Daphne nodded, fearing she couldn't speak because there was a large lump in her throat. She turned and walked out without looking back, but felt his gaze upon her back.
Chapter 23
Daphne breezed into their room followed by Rosie burdened down with enough boxes to make Alexander wince.
"I thought I said only buy enough to travel to London?"
She looked at him in amazement.
"These are all necessary items, and much of what I purchased will be on my back tomorrow, so you have little to fear."
"We'll see," was all the comment he cared to offer on that issue.
"Until now, I did not know you could buy ready-made dresses," Daphne chattered on. "It is not a very efficient system, if you ask me. There is less opportunity to find exactly the right cut or color, and if a dress sits in the shop long enough it will be out of fashion."
She shivered at this frightening scenario, then untied the string on her parcels.
"I must say, though, the frocks Miss West had were quite attractive if one has to resort to such methods. And Miss West said triple Vandyke ruffs are all the kick this year. Can you imagine such a thing? She also said plaid scarves are the fashion. I would look positively Scottish in one, wouldn't I?"
Daphne pulled out a cloak of deep blue wool, similar in color to the coats the naval officers wore, but pedestrian in its form and fashion. She ran her hand over the material and frowned slightly, then shrugged.
"I wish it were pink, but Miss West said pink is an impractical color for a cloak. She found this for me though," Daphne said rummaging through a box and pulling forth some headgear. "Look! It's a cottage bonnet with cornflowers and a pink ribbon. Not the latest style, but I find it just adorable. And I was practical also, Alexander. I did not buy a bonnet so large it would poke you in the eye as we ride in the coach."
She waited, apparently expecting him to respond.
"Good girl?" he said tentatively.
That earned an eye-rolling response from his companion.
"I am not Pompom, you know. Never mind. As I feared, you are useless at this. What about you, Alexander? Did you find clothing?"
"Enough to carry me to London," he said. "There are tailors here whose clients sometimes ship out before they can pick up their clothing, or men selling their garments at secondhand stores, and I found what I needed. I even found boots that were barely worn."
"I look forward to seeing you in your new--well, not new, but new for you--garments."
She unwrapped more parcels and held up a frock of a faded rose color that had a discreetly repaired rip at the arm.
"I never truly thought about what happens to my clothes when I am done wearing them," Daphne mused, looking at the dress. "Now, see, this is a finely-made garment. I imagine it might have belonged to a lady, some years back. Speaking of that, Miss West gave me the latest Ackermann's Repository so I can see how fashions changed while I was gone."
Given how much Alexander authorized for this shopping foray, throwing in a periodical gratis to such a free-spending customer seemed only reasonable. His thrifty Scots heart stuttered as each furbelow and frill was revealed, but oddly enough, he found he was also getting pleasure from seeing Daphne happy with her purchases. Maybe this is why men bought fripperies for their wives--to share in their happiness. After all, didn't he enjoy purchasing a new, finely made lancet?
She unwrapped more linens, and a corset which he thought unnecessary, but Daphne said, "Stick to your surgeries, Dr. Murray. A corset is needed for the proper fit from my garments."
"If you say so. I would rather see you out of your corset than in it."
"Of course you would." She giggled. "You're a man."
By the time their supper arrived, a cold collation which was all they desired after their substantial luncheon, Daphne pronounced herself quite fatigued from the day's events.
"We have an early start so going to bed now is a prudent thing to do," Alexander said. "Pyle will wake us in time to catch the coach."
He'd considered sleeping on a pallet on the floor, but rethought that as he watched her brush out her hair, each tug of the brush through the silken strands a tug at his heart. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to still the voice inside that told him he could have her and her money and live happily ever after with rainbows and butterflies and unicorns.
"'But to see her was to love her, love but her and love forever.'"
"Did you say something, Alexander?"
He opened his eyes, drinking in her face, her form, her love, the joy radiating from her. They only had one night left together. He'd be a damn fool and worse if he did not use this time to its fullest advantage.
