The Gift of Loving

by Wilson, Patricia

  The silver light flooded over her, turning her pale face into a translucent glow, her eyes large and dark, widening as he came closer. Moonlight glinted on her arms and through the thin gown she wore, her body seemingly clothed in gossamer as he slid her robe away.

  'Guy, please!' She managed a whispered plea as fear curled along her spine but he didn't seem to even hear her; his eyes were intent on her body, his hands on her shoulders as he looked down at her.

  'You may not feel like a bride, Lucinda, but you certainly look like one.' His voice was harsh, his face curiously set, and he managed to make her feel that she was an intruder, an intruder into his dreams about Michelle. He even resented how she looked.

  'We could forget all about it and nobody would know,' she whispered through trembling lips.

  'I would know!' His voice grated coldly and before she knew what he was about he had swung her up into his arms.

  'Guy! Please!'

  Tears came flooding into her eyes as he laid her on the bed and for a second he looked down at her and then he joined her, keeping his robe on and pulling the sheets over them both.

  'I am not a villain, Lucinda. I do not attack frightened little girls. Go to sleep.'

  The tears spilled over on to her cheeks, rolling down with no hope of stopping and she didn't know whether it was relief or fear or disappointment. Even so she had to reply, her voice choked with misery.

  'I—I'm not a little girl!' she sobbed. 'I know I don't know anything and that I'm not Michelle but I'm not a little girl.'

  'No, you are not Michelle!' he rasped, his eyes burning her even in the dim light. 'As to being a little girl, Dieu! I do not know what you are!'

  Her hand came up shakily to wipe at her wet cheeks and his face suddenly softened.

  'Don't cry, ma belle. In the morning things will not look so bad. Go to sleep with that thought. You are a countess now, eh? I do not think that countesses cry, at least I have never seen it and I have known several.'

  'Did—did you make love to them?' Lucy asked foolishly, a sob in her voice and instead of anger she received laughter, soft and amused.

  'If I had done, do you imagine I would tell you?' he mocked. His arm came round her and he drew her trembling to his shoulder. 'Stop your wild assumptions, petite, and go to sleep.'

  She was grateful to snuggle against him, her mind anxiously asking her why she felt safe. A soft tiredness seemed to be invading all her limbs and she yawned sleepily.

  'You'll never have an heir,' she commiserated, and he laughed again, a sound as dark and soft as the night.

  'I am resigned to it,' he murmured drily. 'At least I have a countess.

  Perhaps I will leave all my estates to you when I die.'

  'It's wicked to say things like that,' Lucy chided, her face against his chest. 'It's tempting fate. You're sure to be punished.'

  'I have already been punished, ma chere,' he muttered ironically, and she knew he was thinking of Michelle. It made her unhappy and she gave a little whimper of protest, a small sound that was lost in the silence of the moonlit room. He heard it, apparently, because his hand came to her face, tracing her tear-wet cheeks, lingering there when she made no move to cringe away.

  His warmth began to ease her fears and the sleepy lethargy faded as he caressed her cheeks, his hand wandering to her slender neck and smooth shoulders and Lucy gave in to the temptation to move even closer, her body softening against his warmth.

  Guy turned towards her, his arms tightening her gently to him, and she lifted her face to look at him, as the moonlight softened the hard planes of his cheeks.

  'You see a monster?' he asked softly, and she shook her head, her eyes wide and dark in the moonlight.

  'You are almost fragile,' he murmured, his eyes roaming over her delicate, entranced face. 'Even so, I do not think I will fatten you up after all. I seem to prefer a slender flower in my arms.'

  It reminded her that she was in his arms, tightly in his arms now and her face flushed as she realised that she wanted to be there.

  'Guy.' She suddenly wanted to tell him that she wasn't afraid any more but his finger came to her lips.

  'Ssh,' he whispered. 'I will just hold you. There is nothing to fear.'

  He held her for a second but his hands seemed to gain a mind of their own, moulding her shoulders, stroking her neck beneath her hair and shivers of pleasure shuddered over her skin at the skilled persuasion of his fingertips.

