THREE HEROES

by Jo Beverley

  “You think I’m not?” When she just looked at him, he said, “I want this to be perfect for you, my heart. But perfection really isn’t possible.”

  She smiled and ran her hand through his hair. “Whatever it is, it will be perfect.”

  He kissed her quickly. “Continue to take notes, then,” he said, and turned his attention to her breasts.

  “I like that,” she said. “Oh! I feel as if I’m coming down with a fever. But not at all ill. Uncomfortable, though. Inside.”

  His hand slid down. “Perhaps I can heal that.” He paused to circle her navel; then his fingers pushed into the hair between her thighs, close to the tingling ache.

  She followed every touch and sensation in her mind, marveling.

  “Open for me, sweetheart.”

  When had she pushed her thighs so tightly together? She hastily spread them, breath held, and his fingers slid deeper.

  Slid. She could feel moisture there. “The Delectable Dew of Deliquescent Desire…”

  “What?”

  She hadn’t realized that she’d spoken aloud. “A book called it that.”

  “A bedazzling book of bridal bemusement?”

  Laughing, she said, “The Annals of Aphrodite. It was rather alliterative.”

  “So I hear. You are Definitely Delectable.”

  “Impossibly Impatient?”

  “Dauntingly Demanding.”

  They collapsed into laughter, but he looked at her. “Don’t you think perhaps we could take this seriously?”

  “Why?”

  “Because I’m becoming Desperately Desirous.”

  He was ruffled and rosy. She laughed again at all the r’s, but said, “Then I am Wonderfully Willing.”

  He pressed his hand back between her thighs. “But not Rapturously Ready, my Pulchritudinous Pleasure.”

  Beautiful pleasure. She didn’t know if she was truly beautiful, but he was, and this was, made more so by the blessing of laughter. She would never have imagined being in a bed with a naked man entwined in laughter.

  Her hips rose of their own accord to greet his fingers, and an ache intensified. Passion’s Penultimate Pang. They were near the end?

  It was deep, deep inside her. Where he would go.

  Soon, she prayed. Soon.

  “Does that feel good?” he asked.

  “Oh, yes. But…”

  He began to circle his hand. “Better?”

  All the feelings seemed to rush to the place he pressed on, and her hips pushed up again. “Oh! The Precious Pearl of Eden’s Ecstasy.”

  “Probably.” He laughed into her dazed eyes. “By all means, tell me what else you recognize as we go.”

  “The Wanton Wave of Womanly Welcome,” she gasped as her body rose up and fell of its own accord. “I tried it. Stroking the Precious Pearl… It was pleasant, but not like this!”

  Her body seemed to clench itself painfully, but she wanted more.

  “Books for men tend to emphasize the delicacy of the pearl,” he murmured into her ear. “Those for women should doubtless emphasize firmness. Tell me if I hurt you.”

  His hand pressed harder, and his mouth settled hot against her breast. Something shot between his mouth and his hand, and Clarissa let out a little shriek. “The Searing Spear of Sensual Sublimation!”

  Her senses were firing off into sparks and sparkles, but she tried to comment as he’d asked, “And… the Final Fragrant Fragmentation. Oh, my! Don’t stop!”

  “I won’t.”

  She wanted to push back, so she did, again and again, desperately seeking something that wasn’t alliterative at all.

  And then she died.

  She felt it. That sudden, perfect stop, then the torrent of sensation that left her shaking and breathless.

  Then he moved over her, and as her mind came together she realized that it wasn’t his hand anymore.

  It was him against her.

  She was still quivering and aching, and she caught back a cry, not sure if it was of need or protest. Her body seethed with sensitivity, but he was forcing her hips wide, forcing her open in a way his fingers had not. She felt impaled—

  She stifled the shriek, but then said, “That hurt!” and was shocked back to the real and awkward world.

  He stilled. “Are you all right?”

  She wanted to say no, that she needed time to get used to this, that perhaps they should try again another day. But she could sense his tense desperation, and could imagine what he might be feeling.

