Tom finished tying his cravat, eager to see her again.

Six days. Tomorrow, perhaps.

Apparently his body still thought he was a boy of twenty, because even the thought of seeing Josie’s hair fall down her back caused a very ungentlemanlike reaction. He straightened his waistcoat in the mirror and left his room, nodding to the maid as she passed him in the hall, noting her downcast eyes and ghost of a curtsy.

He truly hated acting the gentleman.

Following the sweet sound of Josie’s voice, he headed toward the library where they usually enjoyed a drink before dinner. His wife was sitting by the fire, a book on her lap, interrogating poor Henry about his education.

“But you never went to school? Not even for a few years?”

“Not… exactly, Mrs. Murphy. See, Mr. Patrick Murphy always kept… Well, see, there was—”

“Tutors,” Tom said, rescuing Henry from the relentless curiosity of his wife. “My brother kept a tutor employed for all the servants’ children. There were enough to justify it, and that way the girls could take the same lessons as the boys, which Anne insists on.” He leaned down and pressed a kiss to Josephine’s cool cheek, happy to smell less sickness and more of the gardenia-scented soap she preferred. “Good evening, wife.”

“Good evening.” Josie turned her head slightly, avoiding his gaze and the kiss he usually pressed to the corner of her mouth. “That’s very generous of him. It’s not many gentlemen who would keep tutors for their household staff.”

Tom straightened, feeling the slight turn as if she’d given him a physical push. “Henry, if you would excuse us.”

“Yes, sir.”

The lad fled the room, and Tom stood next to her. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

A flush in her cheeks. “Nothing, Tom. You’ll be happy to know I’m feeling well tonight. No coughing at all today. Did you accomplish everything you needed to for work?”

“Did I anger you? I did tell you I’d need to see to—”

“It’s fine.” Her pulse was rushing, and her flush grew. “I had… matters to attend to this morning as well. Cook found some lovely fish at the market today. I hope you’ll enjoy—”

“Don’t ignore me, Josephine. Tell me what I’ve done that made you turn away from me just now.”

Her face reddened more, the flush spreading down her throat and across the high-necked dress…

One of her old dresses. Not one of the more fashionable evening dresses she’d ordered for their honeymoon like she’d worn the night before.

They’d played chess and he’d beaten her. Badly. Josie claimed she had no head for the game, but mostly she’d been making Tom laugh too hard with her stories as she narrated a melodramatic—and ultimately doomed—romance between the black queen and the white knight. It had him laughing so hard he could barely think to make a move.

They’d been laughing. Then he’d lost patience with her silly commentary and swung her onto his lap, kissing her soundly before…

He’d given her a chaste kiss and sent her to her bed because his own body was raging.

And tonight she was wearing one of her old dresses, and all the teasing light had gone out of her eyes because she’d mistaken his self-control for disinterest.

“Blast it, Josie!” He fell to his knees beside her. “No, no, no. It isn’t you. I’m only worried—”

“It’s fine.” She turned her face to the fire. “I’m being silly. And… dramatic. It’s a failing of mine. I know my spell after the wedding put everything in perspective. We’re friends, Tom. I don’t want to damage that. I value your company too much—”

“Friends?” He leaned forward, caging her on the blue chair though she still wouldn’t turn her eyes to him. “You think I no longer want you as my wife?”

“Of course not. I know you’ll make an excellent husband—”

“I’m not such an excellent husband if I’ve been ignoring what you need, am I?”

She shook her head, still staring at the fire. “I won’t… I don’t want to be a duty or an obligation. I have my pride. I’d rather have friendship than pity.”

“Bloody hell.” He grabbed her chin and forced her face to him. “You think my kisses are pity, do you? You think I don’t want you? That I don’t have to think of cold baths and the like when I leave you at night? I thought you were dying ten days ago, Josephine.”

Her mouth trembled, and he saw the tears in her great dark eyes, though she blinked them back.

“I am dying, Tom.” She put a hand on his jaw when he clenched it. “And I understand—”

He cut her off with an angry kiss. How dare she! Tom grabbed the back of her neck and pressed her mouth to his, swallowing the quick cry she let out before her hands came to rest on his chest and her slim fingers dug into the muscle there. She kissed him back, opening her mouth to his, and he tasted the sherry she’d been drinking. A hint of pear and a bite of something salty on her tongue.

“You understand nothing.” Tom hissed before he kissed her again. He wasn’t careful or chaste. She thought he didn’t want her, or wanted her only for pity.

How dare she? How dare she make him laugh so? Make him hunger for her as he did? How dare she be so clever and generous?

So terribly mortal.

He pulled away from her mouth and bent to her ear, biting the lobe before he soothed the sting with his tongue. He pressed his forehead to her warm temple and fought to control the drop of his fangs when he heard the swift beat of her heart.