  'Ssh.' He stroked her hair and tilted her face to his and when his lips closed over hers she submitted gladly, her mouth trembling open as he deepened the kiss until she had no thought in her mind but to stay there forever.

  'Lucy!' Without even knowing it her head had gone back to allow his lips to caress her throat, his kisses burning against her skin and her little groan was not fear at all. 'Lucy!' he repeated thickly as his hands came to cup her breasts and his mouth closed over hers again.

  She wanted to beg him to let her go but her body was treacherous, refusing to move away, refusing to fight, and she knew she was welcoming him, urging him on. Guy's hands found their way beneath her gown, easing it away until her skin was drenched in moonlight.

  'The moon is lucky to see so many things,' he murmured thickly.

  'Now it sees you—as I see you.' His eyes roamed over her, an almost hypnotic look in them, black and burning. 'No one has ever touched you, have they? This is your fright, your terror of the unknown. Perhaps you were meant only for me, mine to take and enjoy.'

  It reminded her that she was afraid but her small moan of protest was lost beneath his lips.

  'No, Lucy,' he muttered hoarsely. 'You are my wife and you will marry me—tonight!'

  Fear came racing back but his hand swept along her thigh, stroking heavily over her stomach and cupping her breast and another wave of feeling shattered the fear before it had even begun to take effect.

  Pleasure flamed through her limbs and her lips parted in wonder, softened and vulnerable as he claimed them possessively.

  Her tormented body moulded itself to him and he groaned deeply, his head moving down until his tongue found her breast in a rough caress that sent shafts of pleasure and pain through her. His tongue played carelessly with her, moving from one swollen breast to the other until torture grew inside her and she gave a cry of bewilderment and frustration.

  'Come here.' His voice was deep and husky, not like Guy's voice at all, and her mouth fused with his as he moved completely over her, making her realise that the short black robe was gone as their skin met and burned. She clung to him as his mouth crushed hers, all thoughts of escape completely gone. Her only desire was to ease the aching pain inside and only being close to Guy could do that.

  Passion carried them along and her body arched closer as his strong hands lifted her and subtly parted her thighs.

  Her arms were tightly around his neck, her body willingly pliant, but at the first thrust of his possession fire raged through her, forcing a scream to the surface, a scream that was cut off by his mouth as he held her rigid body tightly. It wasn't like any imprisonment though, it was comfort and a strange understanding. How could Guy know how she felt? He was a man.

  The warmth of his arms brought relaxation slowly and tears found their way to her cheeks as he remained perfectly still.

  'I—I'm sorry,' she whispered, her voice choking. 'I've never... You're my first...'

  'Do not be sorry, petite,'' he whispered back, his voice dark and soft.

  'I was perhaps too eager to own you. Forgive me. You are my first wife, after all.'

  It was funny, tender and it made her smile, her eyes meeting his as he looked down at her in the moonlight. But subtle feelings shivered to life inside her and as she softened Guy's smile died, his eyes beginning to burn into hers until Lucy's eyes closed languidly, her breath a gasp in her throat as he began to move inside her, reawakening all the burning pleasure.

  She could feel his urgency mounting, his breathing harsh and uneven and sensat
ion lifted her on fluttering wings as she threw back her head and called his name fervently. He captured her, crushing her mouth, his hands feverish on her.

  'Now, Lucy!' he muttered harshly. 'Now you are my wife!'

  He seemed to be inside her mind as well as her body, forcing her into unendurable rapture, his power over her without limit. She soared into the moonlight on wings of molten gold, hanging there for timeless throbbing minutes, brilliant lights all around her, all thoughts vanquished in this glimpse of heaven. And then she was hurtling back to earth with Guy's hard arms around her, tears streaming down her face as she pressed it against his heated skin.

  'I'm sorry. I'm sorry.' Lucy was repeating it over and over without any real thought and Guy moved, drawing her to his shoulder, his breathing still unsteady.

