Love Once Again

by Joann Simon

  and I've made an effort to do that." She stopped, her eyes going over every inch of his worried face, a face that showed so much of what he'd been through the last weeks. "If you mean all of what you've just said, Christopher, then I am willing to try again."

  "Oh, Jessica, I mean it—I have never meant anything more in my life!" The sincerity in his voice was unmistakable, even were it not aided by the desperate stare that bore similar testimony to his seriousness.

  "Does this mean you will forgive me?"

  "Forgiveness comes in small stages," she said softly. "I can't forgive everything with a snap of the fingers. But I haven't been perfect, either. I forced you to suffer through my depressions." Pausing, she looked deep into his eyes. "We've been through a lot, haven't we?"

  "And we have a lot further to go, you know."

  "I'm looking forward to it."

  He smiled, still unsteadily. Then he was drawing her close, tight into his arms. It was a closeness she'd been longing for, dreaming about; she welcomed it, cherished it. Those strong arms about her back, the feel of his hard chest against her cheek, the thick curls of his hair tangled in her fingers as she caressed the back of his neck; the unperfumed scent of him, of his sweat from hard riding and worry. And she welcomed his lips, in a moment coming gently down on hers; then pressing more firmly as each sought for—and found—the soul-filling warmth and passion they'd too long denied each other.

  When they drew apart, he brought his fingers up to trace the curve of her cheek. "You will come home with me now?"

  "Have I your promise that she is gone from your life— our life—forever?"

  "You have."

  "Then I am coming home."

  He lifted her off the ground in an exuberant embrace. "We should go tell Kit."

  "He'll be happy. He's missed you."

  "Is he the only one who will be happy?"

  "No, hardly the only one."

  CHAPTER 21

  It was a joyous entourage that left the inn an hour later, so very different from the sad group that had arrived two weeks earlier. Jessica again was at the reins of the carriage, but this time Kit—smiling, fairly bursting with pride and excitement—rode up on his father's saddle. While Christopher had helped Mrs.

  Bloom pack the carriage, Jessica had written Lucas a quick note, to be left with the innkeeper, telling him that they were on their way home, explaining briefly the reconciliation she and Christopher had made.

  Though she knew that Lucas would be relieved to learn she had finally left the inn, she doubted he'd be pleased over her so hasty forgiveness of her husband. Only time would prove her faith justified; and of that she now had no fears.

  The staff at the house, on the verge of desertion after living with Christopher's volatile temper for weeks, ardently welcomed the return of Jessica and the children, and Jessica was thrilled to be back. She hadn't realized until that moment just how much she had missed her home.

  Shortly after they celebrated their homecoming over a gay lunch, Mrs. Bloom appeared and took her young charges upstairs for a nap. Christopher came around the table to his wife with a twinkle in his eye.

  Putting his arm around her shoulder, he grinned down at her.

  "My love, I wonder if you might accompany me upstairs to the bedroom. There is an urgent matter I must take up with you."

  "Is there?" she said innocently. "If it's so urgent, we can discuss it here."

  "It was not a discussion that I had in mind."

  She lifted her brows. "No?"

  "Madam," he laughed, "we are wasting valuable time. Come." With a quick movement, he lifted her in his arms and began striding from the dining room.

  "What are you doing?" she giggled. "I can walk."

  "Ah, but is this not so much more romantic a beginning to our second honeymoon?"

  "We never had a first, if you'll remember . . . at least, we didn't travel anywhere."

  "And we will not be traveling far this afternoon, although I promise you immeasurable enjoyment."

  Carrying her as though she were a feather in his arms, he lengthened his strides, moving them swiftly up the main staircase.

  "Christopher, what if the servants should see us?"

  "They would be delighted that our reconciliation is going so well."

  "You're impossible." Tightening the grip of her arms about his neck, she pressed her lips to his cheek.

  "But I love you!"

