by Sara Craven
Oh, heavens! It was a large house, a house in its own grounds. But, as large as it was, there was no chance of their ‘room’ being a suite.
‘We’ll take our bags up, shall we, Colly?’ Silas suggested easily, apparently aware which bedroom his grandfather referred to.
‘Fine,’ she answered, smiling, hoping her sudden feeling of tension was not showing to the elderly man who, she was fast realising, was thrilled that his grandson had married and brought his bride to see him.
Silas carried both their overnight bags up the stairs. She was banking on twin beds. Wrong! As soon as the door was open she shot a speedy glance to the sleeping arrangements—it was a double bed.
As Silas stepped by her, and went to place their bags on the floor, so Colly stayed where she was. When thinking she might have to share a room with him she had been able to convince herself that, while preferring it to be otherwise, she would, for the sake of what they were about, be able to cope. But now, with the reality of it here, she did not feel convinced at all!
‘What’s wrong?’ Silas had noticed that she seemed frozen over by the door.
‘Nothing,’ she answered stiltedly, her glance darting to the only padded chair in the room. She moved more into the room and Silas came and closed the bedroom door. When he unexpectedly placed his hands on her shoulders she jumped as though bitten.
‘Nothing!’ Silas scorned, turning her to face him. ‘It looks like it!’
‘Don’t go on!’ she snapped, pulling out of his hold.
If she had hoped he would leave it there, however, she discovered it was a forlorn hope. ‘Look,’ Silas began sternly, plainly not best pleased to have her so jumpy when he was anywhere near, ‘as far as anyone knows you and I are married. But,’ he went on, to lay it on the line, ‘while I accept that you are a beautiful and desirable woman, you have to accept that I do not want to do anything that—in the long term—will bind you permanently to me.’
That well and truly did away with her tension. Not because of what he said, his attempt at reassurance, but because of his inference that she might give him half a chance should he try and test the water. ‘As if—’ she flared—who the devil did he think he was?
‘So, whatever fears you have of anything happening between you and me,’ he cut in before she could go for his jugular, ‘forget it!’
She opened her mouth, ready with a few choice words, but with difficulty swallowed them down. ‘Right!’ she hurled at him, glaring at him. He stared back.
‘Now what’s wrong?’ he demanded bluntly, his expression dark.
Let him whistle for an answer. But as she continued to glare stubbornly at him, so his dark expression suddenly cleared, and she knew she was not going to like what was coming even before it arrived. She didn’t.
‘Surely,’ he began, ‘you don’t want anything to happen between us that will consummate—’
‘Stop right there, Livingstone!’ she erupted. ‘I do not now, or ever…’ Suddenly she ran out of steam. All at once she began to see the funny side of their non-argument—for what was there to argue about? Neither of them wanted the same thing. Her lips started to twitch, and while she became aware that his eyes were on her mouth she just had to tell him. ‘In relation to your “What’s wrong?” I suppose I’m just a touch miffed that you—or any man, given these circumstances—should be so immune to my charms.’
His lips twitched too, as she came to an end, and she guessed he appreciated her honesty when, honest himself, he took her in his arms and replied, ‘Immune? I think you know better than that—don’t you, Colly?’
She looked up at him, her heart pounding. ‘So now we know where we stand?’
‘Exactly,’ he agreed, placed a light kiss on her lips and, his arms dropping to his sides, took a step back from her. ‘Sing out if there’s anything you need. I’ll go and keep my grandfather company until you’re ready to join us.’
Colly unpacked the few things she had brought with her after Silas had gone. She acknowledged that she felt better for what she could only think of as Silas’s wading in to clear the air. Indeed, now that he was no longer in the room with her she began to wonder what all the fuss had been about. Silas had let her know point-blank that he wanted the state of their marriage to stay exactly as it was, and that she could sleep easy with him in the same room. But—a smile lit within her—it was nice to know that he was not totally immune to her.