"Daphne, you did not remind me to teach you a new word today."
She paused from where she'd been about to braid her hair for bed. He walked over to her and sat beside her, the soft featherbed giving way beneath him.
"Leave it loose," he said, his voice as rough as his fingertips as he caressed the gold. He worked both hands into it and arranged it on her shoulders, falling over the thin gown she wore, soft from repeated washings.
"Rosie gave me the night rail. There were none at Miss West's shop."
"It looks quite practical," Alexander said. His fingers moved down from her hair to where the linen stretched across her bosom, tracing the form beneath, memorizing it with his touch. So many years of his hands being used for painful, dirty work, but he'd always taken pride in his ability to feel inside a wound and remove debris, to stitch torn vessels and mend flesh. Now he thanked whatever forces blessed surgeons with skilled hands, for he wanted to use those hands tonight to pleasure this woman who meant the world to him.
First, there were other things they could do.
"Let us remove our garments so they do not interfere, because it is time for you to learn your new word for today, Daphne."
"It involves taking our clothes off?" Daphne said in delight.
Daphne's comfort with her nudity, her willingness to learn new things--was there ever a more perfect woman? And yet, this could be their final lesson. The cold thought nearly stopped him as he tore off his own garments, but seeing her sitting on her knees on the bed, her skin dewy and flushed with excitement helped him stay focused.
He sat beside her, and cleared his throat.
"Your word for today, Daphne, is...osculation."
"Finally!" Daphne sighed, clasping her hands together. "I wondered when you were going to teach me that one."
She looked down at her bare bosom.
"And I had to take off my clothes? No wonder you did not want to teach me this word during Arnold's surgery!"
"No, that would not have been a good time," he agreed. "However, you've known the meaning of osculation for ages, Daphne, but you did not know the word."
He leaned in, brushing the hair back from her shoulders, moving it behind her ears. She smelled like fields of flowers, but beneath the scent of her soap and creams he smelled Daphne, only Daphne.
"Dr. Murray?"
"Do not be impatient, Miss Farnham. This must be done with skill and not rushed for you to understand the concept properly.
"Osculation is..." his voice lowered so that she had to lean closer yet to hear him. "Osculation is a term used in geometry, Miss Farnham."
Daphne leaned back, surprised.
"Geometry? Isn't that when you study a globe to see where countries are located?"
It was a testament to his current relationship with this amazing woman that her question did not ruin the mood for him. Rather, it almost made him laugh, but he suppressed the urge and took her hand in his.
"No, dear, that is geography. Geometry is the study of measuring the earth, or studying relations between points and lines, curves and surfaces."
He illustrated his definition by running a finger from the point where her nipple stood up under his careful touch, following the curve of the surface, drawing a line up to her neck, which made her giggle, and then down to the other, matching curve, which mad
e her sigh and squirm.
"I like this science, Dr. Murray. I like studying relations, also!"
"I knew that," he said, but in a distracted voice because he, too, had never thought about how much pleasure one could get from the study of geometry, especially when it applied to the planes and surfaces of such a delightful subject.
"But what about osculation?"
"Ah yes," he said, drawn back to his lessons. "Osculation. It is a Latin word..."
"Oooooh, I like Latin!"
"I knew that," he said again, moving his hands and lifting her so she straddled his lap and she put her arms around his neck to steady herself. He looked into her eyes, deepened to a shade that called to mind the sky at gloaming, just after sunset when one can see the first stars and the blue is the blue of mystery and that which is hidden.
There was nothing hidden with Daphne. All her love, all her feelings were in her eyes, open to him just as her lips were open, parted on a breath as she waited for him to instruct her further.
"In geometry, osculation is a contact of two curves at which they have a common tangent. For example, you have a curve here," he outlined her lower lip, "and a curve here," he outlined her upper lip and moved in closer, bringing his arm around her back so that more of her curves came into contact with his planes and angles.
