Love Once Again

by Joann Simon

  She stared at him. In no way had she been prepared for this outbreak on his part; nor, she felt certain, had she been as insensitive as he seemed to think. "You've never understood what Mary's death did to me—

  why I fear so much for this child. Do you think I could go on if anything happened to Jennifer? And before that, did you ever care when I was unhappy, when I felt cooped up and stifled, pushed into a mold? Do you care now? Or is it just your own happiness you're concerned about?" Her tone became derisive. "Be a good little wife, Jessica. Don't think of yourself. You are only a possession. Do what will please your husband, like all the other good little wives. Then your husband will smile, and everything will be all right." It was though a dam had broken—the words flooded out of her without her fully realizing what she was saying.

  "Have I been that inconsiderate? I hesitate to believe it!"

  "No . . . not totally," she admitted.

  "I should think not! And if I am not mistaken, it is you who have disrupted this household with your depression the last year."

  "I know. It did not make me happy, either, but it was something I had no control over."

  "You have control over it now? Or is it the reason for this sudden and unwarranted outburst of yours?" He spoke more sharply than he wished, but he was still smarting from her biting and, he felt, uncalled-for comments. ,

  At his tone, Jessica became furious. Yes, she'd been wrong at times. Yes, she had been depressed, and everyone in the house had suffered as a result. But it was not deliberate. She had not set out to bring discomfort on anyone. Yes, now perhaps she was a little overprotective of Jennifer, but he should be able to understand how she felt as a mother. In any case, what interest had been left to her but the children? He had his business to occupy him. And she had not been neglecting Kit, no matter what he thought. "You don't seem to care anymore what I am feeling . . . just as long as I fill the role of wife and mother and insure that everything is perfect happiness for you. Once upon a time, you respected me for my intelligence and opinions, understood that I needed stimulating outlets."

  "I still respect your intelligence. Have I not encouraged you in reading and expanding your mind? You have been the one who has lost interest. Do you remember that history book I bought you months ago? I doubt you have yet to read a page of it. What other outlets do you expect me to provide for you? This is not the twentieth century. I know you have had an adjustment to make—I know what you are facing, for I faced much the same in learning to adjust to your world! Did you hear me continually bemoaning all I had lost—my fortune, my position, my estates? No! I realized I had no choice but to make do in a world where my ignorance of its customs often made me look and feel the fool!"

  "At least I tried to help you . . . understand what you were facing. I never tried to change you into something you were not."

  "What do you expect from me? I have tried to do everything in my power for you. All I have asked is that you behave like a respectable woman and conform to the standards of the time. You cannot go back to your world— you will have to learn to live with things the way they are!"

  "Yes—learn to live with and conform to a set of constricting and unfair conventions! As a woman I must learn to see myself as a second-class citizen, a chattel. I am not allowed to grow as you did in the twentieth century. Instead I am asked— expected— to throw away all I have learned—to regress!"

  "Come, Jessica, it is not as bad as that!"

  "No? How would you know? You are out there in this man's world as one of the rulers. Do you really have any idea what it's been like for me? Do you really care?"

  "I do not understand you!" Roughly he pushed back his chair and began to rise, his face white with anger.

  "I have bent over backwards trying to be patient. Yet you seem to think you are the only one who has suffered. Can you not appreciate that I, too, have had a burden to bear, that I live with worry—the fear that I may again lose my family and—for a third time—everything else that I have worked so hard to achieve?"

  Leaving his unfinished dinner on his plate, he stormed from the room.

  "Christopher!"

  The only response she received was the slamming of the dining room door behind him.

  Jessica sat in shocked silence after his departure and stared unseeing at the door. What had happened to them? How could they, who had once been so close, have drifted so far apart? Could this unfeeling man be the Christopher who'd once been so close to her she'd felt they were one being? Could her buried discontent and recent depression have brought them to this? No. She wasn't so lost in her listless misery anymore that she could accept all the blame.

  Christopher did not go up to bed until late that night, and the next morning left at dawn for a few days in New York. He knew that he was running away from his problems, but he had to escape the atmosphere in the house. He could not understand what Jessica wanted. Wasn't he the injured party? Hadn't he put up with her depression without complaint for longer than most men would have? What did she need to make her happy? Why couldn't she accept that she was no longer in the twentieth century? Why couldn't she be content with a life any other woman would find satisfying?

  He went out to a reception in New York that evening. He hoped the interaction with other people would be enough to force away his confusion and dim his anger.

  He suspected Rhea would be there—and she was, looking elegant and beautiful. She greeted him with a wide smile.

  "Just the gentleman I was hoping to see this evening." She took his arm. "I believe I have found a very lucrative new business contact for you."

  "Have you indeed?" He had been in the company of this vivacious woman for but a moment, and already he was beginning to relax.

  "Yes, a friend of mine from Savannah has interest in opening some trade with New York, and I have heard you mention your desire to expand your outlets."

  "I would be delighted to meet him."

  "Come along then." Rhea drew Christopher across the room and introduced him to a gentleman of about his age. She remained at Christopher's side as the two men spoke briefly and made an appointment to meet later that week.

