Jane Bites Back

She shook his hand off and whirled to look at him. “Why would I possibly want to do that?” she asked.

“I know about Charlotte,” he told her.

Jane gritted her teeth. Of course you do, she thought. “What of it?” she asked, not even trying to deny his implied accusation. “Anyway, maybe I should be asking where she got the manuscript I gave to you.”

Byron held up his hands. “I know,” he said. “And I’m sorry. But you don’t know how obsessive she is. Was. How was I to know she would take it?”

“So you did turn her,” Jane said. “Tell me, is there anyone else I should be on the lookout for? Christina Rossetti, maybe? Dorothy Parker? Truman Capote?”

Byron shrugged. “It’s difficult to say,” he answered.

Jane turned with a huff and started to walk away. Byron caught up to her. “Jane, darling,” he said, “I’m so sorry. It’s just that I couldn’t stay away. You’re like a magnet to my heart.”

Jane made a retching sound. “And you are like a purgative to my stomach,” she said.

“A fine thing to say after what I’ve done for you,” Byron said. He adopted a hurt expression.

“What you did for me?” Jane repeated. “Do you mean threatening to kill Walter and do worse to Lucy? Do you mean allowing my manuscript to fall into the hands of the one person in the world who would wish me harm?”

“To be fair, she’s probably not the only person,” said Byron. “But no, I wasn’t speaking of those things. I mean in Chicago.”

Jane inhaled sharply. “You were the one who bit that girl!” she accused him.

Byron shook his head. “No,” he said. “Charlotte did that. I was the one who saved the girl. And saved you,” he added.

“And just how did you save her?”

“Charlotte was not the most … adept of our kind,” he said. “She was never quite able to finish a job, so to speak. She thought she had killed the girl, but she had only weakened her.”

“What was she doing there, anyway?” Jane asked.

“Attempting to frame you, I would imagine,” said Byron.

It was a plausible enough explanation, although Jane had her doubts. “And what were you doing there?” she asked Byron.

“Watching out for you,” he said. “I was worried.”

“Mmm,” said Jane. “Always the gentleman.”

Byron lowered his eyes. “Jane, I’ve kept my promise,” he said. “I haven’t bothered you, or Walter, or Lucy. I’ve just been protecting you.”

Jane had nothing to say to that. If he really had taken care of Farrah in Chicago, she did have something to thank him for. And perhaps Charlotte really had simply stolen the manuscript from him years ago. She supposed he could be telling the truth.

“Have dinner with me,” Byron said. “It’s your last night in New Orleans.”

“No,” said Jane firmly. “That’s out of the question. I might possibly be able to forgive you for—”

“Just dinner,” Byron said. “And then I promise I’ll disappear forever.”

“Your definition of forever is sorely lacking in specificity,” said Jane. He was looking at her with his dark brown eyes. “All right,” she said. “Dinner. Then you’ll go away. Promise me.”

Byron smiled. “Promise,” he said. “I’ll come for you at seven.”

“No,” Jane said quickly. “I’ll meet you there.” She didn’t want him knowing where she was staying.

“La Maison des Trois Soeurs,” said Byron. “I know.”

“You’re impossible,” Jane said as she turned and left him standing in the lobby.

When she arrived back at the hotel she found Jasper lying in a pool of sun outside the front door. When he saw her he jumped up and ran to her, his stub of a tail wagging furiously. As Jane bent to pet him she saw that he was wearing a new red collar. “Aren’t you the handsome boy,” she told him.

“I thought it was a good color for him,” Luke called through the door.

“It most definitely is,” Jane agreed. “Thank you for getting it.”

“No problem,” Luke said. “His new crate is up in your room. All you need to do is check him in at the airport.”

Jane looked down at Jasper. “Do you hear that?” she said. “You’re going for a plane ride tomorrow.”

Jasper woofed at her, and both Jane and Luke laughed. “Thank you for taking care of him today,” Jane told the young man.

She headed upstairs with Jasper at her heels. Once there, she took off her shoes and lay on the bed for a while, thinking about the events of the day. It was a little too much. But it’s almost over, she told herself. You just have to make it through dinner.

Chapter 29

Constance drew away from him. His kiss stung her as much as if it had been his hand slapping her cheek. More painful even than that was the realization that she wanted him to kiss her again.

 —Jane Austen, Constance, manuscript

At a quarter past six she got up, fed Jasper, and changed her clothes for dinner. She purposely put on something casual so that Byron would know she wasn’t trying to impress him. He’s not getting to me this time, she promised herself.

She took Jasper for a quick walk around the block using the new leash she’d found coiled on the dresser, and returned him to the room, where he immediately jumped up on the bed. “Tom’s not going to like that at all,” Jane told him. She wondered how she could introduce the two of them with the least amount of fuss and bother.

At five minutes to seven she went down to the lobby to wait for Byron. He might know where she was staying, but she wasn’t going to let him anywhere near her room. Absolutely not, she promised herself.

He arrived promptly at seven. Jane noted that he too was dressed rather casually, and she was surprised to find that she was slightly disappointed. Apparently he doesn’t think it’s a date either, she thought as she stood to greet him.

“Where are we going?” she asked as they walked down the street. They were moving away from the restaurants, toward a slightly more run-down part of the Marigny, and Jane was a little unnerved by it. Was Byron trying to trick her?

“Relax,” he said, taking her arm. “I’m taking you to an authentic New Orleans eatery, not one of those places designed to part tourists from their money.”

“So you live here, then?” asked Jane.

“Lived,” said Byron. “Then again, I’ve lived nearly everywhere, haven’t I?”

“And Charlotte?” Jane asked. “How long has she lived—how long did she live here?”

“Let’s not talk about Charlotte, shall we?” Byron suggested. “She was merely an … inconvenience. Now she isn’t.”

“That’s very easy for you to say,” said Jane. “You’re not the one who set her on fire.”

Byron laughed. “No one will hold it against you,” he said. “She was rather a dreary creature. Those mummies,” he added, and Jane felt him shiver.

“They were a bit ghastly,” Jane agreed.

Byron stopped at a doorway over which flickered a red neon sign that said THE PLACE. “This is the place,” he said.

“I see that,” Jane said. She peered through the small window set into the door. The interior was dark. “You’re sure?” she asked.

Byron pulled the door open. “I’m sure,” he said.

Jane’s opinion of the restaurant was not improved by going inside. The small room contained half a dozen