Castaway Dreams (41 page)

"I do not want to wrestle that animal for my meal," her less furry companion grumbled, but Daphne just smiled and put the food down for dog. When she was seated, Alexander filled her plate and they ate in silence, giving Mr. and Mrs. Pyle's fare its due.

The good, plain English cooking helped lift Daphne's spirits until Alexander said, "I imagine you were accustomed to much finer cuisine here in England."

Daphne put down her fork and leveled her gaze on him.

"Sometimes you are just silly, Alexander. Do you think my days were filled with only eating fairy cakes and sipping champagne? There were those theater suppers with oysters, yes, but you forget I grew up mostly in the country. Even in London my father preferred to keep an English cook rather than a French chef like many of his friends. I am quite used to fare such as this, and enjoy it."

Alexander raised his brow at this but said nothing further. Daphne was puzzled. It was as if he were looking for things to distance himself from her, rather than looking for things which would bring them closer, like making fires together, or how they each loved Pompom so much.

"Is it satisfactory that Rosie Pyle accompany you this afternoon?"

"I had rather hoped you would want to spend the day sorting through fabrics and ribbons and dresses with me, Alexander." She giggled at his look, then took pity on him. "I was jesting. I never thought I would say this about you, Alexander Murray, but you are useless, at least in this matter. Your helping me pick out clothing would be like me doing a surgery on you."

"I do not think the two situations are comparable, but I will defer to your knowledge of this area, Daphne."

"I wish I could come with you. I could help you pick out better clothes than you would pick out on your own. When you return to London, you should see a tailor who will dress you as befits your being a successful surgeon. I could help with that," she said, toying with her pie.

"Finish up, Daphne. Rosie will be back for the plates."

Daphne sighed, and set down her fork just as there was a knock at the door. Alexander told Rosie to enter, and the girl said she'd return after she took the dishes down to the kitchen. Daphne shrugged back into her coat, refilled Pompom's bowl, had a promise from Dr. Murray that he'd walk the pup, and prepared to go out.

"Wait," Alexander said. He came over and retied her ribbon on her braid, then held the length of gold in his hand. "I am glad you did not cut your hair."

Daphne blinked because her vision had gone blurry, but Alexander did not see as he pulled a purse from his coat and carefully counted out coins.

"I made arrangements for Miss West to be paid, but here's something for any incidentals you might need, ribbons or what not."

Daphne looked at the coins in her hand.

"For a few weeks, Dr. Murray, everything we had was not valued in pounds and shillings."

"We are back in England, Miss Farnham." He closed her fist around the coins and held it. "Here, wealth and birth are what matter."

Then he released her hand and the coins felt cold and hard inside her fist.

"Go now and take care of your errands. We both have a busy day."

Daphne nodded, fearing she couldn't speak because there was a large lump in her throat. She turned and walked out without looking back, but felt his gaze upon her back.

Daphne breezed into their room followed by Rosie burdened down with enough boxes to make Alexander wince.

"I thought I said only buy enough to travel to London?"

She looked at him in amazement.

"These are all necessary items, and much of what I purchased will be on my back tomorrow, so you have little to fear."

"We'll see," was all the comment he cared to offer on that issue.

"Until now, I did not know you could buy ready-made dresses," Daphne chattered on. "It is not a very efficient system, if you ask me. There is less opportunity to find exactly the right cut or color, and if a dress sits in the shop long enough it will be out of fashion."

She shivered at this frightening scenario, then untied the string on her parcels.

"I must say, though, the frocks Miss West had were quite attractive if one has to resort to such methods. And Miss West said triple Vandyke ruffs are all the kick this year. Can you imagine such a thing? She also said plaid scarves are the fashion. I would look positively Scottish in one, wouldn't I?"

Daphne pulled out a cloak of deep blue wool, similar in color to the coats the naval officers wore, but pedestrian in its form and fashion. She ran her hand over the material and frowned slightly, then shrugged.

