Jane Bites Back_ A Novel - Michael Thomas Ford [91]
“I prefer being in love, thank you,” Jane retorted as she stabbed a piece of sausage with her fork.
“You seemed to enjoy it with me that night I paid you a visit,” said Byron. He sucked meaningfully on a crawfish head, licking his lips afterward.
“That was only to keep you away from Walter and Lucy,” Jane reminded him.
“So you didn’t enjoy it?” asked Byron.
Jane peered closely at the crawfish she was about to behead. “I didn’t say that,” she said.
“Then you did enjoy it?” Byron tried.
“Is there meat in the claws?” Jane asked him, looking at the crawfish’s pincers.
“I’ll take that for a yes,” said Byron. “I enjoyed it as well.”
“Of course you did,” Jane said. “You’d enjoy it with … with …” She tried to think of someone suitably unpleasant. “Oscar Wilde,” she concluded.
“Don’t know,” said Byron. “I never tried. But I don’t think it would be all that nice.”
“What if I did enjoy it?” Jane said. “What of it?”
Byron licked his fingers. “Perhaps you should ask yourself that question,” he suggested.
“Perhaps I have,” said Jane. “And perhaps what I’ve decided is that it means nothing. You mean nothing.”
“I’m hurt,” Byron said, putting his hand over his heart. “I thought we meant something to each other.”
Jane ignored him and concentrated on her dinner. Byron was once again getting her all riled up. Why was it so easy for him to do this? Why are you letting him do this? a voice in her head asked.
“I don’t know!” Jane said loudly. Realizing she’d spoken aloud, she felt her cheeks flush. “When did you start writing romances?” she asked quickly.
“Several years ago,” Byron replied. “It’s just something to do. And it brings in a little money.”
“Now that everyone knows you’re Penelope Wentz, what will you do?”
“I haven’t decided,” Byron answered. “Perhaps Penelope will write a few more novels. Perhaps she’ll disappear.”
“She won’t disappear,” said Jane. “You crave the attention. If you didn’t, you wouldn’t have revealed yourself today.”
“Yes, well, there are certain advantages to being who I am,” Byron said. “My fans are very faithful.”
“Have one for lunch, did you?” Jane asked.
“You’re being petty,” said Byron. “It’s unbecoming.”
Jane ate the last of the crawfish and wiped her hands on a napkin. “Why am I here?” she asked. She was ready to be done with the evening.
“I want to apologize,” Byron said.
Jane looked at him suspiciously. “For what?”
“For how I behaved toward you,” said Byron. “All those years ago. It was wrong of me.”
Jane cleared her throat. “It was,” she agreed.
“I took your virginity and I made you what you are,” Byron continued.
Jane looked around to see if the other customers were listening. She feared they would think poorly of her if they overheard.
“I took advantage of you,” Byron said, apparently not caring if anyone heard him. “A sad, lonely old woman who—”
“I was not old,” Jane objected.
“For the time,” said Byron. “But that doesn’t matter. What matters is that I behaved badly. For that I’m deeply sorry. Can you ever forgive me?”
Jane picked a bit of crawfish shell from under a fingernail. “I don’t know,” she said. “You really were horrible. And after all of the nice things you said in your letters too. It was fairly shocking to me, you know.”
“I was young,” Byron said.
“You were twenty-eight,” said Jane. “That’s old enough to know better.”
“I meant in our years,” Byron said. “It hadn’t been that long. Besides, I was ill, and there was the divorce from Anne, the nastiness over the child, the business with Claire.” He waved his hand around his head. “It was all too much. You seemed to be the one bright light in a storm of misery.”
Jane wished she had a toothpick, as there was a bit of corn stuck in her fang. She only half listened to Byron. She’d fallen for his flowery speeches before. “All right,” she said.
Byron, who was still talking, stopped. “All right?” he said.
“All right, I forgive you,” said Jane. “Anyway, what’s done is done. It’s not like you can unmake me.”
“You’re sure?” Byron asked.
“If you keep asking, I won’t be,” said