She owned to feeling a touch apprehensive, however, when in the early evening she went down to dinner. But she discovered, with Silas there as a buttress and his grandfather being a man of courtesy and olde worlde charm, that she had no need to feel in the slightest apprehensive. The only small hiccup occurred—and she was sure that she was the only one who felt in any way awkward—when Grandfather Livingstone asked Silas, ‘I don’t suppose you’ve had time to check on the apartment recently?’
‘I have,’ Silas answered, having been there that very day. ‘You’ve nothing to worry about there,’ he assured him.
A short while later they left the dining room and returned to the drawing room, and Colly realised a little to her surprise, as the next hour ticked by, that all in all it had been a very pleasant evening.
When, during the conversation that followed in the next half an hour, she picked up that Silas’s grandfather was usually in bed by ten-thirty, she thought the time might be right to make noises about retiring.
‘I’ll be up later,’ Silas commented.
Nerves started to try and get a foothold again. ‘I’ll say goodnight, then.’ She smiled as she got to her feet and both men stood.
Up in the bedroom she was to share with Silas, she blocked her mind to all save reliving the lecture he had given her: while not being immune to her, he had no desire to make theirs a full marriage.
On the plus side she discovered that her grandfather-in-law’s household did not subscribe to the more modern duvet when it came to bedding. She showered and got into her nightdress and, leaving herself with sheets and a blanket, went and draped the over-large padded quilt over what she wincingly saw looked to be a not-very-comfortable chair. It still did not look very comfortable after she had draped the quilt over it. She added a pillow.
From there she went and switched on the bathroom light, and left the bathroom door ajar so Silas should have sufficient light to find his way around without banging into anything. Hopeful that she would be asleep before Silas came to bed, she put out the bedroom light and got into the big double bed. Just so that there should be no mistake, she opted to occupy the centre of the bed.
But so much for her hope to be asleep before Silas came up the stairs. She was still wide awake when, what seemed like hours later, she heard him at the door. She had her back to the bathroom her eyes closed, and was concentrating solely on making her breathing sound even when, almost silently, Silas came in, quietly closing the door after him.
If he knew that she was still awake he said nothing. She had nothing she wanted to say either. He must have taken her hint when he had seen the light from the bathroom, and did not turn on any other light. She heard him moving about, then, when the bathroom door closed, she opened her eyes to find the room in darkness.
Shortly afterwards there was light again, briefly. She closed her eyes, heard the light switch off, and knew that Silas was making his way to that not-too-comfortable-to-sleep-in chair. At least that was where she hoped he was making his way to; there would be all-out war if he thought he was sharing her bed!
It was a thought that, after an hour, or it might have been two, of listening to Silas trying to get his long length comfortable, she was having to review.
The chair creaked again as he once more adjusted his position, and she started to weaken, started to feel sorry for him. Just what had he done to deserve this? Nothing but try to do his best for the firm his grandfather had started.
Well, one sleepless night would not hurt him, argued her other self. He would probably have backache for a week, bu
t…The chair creaked again as he attempted again to silently adjust his position.
‘Oh, for goodness’ sake!’ she found she was erupting. ‘Bring your pillow and that quilt over here and get on top of the bed! Feet my way up!’ she ordered as an afterthought, and shunted over so he should have ample room.
She heard him move, and wished she had kept quiet, and was not at all appeased when, his voice near, ‘For you, I bought a pair of pyjamas,’ he informed her.
‘I don’t care if you’re wearing a suit of armour!’ she snapped. ‘You’re still sleeping with your feet my way up.’
She heard his low laugh and could not deny that all at once there was a bubble of laughter in her too. Sternly, she repressed it. Then felt the bed go down. Silas, sleeping his head to her toes, had joined her.
Though what sleep he got she did not know. For herself she was so overly conscious of him next to her she just could not sleep. He was so near, so dear—oh, think of something else, do.
Somewhere around dawn she felt him leave the bed. Either he was an early riser or he could not sleep either. She guessed it was the former. She heard the bathroom door close and surmised he was ready to shower and dress and start his day.