  "I thank you, Rhea," Christopher said as they stepped away through the crowd. "This opportunity shows much promise."

  "As I thought."

  He handed her a glass of champagne from the tray being passed around the room, and took a glass for himself. It was not his first; he'd had several glasses already in the hope that the effervescent beverage would float his troubles away.

  Rhea studied him as she took a sip. "You seem pensive and tense this evening. Is something troubling you?"

  "You might say."

  "Come, we are friends. You can speak about it, and perhaps would feel better getting it off your chest."

  "This is not the place."

  "We could find somewhere else to talk. Come to the house for a nightcap."

  "Thank you, but that would not be seemly. I understand your father is away from home."

  "True, but we are both adults. There was a time you would not have been disturbed to learn Father was away."

  "My situation has changed considerably since then."

  "Who is to know you are there? And you clearly do need to talk to someone."

  He swallowed down his champagne in one gulp. He knew it would be unwise to be with her alone, but because of his mood, he agreed. "Very well. I have some farewells to make here before I leave. I will meet you at your father's in half an hour."

  Forty-five minutes later, settled comfortably on the sofa at Rhea's, brandy glass in hand, Christopher let go of his doubts about the wisdom of his being there. There could be no harm in talking to this woman, and no one would know he was there. Rhea could not speak of his visiting her alone that evening lest she cast a shadow on her own conduct. She sat on the sofa next to him now, watching him lazily with her green eyes.

  "This is better, is it not? I can see you are more relaxed already."

  "Yes."

>   "So what is it that is troubling you?"

  He began to talk quietly, staring at the wall opposite him. As he continued, describing the events that had occurred since his daughter's death, he felt an immense relief at being able finally to talk freely to someone about the burden he had struggled with silently. Rhea refilled his brandy glass, rested a compassionate hand on his shoulder.

  When he was finished, she sighed. "It is such a pity this is happening after all you have already suffered. She certainly is being unjust."

  At another time Christopher would have reacted negatively to such a comment made about his wife. It was one thing for him to be critical of Jessica; quite another for him to countenance anything less than praise of her issuing from the lips of others. But now he only said mildly, "It is good that you have let me talk to you, Rhea. My spirits have improved considerably."

  "I only wish I could do more." As she spoke, she moved up beside him on the couch; her hand, as though by accident, brushed his thigh.

  At her touch, he. remembered in a flash the nights he and Rhea had shared little more than two years ago, the passion this woman had once aroused in him. He'd become so accustomed to Jessica's indifference to his advances, it was a heady sensation to realize that this woman beside him would show no such indifference; quite the contrary.

  "I could do more for you if you would let me," she whispered, her voice a soft invitation. "It is not as though we are strangers to each other."

  "Far from it." The alcohol he'd consumed was hazing his mind, but heightening his senses. He knew he wanted and needed a woman—one who would respond enthusiastically to him.

  "A man like you should not be denied the warmth he needs." Her fingertips caressed his cheek. "And you do need it, do you not?"

  "Yes . . . that I will not deny."

  "Come upstairs to my room."

  "Rhea, I cannot. We must consider our actions."

  "We are both adults. Why should we forgo the small comfort we can bring each other?" She was already rising, taking the empty glass from his hand.

  Her inviting words were taking hold in his mind. The touch of her hand, the movement of her full lips. . .Rhea's many enticements were arousing a physical desire that needed little further encouragement. It was, after all, only for one night. And Jessica assuredly did not desire him or make any effort to satisfy his frustrated yearnings. He made his decision, rose; followed Rhea from the room.

  Once they were in her elegantly decorated bedroom, she turned toward him, and Christopher drew her to him. Up to the moment Rhea's lips pressed against his, he'd held on to a shred of reason; but with that hot, sensuous pressure, all logic left him. He sighed deeply, tightened his arms around her as she arched her back to put her hips in closer contact with him.

  "Ah, Christopher," she murmured. "Such a man . . . like none I have met before, or will again."

  His mouth greedily captured hers again, his tongue seeking as his hands worked loose the fastenings of her gown and began exploring her velvet flesh. Within minutes they were undressed, their naked bodies sliding together on the satin covers of the bed; their legs and arms sought one another, entwining; her hungry caresses skillfully roused him further until he was aching for her, wanting nothing but to bury himself deep within her. He forced Jessica from his mind; thought of nothing but the physical moment as Rhea's hand gently gripped him and directed him into her waiting body. As he entered, his mouth fastened to her breasts, and she cried out softly.

  "More, Christopher, more . . . let me feel you . . . deeper . . . "

  Acceding to her wish and his own overwhelming need, he gave himself up to the pulsing waves of pleasure. With each of his thrusts, she moaned, pulled him tighter against her, moved her hips, until he, too, was gasping, holding back until it was impossible to do so any longer. As his orgasm crashed over him, she continued to move urgently, soon gave a throaty sigh and shuddered beneath him.

  "I had forgotten . . . tried to forget. . . how wonderful you are," she whispered a few moments later when heartbeat and breath had returned to normal.

