Read Online One With the Night by Susan Squires - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Susan Squires
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faded, leaving only the throbbing wet between her thighs.
Dear God! What is happening to me? Have I lost all control over my body, that I have such a reaction to a man in the house? One whom I’ve seen naked? And erect …
Just a dream. She swallowed and shook her head. It seemed to pound.
No, that wasn’t her head. It was the sound of boot heels on a wooden floor. The events of the night before came rushing back. Mr. Kilkenny was moving about in his room only a few feet from where she lay in her thin night rail. She was trapped in the house by the daylight with a man who had been a red-eyed monster last night and who made her have dreams mixed equally of lust and fear. She hugged her body. You are just like him, she admonished herself, and he knows more about your condition than you do. She had not had the courage to ask him last night about the red eyes. Her father had never mentioned her having red eyes. Perhaps he daren’t. A flicker of fear spiraled down her spine. Was she afraid of Mr. Kilkenny or of herself?
Nonsense! She must look at this as interviewing a subject. She would take the scientific approach. Practitioners of science were not afraid. She grabbed her journal from the night table. She had been up most of the night making notes about her observations. And she had kept them perfectly scientific. The only mention of the strange effect Mr. Kilkenny seemed to have upon her was … She flipped some pages … “The subject is a fine specimen of a male in his prime.” She hadn’t said male what. She couldn’t decide between “man” and “vampire.” Had his disease brought him beyond being human at all?
She needed information. She must gather the courage to ask for it. And if he was reluctant, she must pry it out of him.
She threw back her tangled, damp bedclothes and hopped out of bed. She pulled open her wardrobe. Hmmm. All her dresses were shades of gray and black, severe in style as befitted a serious student of scientific method, even if she was only a midwife and not a doctor. A tendril of regret wound through her thoughts. It didn’t matter. After all, she had no desire to impress Mr. Kilkenny except with her professionalism. She chose a dress at random. She pulled on her half-corset and her skirt, then the sleeves and bodice. She had added some ingenious buttons that allowed her to dress herself. She brushed out her hair. It was thick enough, and shiny. If only it were guinea-gold instead of all those different, streaky colors. Well, he wouldn’t be able to tell much about the color anyway with it all tied up in a knot. She twisted ruthlessly, pinned, and then pulled out some curls at the side. There.
Jane marched out of her room and down the hall. She gave herself no time to think but knocked on the door behind which the pacing had suddenly stopped. “Mr. Kilkenny?”
No sound.
“Mr. Kilkenny?” She put her hands on her hips. She knew very well he was awake. “I am not going away.” There were two abrupt strides inside and the door jerked open.
Jane took a step back. He looked fierce. His hair was tousled. His three-day growth of beard was now four. His eyes were red rimmed and there were circles under his eyes. He wore only a shirt and breeches with the boots she’d cleaned and the shirt was open at the throat, revealing the dark hair of his chest.
“What d’ye want?” he growled.
Well! “To … to ask how you did!” she sputtered. “Though I see my solicitude was quite misplaced!” She made a half-turn to stalk down the stairs, not sure whether she was more offended or frightened.
Before she could go, she heard him mutter, “Get hold o’ yerself, man,” under his breath.
She frowned and turned. He had dipped his head and now ran one hand through his dark curls, his other palm braced on the edge of the open door. And … and now that she looked more closely, he was breathing hard. A sheen of sweat slicked his neck and chest. The scars she’d seen last night
Dear God! What is happening to me? Have I lost all control over my body, that I have such a reaction to a man in the house? One whom I’ve seen naked? And erect …
Just a dream. She swallowed and shook her head. It seemed to pound.
No, that wasn’t her head. It was the sound of boot heels on a wooden floor. The events of the night before came rushing back. Mr. Kilkenny was moving about in his room only a few feet from where she lay in her thin night rail. She was trapped in the house by the daylight with a man who had been a red-eyed monster last night and who made her have dreams mixed equally of lust and fear. She hugged her body. You are just like him, she admonished herself, and he knows more about your condition than you do. She had not had the courage to ask him last night about the red eyes. Her father had never mentioned her having red eyes. Perhaps he daren’t. A flicker of fear spiraled down her spine. Was she afraid of Mr. Kilkenny or of herself?
Nonsense! She must look at this as interviewing a subject. She would take the scientific approach. Practitioners of science were not afraid. She grabbed her journal from the night table. She had been up most of the night making notes about her observations. And she had kept them perfectly scientific. The only mention of the strange effect Mr. Kilkenny seemed to have upon her was … She flipped some pages … “The subject is a fine specimen of a male in his prime.” She hadn’t said male what. She couldn’t decide between “man” and “vampire.” Had his disease brought him beyond being human at all?
She needed information. She must gather the courage to ask for it. And if he was reluctant, she must pry it out of him.
She threw back her tangled, damp bedclothes and hopped out of bed. She pulled open her wardrobe. Hmmm. All her dresses were shades of gray and black, severe in style as befitted a serious student of scientific method, even if she was only a midwife and not a doctor. A tendril of regret wound through her thoughts. It didn’t matter. After all, she had no desire to impress Mr. Kilkenny except with her professionalism. She chose a dress at random. She pulled on her half-corset and her skirt, then the sleeves and bodice. She had added some ingenious buttons that allowed her to dress herself. She brushed out her hair. It was thick enough, and shiny. If only it were guinea-gold instead of all those different, streaky colors. Well, he wouldn’t be able to tell much about the color anyway with it all tied up in a knot. She twisted ruthlessly, pinned, and then pulled out some curls at the side. There.
Jane marched out of her room and down the hall. She gave herself no time to think but knocked on the door behind which the pacing had suddenly stopped. “Mr. Kilkenny?”
No sound.
“Mr. Kilkenny?” She put her hands on her hips. She knew very well he was awake. “I am not going away.” There were two abrupt strides inside and the door jerked open.
Jane took a step back. He looked fierce. His hair was tousled. His three-day growth of beard was now four. His eyes were red rimmed and there were circles under his eyes. He wore only a shirt and breeches with the boots she’d cleaned and the shirt was open at the throat, revealing the dark hair of his chest.
“What d’ye want?” he growled.
Well! “To … to ask how you did!” she sputtered. “Though I see my solicitude was quite misplaced!” She made a half-turn to stalk down the stairs, not sure whether she was more offended or frightened.
Before she could go, she heard him mutter, “Get hold o’ yerself, man,” under his breath.
She frowned and turned. He had dipped his head and now ran one hand through his dark curls, his other palm braced on the edge of the open door. And … and now that she looked more closely, he was breathing hard. A sheen of sweat slicked his neck and chest. The scars she’d seen last night
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