by Stella Riley
She nodded, reaching up to start pulling pins and ribbons from her hair. The first heavy locks fell loose. One coiled itself around Julian’s wrist and he hauled in an unsteady breath.
‘Unfair,’ he muttered.
‘Is it?’ Arabella removed more pins and felt the deft, musician’s hands go more swiftly to work. ‘Why?’
He didn’t answer but concentrated on getting rid of the corset before the cascade of silver-gilt destroyed what was left of his brain. When it was done, he closed his arms about warm, slender curves and drew her back against his chest, murmuring, ‘Anything else?’
‘Yes.’ She turned in the cage of his arms and set about removing his cravat. ‘Since we’re to talk about fairness …’ And, tossing the cravat aside, she began unbuttoning his vest.
His heart threatening to explode, Julian tried to think of something else. The vast, crimson-hung bed looked intimidating and was saying things he didn’t want to hear yet. But there was an armchair near the hearth and so, as soon as he was able to shrug off the vest, he picked Arabella up and sat down with her on his lap.
She laid one palm against his cheek and rained kisses along his jaw. He threaded his fingers through her hair, enjoying the cool weight of it. For a long moment neither of them spoke. Then Arabella said, ‘I love you so much. And I’m madly, ridiculously proud of you.’
The possibility he’d thought of earlier stirred again.
‘Even though performing may sometimes take me away from you?’
‘Yes.’ She looked up at him. ‘If that happens – and I understand that it may – I’ll miss you and so will the children. But it’s a small price to pay for seeing you become what you were born to be.’
‘Not so small.’ The fingertips that had been drifting over her shoulders, moved on to the temptation of her clavicle. ‘Spare a thought for me missing you.’
‘You’ll have your music for company.’ She kissed him again, heat and new sensations blooming all through her body at the scent and closeness of his. ‘Do you ever think of what would have happened if Lizzie and I hadn’t changed places?’
‘No.’ With an apparent laziness made possible by iron restraint, he traced the line of her chemise and then, almost but not quite by accident, let his fingers seek the loveliness beneath it. ‘If you hadn’t, we’d never have met – and that doesn’t bear thinking of.’
He felt the tremor that ran through her and heard a small, involuntary sound. Since this indicated that she liked what he was doing as much as he did, he slid the chemise from her shoulder. This did nothing to lessen his hunger but, with something new to investigate, he found it possible to continue distancing himself from it for just a little while longer.
So pretty, he thought. All delicate bones and shadowy hollows and inches of delectable petal-soft skin. He began exploring with feather-light fingertips, learning texture and contours as he would a new and fascinating piece of music. He traced her jaw and her throat; he marvelled at the slenderness of her arms and the fragility of her wrists; everything he found brought a lingering wonder as he absorbed and committed each of them to memory before finally allowing himself to find one small, perfect breast.
Arabella rewarded him with a shuddering sigh. Her mouth grazed his throat and she slid a hand inside his shirt to the hard warmth of his chest. Suddenly the crimson monstrosity started to look less intimidating than it did inviting. His breathing uneven and his voice raw, Julian said, ‘We can continue ignoring that enormous bed for a while longer… or we could find out if it’s more comfortable than it looks. What do you think?’
She buried her face in the curve of his shoulder.
‘I think we should definitely give it a try.’
‘You do?’ He rose, still holding her in his arms and then hesitated. ‘Good. Right. Yes.’
Feeling his hesitation, Arabella said, ‘You can put me down, you know.’
‘I’m going to.’
He crossed to the vast bed and tossed her on to it amidst a tangle of petticoats. Laughing, she watched him kneel on the edge of the mattress and somehow throw off his shoes whilst also kicking the steps away.
‘Julian … what are you doing?’
‘Narrowing the boundaries.’ He crawled towards her, smiling. ‘The damn bed is big enough to lose you in – never mind the rest of the room. Now I have you trapped.’