  The moment they were inside the bedroom, he kicked the door shut behind them and carried her toward the bed. Only as he laid her down on the mattress did his expression and tone become serious. "And I love you . . . you do believe that, Jessica? Believe, too, that I will never hurt you again."

  "I believe it."

  "I want to show you just how great my love is."

  His eyes stared deeply into hers ae he leaned forward and pressed his mouth tenderly to her lips. In a moment his tongue sought eagerly for hers.

  Gently, as their kiss grew deeper, his fingers unbuttoned the front of her gown, unlaced the camisole beneath. Lifting his head so that he could look down at her, he slowly pulled the fabric wide and drank in the sight of her soft, full breasts. Only when she was tingling with expectancy, aching to feel his touch on her flesh, did he let his hand brush against her skin, allow his fingers to move over her with a feathery, arousing gentleness; over her midriff, up and around each breast, circling ever higher until his fingertips rubbed across her taut and waiting nipples.

  She moaned, closing her eyes in pleasure.

  "Yes," he whispered. "I have been longing for this, too."

  With his fingertips still caressing one breast, his mouth sought the other, his tongue and the gentle nibbles of his teeth taking over the pleasurable work of his hand.

  Jessica felt her desire growing in a series of delectable waves that rippled through her body, even to her toes. She longed for him; longed for him to continue his exploration, tasting and touching every inch of her.

  When she thought she could stand no more of the longing to have him a part of her, he lifted her shoulders and drew off her gown and camisole, sliding them off her arms and down around her waist. Then he pressed her back against the mattress, his hands gliding over the newly found skin. Slowly, tantali-zingly, he caressed lower, below the waist of her gown, his palm swirling, pressing against her abdomen, teasing ever closer to the heart of her desire. She felt his fingers in the soft triangle of hair; moaned again as with leisured purpose he sent his fingers to explore the throbbing spot between her thighs. With light, tender pressure he touched her again and again.

  Then the delightful touch was withdrawn. Her gown was being pulled down over her hips, along the length of her legs. Only when her nakedness was absolute did his hand come back to resume its delightful journey, drifting so softly and delicately up her legs that she felt they might have been made of silk; lingering on her sensitive inner thighs, ranging oh so slowly upward, inward, until his fingers were caressing again amid the soft, curling hairs, bringing her higher and higher . . . and her whole consciousness was consumed by the ecstasy he was bringing her.

  She was gasping as he brought his lips up to her ear. "Let it come, my love . . . let it comer I want so much to take you all the way like this, give you that joy."

  His coaxing words swelled the crescendo already building within her, drawing her closer and closer until she was

  overwhelmed by a wave of such utter and complete pleasure, she was left writhing and trembling.

  "My love . . . oh, yes," he whispered. His kisses covered her flushed face; her forehead, her cheeks, her eyelids, her lips.

  As he leaned over her, she was conscious of the heat of his own need pressing against the constriction of his trousers, burning into the skin of her thigh. She reached for him, her hand rubbing softly over the hard, hot bulge, eager to give him the pleasure he'd just brought her. He moaned, his hips straining toward the contact of her hand.

  Then he was rising quickly, casting off
his clothes. Her eyes swept over his tall frame as first his jacket was discarded, then his shirt. She reveled in the sight of his broad chest, with its thick mat of softly curling hair that tapered down over his firm belly. She watched as his hands went to the fastening of his breeches, her breath frozen in her throat as he slipped the garment down over his hips, revealing the full evidence of his desire. And hers was equal as she waited for his undressing to be complete. He came to stand beside the edge of the bed and gazed down at her, his blue eyes hazy with love and passion, his sculpted body silhouetted in the golden glow of the mid-afternoon sunlight cast from the partially curtained windows. Then he slid down beside her, and she welcomed his warm strength in her arms, gloried in the feel of his flesh touching hers. She held him close, smoothed her palms over his firm skin, over the muscles of his back. Their lips met hungrily, their tongues seeking and touching. As his arms cradled her ever more tightly, she felt the warm staff of his manhood pressing between her thighs; craved a wholeness that would not come until they were one with each other. Gently she brought her hand down to encourage him, massaging him until his breathing was harsh and heavy.

