Forever Waiting (19 page)

Ashamed, astonished, and ultimately dismayed, she set her mind on the ball, reliving every splendid moment of it. She could feel John’s warm hand on her back, see his crooked smile, hear his resonant voice, smell the pleasing scent of light cologne and flesh, taste his kiss. Each sensual recollection evoked such sweet yearning she jumped from the chair and stepped through the French doors.

Two figures emerged from the veranda below. In the torchlight, she recognized Paul and Anne, arms entwined. Anne raised a glass of champagne and lavished him with blandishments. “You are the toast of the evening, the envy of the shipping world.” She tossed her glass aside and boldly looped her hands around his neck. On the tips of her toes, she drew his head forward, kissing him squarely on the mouth. He responded by pulling her hard against him. The sound of heated kisses and murmured endearments soon punctuated the rhythmic chirping of crickets. Charmaine’s cheeks burned as Anne touched him in places a wife might hesitate to venture. “Not here,” he murmured, “there’s a boathouse not far away.”

Charmaine stepped back. No need to watch. She knew where they were headed. At first, she wanted to cry, not out of disappointment, but innocence lost. And then, even that impulse vanished. She was a woman now and ready to leave the naïve girl behind.

She turned her face into the breeze and luxuriated in the cool night air. She had already recovered from the lascivious scene, for she knew the truth about Paul. Hadn’t he told her so himself?
I’m a rogue, Charmaine …
But it didn’t matter! She didn’t care! A half hour passed, perhaps more. She didn’t know how long she stayed there, reveling in the lightness of her mind.

She returned to her room and paced the floor, once, twice, and once again. She was still wide-awake; the fresh evening air had dusted all the cobwebs of sleep from her head. She settled into the chair, but she couldn’t close her eyes. Not now … not tonight … She sprang up and circled the stifling, oppressive room again, this room where she didn’t feel whole.

John couldn’t sleep, so he started reviewing Geoffrey Elliot’s contracts. They took his mind off Charmaine. The thought of her accepting his brother’s marriage proposal would drive him mad if he dwelled on it any longer.

He came up from his contemplation with the rap on his door. The rap came again. Who could be knocking at this hour? The ball had broken up long ago. He left the bed and the many papers strewn over it and opened the door, indifferent to the fact he was clad only in his swimming breeches. It was more than likely Paul, back from his romp.

He was astounded to find Charmaine there. “What is it?” he queried softly, worried by the look on her face.

She stood mute, then breached the distance between them, encircling his waist in a tentative embrace. Her cheek caressed his naked chest, triggering a quickening in his loins.

They stood that way for a time; she, apprehensive, yet savoring the sensation of his sturdy body against her own; he, dumbfounded, wondering what had prompted this uncharacteristic display of sensual affection. Was this what he thought it was? He stroked her hair and asked again, “What is it?”

“Nothing,” she said, oblivious to anything save his embrace.

She didn’t know what force had drawn her to his chamber; she didn’t have a purpose in mind, other than her need to see him. And, unlike his cavalier brother, John was in his room, alone. When she beheld him half-naked in the doorway, all rationality fled and animal instinct took over. Now, here she was, in his arms.

John was aroused, her soft breasts pressing into his chest, sweet agony. Did she know the trouble she was courting with her hands stroking his back? When she turned her head the other way, laying a cool cheek against his skin, he silently groaned, his resistance rapidly dwindling. Throwing caution to the wind, he clasped her shoulders, stepped back into the room, and pulled the door shut, turning the key in the lock. He no longer hesitated, his hands coursing the length of her, firmly grasping her buttocks and pulling her hard against his manhood.

She was surprised, but not displeased. Looking into his eyes for the first time, she wrapped her arms around his neck and met his mouth halfway. Like before, his lips brushed over hers ever so lightly, barely touching, playing. His kiss deepened, and he pulled her closer yet, his tongue finding hers in an erotic, catapulting caress.

He pulled away and stepped over to the bed. Hastily, he began to gather the papers, depositing them unceremoniously into the armchair. She looked on in expectation, so when he gestured toward the bed, she walked to it straightaway and climbed in, ignoring the rational voice that screamed:
Return to your room!
It was of no use to her now. The sensible Charmaine had been left there to contemplate right and wrong. This Charmaine wanted to know, touch, become part of the flesh and blood John. She lay back against the pillow, trembling, yet alert to his every movement.

Aware of her inexperience, John used the task of clearing the bed to cool his ardor. Yes, she was here with him, but was she ready for intimacy? Unless he had sorely misjudged her, this was her first time. Better to approach the encounter delicately, slowly. He wouldn’t undress yet.

Her rapt eyes followed him as he moved about the room, lowering the lamp, drawing the curtains, and securing the dressing room door. A strange exhilaration was building inside as she freely perused the inviting expanse of his back, the muscles in his shoulders where they met sinewy arms.

He settled into the bed next to her, and their eyes met. Surprisingly, she found voice to speak, something to break the awkward silence of anticipation. “Do you always wear your swimming breeches to bed?” she asked.

“When it’s hot,” he smiled, noting she had pulled the coverlet up to her neck, clutching it with white-knuckled fists. Not that she needed such fortifications; she was wearing a robe over her nightgown. “Do you mind?” he queried softly with a gesture he’d prefer to leave the blanket down.

“No,” she replied unsteadily, releasing it.

She caught his grin as he pulled the coverlet aside and sized up her amply clad body. “Aren’t
you
hot?” he asked. In fact, the chamber was suffocating. Realizing how silly she appeared, she doffed her robe.