  'Sorry that you are crying, or sorry that it had to happen at all?' he queried huskily. 'Crying is not unusual after the most shattering experience of your life.' He drew her closer still, his hand stroking through her hair. 'Go to sleep, Lucinda.'

  He had called her Lucy while he was making love to her. Had he forgotten in the heat of the moment or was it just to please her at the time? She turned away but his arms tightened, holding her to him.

  'Go to sleep with me, not alone,' he ordered, suddenly harsh.

  She turned her face against his shoulder, her body still shuddering with feeling and the hard arms wrapped her close, his face moving against her hair. She could feel emotions in him that were not contentment. Now that the moment had passed he was remembering who she was and who she was not.

  'Guy? Are you -? Are you—sorry?'

  Her whispered question didn't seem to surprise him but it was a while before he answered; in fact she thought he was not about to answer at all.

  'Sorry?' he repeated, his voice darkly intense. 'Sorry that this had to be? Yes, 1 am sorry. I am sorry that I had to trap you, sorry that your first lover will not also be your last, sorry that a few moments of magic will not be a silver thread that weaves itself through your days. No doubt you are more sorry than I.'

  He moved impatiently and drew her more tightly to him.

  'Go to sleep!' he ordered coldly. 'You are an oddity. No other woman has turned to me and asked me if I was sorry.'

  'You haven't had to make love to anyone else out of sheer necessity,'

  Lucy pointed out mournfully. If he could see into her heart he would be as shattered as she was. She loved him and she knew that was a complication he could well do without.

  'Perhaps you do not know what necessity is?' he rasped. 'Go to sleep and let me do the same or necessity may once again enter my mind.'

  Colour flooded her face in the moonlight and she was thankful he couldn't see. She made a surreptitious movement to free herself but his hand tightened on her waist, his arm around her like a band of iron.

  'A wife sleeps in her husband's arms,' he murmured implacably.

  'That is two things you have learned tonight.'

  Three, Lucy thought, sleepily tremulous. Three. I learned why things are dull when you're not there. 1 learned why I feel warm with you. I learned that I love you. Tears threatened to come back when she thought of the final days of this 'marriage', of her parting from Guy, never to see him again, but she choked them back. It was something he would never know, something he must never find out.

  His plan for the future did not include a wife, not a real wife.

  When Lucy woke up Guy was already dressed. He was standing by the mirror, fastening his tie, and for a moment she was able to simply watch him, to almost gloat about the way he looked. The white shirt was stretched across broad shoulders, the grey trousers hugging lean hips. His hair was catching the sunlight that came streaming into the room and she lay looking at him unguardedly, her face colouring when she suddenly realised that he knew perfectly well that she was awake; he was also watching her, through the mirror.

  'Good morning.' He turned and looked at her for a second and then walked slowly towards her, looking down at her as she lay with the sheet tucked up to her chin. 'How do you feel?'

  'Perfectly fine.'

  'In spite of everything,' he finished for her a trifle sardonically. 'You feel up to breakfast downstairs or do I send for some here?'

  'I'll go down with you if—if you'll just let me...'

  'Have a bit of privacy? I intend to find a morning paper. It has suddenly occurred to me that in seeking a wife I have been neglecting my financial interests. I had better see if I can get a French newspaper.'

  'Shouldn't you be in Paris? I mean...'

  'Probably. However, I am here.'

  'We could go back now,' Lucy pointed out, blushing when the implications of her remark were obviously not lost on him. For a moment he regarded her steadily, an almost wary look in his eyes, and then his lips quirked.

  'Having paid for a honeymoon, I intend to have one. After breakfast we will see the place properly and arrange what we are to do with our day.'

  'You're talking as if this was a holiday,' Lucy pointed out a little crossly, alarmed at the way her heart began racing each time he looked at her.

  'It is.' He watched her flushed face intently, seeing the blue of her eyes darken and then lighten again as emotions swept through her.

  His eyes narrowed and for a second he looked extremely cautious but the smile when it came was mocking. 'It is a holiday that is supposed to be very sweet, a lune de miel no less.'