  “Of course,” she said, trying for laughter again. “The… Perfumed Portal has been Pierced.” Oh, but she was invaded. “So it’s time for the… Masculine Mastery of Maidenly Mysteries.”

  “Not maidenly anymore,” he said, but she was rewarded by his abrupt surrender to his needs.

  The Fearful Phallic Ferocity. She knew just what the Annals had meant.

  Again, and again, and again.

  She could bear it, she could bear it, she could bear it.

  But then pain faded and other feelings flowed back. Fierce, thunderous feelings, shared with him. She found she was meeting his movements, harder and harder, thrust for thrust.

  The Joyous Joust!

  Then he froze. She could feel the rigid tension in every inch of his muscular body. She opened her eyes to revel in the sight of him, beautiful in the light and shadow of this perfect room, lost in the little death.

  Oh, yes, making love was a very dangerous thing. They were more than naked here. They were naked to the soul.

  He relaxed as if the Wave of Womanly Welcome had rolled over him, and collapsed to kiss her in the way she needed to be kissed. In the way that expressed the shattering experienced.

  Then he rolled to the side, still tangled with her, to hold her close. They were plastered together at every possible point, sealed by sweat, and she found it impossible to imagine ever being separated again, even by clothes.

  They were one. Forever. Indivisible.

  She kissed his chest, then wriggled up to kiss his mouth, then looked into his sated eyes. “That was perfect.”

  “Perfectly Perfect? That’s as close to alliteration as I can come at the moment.”

  His eyes were amused, but above all they were deeply content and centered on her. “Perfection will come, and we’ll enjoy the practice.” He closed his eyes and laughed. “Is it possible to say a sentence without two words starting with the same sound? After this, I’m going to embarrass myself every time I open my mouth.”

  She sprawled on his chest, looking at him. “Persistent Practice?”

  His eyes opened. “You want to fly higher and higher?”

  “Why not? Why stay close to ground?”

  “For safety?”

  “Do we care about safety?”

  “Yes,” he said, smile fading, “I rather think we do. I intend to keep you safe, love, even if it does mean staying in the nest.”

  She snuggled even closer. “That won’t be too bad if the nest has a bed. When can we do it again?”

  He looked at her. “I had the impression it hurt you quite a bit.”

  When she thought about it, she could feel soreness. “The design of the female body is very inconvenient.”

  “Most parts of it are thoroughly delightful,” he said, cradling a breast and kissing it. “Especially yours.”

  She dared to ask. “Do you like my breasts?”

  “I adore your breasts.”

  “More than other women’s breasts?”

  He looked up. “Don’t. That’s a game that no one wins. You are you. I love you. I have never loved a woman as I love you. As it happens, you have very beautiful breasts, full and pale, with generous, rosy nipples. But it wouldn’t matter if they were otherwise. They would still be the breasts of the woman I love.”

  She put wondering hands to her body, to her breasts. “It’s hard for me to think of myself that way.”

  “As beautiful?”

  “And loved.” She felt tears threaten, and she
didn’t want to spoil this with tears. She smiled and put one hand on his chest. “You have a beautiful body, too.”

  “Is that all I am to you? A beautiful body?”

  He spoke teasingly, but she sensed that the same need pulsed through him as her.

  “No, you’re the man I love. If you went back to war and came home scarred and maimed, you would still be the man I love.”

  “Why?” But then he put up a hand to stop her answer. “God, no. That’s another game that no one wins.”

  She wanted to laugh. “Why wouldn’t any woman fall in love with you? You’re handsome, honorable, brave, strong…” But she moved down to kiss the hawk on his chest. “For me, though, the most wonderful thing is the way I’ve been able to talk to you from the first. You are my deepest, lifelong friend. I know you have other friends—”

  He sealed her lips with his fingers. “None closer. Now.”

  “Truly?”

  His eyes were steady and deep. “Truly. For as long as you wish.”