"Now, imagine these curves," he tapped her lower lip lightly, "coming into contact with other curves at a particular point."
"How does that happen?" she whispered, her breath a puff against his own lips.
"Like this."
He cradled his hand around the back of her head, tugging her into the contact of the curve of his lower lip, and her own mouth opened on a sigh as he pulled her tighter, his hand buried in the sunshine of her hair, his tongue exploring her, tasting her, teaching her even as she had taught him about love and passion.
Her lips were moist and full when he pulled his head back, her eyes dreamy.
"Osculation is kissing, isn't it?"
"Osculation is a perfect contact, my love, and your mouth was made for osculation."
"Oh, Dr. Murray, you say the most romantical things! I like this contact," she whispered.
He rocked his hips against her, stroking her, simulating the act of completion they both longed for but were willing to forestall to stretch out this magical time together, to heighten the feelings and sensitivity nurtured by their passion.
Nurtured by their love, though he would not say the words, even now, even with their sojourn together coming to an end. He could not say those words and then walk away from her. But he could create more memories for the two of them. He knew it was not likely either of them would marry for love. Not in their worlds, not in their circumstances. Would it be so awful to pull out one of these memories in later years, like a secretly hoarded treat, and remember a brief period when they were just Daphne and Alexander, not Miss Farnham and Dr. Murray? If it was a sin, he would gladly brave hell's fires. He would not think about tomorrow, and the tomorrow after that. He would revel in this one night, a final night, with the woman he loved.
Then she pulled his head back down to continue her lessons, and he let himself be carried away by the physical world, the wonder of Daphne in his arms.
"So much to learn," she said breathlessly when she broke that perfect contact.
"One can also osculate upon other curves," he whispered into her neck.
"Show me!" she demanded.
"My pleasure."
He put his lips to the curve of her breast, following it with his mouth down to the point at the center of the warm, fragrant globes, their spherical shape demanding further exploration and, of course, more intense osculation.
Daphne clutched at him and writhed in his arms, her sheer joy in the moment, her responsiveness filling his heart. This woman fit him as ideally as two halves coming together for a perfect sphere, like a shimmering drop of rainwater falling through a sunlit sky. She taught him so much. He never knew lovemaking could involve laughter before he met Daphne Farnham.
"Would you like to learn some more geometry, Daphne?"
"Oh, yes!"
"This," he said, taking her hand and moving it down to his groin, "is a rod."
He heard her huff out a laugh in the dark.
"I knew that. Now you are bamming me, Dr. Murray!"
"I would not do that, Daphne, not about something as serious as geometry. Here, feel."
She did, and he kept his hand over hers, stroking up and down. He was so hard he ached and nearly lost his ability to continue the lesson, but he gritted his teeth and tried to concentrate, not think about how her warm, soft hand felt as it moved up and down his...
"Shaft!" he gasped. "A solid, three-dimensional cylinder is a rod, or a shaft, or dear heavens that feels exquisite!"
"I wonder if rods and osculation go together?" she murmured.
Mindlessly he followed her instructions as she climbed over and knelt between his legs and put her Latin skills to work. Daphne cradled his balls in her hand while the other worked him in a perfect rhythm with her skilled tongue and mouth, and he clutched the bed linens and could not think about geometry, trigonometry, calculus, or any cold numerals but only the sensation of the wet heat enveloping him, how her tongue snaked around the tip of his rod, stroking the sensitive spot behind the crown that forced a sound of delight from deep in his chest.
She paused then, and pulled all the way off of him, and he sighed with regret. Until she eased forward again, lifting him with her hand and he felt her wet mouth on his ball sack while her hand worked him. And then...and then...
Dear heaven, he would never complain about her humming again!
When he stopped seeing stars behind his closed eyelids, and his breathing returned to normal, he turned his head and saw the succubus lying next to him, her head propped on her hand and a smile that must be termed smug sitting on her pretty mouth.