  "Jessica, I need you . . . I want you."

  "Come . . . come to me . . ."

  He moved over her, his body tense with aroused passion. She knew a thrill of anticipation as she waited for his warmth to enter her, a thrill that was heightened a hun-dredfold as he slowly pressed forward, joining their bodies into one being.

  She wanted nothing else but this man; no other could ever fulfill her as he could do, bring the ecstasy he was bringing now as he moved within her, deeper and deeper, until her senses were spinning, reeling, and they were merged together in a space where nothing but them and their loving existed.

  The movement of their bodies became ever more urgent and intense.

  "You feel so wonderful!" she cried.

  He was beyond answering. Enveloped in her warm softness, his every nerve registering only the greatest ecstasy, he felt his senses pitching ever upward toward that ultimate, overwhelming release. The sensations of his body blocked out all other reality, except that this was his beloved wife in his arms, bringing him such pleasure. Then he gasped as his climax was upon him with a shattering explosion. "Jessica . . . Jessica!"

  She pulled him closer still, knowing his joy; feeling that same joy within herself. She held him thus, treasuring his sweat-dampened skin, the thud of his heartbeat against her breasts, the scent of his sweet breath gusting on her cheek, until his tense body began to relax; until his lips gently touched her ear.

  "What you do to me, sweet wife," he breathed softly. "I have told you that before."

  "What you do to me." .

  "I love you so very much, Jessica."

  "I love you, too . . . always . . . forever."

  He sighed with contentment, rubbed his cheek against her hair, their bodies clinging together, still joined.

  The world was as it should be, she thought happily. Their love was destiny.

  In the weeks that followed, they sought fervidly to make up for all the pain they'd given each other and suffered; yet there was no conscious effort in the loving looks they exchanged, the touch of a hand across a table, the soft sighs in the night and the arms reaching across to hold the other tight, the gentle, half-awake lovemaking in the morning. They communicated their love, their sense of the oneness of their being, continually to each other, often without a spoken word.

  Christopher took more time from his business, and in those early fall days, as the leaves began to turn, brought his wife and children for drives in the country. He and Jessica began schooling Kit on his new pony, Jessica nervously clasping her hands as the fearless child attempted a low jump; Christopher shouting his proud encouragement as his son went flying over and exuberantly asked for more.

  In the evenings Christopher no longer holed himself up alone in his study, but asked his wife in to join him, and as they sipped a brandy together, they talked as they used to, of politics, what was going on in the world; they talked of their lives, their meeting across centuries, the possibility that they yet might be separated by time. It had been many months since they'd discussed that uncertainty; they had been too concerned about their day-to-day problems. Now, in their happiness, the specter was there again.

  "I would want the children to know," Christopher mused one night, "about how we met, who you are and who I am, my travel to your time and then yours to mine, the three of us arriving here from the twentieth century. They should be prepared should the worst occur and we be separated again."

  "I don't want to think of that possibility." Jessica reached for the security of his hand.

  "No more than I; but we must."

  "I wonder if they will believe us."

  "They will no doubt find it very strange, as would any sane person. And although Kit was born there, he cannot remember his days in the twentieth century."

  "It seems so odd to hear you say that and know it's the truth." She was silent for a moment. "How terrible if the children should be separated from us before they're grown!"

  He looked at her. "Yes, terrible . . . but we have many good friends who would care and fend for them in our

  stead. Far more terrible if we should be separated again from each other."

  To celebrate their refound happiness, they decided to throw the house open for a fabulous party. They would invite everyone, make a weekend celebration of it. The house and grounds were certainly large enough, and they'd entertained so little until now. Christopher was as excited as Jessica as they drew up the invitation list, planned the first evening's ball, the following day's activities for the guests, the concluding dinner and chamber music.