  He knew only a great weariness. He'd slept little the night before, and now, his long-frustrated physical needs satisfied, a desire for sleep washed over him in smothering waves.

  She spoke again, but he barely heard her, only felt the warmth of the covers being drawn up over his chest. He let his mind drift off; tomorrow he would think of all the things he knew he had to think about . . .

  whatever they were . . . Immediately he fell into a deep sleep.

  It came as a shock to him that next morning when he opened his eyes to a strange room and Rhea's black tresses spread out on the pillow beside him. It took him a moment `to remember, and when he did, a sick knot clenched at his stomach. What had he done? How had he allowed himself to take such a foolish step? The throbbing in his temples— the aftermath of his overimbibing the night before—did not help his state of mind as he thought of the repercussions that might ensue from this one evening of folly. He knew Rhea too well; she would not let it go with just this one night. She would expect more, and he had no one to blame but himself. And Jessica—for all their misunderstanding, did she deserve this? He'd always thought himself more of a man than to behave so childishly, so spitefully.

  He sat up in bed, feeling an urgent need to be out of that house. He must get dressed, leave. As he swung his legs over the side of the bed, his head throbbed miserably—a hangover of grandiose proportions. He couldn't seem to get his mind to function clearly.

  At his movement, Rhea stirred and woke. He felt the palm of her hand on his back, heard her sleep-misted voice. "Good morning. Did you sleep well?"

  "Yes." He barely recognized the croak that came from his lips.

  "But why are you getting up? It is early yet; come back here where it is warm and cozy."

  "I must go."

  "There is no rush. They will not miss you if you are an hour late at your office."

  "No, Rhea." He stood, paused a moment to let the pressure in his head settle, and walked to the chair where his clothing had been flung the evening before. He reached for his breeches.

  In an instant she was out of bed, quickly slipping into a lacy and nearly transparent robe. She had been wily the night before, pressing on him all the alcohol he could consume, but drinking lightly herself. Rhea knew he was confused now, while her own head was clear, and she went up to him as he began to button his shirt. Her expression was sweet, her manner coaxing and innocent.

  "Well, if you must leave, I will not keep you, but why not let me ring for coffee before you go?"

  "Best your servants -not know I spent the night in the house. I will slip out the side door."

  She smiled, careful not to let her irritation show. "As you wish. We will see each other soon, in any case."

  He'd been waiting for those words. "I think not."

  "Oh?"

  "Last evening was a mistake. I do not blame you, but I cannot see you again, Rhea." Oh, his blasted head. If only it would stop aching!

  "You are being rash, don't you think? We have spent an evening that brought us both pleasure, and we are civilized adults."

  "What you do not understand, Rhea, is that despite our misunderstandings, I love my wife. I would not wish to hurt her so."

  "It is a bit late now to think of that—and you would not have come here last night unless, deep inside, you wanted to." If he'd been thinking more clearly, he might have come back with a rebuttal, but now he could only shake his head in confusion.

  She saw him weakening; made her final point subtly. "What harm can there be in our seeing each other on those occasions you are in New York? It will, after all, be our secret. No one else need ever know."

  "We shall see." He couldn't argue with her any longer. He had to get out of this house; prayed sanity would return when he reached the city street.

  But she was satisfied with his response and let the subject rest. As he made for the door, his dressing complete, she only smiled. "Ha
ve a good day, Christopher."

  During the next few days, as he finished his business in New York, his guilt plagued him. He stayed far from the social scene, instead spending what free time he had visiting with either Robert Bayard or Mawson and Abbey. But even with these old friends he could not relax, knowing all the while he talked with them just what they would have thought of his meeting with Rhea a few nights earlier. His guilt was further aggravated by an offhand comment made by Bayard.

  "I must say I am glad to see more of you than the last time you were in the city. I was a trifle concerned when I heard the talk that you and Rhea Taylor were again striking up quite a friendship."

  Christopher reacted quickly. "Just casual meetings. I was bound to run across her. She only wished to inform me that her past bitterness had been laid to rest."

  Bayard nodded, and Christopher changed the subject.

  The next day he returned to Eastport, looking forward eagerly but anxiously to the sight and presence of his own home, his waiting wife and children. What reception would he receive from Jessica? Had she been thinking through the argument that had precipitated his sudden departure for New York? Had anything of what he had said gotten through to her, or had he only succeeded in turning her further from him?

  As he strode through the front door just before dinner, Clara informed him that Jessica was upstairs feeding the baby. He was not certain what to do: wait downstairs until she came down to say hello, or go immediately up to their room. He went to his study, had a brandy, paced in indecision, then finally went up. As he stepped down the hall to their bedroom, she was just emerging, the baby in her arms. She turned and watched him come toward her.

  "Hello, Christopher. Clara told me you'd arrived home."

  Was there reproof in her tone that he hadn't come up immediately? Was his guilt so evident on his face that she read it?

  "She told me you were feeding the baby."

  "Yes." She paused. She was regarding him so intensely, he felt she was seeing right through him. "You had a good trip?" she finally asked.