‘I hadn’t planned on escap--’
He stopped the words with his mouth, kissing her until she was clinging to him and they were both breathless. For a long, sweet moment, they gazed silently into each other’s eyes and then, tugging at his shirt, Arabella said, ‘Too many clothes.’
He nodded, pulled it over his head and cast it aside. She stared at him, reaching out to touch lean but well-defined musculature beneath smooth, lightly-golden skin. With the usual lock of hair brushing one cheek and a vagrant smile lurking in his eyes, he looked tempting as sin even before he raised one brow and, as he had earlier, said, ‘Anything else?’
‘Everything.’
Another nod and a look of intense concentration. ‘Yours first, then.’
Without haste and pausing to discover hitherto hidden delights along the way, ribbons and laces melted away until the only garments separating his body from hers were his breeches and stockings. These he disposed of swiftly, to draw her close against the length of him. On a gasp of surprise at the exquisite meeting of flesh, Arabella pressed her mouth against his throat. Sensation and anticipation were building inside her and everywhere he touched, her skin caught fire.
To the skill in his hands, Julian added the adoration of his mouth … gradually learning the melody of her body, as she, in her turn, released the music in his. It was a flawless duet of shared pleasure, played in both harmony and counterpoint. He worshipped her slowly and with dedication … from the hollow at the base of her throat to the arch of her instep and everything in between. And for the first time words, which had never come easily to him, flowed, albeit a little disjointedly.
‘So beautiful. Always so beautiful … and with a heart even lovelier than your face. I love you. How could anyone not love you? I’m yours. All the days of my life. Only yours.’
Lying entangled with her, he continued soliciting her senses until he could not tell her heartbeat from his own. And when she moulded the line of his back whilst trailing hot kisses across his chest, desire thundered through him like timpani.
For Arabella, the world outside Julian’s arms ceased to exist. There was nothing but the singing of her blood and the sizzling heat of his caresses. Every nerve and fibre of her being was ablaze with sensations she could hardly contain. Her breath came in sobbing gasps and she could no longer remain still. She dissolved under the delicious assault of clever, confident hands … melted against his mouth and was overwhelmed by responses she had never imagined existed. Feeling herself soaring up and up towards some indefinable place, she uttered a few involuntary and incoherent words, one of which was his name.
Ablaze with fires of his own making, Julian managed to say, ‘Yes. My love … my heart … my wife. Yes.’
Adagio grazioso … legato ostinato. Long, exquisite moments of resonance; breathing as one, feeling as one … being one. The stars, perfectly aligned and in tune.
Accelerando ma non troppo … cantabile. Then, all too soon and impossible to resist, appassionata con fuoco. And finally, tumbling effortlessly over the cliff … volante.
After which came peace, wrapped close in each other’s arms.
Much later, Arabella said, ‘I thought you said you weren’t very experienced.’
‘I did.’
‘It doesn’t show.’
‘Thank you.’ There was a smile in his voice.
She drew one foot invitingly up his calf. ‘Is it even true?’
‘Do you think a man would lie about a thing like that? But perhaps,’ he added hopefully, ‘it’s like the harpsichord; a matter of natural talent.’
‘That would seem to be the only explanat
ion,’ agreed Arabella gravely.
‘And experience is just another word for practice, isn’t it?’ He accepted her invitation by sliding his thigh between hers. ‘Are you familiar with the musical term Da Capo?’
Although the drift of his hands was providing a clue, she shook her head.
‘No?’ He smiled enticingly into her eyes. ‘Then I’ll show you.’
~ * * ~ * * ~
Author’s Note
Thank you for reading Cadenza.
If you are interested in the precise programme of Julian’s debut concert, visit the Extras page at http://stellarileybooks.co.uk/ where you will also be able to hear some of the pieces played by French virtuoso, Jean Rondeau.
The story of Arabella’s great-great-grandparents, Gabriel and Venetia, can be found in Garland of Straw – a tale told against the backdrop of the months leading to the execution of King Charles l.