Sweat darkened the curls around her face and he brushed one away from her eye.
"I did not want to finish without you, Daphne."
She looked down at his relaxed member.
"Are you done for the night, Dr. Murray? I thought you navy men were made of sterner stuff."
He pushed himself up on his elbow.
"Are you challenging me, Miss Farnham?"
She just smiled at him, and he pulled her into his arms and kissed her, tasting himself in her mouth, tasting her. If the reputation of the Senior Service rested on his ability to rise to the occasion, he must be prepared to give his all.
"I have not finished instructing you, Miss Farnham," he said sternly, which elicited a coo of delight from his student as he positioned her across his lap. She shivered in the cool air and he pulled the covers around her, but knew better ways to warm her up.
"The mouth, my dear Daphne, is an amazing organ, as you just demonstrated so skillfully. Your ears hear." He took one soft lobe between his teeth and pressed down, which caused her to gasp and clutch his arms.
He moved his fingertips over her soft eyebrows and he felt the lashes flutter down like butterflies coming to rest on her cheeks, then he kissed each lid.
"Your eyes see, but your mouth, Daphne, your beautiful mouth can do so much more. It can lick." And he demonstrated against her neck as he laid her back on the bed.
"Bite." He nipped at the juncture of her neck and shoulder, and she licked her own lips, parted now on her panting breaths.
"Suck." He showed her, demonstrating on first one breast, then the other, her nipples engorged and hard as she encouraged him to do more, and he moved down her body to accommodate her, until he came to the place where she was ready for his attentions, honey flowing from her core. He felt a wholly male and primitive burst of satisfaction that he was the man who aroused this woman to this level, where she was begging him in that breathy little voice of hers to demonstrate osculation to her complete satisfaction.
So he lowered his mouth to her, and with his tongue, and his lips, and his skilled know
ledge of anatomy he licked, and bit gently, and sucked, and caressed her until her back bowed off the bed and she cried out at the completion of his lesson on osculation.
By this time he was ready to move from geometry to more practical applications of mechanics, demonstrating the insertion of a rod into a cylinder, not as a cold mechanical device, but the complete joining of two individuals in a timeless dance of love and satisfaction.
By the faint light filtering in through the window he saw her watching him as he rose over her, her mouth relaxed and full, her eyes heavy-lidded as her desire built again, and when he finally slipped into her welcoming heat she continued to watch him, as he watched her, silently sharing their love as their bodies said what he could not say aloud.
At the end there was no way he could keep it inside him, any more than he could stop the rush of his desire for her when he felt himself tighten and strain to be part of her forever.
"My love, my love," he whispered into her hair as she climaxed, crying out his name.
"You will see, Alexander," she said afterward as she dropped off to sleep. "Everything will work out for the best."
He knew that. He would do whatever was necessary to make sure Daphne had the best life she could. And it would not be the life she'd have married to an impecunious surgeon.
He held her in his arms, stroking her hair until she fell asleep. When the dawn began to lighten the room, he was still awake, staring at the ceiling.
* * * *
The trip to London was mercifully uneventful as the scarlet wheels turned and turned, taking Daphne home. At first she chatted with the other passengers, a curate of middle years who did not appear at all interested in the latest fashion trends, and a motherly woman engrossed in her knitting. Mrs. Nealy was interested in hearing about the new bonnets being worn by London ladies, but acknowledged she came to town not to shop, but to assist her daughter in childbirth, hence the need to finish the garment growing beneath her clacking needles.
"Taking the mail was more dear than I planned, but it's my Bessie's first, and I wanted to be there with her," she said.
"What a fortunate girl, to have her mother with her," Daphne said, and couldn't keep a note of sadness from her own voice. Her hand rested on her own belly. She did not think there was a baby growing in there, but how wonderful it would be if there was! She must learn to knit so she, too, could make darling little jackets and blankets to keep her baby warm.
Castaway Dreams Page 32