But now, under the influence of the feeding, his thoughts of Miss Jane Austen were much more base, carnal. He imagined her naked body moving under his, his chest pressed against her breasts, her legs wrapped around his back. He could hear the sounds she would make as he gave her as much pleasure as he took for himself. More depraved sexual acts crossed his mind as well; acts women like Miss Austen would never have heard of.
    Gabriel’s breathing became faster and shallower as each vision led to another more graphic than the last. He stood in the center of his room, afraid to move for fear he would leave the room and go find her bedchamber. Fully aroused, his erection pressed against breeches that now felt much too confining. He closed his eyes, and let the visions wash over him. Some of the acts were ones he had only heard of—had never dared partake of himself, but now he was imagining Miss Austen engaged in these most degenerate of acts.
    Forcing his eyes open, Gabriel eyed the sumptuous bed, and slowly made his way to the feather-soft mattress. He fell to his knees, leaned on the bed, and covered his face with his hands. Fearful that any other actions could lead him to despoil Miss Austen, he prayed to a God long absent from his life, imploring him to come to his aid.
    Not for himself, but for the pure, good Miss Austen.
    Jane lay in the bed, intensely aware of the soft fabric of her nightgown as it caressed her body. She had been turning and tossing trying to find a position that would lead to sleep, but to no avail. Each time she lay still, eyes closed, she saw Gabriel Augustine. His laughing, teasing eyes, his tousled hair, his lips as they moved to her to kiss her. Then she felt the lips, the tongue, and remembered the fire she felt during the kiss.
    She flopped over onto her stomach with a grunt. This would not do, she thought. She started to whisper the books of the Bible, and when she made it to Revelations she started over. Three times she recited the books, before turning to the familiar prayers in the Book of Common Prayer . She fervently prayed every prayer she could remember. They began to lose meaning upon the second time through, but the familiar cadence began to work its magic and she felt her body begin to relax.
    She sighed.
    And saw the image of Gabriel on horseback, his long legs straddling the beast, his broad shoulders straining the coat, his strong hands holding the reins.
    Genesis, Exodus . . .
    Prayer failing him, Gabriel got up and