  'Under normal circumstances,' Lucy said sharply, hurt by the taunt.

  'You did not find last night sweet?' He leaned over the bed, his hands on either side of her, trapping her so that all she could do was look up into his dark face. 'I found it sweet. It grows sweeter upon reflection.'

  His eyes moved over her lips slowly, like a caress, and her heart bounded in her chest as she realised he was thinking about kissing her.

  He straightened up instead, his dark eyes intent on her bewildered face.

  'When you are dressed, I will meet you in the dining- room,' he stated coolly, the guarded look back in his eyes. 'Do not be too long.

  I am hungry.'

  He just walked out, and Lucy got out of bed and went to shower. He was definitely on guard, not about to let her get close. After all, why should he? It was all over now. The only reason they were staying here was so that nobody back at the chateau would suspect that this was not the real thing.

  She was filled with depression when she went down to breakfast, and Guy was little better: He had his paper and he looked so grim that she wondered if the whole of the market had crashed during his absence. The waiters watched them glumly and murmured to each other. Poor things, their romantic thoughts were no doubt taking a beating.

  She enjoyed the day after all because, after a bad beginning, Guy's mood lifted and they talked easily to each other as they moved like the tourists they were through the town. She was fascinated by everything, much to Guy's amusement; the only thing she declined to do was take a trip up Mount Etna to see the bubbling lava, her rather fierce refusal adding to Guy's already amused expression.

  This time she wasn't afraid of the night. She had wondered on and off throughout the day what would happen tonight. Would Guy sleep in the sitting-room of the suite? Would the arrangement be awkward? She was so sure he would have planned something that

  she was entirely at her ease, crushing the longing to be held in his arms again.

  Of course there was only one bathroom and she showered and washed her hair first, sitting at the dressing-table and wielding her drier when Guy collected his robe and disappeared into the bathroom later. She was so intent on her thoughts that she didn't hear him come out and the first thing she knew of his presence was when her drier was taken from her fingers as Guy switched it off.

  'I'm not ready!' she began but he swung her round towards him.

  'I am!' he muttered thickly, sweeping her up into his arms and making for the bed.

  'Guy! It—it's not necessary now!' She was shy and excited all
at the same time, wanting to be back in the sweet violence of last night, wanting to be lost in him. All that Guy seemed to feel was determination.

  'How do you know it is not necessary?' he murmured, dropping her in the middle of the bed and coming down with her at once. His eyes moved over her face as she gazed at him helplessly. 'We do not know if you are already carrying my child.' He stared at her punishingly, his eyes darkening further. 'In any case,' he added in a voice that was almost bitter, 'there are various kinds of necessity and my own is uppermost in my mind at this moment.'

  They stared at each other for a second, Lucy's face white at the harsh sound of his voice although her body was already sending messages to her that she could not ignore. He watched her closely and then with a low groan gathered her against him, tilting her mouth for the hot kisses he poured on her. Their lips clung together and as her body softened and melted into his he lifted his head, looking into her eyes.

  'I once suggested that you had a talent for this and now I know that you have,' he murmured huskily. 'Your gift is to melt into a man's arms, to turn into sweet honey, to be soft and willing. You need no other gift, Lucy.'

  He was calling her Lucy again although she had been Lucinda all the day and his voice was soft and low, thrilling her. She smiled into his eyes but he did not smile back. Instead he caught her even closer, his eyes holding her until the smile died from her lips.

  'Look at me,' he ordered thickly. 'Look at me as I hold you and remember who it is who is taking your sweetness, your innocence.'

  She didn't need to look at him. He would be burned into her mind and body forever, his face was almost part of her soul.

  She had no time to speak even if words would have come because Guy was holding her against the power of his body, murmuring in his own language, caressing her urgently, and she gave herself up gladly, her body moving with his, enveloping him in sweetness, every bit of love in her pouring out towards him.

  This time she felt that it was Guy who was shattered. He gasped her name in an agonised voice as they left the world together and later he lay against her, his face between her breasts, his lips continually planting small kisses against her skin.