“Even starting to talk like me,” he whispered into the pouf of hair she’d drawn up on top of her head as she burrowed into his chest. “Start to look like me in no time, poor girl—now that’s something to give you pause. But only that,” he said. Then kissing the top of her ear, he asked, “Will you answer me?”
But she only raised her head to look into his eyes, and saw them gazing at her lips, and offered them to him. He kissed her for a very long time, breaking off only to taste her neck, or her cheek, or her ear, before he came back to her lips again. Her mouth was warm and open beneath his, and if the touch of his tongue made her stiffen at first, it wasn’t long before she was tentatively offering hers to him, as well. And if the feel of her in his arms was everything he wanted, the shape he felt beneath his searching hands soon showed what else it was that he wanted.
There were a dozen mind-boggling, tiny, slippery pearl buttons at the back of her gown, and yet it wasn’t long before he’d conquered them. The sight of her bared breasts as they rose above the tightly laced bosom bodice that she wore made his breath catch in his throat, as hers did when he lowered his lips to them, at last.
There were eighteen narrow laces at the back of her bosom bodice to patiently undo; he knew because he silently counted them so that he wouldn’t be tempted to force them apart, and frighten her. When the casing that had held her so fast finally fell apart, he found his hands could do as good a job and better for her, because she never whimpered with shocked delight when it upheld her before.
John had taught her how good a man’s hands and lips could feel. But John was a memory. He’d made her squirm with frustrated pleasure before they’d been married. But only then, because after that everything had been tempered by apprehension and fear. As began to happen now. Because now she gazed down to see Gray’s big, sure hands and what they held so reverently, and her fears banished her pleasure. The white of her skin against the tan of his hands was as shocking as the sight of what was happening. She was only glad that though her shamefully bared nipples were puckered tight, he’d never know it was because of fear and cold now, and not delight. And so when his warm mouth finally left them, she had to remind herself to deliberately open her lips again to receive his kiss, because this was all for him now, and all of it deliberately so.
Because though she’d never said it, so as to embarrass or shame him with the memory of it later, she loved him very much. And so had decided, somewhere between the moment she’d seen him at the theater and the moment his lips had met hers tonight, that she’d give herself to him now, if she could, before she lost the courage to. So that he’d never have to make the sacrifice he’d offered.
She’d bear the shame of his shock if her condition was, indeed, something terrible. She’d bear his triumph if it was not. But she’d never let him throw himself away blindly, because she’d never stay and wait to watch his love turn to resentment, or hate. Although her shame was the thing she’d feared the most all these years, now she knew, as she let him lower her to the couch and draw off her gown, that it would be nothing at all; nothing compared to his hate.
She shifted so as to help him. There were a great many garments to help him remove from her. Yet it seemed that somewhere along the way, he’d also wriggled out of his own jacket; sometime when she’d not noticed, he’d opened wide the high stiff collar of his white shirt. She noted the tense muscles in the strong neck, and though her hands were trembling with the desire to stroke that bare flesh, she put them on his shoulders, and waited. That was what John had always wanted her to do.
His hands trailed along her ribs, reached her waist, traced and cupped her hips and buttocks, and paused. She was entirely bared to him now, and dared not look where he did, but only at his hair. Inconsequentially, she noted how his part was crooked, toward the back, as she awaited his next move.
He suddenly raised himself on his elbows, and only gazed down at her.
“They were wrong,” he said gruffly. “There is something very different about your body—you’re perfect,” he said. “Absolutely perfect. Ah,” he groaned, and wrenching his gaze from her, levered himself up and pulled her up from the couch and back into his arms.
“What is it?” she asked, terrified, when she felt him shivering. Her heart was racing as fast as his was as he sat holding her, his hands stroking her bare back, “You can tell me, honestly.”