"I wish it were pink, but Miss West said pink is an impractical color for a cloak. She found this for me though," Daphne said rummaging through a box and pulling forth some headgear. "Look! It's a cottage bonnet with cornflowers and a pink ribbon. Not the latest style, but I find it just adorable. And I was practical also, Alexander. I did not buy a bonnet so large it would poke you in the eye as we ride in the coach."

She waited, apparently expecting him to respond.

"Good girl?" he said tentatively.

That earned an eye-rolling response from his companion.

"I am not Pompom, you know. Never mind. As I feared, you are useless at this. What about you, Alexander? Did you find clothing?"

"Enough to carry me to London," he said. "There are tailors here whose clients sometimes ship out before they can pick up their clothing, or men selling their garments at secondhand stores, and I found what I needed. I even found boots that were barely worn."

"I look forward to seeing you in your new--well, not new, but new for you--garments."

She unwrapped more parcels and held up a frock of a faded rose color that had a discreetly repaired rip at the arm.

"I never truly thought about what happens to my clothes when I am done wearing them," Daphne mused, looking at the dress. "Now, see, this is a finely-made garment. I imagine it might have belonged to a lady, some years back. Speaking of that, Miss West gave me the latest Ackermann's Repository so I can see how fashions changed while I was gone."

Given how much Alexander authorized for this shopping foray, throwing in a periodical gratis to such a free-spending customer seemed only reasonable. His thrifty Scots heart stuttered as each furbelow and frill was revealed, but oddly enough, he found he was also getting pleasure from seeing Daphne happy with her purchases. Maybe this is why men bought fripperies for their wives--to share in their happiness. After all, didn't he enjoy purchasing a new, finely made lancet?

She unwrapped more linens, and a corset which he thought unnecessary, but Daphne said, "Stick to your surgeries, Dr. Murray. A corset is needed for the proper fit from my garments."

"If you say so. I would rather see you out of your corset than in it."

"Of course you would." She giggled. "You're a man."

By the time their supper arrived, a cold collation which was all they desired after their substantial luncheon, Daphne pronounced herself quite fatigued from the day's events.

"We have an early start so going to bed now is a prudent thing to do," Alexander said. "Pyle will wake us in time to catch the coach."

He'd considered sleeping on a pallet on the floor, but rethought that as he watched her brush out her hair, each tug of the brush through the silken strands a tug at his heart. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to still the voice inside that told him he could have her and her money and live happily ever after with rainbows and butterflies and unicorns.

"'But to see her was to love her, love but her and love forever.'"

"Did you say something, Alexander?"

He opened his eyes, drinking in her face, her form, her love, the joy radiating from her. They only had one night left together. He'd be a damn fool and worse if he did not use this time to its fullest advantage.

"Daphne, you did not remind me to teach you a new word today."

She paused from where she'd been about to braid her hair for bed. He walked over to her and sat beside her, the soft featherbed giving way beneath him.

"Leave it loose," he said, his voice as rough as his fingertips as he caressed the gold. He worked both hands into it and arranged it on her shoulders, falling over the thin gown she wore, soft from repeated washings.

"Rosie gave me the night rail. There were none at Miss West's shop."

"It looks quite practical," Alexander said. His fingers moved down from her hair to where the linen stretched across her bosom, tracing the form beneath, memorizing it with his touch. So many years of his hands being used for painful, dirty work, but he'd always taken pride in his ability to feel inside a wound and remove debris, to stitch torn vessels and mend flesh. Now he thanked whatever forces blessed surgeons with skilled hands, for he wanted to use those hands tonight to pleasure this woman who meant the world to him.

First, there were other things they could do.

"Let us remove our garments so they do not interfere, because it is time for you to learn your new word for today, Daphne."

"It involves taking our clothes off?" Daphne said in delight.

Daphne's comfort with her nudity, her willingness to learn new things--was there ever a more perfect woman? And yet, this could be their final lesson. The cold thought nearly stopped him as he tore off his own garments, but seeing her sitting on her knees on the bed, her skin dewy and flushed with excitement helped him stay focused.