She closed her eyes and at last managed to get some sleep. But she did not sleep for too long; some inbuilt ‘manners’ alarm was there to remind her that she was a guest and that guests had certain duties. One of which was not to be late should breakfast be being served at some rigid time.
She sat up, hugging the sheet and blanket to her as she took a tentative look around. She relaxed. As she had supposed, Silas was up and out. Following suit, she slipped the fallen narrow shoulder-strap of her nightdress back in place and left the bed ready to take a shower.
She headed for the bathroom, wondering at what time they would leave. If—She opened the bathroom door and her thoughts, her body, everything, became motionless. She stared stunned, immobile. She had thought—no, not even thought, had just been certain that Silas had vacated the bathroom ages ago. She had thought she had been asleep for an hour or so—but realised that she could not have been asleep anywhere near that long, that her only sleep must have been the briefest of catnaps. Because the bathroom was not empty. Silas was in there. And—he was stark naked!
He was sideways on to her, half turned from her as he stood before the large mirror, having obviously just finished shaving. He had turned his head as the bathroom door opened, and simultaneously her yelp of ‘Ooh!’ had rent the air as her stunned glance took in his long length of leg, the wellmuscled thigh, his right buttock, not to mention part of his broad naked back.
Then her eyes met his and scorching colour seared her skin. She was unsure who moved first, but, not lingering to have a debate about it, Colly found release from her rooted immobility and spun urgently about.
She had taken a couple of steps back into the bedroom but had still not got her head together, being unsure what to do—whether to take a dive back under the bedcovers or, totally unnerved as she was, what.
She stood there, crimson, striving hard to tell herself not to make an issue of it, that Silas was more sinned against than sinning. As far as he had been concerned she was fast asleep; the last thing he’d expected was that she would barge in and invade his privacy.
Then she heard him come and stand behind her. ‘This gets worse!’ she uttered croakily.
‘I didn’t think I looked so very dreadful stripped off,’ Silas answered, plainly endeavouring to make light of it. But she could find no humour in the situation.
‘Don’t!’ she said huskily. ‘I didn’t know you were in there!’ she explained hurriedly. And she did not know just where she was when from behind his arms came around to the front of her in a loose hold. She glanced jerkily down and was overwhelmingly relieved to see from his silk-clad arms that he must have hastily donned a robe. ‘I thought you’d showered and gone.’
‘I rather think I know that,’ he said to the top of her head. And, taking the blame totally on himself, ‘Last time I looked you were sound away. But even so, bearing in mind that there’s no lock on the bathroom door, I should have hung a note on the handle or something.’
‘It—doesn’t matter,’ she replied.
His arms firmed a little around her. She was not sure that he did not drop a light kiss to the top of her head. Wishful thinking, she realised, and also realised all at once that she was clad in a thin shortie nightdress, and that, since she could feel the heat of his body, possibly all Silas had on was the fine silk robe.
She went to move away but his arms held her, and in all honesty she would by far prefer to stay just where she was. Soon they would be back in London, her closeness with him over; she needed these moments to treasure.
‘You’ve been brilliant, Colly,’ Silas said softly, bending to her ear. ‘Just a few more hours,’ he promised, ‘and then we can say goodbye to the weekend.’
Just a few more hours! She wanted to stay like this for ever. ‘I never wanted to make a fuss,’ she replied, and whether he went to give her a bit of a hug or if she was just obeying some compulsion she could not have said—but Colly moved and leaned back against him.
He did not push her away from him, and the side of his face was almost touching the side of her face. ‘You’ve been wonderful,’ he applauded her.
Oh, help her, she was starting to feel all wobbly. She strove for levity. ‘Is that what you say to all the girls after you’ve slept with them?’ she asked with a light laugh.
He turned her then. His hands coming to her arms, he turned her to face him. ‘You’re special,’ he replied, his own tone light.
Colly smiled, recalling the time when she had queried whether, married to her, he might want to marry someone else. She’d have to be more than a little extra-special, he had replied. ‘Careful,’ she warned. ‘When you get to “extra-special” I’m bailing out.’
For answer Silas stared down at her, his dark blue eyes fixed on her green ones. And for ageless moments they just seem to stare wordlessly at each other. Then suddenly she felt him drawing her that little bit closer.
She thought it might be a good idea to resist. Only then his lips were over hers, gently over hers, warm over hers, and she had no hope of resisting him. She loved him. Why should she resist?
He broke his kiss. She tried to find her voice. But her brain seemed word-starved, and all she could think to say was a shy ‘Good morning.’
He laughed. ‘Good morning, wife,’ he said, and seemed to so enjoy calling her his wife that any logic that tried to penetrate, to tell her nonsense, just did not stand a chance of getting through.
‘You’ve got a very nice mouth, Mr Livingstone,’ she thought to mention.
‘You have my permission to kiss it, should its niceness become too much for you,’ he suggested.
Logic at that point tried to get a toe-hold—this was not the way this weekend was supposed to go. But logic was a cold bedfellow, and she would much rather take her husband up on his offer.
Of their own volition her arms went round him. She felt his warmth, the cleanness of him. And she just had to kiss him. She stretched up invitingly. Obligingly he bent down, and responded fully.
They broke apart. Feeling a little breathless, she stared at him. ‘I…’ she said, but could not go on. Because what she wanted to tell him was that she loved him—and whatever else her mixed-up brain patterns were confusing her with, she somehow knew that to tell him that would be the height of folly.
‘You…?’ he prompted, his wonderful mouth quirking upwards at the corners.
‘I—um—think I’m feeling a touch confused,’ she confessed.
He smiled gently at her, as if understanding. ‘Would another kiss help, do you suppose?’
He had to be joking! It was those kisses that were partly responsible! But, even though she must refuse his most tempting offer, she was finding she just could not. ‘I shouldn’t like you to think me greedy,’ she murmured—and said no more.
>
How could she? Silas had drawn her to him again. Held fast against his heart, Colly was no longer thinking but was feeling, enjoying, and in utter seventh heaven as the man she loved with her whole heart kissed her not once but many times.
And she adored his kisses, returned his kisses without restraint. Adored the way his fingers strayed through her long dark hair, the way his hands cupped her face. The way he transferred his hand to hold her in his arms.
‘Silas!’ She murmured his name when somehow, and she had no clue how she had got there, all at once she found she was against a wall and Silas was leaning to her.
‘You’re…?’ he began, his voice all kind of gravelly. ‘I’m not alarming you?’ he rephrased.
‘Do you want me?’ she asked huskily.
‘Oh, sweet, innocent love,’ he murmured, to thrill her. And, with a smile, ‘Yes, I think you could say that,’ he breathed, and as they moulded together so, wide-eyed, she stared at him.
‘Oh!’ she gasped.
‘I’m—worrying you?’ he asked, pulling back.
She shook her head. ‘It’s just I—um—think my—education in certain matters has just gone up another notch.’ And as he grinned, seeming delighted with her, she wanted again to feel his wanting body against her, and pushed her wanting body against him.
‘Colly!’ he breathed, and kissed her, and it was such a kiss that she knew then that she was leaving the nursery slopes of lovemaking.
‘Oh, Silas!’ she cried, and wound her arms about him, loving every movement, every whispered kiss, as he traced tender kisses down the side of her throat, his hands caressing her all but naked shoulders.
She held on to him when, with one hand holding her close, his other hand caressed round to capture one of her breasts. A fire of such longing was leaping within her—she wanted more.
‘Oh!’ she sighed, as his sensitive fingers played and teased at the hardened tip of her breast. And again, ‘Oh!’ she cried, on a wanting kind of sound, when he bent his head and through the thin material of her nightdress gently pressed his lips to her breast, before once more claiming her lips.