Flaming June

by Emma V. Leech

“Wherein a new beginning.”

  Henry stared at his wife and child. Isabella slept now, her beautiful face flushed still, her eyes shadowed with exhaustion. She was still perfect to his eye. The most wonderful sight Henry had ever had the privilege to look upon. Apart, that was, from his daughter.

  It didn’t matter to Henry that another man had sown the seed for the child. They were his now. The sad and unpleasant circumstances in which they had created his little girl tugged at his heart, both for the baby and Isabella. Though the thought of another man touching his wife was enough to make jealousy rage, stealing the breath from his lungs, he’d rather they had made her with love. It didn’t matter now, though. He had love enough for them both, to make up for whatever had gone before. The emotion surged in his chest, threatening to overwhelm him, to tip him over into the strange place that made him run away from life, that made him want to hide, or to smash the world around him to pieces in fear and fury. Not today, though. Today he would not run.

  The desire to reach out and touch the downy hair on the baby’s head was an ache beneath his skin, but he didn’t dare. Short of lifting the new-born into the arms of her mother, he’d not touched her, too afraid to do so. She was so perfect, so fragile, and he so big and clumsy. Terror filled his heart at all the things that might befall her if he failed to protect her.

  His lovely Isabella had endured a life without love, without kindness or understanding, and he would never allow either of them to be hurt ever again. Possessiveness was a living thing beneath his skin, the desire to protect his family and keep them safe something that prowled with sharp claws and sharper teeth. He let out a shaky breath, unsettled by such powerful emotions, torn between laughter and tears as he gazed upon them.

  He wanted to paint them, the urge almost overwhelming, though he forced himself to keep still, to stand watch over them. Instead he pictured the image in his mind, Isabella as his Madonna. Instead of the blue cloak about her shoulders, she would lie beneath a wide lapis lazuli sky, full of hope and joy and promise for the future.

  A soft knock at the door broke into his thoughts and he moved to the door, finding Jack on the other side. His familiar face was full of anxiety and hope, and on seeing the proud smile that Henry could not keep from his face, the man let out a breath of relief.

  “Thank God,” he said, the words heartfelt. “She’s well?”

  Henry nodded and opened the door a little, allowing Jack a privileged glimpse of his sleeping family. Jack swallowed hard, dashing his hand over his eyes.

  “Girl or boy?” he asked, his voice rather thick.

  “A girl, of course,” Henry replied, though the words were still full of awe at the fact.

  Jack held his hand out, grinning. “Congratulations.”

  Henry beamed at him and pulled him into a fierce hug. You didn’t shake hands with family, to his way of thinking.

  “Can’t breathe, Henry,” Jack muttered as Henry let him go. “Right, well, I’ll leave you to it,” he said, once he’d caught his breath. Jack waved a hand at him and Henry nodded, closing the door and turning back to his wife.

  With as much care as was possible for a man of his size, he crawled onto the bed beside them, laying down on his side so he could look his fill. The baby stirred, giving a soft huff as her rosebud lips parted and settled back into a contented little pout. Henry swallowed hard, and as exhausted as he was, he stayed awake, watching over them.

  ***

  A strange and unfamiliar sound tugged at Isabella’s tired brain and she jolted awake. With a peculiar mix of astonishment and acceptance, she blinked as her daughter came into view. The baby was crying, a fretful mewling sound that made her womb tighten and her breasts prickle.

  “She’s hungry.”

  Isabella looked over, unsurprised to find Henry at her side. That he had guided her safely last night, that he hadn’t run away or demanded a doctor take over … the knowledge settled inside her, a warm weight. Henry would never let her down. It was an unfamiliar feeling, to have someone she could always rely upon, come what may, but she clung to it.

  Feeling a little shy, which was rather ridiculous after the events of last night, Isabella undid the tie that closed her nightgown and guided the baby to her breast. As she latched on, Isabella sucked in a breath as her stomach contracted, pain lancing through her. Well, she hoped that didn’t last for long. She let out a breath as the pain lessened and the baby suckled, her tiny fists pressing against Isabella’s breast, her face peaceful and content now.