“I tell you honestly you’re perfect,” he said hoarsely, “that’s why I stopped. I thought I could go on, and bring you some little foretaste…but I’m not so good as I thought I was—or maybe it’s because you’re better than I could’ve guessed. Damn,” he said, as he felt her tremble, and he held her at arm’s length and gazed at her with hungry eyes. “You’re just too beautiful. Come on. I’ll help you get everything hitched together again.”
“No. I mean,” she said, squeezing her eyes closed. “It’s not necessary—you can—go ahead, if you want. Really.”
“The hell I can!” he exclaimed angrily. “Excuse my language,” he said more temperately, “but what do you think I am?”
“I thought,” she said, her own hands coming up despite herself, to cover herself, as he turned and fumbled among her discarded garments to find something for her to put on again, “we would…I thought it would be best if we tried it now.”
He stopped and gazed at her, astonished.
“Well, it wouldn’t be,” he said.
He looked at the pile of clothes on the couch and carpet, “Lord, what is it that you had on first?” he asked, fishing up her chemise.
“No, it would never be best, or ever better,” he continued, picking up the pair of cotton drawers she pointed to with a shaking finger, “if we finished what we started. What would we gain? You’d know you could marry me with a clear conscience? Yeah, sure. And then spend the rest of our lives together thinking how I covered all my bets first, how I had to be dead- certain sure everything was perfect before I said ‘I do’? And maybe, just maybe, hating me a little for it, huh?
“And if it didn’t work. Oho!” he said vehemently, as he tossed her chemise over her head and picked up her corset. “What about how shamed you’d feel then? Even when I insisted we marry, wouldn’t you just spend the rest of our liveswondering if it was pity or guilt, not love, that made me insist? And I’d insist, either way, believe me. But if you refused no matter what I said—and I won’t take a bride to the altar with a gun at her back—who would you hate more all your life—yourself or me?
“No,” he said a little more calmly, as he turned her around and started lacing her up. “No way. You’re a fine little actress, but we can’t pretend we’re just some hotheaded young courting couple that got carried away, either. Though it was a near thing,” he muttered. “No. If we marry, it’s going to be like regular folks, with half a heart full of trust, and the other half full of hope.
“The only guarantee I want is that you love me. Saying yes is the only way to show me that. You never said anything,” he said seriously, his hands pausing on her corset strings, before he pulled them so tight she gasped. “Don’t think I didn’t notice it. I may talk West, but I know East, North, and South, too. You love me— you marry me. That’s all there is to it.”
“I won’t be able to do anything if I can’t breathe,” she said, springing up from the couch and taking the laces in her own hands. “A tiny waist is one thing, strangulation another,” she complained, glad of something else to talk about as she scrambled into the rest of her clothing. She was almost done when she turned around to see him holding her puffy, lacy demi-bustle pad at arm’s length, like Hamlet with Yorick’s skull, with a bemused expression on his face. She laughed, only stopping when she managed to snatch it back and tie it on again. Then his tender expression made her want to weep.
“I don’t know,” she said at last, looking down at her toes, “I don’t know. What I want to do, and what I ought to do, and what’s best for both of us to do—ah, Gray, I have to be sure they’re all the same thing.”
“Now, here’s a funny thing,” he said, rising, coming to stand before her, and holding her hands, “for all I want you, I won’t wait forever. I can’t. It’s not just desire, I guess it’s pride, too,” he smiled crookedly. “There’s nothing so sappy as a perennial suitor. I won’t wait backstage with roses until I look old enough to look right doing it. I’ll need an answer soon.”
She nodded and swallowed hard.
“You’ll have one,” she promised, “soon. I’ve got tomorrow night to get through. Then I’ll be able to decide about the rest of my life. Only, Gray,” shesaid, bowing her head until it touched his chest, “I can promise you one thing right now. If I don’t say yes to you, I’ll never say yes to anyone—except maybe for business reasons.”
“Now that,” he said, sighing, “don’t make me feel a whole lot better.”
He kissed her hair and let her go.
