“Darling your plan is beautiful. I must share with you one small detail of which you were not aware. Someone within Jacques’s home has become an informant to Andre.”
“Are you certain?”
“There could be no other way. Martine told me on the day that I was departing that I was to wear servant’s clothing to not be recognized. She said that she told no one else. Yet Andre knew that I was to leave Paris, both the time and the date. He searched my boat leaving Paris for a runaway servant. Fortunately, I had changed clothing prior to boarding the boat. He also knew the ship I took to New York and a search was conducted on that vessel. He was on board, or one of his men was, because someone was inquiring after me. He could only have known if someone had shared that information. If you wire Jacques and Martine, it’s possible that Andre will be notified by the same person. He may find out the details of our wedding and interfere.”
Jean-Paul pondered my information quietly for several minutes. I watched his face as he searched his mind for a safe alternative. “I will send the telegram to my cousin, Marion, explaining the situation. She will get the information to Jacques discreetly. Jacques would do anything to protect me, and you as well. He will make sure that we are safe. I won’t tell them the location. We will have a carriage meet Jacques, Martine and your parents at a designated location and the driver shall take them to the church we specify. Do you feel better now?”
“We don’t know if Marion was the one who told Andre.” I asked. "She was at the house the day Andre came looking for me. She knew the details of my departure. When I'm around her, I feel like she has something against me."
“It's not likely that is was Marion. Besides, she will honor my request. We are very close. I will ask her not to share our plans with anyone except Martine.”
“You have thought of everything.. When shall we depart for France?”
“I will make some arrangements and we shall leave tomorrow. I want to wed as soon as possible, so I may hold you and ravish you day and night.”
“My love, I understand the integrity that burns within you. I respect your fortitude to do what you feel is moral. I don’t want to ask you to compromise your convictions. However, in regards to intimacy, I must ask, why would you feel committed to saving our love-making until marriage? Would that conviction not be the ideals of the Church or conventional wisdom? If you were to listen to the whisperings of your own heart, what would your heart say to you about sharing your whole self with the woman you already love? Do we need a legal stamp on our passion to make it real?”
“Ma petite Cherie, I withhold all of my advances on you at this time to protect your prestige. You deserve for everyone to respect the qualities you have that make you a woman worth waiting for. I also want you to know that I am willing to wait because you are worth every sacrifice I must make to have you as my wife. I would slay dragons, fight Andre, and wait for years if it were required. You are a woman of great quality and exquisite beauty. I want you to know your merit. For me to wait to hold you should help you to see how greatly I value you.”
“Thank you Jean-Paul. I appreciate your respect and know it well, from your actions. Would you honor a request from me?”
“I would my sweet.”
“Please place your cheeks on my breasts and your tongue behind my ear and your hand between my thighs. I request your undivided attention with your skin pressed firmly against mine. This is my desire with full understanding of your respect for me.”
“Cherie, I desire you above food and water. I crave your skin, your lips, your breasts, your warmth. My wanting of you is ever present. I also desire to make you a happy woman; to see your smile, hear your laughter and know that your needs are met. However, I satisfy myself by resisting your beauty until you are my wife. Allow me to earn your respect with integrity, so that I may respect you always.”
“I admire your desires, although mine are still present,” I said. My heart ached for more reassurance. I wanted to melt completely in his loving embrace. With an ocean separating us from marriage, and Andre searching our tracks, I worried that the day might never arrive.
***
Chapter Fourteen: Back in Time
New York City, April, 1899
Jean-Paul and I talked about our wedding all the way home. During the one hour ride, we decided that we wanted to travel to France as a married couple in order to share a cabin and to avoid the chance that Andre could stop the wedding. All we needed now were strong men to protect us from Andre. We decided to tell Monsieur and Madam Batton our plans.
It began to rain as soon as we sat down for dinner. The sky darkened and rain tapped against the window panes. Madam Batton lit two more candles. Her dining room was small, but formal, with a cherry wood table of great detail. Soft upholstered cushions of fine check pattern fabric covered the seat. She served us roast, potatoes, rolls, Brussels sprouts and vanilla pudding for dessert. The room smelled divine. The food and conversation were pleasant.
Near the end of the meal, Jean-Paul shared our news. “We wish to travel as a married couple and we would like both of you to be the witnesses at our wedding,” Jean-Paul explained.
“No. You must not give up a beautiful wedding and sharing this experience with your families. You’ve come this far. You can make it all the way back to France and do a proper wedding.” Madam Batton’s voice was adamantly firm.
“Madam, you’re correct on all counts. Yet there’s one more thing to consider. What if our plan failed in some way? What if Cherie was forced into a marriage with Andre? If she were already married, then she couldn’t be wed again. We are simply choosing to protect the decision we have both made against the real threat that exists.” Jean-Paul spoke the fears I had inside.
“He could be correct.” Monsieur Batton jumped in to reassure his wife. “If a man is willing to let another man die to protect a betrothal, then you do not know what else he may try to do. Madam Martine would not have taken all of the precautions had she not been worried about the risks.”
“I’m not certain that I agree. Traditions are followed for a reason. The Church has standards and requirements because of God’s will,” Madam Batton added. “Perhaps I shall telegraph Martine and ask her suggestion.”
