Miss Austen's Vampire by Monica Knightley Page B

paced the room. Somewhere in this house, he knew Miss Austen was asleep in a bed, her head resting upon goose-down pillows, a thin nightgown covering her soft, warm body, gentle breaths escaping from between puckered lips. His pacing became more rapid, and with each trip around the room he removed one garment, with the thought of soon trying for the oblivion of sleep. By the time he was wearing only his shirt, he felt a degree more relaxed, and considered falling into the bed. He looked down at the hem of the shirt, falling to just above his knees, and laughed at the state in which he still found himself. Obviously the erection was going nowhere, but he could not allow it to rule his actions.
    Gabriel glanced at the bed, then over at the door. He knew he should try to sleep, though he only slept a couple of hours a night now. But sleep would be the safest alternative at this point. Again he laughed. In his state of blood satiety, sleep would not happen.
    His eyes went to the door, and he again imagined opening it, walking down the hall, and finding the delectable Miss Austen in her bed.
    Thirty minutes later, Gabriel was pleased with himself as he lay in his own bed. Still fully alert with little hope for sleep, he forced himself to stay where he was. He would make sure Miss Austen remained safe from the monster tonight. His thoughts turned to tomorrow’s ride. At least he had that time with her to look forward to.
    Smiling, with the pleasant images in his mind, he heard something outside his door and sat up, alerted. By the light of the one candle still burning in the room he could just make out the doorknob and watched as it slowly turned. The door opened a crack, then stopped. Staying where he was he waited for further movement, and several seconds later the door opened a few more inches. A face appeared in the opening, peeking into the room. All Gabriel could ascertain in the brief second it was there was that it was a woman with long dark hair cascading over the top of what appeared to be a nightgown.
    More than a little intrigued, he wanted to leap up and run to the door and see who was daring to open the door to his bedchamber, but instead he remained motionless, waiting. A full minute went by before the figure opened the door fully, stepped inside, and quickly shut the door behind her.
    In the flickering candlelight, he took in the vision that surely had to be a hallucination, for it could not possibly be reality. The woman was wearing her thin, white nightgown opened at the throat, waving brown hair falling over her shoulders and covering her breasts, feet bare. Even from where he sat Gabriel could see she was shivering.
    “Miss Austen.”
    A small sound was all the affirmation he would get.
    The desire to run to her, throw her on the bed, and make love to her was overwhelming, and it took reserves of determination he did not know he possessed to stay where he was.
    Jane was breathing deeply, breasts rising with each inhalation. Still she stood by the door, unmoving and silent, eyes fixed on Gabriel’s.
    One bare foot took a step away from the door, toward the bed, but then she stopped again. Under her breath, she muttered, “Oh dear.”
    Then she ran across the floorboards, crawled up onto the high bed, and pressed herself against him. His arms went around her and he held her tight.
    “Oh yes,” she cried.
    “Miss Austen?” Gabriel whispered into her ear.
    Her answer was a kiss, a hungry kiss, a kiss that had no pure intentions in it.
    He broke it off momentarily, to allow himself to look into her face. Her eyes remained closed, and her breaths were rapid and shallow, lips parted awaiting his return. Gabriel took her face gently in his hands.
    “Miss Austen . . . Jane. Please look at me.”
    Her eyes slowly opened partway. Unfocused, they sought out his eyes. Gabriel moved his hands from her face to her shoulders, one of which was bare, the neckline of the gown having slipped off her shoulder.
    “Are you