Speak Only Love
Page 40
The butler looked startled. "I, sir. Oh, no, sir. What goes on out of doors is not my business really. I don't know that anyone inside the house does. Jacob and his sons, the gardeners, you know, are very taciturn. But her ladyship knows. It's always been her favorite place. No one ever had to look any further when she was lost. She learned it when she was—”
"—just a little girl."
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Bunches of bright blue squills lined the gray flagstone path and, behind them, yellow daffodils. A warm breeze blew across the flowers, ruffling them and carrying their perfume to his nostrils.
He paused at the entrance to the maze, his fists on his hips, absorbing as he had never had occasion to before the scent and sight of a garden coming alive with spring, growing and blooming profusely.
The breeze brushed his cheeks and lifted his hair from his brow. He felt an almost overwhelming urge to bow his head. Stone Glenn was heaven. He knew because until he came here, he had lived in hell.
He turned first to the right, but less than a quarter around, he ran into a wall of hedge. This was going to be simple. More turns, more double backs, but always he pressed onward, going closer and closer, the circles getting smaller and smaller.
Finally, he heard her voice humming softly. He smiled. He could picture her-in all likelihood sitting on a bench, a wide straw hat shading her delicate skin. "Vivian."
The humming stopped. He guessed that she smiled. "Hurry, darling."
He rounded the end of the last wall and stepped into a green room, its ceiling the blue sky. No bench as he had imagined. Instead a pear tree with a cloud of white blossoms, and a blanket on the ground beneath it.
His wife lay stretched upon it. Her magnificent hair was unbound, her feet bare. She stretched out her hand. "Piers."
He stopped thunderstruck. "V-vivian?"
"I'm so happy, sweetheart. And I've had this dream for so long."
"Dream?"
"I'm home and safe, Piers." She smiled as tears welled in her eyes. "I'm so happy. This is the heart of Stone Glenn. I want you to love me here."
He crossed the ground in a rush and dropped down on his knees beside her. "Vivian."
The kiss he gave her was long and slow, melting and shaking them both. Desire grew swiftly as his own emotions made him tremble. He cradled her against his chest. "I'm happy to be part of your dream," he told her humbly.
"I want it to be yours, too," she whispered, her skin delicately flushed. Her lips slid along his throat, feeling the pulse that leaped and drummed.
She might have touched the pattern of nerves beneath the skin as well, touched them with a fire that heated the very blood in his veins. He lifted his head to facilitate her sweet torture. The blossoms of the pear tree swung against the blue sky as he sank back onto the blanket.
Her fingers loosened his clothing and her mouth followed her hands, coaxing him, torturing him until he could not endure another moment. Ecstasy rushing through his veins, he possessed her with long, deep, languorous strokes while she moaned and wept and praised him.
"Piers!"
At last she called his name in her sweet voice. He gave her what she asked for in full measure. The shuddering began deep within her body, drawing him deeper, drawing the very life of him into her.
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And throughout their lives whenever they walked the maze together, at first with the son they had conceived there, and later with their other children and grandchildren, he would take his hand in hers and kiss it. "Say my name," he would bid her.
"Piers," she would reply. "Piers, my love."
About the Author
After being a teacher for twenty-five years, DEANA JAMES found herself restless, searching for a new career, a new way to express herself. Encouraged by her husband and her daughter, she set about to write historical romances. Zebra Books published Lovestone in 1983 and has since published eleven more including Masque of Sapphire, Captive Angel, Crimson Obsession, Texas Star, and Wild Texas Heart. Between writing and teaching, Deana enjoys dancing with the Metropolitan Ballet of Dallas and traveling to some wonderful, frequently exotic place where she can set her next novel.