He caressed her breast, then turned her on her back and rolled on top of her.
This was new and strange, but she did not feel shy. ‘What do I do?’ she whispered back.
‘Whatever you feel like,’ he said. ‘I know my business, madam wife. Relax and trust me.’
At a time like this? To her delight, she discovered she did trust him. She let herself relax and enjoyed the feel of his kisses and caresses, which meant his entry was simple and easier than she would have thought. Perhaps she was more ready for this than she’d imagined.
He began a gentle rhythm, which increased in tempo when she abandoned every caution to the wind and added her rhythm to his. She thought her legs might be better across his back, which made him mutter something that sounded like, ‘Good instincts,’ which, under any other circumstance, would have made her laugh.
She felt his excitement mount, then fill her. He groaned but kept his lips between her breasts to muffle himself. She caressed his back, savouring the peace that came as his heartbeat slowed until it matched hers. He kissed her ear and whispered, ‘You are legally my wife now.’ Again, that low laugh, and another whisper, ‘Next time, I promise I’ll return the favour.’
He cuddled her close, then relaxed in sleep. She didn’t think he was worn out from the actual exertion, which had certainly roused every nerve inherbody. She ran her hand lightly over the contours of his face and saw a man of war, an anxious father and a grieving widower lying there without a care, for once.I did that, she thought. The notion humbled her.
She knew this was a rare opportunity to personally assess this man she had married. She had him to herself, this handsome fellow with reddish-blondish hair, a straight nose, the thin lips of a Scot and his own freckles here and there.
She enjoyed watching the gentle rise and fall of his chest, deeply aware now how fast a man’s heart could beat when he was intent upon a woman.My heart, too, she thought.Goodness.
It was almost light in his quarters when she woke to John kissing her bare shoulder. She rolled over and looked into warm, appreciative male eyes.
‘It’s your turn,’ he said, and she knew precisely what he meant. She gave herself over to him entirely, abandoning herself completely: no war, no worries, no what-to-do-with-the-children, no conscious thought except his pleasure—and now hers as well.
When she cried out, he put a gentle hand over her mouth. ‘Shh, shh. It’s a small ship. Can’t have my crew too envious.’
‘I had no idea. I would urge you even deeper, if I thought I could.’
‘You can’t,’ he replied practically, because he was John Beattie. ‘This is as close as anyone gets, ever.’
‘I like it.’
‘Thought you might.’ She felt his chuckle. ‘Anna Beattie, if I show up on deck—and I must, soon—I should make sure I’m not smiling too widely. They’ll throw me overboard for shark bait, otherwise.’
What an odd time to get the giggles. When he rose up a little so she could breathe, she asked, ever practical, ‘Has anyone else in the world ever had this much fun?’
‘Countless millions,’ he replied, ‘but right now, only us.’
He got up then, carefully balancing on the deck. She watched as he seemed to feel the motion with his feet. ‘What?’ she asked.
‘We’re nearly to Gibraltar. The current changes. Up you get, madam wife. There’s something else we have to do after we tidy up a bit.’
Easier said than done, especially since her man thought she needed his help with the washcloth. ‘Mrs Beattie, you’re a menace to rational thought,’ he said finally. ‘I suppose you’re going to tell me to put my clothes on now.’
‘You’ll look more professional on deck if you do.’
He got as far as his smallclothes, then pulled her down onto the sleeping platform again, this time with Admiral Collingwood’s letter in hand, the ‘something new’ of the wedding. He waved it around.
‘It’s time,’ he said. ‘I can’t ignore orders.’ He cracked the seal. He held it a little away to read. ‘My God, Anna,’ he said finally. ‘My God.’
Her first instinct was fear, which faded quickly. She heard only awe in his voice.
‘What?’ she asked, hoping she sounded calm. She knew the Navy was a hard life and they were at war. She and the children had nowhere to live while he continued in the Mediterranean, as he already knew would be his lot. ‘What?’
‘The kindest thing imaginable,’ he said. She heard the emotion. ‘Anna, our dear Admiral wants to loan us his house on Menorca. I… I…thought it was only rumour that he had a house there.’
Had she even heard him right?
‘He…he has ahouse?’ She looked at her husband, who seemed to be having trouble drawing a decent breath. It brought home forcefully to her the agony of men condemned to the sea during war, iron men in wooden ships who yearned for the comforts of home and family, like normal beings. ‘Breathe,’ she whispered. ‘In and out.’
‘We’ve been doing the in-and-out,’ he teased, which relieved her, because his ribald Navy humour hadn’t deserted him. He held his orders closer to her. ‘Right there, third paragraph.’