  "We will make it like a London fete." Christopher chuckled. "At last, after all these years, I will get to show you a bit of that society as I knew it."

  "Then I will let you take the lead in all the arrangements," she laughed, "for you, my earl, are the expert."

  In the days just before the party, the household was aflutter with activity, and Jessica threw herself wholeheartedly into the preparations. She wanted everything to be perfect, from the linens on the guest room beds to the arrangements of fall flowers distributed about the house. She went over every detail of the menu with the cook, hired in extra help to assist Clara, a temporary butler to answer the door. As she went through the rooms the afternoon before the party, feeling a proud glow at the beauty of their home, she was reminded sharply of a day, almost three years before, when she'd made a similar inspection of the rooms in the Beard house prior to their Christmas ball. Things were so different now. She was not the meek servant surveying the results of her own physical labors, but the mistress of this incredibly beautiful home. She was not that lonely young woman, aching and empty from the loss of a husband she feared she might never see again. Now she was blissfully reunited at his side. Standing in the drawing room, running her hand over a gleaming table top, gazing out through the front windows at the magnificent expanse of the Sound, she smiled, then laughed aloud in her uncontainable joy. This was happiness—true happiness.

  The guests were lined up in the front hall that clear mid-October evening, waiting to proceed up the grand main staircase to the ballroom on the second floor. The magnificent room, a smaller duplicate of the room that had taken up the whole third wing at Cavenly, had been Christopher's one great extravagance, and it had remained unused until this evening.

  Carriages were still pulling up into the drive as Christopher and Jessica stood at the head of the stairs greeting their guests.

  "Like your parties at Cavenly, my lord?" Jessica leaned over to whisper in his ear.

  He grinned. "Precisely, although I have not before now had the pleasure of my countess standing at my side."

  The orchestra they had hired from New York was already playing in the ballroom; from the excited chatter of the guests, Christopher and Jessica knew the anticipation of those gathered and had overheard that evening various remark
s on the magnificence of the house that many apparently had longed to have an opportunity to see.

  "Ah, Mr. and Mrs. Griswold." Jessica smiled. "We are so delighted you could come. Do enjoy yourselves."

  Christopher was already speaking to the next arrivals. "Ezra . . . and this is your wife, Margaret. My pleasure.

  Welcome to our home." As Christopher bowed and, in truly courtly fashion, brought to his lips the hand of Margaret, wife of Ezra, that woman's cheeks were suffused with a blush of delight.

  "Christopher, look who's here!" Jessica exclaimed as the next guests on the staircase approached. "Willis, Abbey

  —how good to see you!"

  "Ayuh." Mawson grinned, giving Jessica a huge hug. "Would've been here sooner but ran into a bit of congestion down there at the docks. Schooner had to hold out at anchor a couple hours. Would've rowed in, but Abbey didn't want her finery mussed."

  "And I don't blame her." Jessica laughed. "Someone's brought in your luggage?"

  "Your man down there at the door, though from the angle of his nose, he seemed to think himself a bit above it.

  Gettin' yourself up kinda fancy out here in the country, eh, Dunlap?" Mawson winked broadly. "Brit butler and all."

  "We must keep up the appearances," Christopher replied with mock seriousness, "particularly with such honored guests as yourselves."

  "Can't argue that." Willis chuckled as he took Christopher's hand. "Good to see ya."

  "You, too, my friend. And Abbey—my, you are looking lovely this evening." He brought her hand to his lips, and Abbey dimpled.

  "Ought to. Cost me near a week's wages to outfit her."

  "And well worth the expense, I would say."

  Mawson's turned his eyes appreciatively toward his wife. He grinned. "She is lookin' fine. Well, we're holdin' up the proceedings. Best move on. Talk to you later, Dunlap."