The grainy surface infiltrated my fingertips, his hands manipulating mine. The warmth from his skin contrasted with the chilly clay, a metaphor for my own tattered emotions. I wanted desperately to enjoy what I had with Kendrick instead of what I didn’t have with Colt. “It is very cold.”
“It will heat up once you start to manipulate it.” He spoke near my ear, his hard body a welcome anchor. Every time he touched me, I had a difficult time concentrating on anything but him. Thus I yearned for his touch every second of every day.
“Rather like Byron,” I said. I loved him, but was I becoming too dependent on him to lighten my morose moods. As much as I told myself to stop lamenting about Colt, it was hard to forget him. I cried every time I wrote about Lord Golden and it was becoming harder and harder to put my words on paper.
“You are determined to distract me.” Kendrick pressed my palms inward on the slab, pushing the clay down and away from us. His movements brought his chest tighter to my back and the feel of his arousal pressed into my bottom through the thin material of my serviceable walking skirt.
“I believe you are the one distracting me.” My breath turned heavy from the activity and his closeness. The clay was stiff and although he was assisting me, it was still awkward to manipulate.
“I think we’re both guilty of the crime.” Kendrick dropped his hands and moved to my side to take up his own block of clay.“You’ll move your hands to the top of the ox-head and bring the top towards you, placing the nose on the table.”
I began to follow his direction, my bottom lip between my teeth. He was a good teacher and I appreciated his patience. “This is much harder than it looks.”
“Yes, before I started pottery, I was Henry’s size,” he said with a tongue and cheek grin which cut right into my core.
“Really, making pottery made you a foot taller?” I asked, leaning in and lifting my chin.
He obliged my silent request by pressing a kiss to my lips. Hooded eyes met mine after his withdrawal. “I daresay once you are proficient, the size of your arms will eclipse mine.”
“Will I become a strong man like in Astley’s circus?” I pressed inward, using all of my power to push downward and out. It was much harder than he’d made it look but I was determined to keep on task.
“Be careful not to fold the clay but push it in. You want to avoid air pockets.” Nimble fingers manipulated the clay, the veins popping under his skin. “The reason you want to wedge the clay is to remove any lumps and it helps make the clay suppler, rather like your bottom lip.”
“Or yours.” His desire for me hadn’t waned and I was glad for it. Granted, it was early in our marriage. He’d never promised fidelity, although I prayed he wouldn’t seek out another lover. My eyes locked on his movements, I began to mimic his rhythm. The more I worked the clay, the more pliant it became. “What happens if there is an air pocket?”
“It will explode in the kiln and then all of your efforts will be for naught. The trick is to leave the moisture in your clay throughout the process so your piece will dry more uniformly.” He worked much faster than me and by the time he lifted the ball and threw it onto the table, my brow was damp with sweat.
The room which had consistently held a chill was a welcome relief.
“How does this look?” I asked.
He captured my wrist which had been covered in grey clay wash and inspected the small ball I had created. “It looks good for your first try. You are a quick learner.”
“I learned from the best.” I blew a stray strand of hair out of my face, and flexed my fingers. Typing for hours on end had strengthened my hands. “I believe I deserve a treat.”
“I believe you do.” He pulled me into his body, the sensual grin back in play. Lowering his head, he skipped his mouth over mine when the mantel clock chimed the hour.
I stifled a groan of annoyance and draped my arms around his shoulders. Henry could wait a few more minutes for me. I angled my neck, pressing my mouth closer to his. A soft rap sounded at the door. I didn’t need to call out to ask whom it was.
Kendrick pulled back, understanding in his regard, along with frustration. “He won’t go away, so you’d best give into the inevitable.”
“We’re supposed to be in charge.” It was a false narrative. Without the countless secretaries and servants employed by the estate, the estate couldn’t run. And as the head of the household affairs, it was my responsibility to oversee it all.
A bark of bitter laughter erupted from him and he shook his head. After placing another peck on my mouth, he stepped back. “Logically, that would make sense, but the second you said,I do, your life was no longer your own. Are you sorry you married me?” He said it through the filter of humor, but I could read the anxiety in his last question.
“No.” The one word said it all. I would put up with a million inconveniences to spend a lifetime with this charming man. I had weighed the pros and cons during his marriage proposal and decided the gains far outweighed the risks.
“Do you regret marrying me?” I wanted to take the words back as soon as I uttered them. If he said yes, I would be devastated. Better to be in the dark, than be burned by the light of reality.
He skimmed a knuckle down my arm. “No, not at all. I’m very fond of you. You’ve become a great friend.”
A shiver chased along my spine and my entire body felt like ice. Friend. He was fond of me because I was his friend. Another knock, this one more persistent, sounded. I was relieved by the interruption. My jaw ached as I forced my smile to remain in place. I turned my back to him. Friend. I welcomed his friendship but it was a small part of what I felt for him. “Yes, we are friends. I had best attend Henry.”
I paused at the door and looked back at him. He was watching me, his broad forehead furrowed. Had he read my displeasure? I prayed he hadn’t. “I will see you later.”
As I exited the door, I squared my shoulders. I was his wife and I had to have faith that one day he’d see me as more than a friend. Until then, if friendship was all he could give me, I would embrace it. I had no other recourse.