“Madam, please don’t telegraph Martine. Andre found out the date and time that I was leaving through a member of Jacques’s and Martine’s home. Andre could easily get word of the telegram and contents,” I begged.
Madam was quiet for a moment. “It’s really not my charge to tell you two what you must do. I want only what’s best for you. I will be your witness at a ceremony if you will promise me to pray to God about your choice and then do all that you can to include your families in this union.”
“That seems like a fair request,” Jean-Paul added, surprising me with his answer. I’d not seen Jean-Paul pray and I wondered what his prayer might say.
It took two days for Jean-Paul to get us scheduled for a marriage ceremony at the court house. I went shopping with Madam Batton and found a simple white gown. The sleeves were soft silk and flowed gracefully on my arms, caressing me with the smooth weave. The neckline was round and lined with tiny pearls. The silk dress draped from my shoulder to my feet in one elegant flowing swoop. The skirt was wide at the bottom, but you could only see how much when I turned quickly. My new shoes were dazzling white pumps with a three inch heal. I felt beautiful.
Jean-Paul borrowed a suit from Monsieur Batton that he had hadn’t worn in years, but was sure he would fit into again someday. Jean-Paul wore it well, with a fine white shirt and bow tie. The formal coat fit him nicely, with tails in the back. Jean-Paul looked sharp in black. Looking at him, I wanted to leap into his arms and kiss his handsome face.
The judge who wed us looked tired and old. He hunched forward and pressed his face close to the pages to read. He didn’t seem particularly interested in our wedding, not smiling or showing any concern. But then he surprised me. After the short vows he read, and Jean-Paul and I
said “I do,”, he spoke up in a solemn voice. “You two young people appear to be in love and serious about your vows. I caution you that the commitment you made this day is of no less value because there’s no fancy band present, or cousins and flower girls. God recognized the importance of your promise today and you should too. I’ve been married for almost fifty years. My wife is my favorite person on earth. I would not be the man that I am today without my loving companion. Respect and honesty are the foundation of a good marriage. You will fight. You will disagree. You will become angry. Just remember the love that you feel this day. Remember why you chose to make the pledge to honor and love. If you treasure each other, it will be the greatest blessing that you have. If one of you dies before the other, God help you. If you love one another the way I love my wife, then you might die too of a broken heart when the other departs this life. That’s the power of true love. Please, look at each other.”
We turned from looking at the judge to face the one another.
“Put your faith in this union. Don’t take it for granted. I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss your new bride.”
Jean-Paul slowly reached for me, watching my face as he moved. His motions were meaningful and measured, as if this was our first kiss and it meant everything in the world. He pulled me in from my waist, slowly wrapped his arms fully around my body, and began to kiss me. His lips gently met mine, then firmly sank in deeper. His lips did not move at first, as if he were savoring my warmth and scent. Then he kissed me with emotion. I felt as if this were the most important kiss I’d ever had. I lost track of the room, the witnesses and firm judge. I could have been anywhere in the moment and know only the kiss.
Following the wedding, there was complicated paperwork regarding immigration. It was written in English, so Senator Batton interpreted all of it for us and made sure that we had what we needed. I signed all of the papers as I was instructed. There was mention of dual citizenship. I wasn’t sure what that entailed, but I was happy to do whatever it took to be the wife of Jean-Paul.
That night Jean-Paul and I were permitted to sleep in the same room at the home of Monsieur and Madam Batton. Jean-Paul lit the bed lamp and smiled at me as if we shared a secret again. This time I felt that we had a real secret. Our families didn’t know that we were married; my family didn’t even know where I was. And no one knew the magic that ensued between Jean-Paul and me when we touched each other’s bare skin. That was a secret no one else would ever know.
Jean-Paul reached for me, beckoning me to come to him. I walked toward him, without an ounce of resistance. As our hands touched, I felt his warmth, his pulse, his love. Immediately I felt the surrendering begin. I wanted to give myself in every possible way to my husband, my lover.
He sat on the edge of the bed and drew me close. I stood between his parted thighs. His hand reached to my head and wrapped around my hair. He drew me in for a slow, powerful kiss that expressed, ‘You’re mine. I chose you. I desire you. I love you. I must have you.”
I responded. My lips and tongue expressed my heart, “I belong to you. You can have me. I surrender to you. I love you. Please take me and claim me.”
Jean-Paul lifted my blouse while I stood before him. He removed my corset. For a brief second he stared at my breasts he had known a month before. In the next second he engulfed my left nipple in his mouth, kissing it with his desire and appreciation and an effort to give me pleasure. My head titled back and I pressed my chest towards him, begging for more, granting him every part of me. His hand held my right breast. Soon his mouth moved from left to right, granting the right nipple the same gratification.
He removed my skirt, letting it slip to a heap on the floor. Then my undergarments fell and I stood naked before my fully dressed husband. I didn’t want to change a beat of his rhythm. I feared to move without command. This was the moment where he must know my willingness to obey his desires. This is the moment where I respond to his touch instead of demand it. He was the leader, and I his willing participant. He must find his way through the maze of my body and learn each turn and each point of pleasure.