They lay there, not touching, he with his back resting against the pillows and headboard. His eyes took on a pensive gleam, and he regarded her quizzically. “Why are you here, Charmaine?”

“I don’t know,” she answered honestly.

“Are you sure you want this? You won’t be crying in the morning?”

“Should I be? Crying, I mean?”

“No, my Charm. I’d never intentionally make you cry. I can make you very happy. I want to make you happy.”

“I couldn’t stand being apart from you for another second,” she murmured, lost to her love for him. “When you were away, I missed you terribly.”

He pondered her response and smiled. “I’ve fantasized about this moment many times. Now it’s arrived, I feel like a little boy let loose in Cookie’s kitchen after she’s spent the entire day baking nothing but treats.”

He raised his arm and invited her closer.

She snuggled in, laying her head against his hard shoulder, slipping her arm over his bare chest. The feel of his flesh, his solid body next to hers, sent a pleasing thrill into her soul. Ever so lightly, he pulled her hair to the side, his fingers brushing her neck and playing with the thick, unbound locks.

They remained that way for minutes on end, quiet, yet communicating all the same. She closed her eyes to the ecstasy of his hand sliding over her back and shoulders, caressing her arm. She knew he was enjoying it, too, for she could feel his heart racing under her palm. Suddenly, he seemed agitated, as if this closeness were not enough. He tugged at her nightdress. She looked up at him.

“Charmaine,” he murmured, “why don’t you take this off ?”

Had she been anywhere else at this moment, she would have shrunk back at the bold request or scurried away like a frightened rabbit. But here she was, pulling the garment away, watching bashfully as he did the same.

It was close to dawn when they consummated their love. Charmaine was anxious, but John calmed her with tender words and kisses, his rough cheek brushing hers as his lips moved to her ear and the hollow of her neck. His hands moved freely over her now, stroking her breasts, her bottom and thighs. His touch evoked erotic sensations she had never experienced before. A sweet ache throbbed in her belly, leaving her quivering with lust and wondering why she had avoided this for so long. He explored the most intimate of places, places she should have been embarrassed to permit, and yet, she was certain if he stopped, she would beg him for more.

He held his passion at bay as he covered her body with his and penetrated her slowly. She whimpered, and he perceived her pain across his own elated revelation that she
was
innocent to a man and had chosen him to be her lover. She was his alone; he wouldn’t have to share her with anyone. As he pressed deeper, she went rigid beneath him, and he reined in his heightening urge to climax, holding still for her, allowing her time to adjust to these new sensations, time for the pain to ebb. “It’s all right, Charmaine,” he whispered, his hands cradling her face, his thumbs caressing her tears away. “I love you. Let me show you how much I love you … ” He kissed her again. She responded with parted lips, her tension yielding to passion. Unable to hold himself in check any longer, John began to move above her.

Charmaine was hostage to pleasure—the indescribable oneness she felt with him. The chaffing discomfort was gone, and she pulled him closer with unbridled abandon, as even in their intimacy, she couldn’t have him close enough. For the first time, she understood her desperate yearnings and felt complete. As she breathed deeply, tiny tentacles tantalized her from within, intensifying her desire, until she was writhing beneath him. John accelerated slightly, the persistent rhythm so sensate it evoked a deeper need within her: a mystical unity, a divine splendor, an unfathomable crescendo that crested without warning. Her body contracted with one tremendous jolt, then relaxed in the bliss of the sweet tremors that followed. John groaned and hugged her tightly, breathless and satiated.

They lay entwined, quiet for many minutes, basking in ebbing ecstasy. Charmaine’s sigh drew John’s attention, and he propped up on an elbow, his eyes sparkling. She was ready for any number of comments, but to her amazement, he held silent. He relieved her of his weight, then lifted a strand of her hair and played with it between thumb and index finger, before letting it fall on her breast. She resisted the urge to pull up the coverlet and allowed him to behold her naked body, glowing in the soft lamplight. His hand caressed her shoulder, moving over the curve of her hip and coming to rest on her thigh. She shivered in anticipation, incredulous she wanted him all over again.

He plumped the pillows and drew her to him, so her head rested upon his chest and his arms encircled her. As they lay with eyes closed, a potent contentment settled over her. He stroked her hair and her shoulder again. “I have my life back … ” she heard him murmur as he drifted off to sleep.

Tears of joy trickled down her cheeks. “I love you, too, John,” she whispered into his chest. She reached up and, at long last, ran her fingers through his tousled locks. Almost immediately, she succumbed to slumber.

Closing her sitting room door, Agatha sighed in deep satisfaction. The evening had been magnificent. She couldn’t be happier. Paul had been brilliant, a star that outshined her sister’s son in every respect. And Frederic—he had been the perfect host, as handsome as the day they had first met. Tonight, she had claimed the coveted place by his side.

There was only one flaw in the entire week. She’d been unable to tell everyone Paul was her son, too. But at least he knew the truth, and was not, as Frederic had predicted, offended by it. They should have ended the deception years ago. She longed to speak to him, to proclaim her love for his father and explain the unfair twists of fate that had deprived him, until now, of his birthright and everything he deserved. She shook her head of the troublesome thoughts. She’d give it a bit more time. Tonight was too glorious to waste on sad memories, not when it was
she
who had danced in Frederic’s arms. Tonight, she would seek his bed.

She undressed slowly, donned a sheer nightgown, brushed out her hair, and dabbed perfume behind her ears. