by Mary Balogh
He grinned at the closed door and then sobered instantly. Why was he feeling so lighthearted? What if he was about to sacrifice his honor?
The door opened and Eve came inside, smiling, as pale as a ghost, looking about for her aunt.
“She has gone to bed,” he said. “We are going out, you and I. We are going swimming.”
“Swimming?” She looked blankly at him.
“In the river,” he said. “And you will not have the excuse of no towel this time. There are a few.” He nodded at the pile on the sofa.
“All those?” She frowned.
“Two of them are blankets,” he said.
“Blankets?”
“One to lie on on the bank,” he said. “Agnes assures me we may need the other for warmth if we are out after midnight. She may be right. We are going to swim, and then we are going to make love unless you can assure me that it is something you definitely do not want. And then . . .” But he had lost his nerve. “And then we will see.”
“Aidan.” For a moment color had tinged her cheekbones, but now she was pale again. She drew breath to speak, but merely shook her head and was quiet.
He strode over to the sofa, scooped up the blankets and towels, tucked them under one arm, and held out his free hand for hers.
“Come,” he said.
For several moments he thought she was going to say no. She stood staring at his hand and then, at last, slowly raised her own to set in his.
“One last night?” she said.
“One last dream.”
HE HAD REMEMBERED THE STRETCH OF THE RIVER SHE had pointed out to him as the secluded place where she and Percy had sometimes swum in the summers. He led the way there unerringly in the darkness. Not that it was very dark. The moon was almost full, and it beamed down on them with a million bright stars. They did not talk on the way. She clung to his hand, memorizing the feel of it, the warmth and strength of it.
What had he meant—one more dream?
Her heart had been so constricted with the pain of unshed tears when she left the nursery that she had hardly known how to put on a cheerful face as she entered the drawing room.
“Here,” he said when they were among the trees down by the river, in rather heavy darkness now, though the river gleamed in a wide silver band to their left. “This is the spot.” He dropped her hand and his bundle, and then shook out one of the blankets and spread it on the ground.
They were going to swim—and then they were going to make love. Would she be insane enough not to protest?
“Come here,” he said, reaching for her hand again and drawing her close.
He reached around her for the buttons at the back of her dress and undid them one by one. He drew her dress over her shoulders and down her arms, and let it fall in a pool at her feet—it was another of her new gowns, chosen carefully for this final evening, but not for abandonment on the riverbank. He was drawing her shift up her body.
“Lift your arms,” he said.
“Aidan—” she protested in some shock.
“You told me yourself,” he said, “that no one can see you here even in daytime. Swimming is not nearly as enjoyable an activity if it is not done naked.”
What was it about his voice? It was unmistakably his even though there was not quite enough light beneath the trees to verify his identity with her eyes. But there was something about it. Something—boyish. Something one just did not associate with Colonel Lord Aidan Bedwyn.
Well, why not? she thought, lifting her arms. Why not? A few moments later she was naked and he was peeling off his own clothes and tossing them down beside the blanket in a manner to give his batman heart palpitations if he could see.
And then he caught her by the hand again and drew her in the direction of the river. He had no intention of stopping at the edge of the bank, she realized at the last moment. She drew and held a deep breath, closed her eyes, and jumped.
The shock of the cold water took her breath away so that even after she surfaced Eve had to fight for breath as she trod water. The river was deeper here than it was farther up, where they had bathed with the children.
“I would rather have done that gradually,” she said, spreading her arms along the water.
“Nonsense!” He laughed. “Agony by slow inches is far worse than agony by a swift yard. Look, Eve. Look at the water all awash with moonlight. And look at the stars. Feel the cool water—it is not at all cold once one is used to it, is it? And the warm air. Smell the trees and the wildflowers. Is it not good to be alive?”
“Yes.” She looked around and breathed in deeply.
“And to have someone with whom to share one's exuberance?” he said.
“Yes.”
She stopped questioning his mood. She accepted it. She began to swim a slow and leisurely crawl along the center of the river, and he kept pace beside her as the sounds of their breathing and lapping water and night birds calling or cooing among the trees soothed her spirits. After they had swum some distance he turned onto his back to return the way they had come, and she did likewise. They did not use their arms but merely kicked their feet to propel themselves slowly along.
“How many do you think there are?” he asked her.
“Stars?” she said. “Thousands? Millions? Where does it all end? I wonder. It must end somewhere, must it not? All things end.”
“Perhaps,” he said, “the universe does not. It is an idea the human mind cannot grasp. All things must end, as you have just said. But what if some things do not, Eve? What if the universe does not? What if . . . what if other things do not? We would have proved the existence of the divine, would we not?”
How absurd, she thought suddenly. Here they were, two respectable adults, out swimming naked after dark, speculating about infinity and divinity. Trying to stretch their human minds so that they could conceive of something that had no end. Love, perhaps? Was that what he had been about to say? One could not imagine Aidan saying such things about love, but he was in a strange mood tonight.
They swam for more than an hour, sometimes with energy and speed, sometimes so lazily that they did little more than float. Once he dived unexpectedly beneath her and pulled her under so that she came up sputtering and had to get instant revenge by pounding her hands flat on the water and making it impossible for him to clear his eyes. They laughed with glee, just like carefree children. And then he caught her to him, imprisoning her arms to her sides, shook the water from his eyes, and kissed her.
“It is time to dry ourselves off before the wrinkles in our skin become permanent,” he said. “And then it is time to make love. Unless you do not want it.”
The moment of truth. But of course, there had never been any doubt in her mind from the start, only the conviction that there ought to be doubt, that she was going to increase tomorrow's pain beyond the point at which it could be borne. But she was already beyond that point, anyway.
“I want it,” she said.
“Ah.” He sighed and kissed her again—and then lifted her bodily out of the water and deposited her shivering on the bank.
“Brrr,” she said and ran for the towels.
He came after her.
HE HAD NEVER MADE LOVE BEFORE. NOT LOVE. HE had had sex numerous times and with numerous women. He had even felt some affection for some of them. But he had never before made love.
He was terrified.
He had never given himself. Not himself. Not since childhood, anyway. Or perhaps not since that time when at the age of eighteen he had gone to Wulf, all eagerness and brotherly love, to outline his ideas for Lindsey Hall and all the other ducal estates and to offer to implement them in person. Since then he had performed his duty—always, scrupulously, honorably, and impersonally. In all the twelve years since he had become an officer, he had never given himself.
He was terrified.
What if it embarrassed her, even distressed her to be offered the free gift of himself and his love? It certainly had been no part of th
eir original bargain. But neither had anything else that had happened since their wedding. This afternoon she had looked at him with tears in her eyes before hurrying away from him. He could remember exactly what words he had spoken to her just before she left.
I will not be here to care either way.
The words had upset her.
He lay down beside her on the blanket, wrapped his arms about her, and drew her against him. Her body was cool from the water, as was his own. Her mouth, when he found it and opened it with his own and penetrated it with his tongue, was hot. She splayed one hand against his chest, twined the other arm about his waist, and pressed herself against him. Heat flared between them almost instantly. She was, he realized, as hungry for him as he was for her, and every bit as ready. There was no need for foreplay.
“Come on top of me,” he said against her mouth. “The ground is hard and I am heavy.”
“No.” She rolled onto her back, drawing him with her. “I want it this way. Please?”
Her legs parted as he came over her and twined tightly about his.
“Eve.” He whispered against her lips, holding the bulk of his weight on his forearms, his hands cradling her face. “You are ready?”
“Yes. Come to me,” she whispered back. “Come to me, Aidan. Please.”
He thrust gratefully into her. She was hot and wet. Her inner muscles clenched about him, almost driving him over the brink of control.
“Easy,” he murmured to her. “Let us hold off on the physical for a while. Let us love. Relax if you can.”
Although his eyes had grown accustomed to the darkness, they were lying in the shade of the trees, and her face was further shadowed by his own. He could not see her, but he could feel her understanding and responding. Her inner muscles relaxed, and she untwined her legs from about his and set her feet flat on the ground on either side of him.
He moved in her.
He made love to her. Consciously, with every stroke giving her tenderness, giving her himself. Aware with every beat of the rhythm of sex that a deep, powerful, all-encompassing, unifying emotion could accompany and even surpass the familiar physical need and the knowledge that at any moment, whenever he wished, he could bring that to full pleasure and satiety.
He made love to her. Slowly, thoroughly, aware of her, of the silky feel of her skin, of the smell of her wet hair and of her very essence, of the inside of her body where she had invited and welcomed him, of her breathing and the low sounds she made occasionally deep in her throat. He could not see her, but she was Eve, she was his heart and soul, she was his love.
He was very aware of the moment when he took the final, ultimate risk, laying all before her—his honor, his emotions, his very self.
“Eve,” he murmured, his mouth against hers again, “my love. My dearest love. I love you. For all time. For all eternity. It is my love I give you tonight.”
“Mmm,” she said, deep in her throat again.
But he lost his nerve. He feared that she would speak. He feared the words. He kissed her and deepened the kiss, pressing his tongue deep inside. And at the same moment he quickened and deepened and hardened his rhythm. He lifted his mouth away only when all her muscles clenched and he sensed her moving into climax. He tipped back his head, eyes closed, kept his weight on his arms, and released his seed in her. Even then he did not lose himself. Even then he was aware of her, moaning softly, shuddering with the spasms of her completion, gradually relaxing. Soft, warm, sweat-slick.
He slid free of her, lifted his weight off her, and moved to her side with one arm still about her, grasping the second blanket as he did so, and somehow spreading it one-handed over them both. She sighed and turned onto her side facing away from him, nestling her head against his arm and fitting her back and her bottom and her legs against him.
He gave them both a few minutes to recover. He thought that she might have drifted off to sleep for a few minutes. And then she whispered to him.
“Look at the stars,” she said. “They are brighter than ever.”
He looked and stroked his fingers through her drying hair.
“Eve,” he said, “I am sorry about Denson. Deeply sorry. But—”
“You need not be,” she said. “I did love him, Aidan. Or, rather, I was in love with him. But he is not the man I thought he was. Maybe I would never have discovered his essential weakness if we had married, but I believe I would have. He is not a man I could love for a lifetime.”
He had not been allowed to deliver his carefully planned speech. He would have to go with the flow of conversation instead, then.
“What sort of man could you love for a lifetime?” he asked her.
She was silent for a while. He guessed that she was considering her answer.
“A kind man,” she said. “When we are young and foolish, we do not realize how essential a component of love kindness is. It is perhaps the most important quality. And an honorable man. Always doing the right thing no matter what.”
His heart sank—on both counts.
“And a strong man,” she said. “Strong enough to be vulnerable, to take risks, to be honest even when honesty might expose him to ridicule or rejection. And someone who would put himself at the center of my world even before knowing that I would be willing to do the same for him. A man foolish and brave enough to tell me that he loves me even when I have hidden all signs that I love him in return.”
“Eve—” he said.
“He would have to be tall and broad and dark and hook-nosed,” she said. “And frowning much of the time, pretending he is tough and impervious to all the finer emotions. And then smiling occasionally to light up my heart and my life.”
Good God!
“He would have to be you,” she said. “No one else would do. Which is just as well, considering the fact that I am married to you. You need never fear that I will be untrue to you, Aidan, even if you leave me tomorrow and never return.”
He set his face against her shoulder, gulped, and swallowed.
“You meant what you said, did you not?” she asked. “It was not just the passion speaking. You meant it?”
“I meant it,” he said against her ear.
“You are braver than I, then,” she said, “my mighty, precious warrior. I dared not open myself to your scorn or your pity. But I love you with all my heart. I love you so much it hurts. Aidan, if it were not for the children I would follow the drum with you even if it were for all the rest of my life. But I cannot. I have to put them first. I will write to you every day, though. I will make a home for you to come back to every time you have leave. I—”
“Hush, love,” he said. “I am going to sell out. It was part of the speech I started to deliver before you interrupted. I am going to sell out and live here with you.”
“Oh, Aidan.” She turned over all in a rush to face him, and one of her hands came up to cup his cheek. “I cannot ask that of you. You are going to be a general. There will be honors, titles—”
“You cannot bear to be married to a humble ex-colonel, then?” he asked her. “With only one title, which he has done nothing to earn?”
“Oh, Aidan.” She brushed her lips against his.
“You need me here,” he said. “You will need someone to manage your farms and estate after your steward has gone off to his new place on that madcap scheme the two of you have concocted. The children need me. They desperately need a father as well as a mother. Aunt Mari needs to have her hopes fulfilled, and Agnes needs someone to fight on a regular, daily basis. And Eve—ah, Eve, my love, I need you. All of you. But you most of all, my dearest love. You.” He kissed her hard.
“You are going to sell out?” she asked in wonder. “Now?”
“Not at this precise moment,” he said. “Since Agnes sent us out here with an extra blanket, it seems to me only polite to make full use of it. I am going to make love to you all night long under the stars. But tomorrow, Eve. I'll go to London and take care of it. At the same time I'll have
Wulf recommend a lawyer to deal with that land business. And then I am going to come home to stay.”
“Home,” she repeated softly.
“If you will have me,” he said.
“If—”
She laughed then, and for no apparent reason he joined her. They laughed and hugged and kissed and murmured nonsense to each other.
“The Duke of Bewcastle is going to be furious,” she said at last.
“I am not so sure of that,” he said. “Not so sure at all. We Bedwyns have always taken marriage very seriously indeed, Eve. Anyone who marries any of us had better be prepared to be loved and cherished for a lifetime.”
“I think I can prepare myself for that,” she said.
They chuckled again before turning to the more serious business of living their night of love beneath the stars.
CHAPTER XXIII
HE WAS GONE FOR A WEEK. A WHOLE interminable week. He left early on the morning following the garden party. Indeed, after they returned from their night at the river, he merely changed his clothes, saddled his own horse while his sleepy batman did the same for himself, kissed Eve, and rode on his way.
She had told no one that he planned to return even though Aunt Mari was mournful and the children often quiet and lethargic. She dared not tell. Confident as she was in his love and his determination to come back to her, she nevertheless could not shake the anxiety that something would happen to prevent his return. Better that no one knew except her.
She resumed all her activities with renewed energy. She spent more time with her aunt and with the children than she ever had. She threw herself into plans for a grand wedding for Thelma—the first banns were read two days after Aidan left for London. Serena, Aunt Mari, Miss Drabble, and Aunt Jemima—Eve had paid her a personal visit—formed a planning committee with her. Ned Bateman found the first two recruits for his new farm project, both of them men newly returned from the fighting in Europe, one of them with an eye and a hand missing, the other with a leg that had been amputated below the knee, both of them quite destitute.