He sat beside her, and cleared his throat.

"Your word for today, Daphne, is...osculation."

"Finally!" Daphne sighed, clasping her hands together. "I wondered when you were going to teach me that one."

She looked down at her bare bosom.

"And I had to take off my clothes? No wonder you did not want to teach me this word during Arnold's surgery!"

"No, that would not have been a good time," he agreed. "However, you've known the meaning of osculation for ages, Daphne, but you did not know the word."

He leaned in, brushing the hair back from her shoulders, moving it behind her ears. She smelled like fields of flowers, but beneath the scent of her soap and creams he smelled Daphne, only Daphne.

"Dr. Murray?"

"Do not be impatient, Miss Farnham. This must be done with skill and not rushed for you to understand the concept properly.

"Osculation is..." his voice lowered so that she had to lean closer yet to hear him. "Osculation is a term used in geometry, Miss Farnham."

Daphne leaned back, surprised.

"Geometry? Isn't that when you study a globe to see where countries are located?"

It was a testament to his current relationship with this amazing woman that her question did not ruin the mood for him. Rather, it almost made him laugh, but he suppressed the urge and took her hand in his.

"No, dear, that is geography. Geometry is the study of measuring the earth, or studying relations between points and lines, curves and surfaces."

He illustrated his definition by running a finger from the point where her nipple stood up under his careful touch, following the curve of the surface, drawing a line up to her neck, which made her giggle, and then down to the other, matching curve, which made her sigh and squirm.

"I like this science, Dr. Murray. I like studying relations, also!"

"I knew that," he said, but in a distracted voice because he, too, had never thought about how much pleasure one could get from the study of geometry, especially when it applied to the planes and surfaces of such a delightful subject.

"But what about osculation?"

"Ah yes," he said, drawn back to his lessons. "Osculation. It is a Latin word..."

"Oooooh, I like Latin!"

"I knew that," he said again, moving his hands and lifting her so she straddled his lap and she put her arms around his neck to steady herself. He looked into her eyes, deepened to a shade that called to mind the sky at gloaming, just after sunset when one can see the first stars and the blue is the blue of mystery and that which is hidden.

There was nothing hidden with Daphne. All her love, all her feelings were in her eyes, open to him just as her lips were open, parted on a breath as she waited for him to instruct her further.

"In geometry, osculation is a contact of two curves at which they have a common tangent. For example, you have a curve here," he outlined her lower lip, "and a curve here," he outlined her upper lip and moved in closer, bringing his arm around her back so that more of her curves came into contact with his planes and angles.

"Now, imagine these curves," he tapped her lower lip lightly, "coming into contact with other curves at a particular point."

"How does that happen?" she whispered, her breath a puff against his own lips.

"Like this."

He cradled his hand around the back of her head, tugging her into the contact of the curve of his lower lip, and her own mouth opened on a sigh as he pulled her tighter, his hand buried in the sunshine of her hair, his tongue exploring her, tasting her, teaching her even as she had taught him about love and passion.

Her lips were moist and full when he pulled his head back, her eyes dreamy.

"Osculation is kissing, isn't it?"

"Osculation is a perfect contact, my love, and your mouth was made for osculation."

"Oh, Dr. Murray, you say the most romantical things! I like this contact," she whispered.

He rocked his hips against her, stroking her, simulating the act of completion they both longed for but were willing to forestall to stretch out this magical time together, to heighten the feelings and sensitivity nurtured by their passion.

Nurtured by their love, though he would not say the words, even now, even with their sojourn together coming to an end. He could not say those words and then walk away from her. But he could create more memories for the two of them. He knew it was not likely either of them would marry for love. Not in their worlds, not in their circumstances. Would it be so awful to pull out one of these memories in later years, like a secretly hoarded treat, and remember a brief period when they were just Daphne and Alexander, not Miss Farnham and Dr. Murray? If it was a sin, he would gladly brave hell's fires. He would not think about tomorrow, and the tomorrow after that. He would revel in this one night, a final night, with the woman he loved.