He lifted me at the waist and laid me on my back on the bed. Kneeling over me, he showered my body with kisses while using the back of his fingertips to gently caress my skin. I enjoyed my nakedness exposed to him. The vulnerability felt invigorating. Being enjoyed by my lover fully caused me to feel more beautiful. I didn’t demand for his clothing to be removed. I understood deep inside that he was prolonging the pleasure that we would enjoy. There was purpose in his calculations, and I trusted them.
For a moment he didn't touch me, and I sensed that he was absorbing my nakedness. I smiled at the thought of him enjoying what my body could do for him. Then ever so slightly, his hand caressed my hair and found my cheek. I felt his lips touch mine and the rush came like a river unleashed. His excitement pulsed through me, into my lips, down my throat and deep into my loins. I didn't know if I could wait one more moment before I had to know him inside of me. I made a conscious effort to let go, be in the moment, and revel in the pleasure, like savoring dark chocolate. His warm, clothed body made its way on top of mine. The pressure felt invigorating, but I wanted his bare, warm skin. I dared not make any demands. He was fulfilling my wishes with thoughtful movements. I couldn't allow doubt to come into this moment. He always knew what served me best, which helped me to trust completely. I couldn't imagine a better place to be than lying naked below my husband, the man whom I respected most above all others. To feel wanted by this man, touched exquisitely, and cared for deeply, was the greatest experience I could possibly imagine.
Jean-Paul's kisses found their way around my body; my shoulders and elbows, my fingertips and hip bones, even my knees were graced by his powerful mouth. His hands explored me, finding every inch, tantalizing my skin with the tingling pleasure of soft caresses. My eyes remained closed, and I pictured his eyes memorizing my form that he might paint my body image on to canvas with a brush. My love was the greatest gift this man could now embrace. Suddenly I understood why he took a lot of time and care to see my body from head to toe before he dared allow his body to merge with mine.
"Open your eyes, my darling," Jean-Paul instructed me.
I looked deeply into his eyes to see what he wanted.
"Undress me my love."
I saw in his expression that he wanted me to connect with him the way he had just connected with me. I saw the request, permission and desire. I sat up next to Jean-Paul and I began to caress his cheeks with my hands. My fingertips moved down his neck to the top button on his white pressed dress shirt he had borrowed for today's occasion. I unbuttoned the top button, revealing his strong neck and my whole body quivered. I unbuttoned again and again, each time exposing more and more of his beautiful, hard pectorals. When I reached the last button, I opened his shirt, viewed the whole of his torso and I lie on top of him, breast to breast, heart to heart absorbing his love and showering him with my own.
With care, I placed kisses across his neck, shoulders and chest. I was drawn to his belly, like the pull of a magnet. I could not resist. I was ready to kiss his hips and thighs. I removed his belt, unbuttoned the top button of his trousers, and unzipped the zipper. Jean-Paul gently lifted his hips and allowed me to remove his trousers. I removed his under garments next and I was face-to-face fully exposed to his sex.
I kissed his stomach without hesitation, as if I knew what to do all along. I landed my lips firm and meaningfully on his hip bones and on his thighs. Then lastly, with intention, I placed soft, hungry lips on his hard, protruding member. I loved the way the smooth, taut skin felt on my lips. I opened my mouth and presented my tongue. It was more velvety than Jean-Paul’s lips, but much firmer. It smelled sweet and delicious. I inhaled deeply, bathing in the scent of it. I licked again, with my eyes still closed. My tongue enjoyed the sensation. I licked and tasted, relishing in this pleasure shared between us. Jean-Paul's body tensed, and his back slightly arched. A small sound of plea
sure escaped his lips. His arms reached for my shoulders. He wanted to pull me away up to his face. "No," I said softly. “I want to know you this well. I don't want there to be any part of you that I don't know completely."
"You have a lifetime to know me completely. Today, I want you to know how deeply I love you." Jean-Paul put his strong arms under mine and lifted me onto his body. We laid naked, face-to-face, and nose to nose. "You're the most beautiful woman I have ever seen in my life. I cannot wait to capture your beauty on canvas." Jean-Paul wrapped his arms around me and kissed me, then firmly rolled me onto my back and began to kiss me with the vigor of a hungry man. His hips pushed against mine and I responded. His hands rubbed me everywhere that his body did not. I felt myself melting into the bed, letting go as if I sank into a sea of calm. Comfort enveloped me, with intense pleasure. My body tingled in every orifice and I wanted nothing more than to feel as if I’d melted inside Jean-Paul and we were one body.
I felt his body moving in search for the place to penetrate me. I loved the search, the excitement, the anticipation of it. I adjusted my body to assist his probing. He found his way, and entered me, as if there was nothing more important he could ever do.
Shockwaves pulsed through my body. I thought I might explode into tiny pieces, broken all over the bed on the night of my wedding. I wasn't sure I could handle the intensity of the moment, the physical force of it, the hunger, the need. I began to cry, quietly. Although I tried to hide it, Jean-Paul noticed. "What’s the matter, my love?"
Painted with Love: Romance Eludes Time and Death Page 18