  She began to cry. She couldn’t help it. This was the most perfect moment of her life, but she was sobbing as if she’d lost everything that mattered. He gathered her close, rocking her and murmuring for her to stop. She tried, but she couldn’t.

  “It’s all right,” she managed. “I’m happy, not sad!”

  “Lord save me from you sad, then, love. Do stop, please.”

  She laughed and wiped her face on the sheet. “I look a mess when I cry, too.”

  He helped her dry her eyes and didn’t deny her statement. For some reason, that put the perfect finish on perfection.

  This was all completely honest.

  She ran a hand across Hawk’s wide shoulders, then down the center of his chest, just wanting to touch. She traced the scar again, chilled by how close it must have been to fatal.

  “It was a mere glancing blow.”

  “I’m surprised it didn’t break your ribs.”

  “Cracked them. Hurt like the devil.”

  She stroked along the scar. “I’m glad you’re not at war anymore.”

  “I was rarely in much danger. Unlike others.”

  She looked up. “Why do you blame yourself? Your work was important.”

  “I know.”

  “But you still felt as if you were shirking,” she risked, sliding down and holding him, his head on her shoulder.

  She thought he wouldn’t speak of it, and she didn’t dare to press him further. But then he began to talk, about his army life, but especially about others, including Lord Vandeimen and Lord Amleigh.

  She listened, stroking his hair, blending deeper with him at every word. She kept feeling she’d found perfect happiness, only to rise up to more, and more. She truly felt she might fly away, but it would be to heaven.

  Heaven. Ah, yes. No purgatory for her. Certainly no hell. Instead, miraculously, she had heaven.

  Except for the small worm of her involvement in Deveril’s death.

  It was time to tell her story. But not quite yet. This time was for him. He was talking about Hawkinville now.

  “I went into the army to escape it. When I returned a few weeks ago, I planned to deal with whatever problems my father had and ride away. I didn’t intend to cut myself off from Van and Con, but I didn’t think I could live there.

  “But when I rode in, people recognized me. God knows how, since most of them hadn’t seen me since I was sixteen. And I recognized them. Not always immediately, but within minutes it was as if the passing years had disappeared. Even my old nurse…”

  He moved his head restlessly against her. “Nanny Briggs saved my life. She was my mother in all true senses of the word. Even after she left my father’s service, I spent more time in her house than at the manor. I sent her letters and gifts. But I hadn’t thought she really mattered to me anymore until I saw her.

  “In ten years she’d gone from a robust woman to a frail one, shrunken, crooked, and in pain. And in ten years, I’d hardly given her a thought apart from casually sent packages. Of course, she’d treasured every one.”

  He suddenly shifted, moving up to look at her. “Why am I boring you with all this? Come and be kissed for being such a good listener.”

  The kiss was Hawk’s kiss, as skillful and delightful as ever, and yet afterward, cuddled against him, Clarissa pined for the links that might have been forged with the words he had left unsaid.

  “I wasn’t bored,” she said. “I don’t think you should blame yourself for not thinking of them. When a person grows, he will often leave his home and start anew. And I’m sure war demands a man’s attention. You would not have wanted to be distracted.”

  His hand was stroking her back again, and she remembered him stroking Jetta, remembered wanting to be stroked that way. And now she had it. For as long as they both should live…

  He nuzzled her hair. “I’ve never embarrassed myself with so much chatter before.”

  She smiled against his skin. “You’ve never been married before.”

  “We’re not now.”

  “As good as. In the eyes of heaven. I’ve never felt like this, either, Hawk. I’ve never truly had someone to be with like this. It’s like catching sunlight and finding it can be held in the hands forever.”

  “Or having heaven here on earth.”

  “Perfect Perpetual Paradise,” she murmured on a laugh. This would be the moment to tell him. So at peace, so relaxed, so inextricably bound.

  And yet, it would change things. They’d have to talk, to make sense, to leave the soft clouds. Better surely to sleep now, and do the telling in the morning.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Clarissa awoke to sunshine and warm, musky smells, to strangeness inside and around. And then to memory.