  Isabella sighed, resting her weary head back against the pillows and looking to Henry. Her heart expanded as she saw the wonder in his eyes.

  “You were right, of course,” she said. “It’s a girl.”

  Henry nodded, and she understood that he couldn’t talk to her, his emotions too overwhelming. They sat together, silent except for the greedy noises the child made until she fell asleep. She released Isabella’s breast as her mouth grew slack, a contented breath puffing over her mother’s skin as she drifted back to sleep.

  Isabella blinked back tears and grinned at Henry. “Do you want to hold her?”

  To her surprise, Henry scrambled off the bed, shaking his head. He tucked his large hands under his arms, his head bent, though his gaze remained on the baby.

  “Henry,” Isabella said, her voice soft. “Don’t run away, come and sit with me and your daughter.”

  Henry shook his head, though she could see longing in his eyes. He was afraid, fear of doing harm an anxious glint in his eyes. Isabella smiled at him, knowing this wasn’t the time to push.

  “Well, if you won’t hold your daughter, come and hold me. I need to feel your arms around me. Please, Henry.” She hid her smile this time, knowing Henry couldn’t refuse such an entreaty. He settled beside her, opening his arms to her as Isabella lay back against his chest with a sigh of pleasure. Henry rested his head on her shoulder, watching the sleeping baby, and Isabella turned her head, kissing his cheek.

  “I love you, Henry,” she whispered as her husband turned to her, eyes wide and incredulous. He opened his mouth, and there was a sharp inhalation of breath but no other sounds. She leaned in again, pressing her mouth to the corner of his lips. “I know, my love. You need not say anything. Just hold us both.”

  Henry swallowed hard and nodded, his hold tightening just a fraction as they both gazed at their new arrival with wonder.

  ***

  Isabella stared at the painting. If she lived to be a hundred, she would never cease to be amazed by the talent contained within the man beside her. He paced, impatient for a reaction, but Isabella was dumbstruck.

  “Look what your father did for us, Marine,” she whispered once she’d found her voice. The baby’s blue eyes blinked up at her, the cause for her naming. Henry had insisted both her and the baby had eyes the colour of ultramarine. Though Isabella had assured him their daughter’s eyes could change yet, Henry was adamant, so Marine it was. They shortened it to Marie, and it pleased Isabella, as everything in life pleased her now. “You make me look like an angel, Henry,” she said, turning to him now. “I can’t believe you still see me this way.” Not after sleepless nights that could make her fractious and short-tempered, but Henry never reproached her.

  “It’s the way you are,” he insisted, his voice a little stubborn now.

  Isabella laughed, shaking her head at him. “How you can still say that after the abominable things I said to you last night.” He’d come to her room in the early hours, called by Marine’s full-throated wailing, and received little thanks for his efforts.

  Henry snorted, rubbing the back of his neck. “You were tired.”

  “It’s you that’s the angel, here,” she whispered, leaning into him. He looked down at her, such warmth in his eyes that her heart seemed to turn in her chest. The fleeting press of his lips against hers only intensified the sensation. It wasn’t enough. In the weeks following the birth, it had relieved her to find her spirits, and her body, returning to
normal. Her feelings for Henry only seemed to grow stronger, though, and having him so near was tantalising. She had fantasised about seducing him, her own husband. The idea made her smile even though she knew she must tread with care. He still hadn’t held Marine, too afraid of her tiny size and frailty, though she knew he wanted to more than anything. She wouldn’t push him into something he wasn’t sure about.

  Isabella looked back at his painting, her holding Marine, their eyes as blue as the skies above them. There was a worshipful, almost religious feel to the work she knew people might disapprove of, citing it as blasphemous, perhaps. Isabella saw it for what it was, though, an expression of love for her, for their daughter. No matter that the child had another father. Isabella would never allow herself to think on that again. In the first days after the birth, she had watched the child, afraid she might glimpse something in the baby’s eyes of the cruel man who’d created her. Now, though, she accepted the truth. Marine was born in innocence, to parents that loved her, and that was the only truth that mattered.

