There were some nights now when he didn’t have nightmares at all if she waited until he was asleep and just got in the bed beside him and nestled against his shoulder.
She was pleased to see that he also allowed her to do more and more things for him, like help with his stock and cravat, and even on a couple of occasions help him into the bed at night, for example when it was Robin the valet’s day off.
She was sure she loved him, or as sure as anyone could be who had not taken the relationship to a more physical stage. That aspect of it thrilled and frightened her. She had never seen the gentle side of romance, not even kissing except during the early days of her whirlwind courtship with her husband. If she had never even managed a simple kiss without getting tossed on her back, how on earth was she to manage the rest of it?
The idea of being in control, of the lingam massage, and a few of the other hints which Eswara had dropped about the difficulties of she and Michael having a sexual relationship given his condition filled her with curiosity.
She went back to the Royal Crescent determined to learn what she needed to know. She didn’t have to apply it, she told herself, but she could arm herself with the knowledge just in case.
About a week later, when she and Ash had been left alone for a minute, he said, "I’d like to ask you a favour, if I may."
"Yes?"
"Would you please kiss me on the mouth?"
She had been massaging his chest, and now all the colour flew to her face and she lifted her hands abruptly.
"No, really, I can’t. I mean, it’s not that you aren’t handsome, it’s just, well, it’s not proper. You’re so young and we’re just friends and—"
"Just one kiss. An experiment. Between friends."
She blushed, but met his lips and allowed the gliding sensation to take over. It was pleasant, not the disgusting and brutal act of possession her husband had inflicted upon her.
They relaxed and kissed with parted lips, each peeping their tongue into the other’s mouth to taste and explore.
They must have kissed for ten minutes, and at the end of it, Bryony lifted her head, none the worse for wear, and sighed in relief.
"There, that wasn’t so bad, was it?"
"No, Ash. Thank you. It was very sweet. But it was like kissing I don’t know, a brother, not a husband. Not someone I’m in love with. I’m sorry."
To her relief he nodded. "I know. It’s the same for me. You don’t blame me for being curious though?"
"No, not at all. I to admit I was curious too. And you were trying to help me, I know. Showing that it isn’t something to be frightened of."
He smiled. "And it’s always good to compare. So long as no feelings are hurt, of course. So that when I meet the woman I’m going to marry, I will know it."
She stared at him. "Do you really think so?" she asked with interest.
He nodded. "Intimacy is a hard thing to achieve. We all set up so many barriers. The physical is the main one. Touching, seeing each other, being ashamed, wanting to hide ourselves, our feelings for fear of being ridiculed, hurt. We fear giving too much of ourselves away, of it then being turned on us, used as a weapon against us. So now that we’ve got that out of the way and you’ve also seen my body, now I get to see yours."
"Ash, you could have put it better than that," his mother said as she came into the room.
"Sorry, Mother, Bryony. I merely meant that she has to learn about not being so self-conscious. It’s hard to forge intimacy with someone if you’re shielding yourself all the time."
His mother smiled. "He’s right, you know. Even if he may be forgiven his adolescent curiosity. But I would be happy to give you a full body massage."
Bryony was embarrassed, but seeing as turn about was fair play and she had had more than an eyeful of both mother and son from practising massage on them, she waved aside the silk robe Eswara offered her, removed all of her clothing, and lay down on her front.
There followed the most wonderful half-hour of her life, with the warm oil and both Eswara and Ash’s hands working magic upon her. She had thought it would dredge up all sorts of sexual feelings, but it was more a soaring sense of well-being.
At the end, when Eswara told her to breathe deeply and just relax there for a few minutes, she said, "That was wonderful. Especially the back and shoulders. So how can I persuade Michael to let me do this to him, do you think?"
"Why not start with the shoulders and being extra nice to him? Then see if you can’t convince him. I shall give you some oil and you can try it. You can also use talc so you’re not so slippery.
"As for your body, your fears about moving to a different, more intimate relationship with Michael, I’m sure that anyone who loves you will find you gorgeous, even if you had any flaws. But you don’t. You’re a most comely young lady, even after having borne two children.
"But it’s your heart which is the most lovely thing about you, Bryony, if you will forgive an old woman for saying so. You’ve had a hard time, and yet you still care about us and about Michael enough to want to help. You have the soul of a healer."
"Thank you, Eswara. I’m going to try," she said, getting up from the low couch and beginning to put her clothes back on with easy movements, not even trying to hide herself from Ash’s earnest golden gaze. "I don’t know if I’ll succeed, but I can only ask, indirectly of course, and see if it works."
"And if it does, the two of you can explore so much more."
"May I have another massage some time?"