  She turned her head slowly, but he was there, beside her, still trustingly asleep, turned away. He’d thrown the covers off down to his waist, so she could indulge in luxuriant study of the lines of his back, of his muscular arm bent close to her. She longed to ease forward and kiss it, taste his warmth and skin, but she wouldn’t wake him yet.

  When he awoke she would have to tell him, and it pricked at her. It wasn’t precisely wrong not to have told him. It couldn’t make any particular difference to him. It wasn’t as if she was in danger of being arrested.

  But she wished this moment was enshrined in perfect honesty.

  On that thought, she reached out to touch his arm.

  He stirred, rolled, then his eyes opened sharply. She saw that second of disorientation before he relaxed and smiled. But guardedly. Such shadows behind his smile. Why?

  Ah.

  She smiled for him. “I have no regrets. I love you, and this was the first night of our life together.”

  He took her hand, the one wearing the rings, and pressed it to his lips. “I love you, too, Clarissa. This will be as perfect as I can possibly make it.”

  She almost let go of why she’d awakened him, but she would not weaken now. “Almost no regrets,” she amended. As he became suddenly watchful, she added, “I have something to tell you, Hawk, and I think it requires clothing and cool heads.”

  He kept hold of her hand. “You’re already married?”

  “Of course not!”

  “You’re not Clarissa Greystone, but her maid in disguise.”

  “You’ve been reading too many novels, sir.”

  He pulled her closer. “You eloped only because you were consumed with carnal lust for my luscious body.”

  She resisted. “You’re beginning to sound like The Annals of Aphrodite,” she said severely, “and of course I lust. But I also love.”

  “Then nothing troubles us.”

  “I could have lost all my money on wild investments in fur cloaks for Africa.”

  His smile deepened. “You’re a minor.”

  “I gammoned my trustees.”

  “I’m not at all surprised.” He gently tugged her closer. “Would you care to gammon me?”

  She went, let herself be drawn
to his lips, but in a moment she tugged free and clambered out of the bed. “Later,” she said, but then froze, suddenly aware of her total nakedness.

  Then she laughed and faced him brazenly.

  He sat up equally brazenly, completely splendid, tousled, smiling.

  “Carnal lust,” she murmured, and made herself turn away to search for her shift, her corset, and her lamentably muddy stockings.

  When she looked back he was already into his drawers. “I wish I had a clean dress to wear.”

  “We’ll find you one in London. Much though I’d like to linger here, beloved, we’d best have breakfast and be on our way.”

  Awareness of the world, of pursuit, drained delight.

  She hurried into her shift and corset, then went to him to have the strings tied. A sweet and simple task, and yet to have a man tie her laces seemed a mark of the complete change in her life.

  As he tied the bow, she turned in his hands and started what must be done. “I was present when Lord Deveril died,” she said, intent on his expression.

  It hardly seemed to change at all. “I guessed.”

  “How? Why?”

  “Perhaps because I’m the Hawk.” But his lashes lowered as if that might not be the whole truth.

  She put that aside. “I need to tell you about it. I should have before, but I couldn’t until now. You’ll see why.”

  His eyes were steady on her again. “Very well. But you wanted clothing and cool?”

  She hurried to put on her dress and stockings, though she had to hunt for her second garter. He was dressed by then, and she went to him to have her buttons fastened. As he did the last one, he brushed her hair aside and she felt heat, wet heat, up the back of her neck.

  “When I saw you in this dress, Falcon, you made me think of dairy cream, and I wanted to lick you.”

  She laughed and turned, pushing him playfully away. Something she could do when she knew there would be tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow.

  Even, perhaps, later. They’d clearly eluded any pursuit. There was no real need to rush on to London.

  Once her conscience was clear.

  She sat on the rather hard chair at one end of the table and indicated that he should sit on the other, at a safe distance. His brows rose, but he obeyed.