  “Let’s have a picnic,” she said, turning to Henry now. The weather had grown hotter with each day as it moved through the month of June, but under the shade of the apple trees in the orchard it would be cool enough. Without giving Henry time to comment, she hurried off to prepare what they needed.

  ***

  Isabella congratulated herself on her idea as she lay back on the rug with a sigh of content. Marie slept in the little wicker basket under the shade of an apple tree. Her daughter was a greedy little madam and had drunk her fill, and Isabella watched Henry with lazy contentment, his dark head bent over his drawing as ever.

  “Henry,” she said, her voice low as a sense of anticipation tightened her body, her heart picking up a beat.

  “Hmmm.” He didn’t look up, too focused on whatever part of the drawing was holding his attention.

  “Come and kiss me, Henry.”

  He looked up then, and Isabella smiled as his eyes grew dark. She held out a hand to him. “You’ve drawn me enough for one day.” The words were soft but firm, and she saw him take a breath, perhaps knowing she wanted more than a kiss today. “Come and see if I taste of strawberries.” She smiled as he had teased her for the amount she’d eaten, but had shared his with her with obvious pleasure.

  He set aside his pencil and the drawing, and Isabella’s breath quickened as he lay down beside her.

  “Do you want to kiss me?” The sound of her own voice was seductive, sultry in a way she’d never heard before, never believed herself capable of.

  “I always want to kiss you,” he said, the words simple but honest as he looked back at her.

  Isabella reached out a fingertip, tracing the outline of his lips. “Then why don’t you?”

  He lowered his eyes, a slight frown gathering his eyebrows together. “Because I’m not sure if you always want to be kissed.”

  Isabella moved closer to him, so that their bodies almost touched, his breath fluttering warm against her mouth. “I’ll tell you a secret, then,” she said, leaning over to whisper in his ear. “I always want you to kiss me, Henry.”

  He swallowed, but reached for her, his hand settling on her waist as he leaned in, pressing his lips to hers. It was the sweetest of kisses, but a fire had been lit beneath Isabella’s skin now and she wanted more as he drew back.

  “You do taste of strawberries,” he said, amusement in his voice.

  “Are you sure?” she asked, turning onto her back now. “I think you should try again, just to be certain.”

  He didn’t need asking again. The kiss was deeper this time, slow and lingering as Isabella ran her hands over his back. She tugged his shirt loose, sliding her hands over his broad back, hearing his breath catch.

  “Do you like that?” she asked, one hand skimming his side and coming up to rest over his heart. Henry nodded, and she smiled, tugging at the shirt with one hand. “Take it off then.”

  Her breath snagged in her throat as she watched him, desire a living, breathing thing inside her. She wanted him, needed him, to touch him and be close to him. It made her skin ache with longing, her body clamour as that need echoed in a hollow space inside her reserved for him.

  As he moved back to her, she pulled him down, not wanting him to be so careful now. His hand remained at her waist, though, and she knew he would not move beyond this position unless she invited him.

  “Touch me,” she whispered against his mouth, urgency in the words. “I want you to.”

  He paused, staring down at her, his eyes dark with desire, though something held him immobile.

  “Please, Henry.” There was something close to desperation behind the demand now and she sighed as his hand moved up, over her ribcage, cupping her breast through the fine fabric of the muslin. Her body had changed after Marine, her figure less angular, softer and more rounded, fuller, and she revelled in the feel of Henry exploring those curves. His mouth returned to hers and she sensed the anticipation in him now, the growing desire as his kisses grew fiercer, deeper. It wasn’t enough, not nearly enough, and they both knew it.

  She pushed at his chest and he stopped at once, drawing back with doubt in his eyes.

  “Help me take this dress off, please.” The look in his eyes made her smile, somewhere between shock and relief. He moved away so she could sit up, and busied himself undoing the ties. His usually sure fingers seemed to fumble each fastening and Isabella bit her lip, struggling not to laugh as happiness and anticipation mingled.