"Yes, of course. And if you ever want to learn about the lingam and yoni massage, I have some very useful books on the Tantra. Ash can tell you what you need to know about pleasing men, and yourself."
She shot him a shy look. "Oh no, we’re just friends. That kiss was— I would never—"
"I was simply talking from the academic point of view. But there’s nothing wrong with discussing it with my son if you wanted to pursue the matter further with Michael."
She laughed. "Is there such a thing as an academic point of view on, well, sexuality?"
"Well, to know something is to study it. Study yourself. Learn what pleases you and share that with Michael. Learn what delights him. He may be injured at the moment, but that’s not to say he isn’t capable of great pleasure.
" And he may not always be injured like that. Even if he is, he still needs love and tenderness just like the rest of us. If as you say he is physically able so far as you can tell, then he must be resisting human contact because he feels he’s not deserving of happiness and pleasure. We will need to cure him of that over time."
She shrugged into her gown with a sigh. "I can barely get near him when he is awake except for business, working on the dictionary and so on. How am I supposed to—"
"Let him have fun," Eswara suggested. "You English can be far too serious. Discover what things he enjoys. Learn about his favourite food and drink. Make every day joyous for him, every day a birthday or Christmas. Which is coming up in a few weeks, and an excellent time to make him feel as if he’s the most important person in the world. Which I have a feeling he is, after your sons, of course."
Bryony nodded eagerly. "You're right. I've been so busy I've scarcely even thought about the matter."
"Your little gifts don’t have to be expensive, just thoughtful. Just to make sure Michael feels cared about. Treasured. As you would hope to feel treasured yourself one day by someone who really loved you. Someone who didn’t simply marry you for your money or for your good breeding stock."
"Hmm, you’re right. Michael was frightened of me being too obvious and open about my romantic interest, felt threatened, vulnerable. Doesn’t want me to feel used. But if he feels cherished he will come to accept my feelings. Thank you."
Impulsively she gave her a hug. "Thank you both."
She kissed Ash on the cheek and left to do some shopping.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Michael was pleased that Bryony seemed to be enjoying the Baths, but miss
ed her every minute she was out of the house, and dreaded her coming to him one day to tell him that she had a new gentleman friend in her life.
She seemed so much more radiant and happy these days, he was sure she was recovering from her past, and that no man in his right mind could fail to find her attractive.
Even her posture had changed, from hunched with arms folded except when she was with the boys, to much more at ease, happily swinging and even skipping down the hall from room to room.
When Bryony returned to the house that afternoon laded down with parcels, he was almost certain he had lost her, for she looked like a woman who had been well and truly kissed and loved. He noticed she had not quite done up all of the fastenings of her gown as if she had dressed hurriedly. He felt sick with apprehension and jealousy, but told himself there could be a perfectly logical explanation.
For one thing she mentioned she had gone to the dressmakers’. The cold weather always gave her a high colour which made her now rosy cheeks and lips glow. Surely if she had been with a lover, she would not have gone out of her way to go to the bookstore to pick up the books they needed and gift him with a copy of a novel he said he had heard was very good.
There was also a new mixture of tobacco for him to try, and she showed him the knitting wool she intended to use for a new muffler and gloves for him. A warm hunter plaid flannel waistcoat also appeared, along with some toys for the boys which had them scurrying off into the corner to play.
Supper was the best he had had since he couldn’t remember, a variety of vegetables cooked in all sorts of interesting spices which her new friend Eswara from India had been teaching her about.
"These potatoes are wonderful. So crispy and golden. And the green beans, delicious," he praised sincerely.
"Have another glass of wine?" she suggested with a warm smile.
He nodded and held out his glass. "I think I will."
After supper she played and sang for him. Though he didn’t want the evening to end, as soon as he began to nod off, soothed by the music, she took him to his room and began to help him prepare for bed.
"You should ring for Robin," he protested at length.
"I don’t mind," she said untying his cravat and removing his stock, and for the first time not even bothering to try to avoid any accidental touches of his bare flesh.
She worked with a businesslike efficiency, unafraid for once. Nothing was going to happen between them that she didn’t want, she knew that now. And want she did. If only he did.
After a couple of days of letting the Christmas spirit into the house, she felt confident enough one night when she was sitting sewing in the drawing room to broach the subject she had been skirting around ever since her first visit to the baths when she had met Ash and Eswara.
"I do think now that the weather is getting colder, you might consider taking some comfort where you can find it. The baths, for example."
His face fell, and he looked as grimly stern and forbidding as he had the first time he had ever mentioned what a waste of time he had found them to be.
"There’s no point. I’m never going to—"
"I’m so convinced you’re going to get well. I’ll bet anything you like on it," she said with a lift of her chin.
