She couldn’t trust herself to speak, but only nodded. Her breathing was labored, and she felt her knees shaking.
“Against my fingers, I’d feel your damp curls. And then I’d slip one inside you.”
A shiver of shocking need penetrated her, and her fingers dug into his shoulders. Though he didn’t touch, the proximity of his hand drove her imagination wild.
“I’d touch you intimately, bathing my fingers in your wetness. Until it brought you to the edge.”
His hand gripped her thigh, and it was impossible to breathe. She was fighting herself, not understanding the rush of feelings.
“Paul,” she pleaded, not even knowing what it was she wanted. He seemed to understand, and in one swift motion, he took his hand out from under her skirts and began kissing her hard. She met the thrust of his tongue with her own, and the pressure of his thigh between her legs grew hotter. She moved against him, not knowing what—
“Let go, Juliette,” he demanded, and with his words, he moved his leg against her. The flash of release caught her so hard, she couldn’t stifle the moan that ripped free. He covered it with another kiss, and she shuddered hard as heat and a soaring tremble wracked her body. It was shattering, to the point where she lost sight of everything.
Paul looked well pleased with himself. Pressing a kiss against her temple, he murmured, “I’m taking you home now. And you’ll dream of us.”
“Don’t shoot!”
The sound of her husband shouting in the middle of the night drew Beatrice out of her own bed. She threw open the door to Henry’s room and found him thrashing in the covers, as if fighting an invisible foe.
“Henry, shh,” she soothed, coming to his side. “It’s all right. There’s no one here.”
His green eyes opened, but for a moment, he seemed unaware that he was no longer on a battlefield. She lit an oil lamp, and the soft light illuminated his haggard face. “I’m sorry I woke you, Beatrice.” His voice held a hint of embarrassment, though it was not the first time the nightmares had plagued him. She’d continued to sleep away from him, claiming that it was for his own comfort.
The truth was, she’d been alone for so many years, the idea of a man sharing her bed again was… strange. Back when they were first married, they had often slept together. Henry would awaken in the early morning, reaching for her in the hopes of making love.
But in the past three years, she’d slept alone. She couldn’t even remember the last time Henry had touched her. And although he likely expected her to share his bed again, she hardly knew the man sitting before her.
His hair was shot with gray, his eyes searching hers. A stubble of beard grew against his cheeks, and he reached out with his left hand, taking her palm in his.
“Would you… stay a moment?” he asked. He lay back against the pillow, patting the space beside him. She grew aware that she was wearing only a sheer nightdress, and her body had grown so wretchedly thin. Gone were the curves she’d once had.
“I’ll only disturb your sleep if I stay,” she said, afraid of what would happen if she dared to stay at his side.
“You don’t want to be near me now, do you?” he said.
“No, that’s not it at all,” she lied. “It’s just that you’ll sleep better alone.” Being near him right now made her pulse quicken, for this man was nothing like the awkward, shy officer she’d wed as a young lady. This man had known her intimately and had shared her bed for nearly twenty years before he’d left for war. But he was a stranger to her now. There were new furrows at the edges of his eyes, etched there as if marking the strain from the sight of too many horrors. To sleep beside him was akin to ignoring the years of distance and the years of feeling abandoned by him. She couldn’t simply pretend it hadn’t happened, returning to her place as the faithful, loving wife. They didn’t know each other anymore.
“I slept alone many times during the fighting,” he said. “Enough for a lifetime.” He let out a slow breath. “But if you’d rather not be near me…”
Guilt assailed her, for he’d asked only that she lie beside him. Nothing more than that. Beatrice turned down the lamp and returned to his bed. She lay down on the left side of the bed, remaining outside the coverlet. Beside her, she could hear the sound of his steady breathing. But more, the covers were warm from the heat of his body.
A sudden resonance echoed within her, of the years past when they had been lovers. Now, she was a dried-up old woman, past forty. Hardly worthy of a husband’s attention.
“How is your arm?” she asked, trying to keep her mind off their sleeping arrangement. He had taken off the cast a few weeks earlier, but she’d never asked whether he’d regained full use of his arm.
“It’s healed.” He lay back against the pillow, staring at the ceiling. “I hope to be able to help with the rebuilding efforts, before the men have finished.”
“What about the army?” she ventured. “Will you go back?”
Will you leave me alone again, to fend for myself? Will the girls be fatherless once more?
There was a heavy silence for a time, before he answered, “No. The general didn’t think I should have stayed as long as I did, after I inherited my brother’s title. They told me I was better suited to handling the estates and my own affairs.” He turned his head to face her. “They think I’m too old now.”
“Perhaps we both are,” she whispered.
His left hand reached out to take hers, and their fingers intertwined. “Our girls are grown now. Soon, we’ll have grandchildren.”
“We will, yes.” She rolled over to face him. “I’m happy for Victoria. But I still worry about Margaret and Juliette. Margaret is getting so old now, they consider her on the shelf at one-and-twenty.”