  At last she was free, and she stripped off each layer, sending up a silent prayer that Marine should sleep for a while longer yet. She turned back then, shy all at once as she met Henry’s eyes for the first time.

  He stared, his breathing rapid. “Isabella,” he said, the word reverent, making her feel worshipped in the same way the portrait had. “Isabella, you’re so beautiful. I want to paint you this way.”

  Isabella’s eyebrows hit her hairline. “Certainly not!” she exclaimed in horror. “Imagine if Jack saw or …” She didn’t get to say another word as he tumbled her onto her back, his mouth covering hers. Isabella sighed and wrapped her arms around his neck as his lips left hers and kissed her jawline, her neck, along her collar bone.

  Henry paused, drawing back, a question in his eyes. She reached up and touched his mouth, smiling her assurance. “Don’t stop and don’t ask. If you want to, I want to. I trust you.”

  His chest expanded as he sucked in a breath, anxiety lingering. “But Isabella, I … I’ve never …”

  “Neither have I, Henry, not like this,” she said. She wasn’t a virgin now, but this still felt like the first time, the first time that mattered to her. “I want you.” She reached for the fall of his trousers, undoing the buttons and sliding her hand beneath. They both caught their breath as she found what she sought and curled her fingers around the hard length of him.

  He groaned, his head falling forward as he closed his eyes and Isabella quailed a little. Henry was everywhere in proportion, and as she remembered the pain of her first time, she felt a tremor of doubt. She could not help but touch him, though, astonished by the silk of his skin as she caressed him.

  “Isabella,” he whispered, the word aching with desire. “I … I want …”

  She nodded, releasing him and pushing the trousers down his hips, tugging him closer to her. They both gasped as he slid against the slick heat between her legs.

  “I don’t want to hurt you,” he said, the words breathless as slid against her skin.

  The desire for him, the ache to feel him inside her, chased away any fears or doubts. “You won’t,” she said, guiding him to where he needed to be. “I know you won’t.”

  He moved slowly, the tension in him growing with the wonder in his eyes. As he eased inside her, Isabella relaxed, realising there would be no pain, and no regrets, not this time. She slid her hands over his shoulders, pulling at his neck, tugging his mouth back to hers. This was all for him, her pleasure secondary to wanting
to love him, to show him what he meant to her. Yet the helpless sounds he made, the way his breath caught and held, exhaled on a heavy sigh, all of it built her own desires into a fire that only burned hotter. Soon she was clinging to him, teetering on the edge of a precipice she’d not known existed.

  They clung to each other, clumsy kisses and grasping hands that neither minded, expressive only of need and love and inexperienced desire. “Henry,” Isabella gasped, clutching at him, watching the stunned delight in his eyes before her own closed and the world fell away in a shower of bright lights. Pleasure rippled over her, stealing any coherent thought and leaving her boneless and astonished. Only the sound of Henry finding his release, holding her so tight, had the power to bring her to her senses. They clung together, breathless and sweaty and surprised in the shade of an apple tree.

  She watched as Henry drew back a little, bracing on his arms to look at her. “Isabella?” he said, struggling to catch his breath. “You … you liked it?”

  Isabella couldn’t help herself. A sudden bark of laughter burst from her, startling in the peace of a languid afternoon. Marine wailed, her little lungs illustrating her fury at being woken, but Isabella only laughed harder.

  “Oh, H-Henry,” she said, wiping her eyes. “Yes. Yes, my love, very much.”

  “Good,” he replied, grinning at her, a rather smug glint in his eyes. “Because I want to do it again.”

  ***

  Henry stared, still disbelieving. Isabella lay beside him, asleep on the rug he’d laid out, her skin dappled by the shade of the apple tree. The play of light and shadow would be enough to hold him spellbound in any other circumstance, but Isabella, loving her, touching her again, was all he could think of.

  That she had given herself to him in such a way had changed him. He’d accepted the fact he would never marry. He was too strange, too out of step with the world to find someone who could understand him, let alone love him. That Isabella had agreed to marry him had been revelation enough. That she cared for him had stolen his breath and filled his heart. This, though, this was something he had no words for, something his heart could barely contain.