He gave a broad grin which could almost have been described as a leer. "Anything?" he challenged softly.
"Anything," she confirmed, feeling no trepidation at the light she saw sparkling in his unusual eyes.
His spirits high after the wonderful evening they had had, Michael said in jest, "All right. If I go to the Baths, you have to sleep with me."
She blushed, but nodded without a moment’s hesitation. "Fine. Though you might want to clarify the word sleep. Why not say go to bed with you? That can cover a multitude of sins and possibilities."
She thought with a small sensual shiver about all the nights she had slept with him, and wanted so much more.
Michael stared at her, flabbergasted at her sudden display of boldness. "Bryony, did you hear what I said?"
She met his gaze without flinching. "I did. You’re trying to make me back down. Trying to get me to stop wheedling you into getting more medical treatment. But it really is for your own good. And since I have nothing else with which to bargain with-"
He began to wheel away from the table where he had been cleaning one of his fowling pieces to keep the gun in good working order. "No, this has gone too far. I told you from the start I didn’t want you earning a living on your back."
She raised her brows. "Ah, but this isn’t me earning a living. This is me bargaining with you for a reward for something really difficult and brave that you’re going to do."
"So going to bed with me is going to be your difficult and brave task?" he said furiously over his shoulder as he headed for his room.
She remained calm in the face of his anger, following along behind him closely. "No, not at all. Let’s just say it’s a carrot to wave in front of your nose. I have a feeling it might prove to be a reward for me as well. You really are a most stunningly handsome man, and I think—"
He stopped short so quickly she nearly crashed into the back of the chair. "A man with no legs. A man who can barely rise to the occasion," he hissed.
"A man with two legs which don’t work at the moment, but never will if you don’t try to heal them. Nor will anything else if you just give up."
"Damn it, Bryony, how dare you!" he exploded, his breath coming in great gasps, his ribs feeling as though they would burst.
She shrugged, and began to push him the rest of the way into his chamber. Once there, she shut the door. When she was sure they could not be overheard, she came around to face him, perching on the edge of the bed.
"I’ve told you, there are lots of ways to make love. You might actually find you like some of them." She licked her lips lingeringly, and put her index finger in her mouth to suck it.
He stared. No, surely she couldn’t mean-
"I’m not going to debauch you, and that’s final! You’re my housekeeper and secretary, nothing more. A respectable widow, the mother of two fine young boys. I’m not going to—"
She fluttered her lashes at him alluringly. "You don’t have to debauch me. You just told me you couldn’t anyway. So unless you find me so completely unappealing that you couldn’t bear to be touched or kissed by me-"
"No, it isn’t that!" he said quickly. He flushed to the roots of his hair as he realised how he had betrayed himself, his feelings for her. "I just don’t want your pity."
"Do you not think I could enjoy it too?" She made so bold now as to sit in his lap. "Just feeling your arms around me, cuddling? Isn’t that worth something, even if it isn’t the tempestuous tenderness you want it to be?"
"Well, when you put it like that-" he sighed.
She put her head on his shoulder. "So we make a deal, then. One visit to the Baths, one night in your bed. But you say when you want to bathe, and when you want me in your bed."
"Now?" he requested, with a sharp look.
She grinned and shook her head. "No. You don’t get paid on account. Bath, then bed, not the other way around."
"You don’t trust me?" he rasped.
"All men are liars," she said with a toss of her head.
"I’m not," he said indignantly.
"I know. But you’re still not to be trusted. You’ll do anything to avoid getting well, won’t you? Won’t you?" she demanded, when he would not look at her.
She rested her hand on his finely chiselled cheek. "I believe it’s because if you do get well, everyone is going to start expecting things from you once more. Being an aristocrat has a great number of responsibilities, and you just want to be left alone. I can understand that. But the life you’re living now is only one tiny fragment of the life you could have."
He was sorely tempted by Bryony’s lush lips and ripe body. But she was too young, gorgeous, and far too attractive. He had seen the way men looked at her. To even try to possess such a beaut
y would be like attempting to rein in the tides.
He placed his hands around her waist, and for a moment she thought she had convinced him.
With every once of willpower he possessed, he lifted her from his lap and shook his head.
"I’m sorry. Flattered though I am at your exceedingly generous and noble offer," he declared, trying to keep the bitter sarcasm from his voice, "I’m afraid I must respectfully decline. I don’t agree to your bargain."
She stepped away from the chair and headed for the door.
"Fine. If you want to stay in that chair and feel sorry for yourself for the rest of your life, who am I to stop you? But if the solitude you’re so desperately clinging to ever starts to get too dull and lonely, just let me know."
The Model Master Page 15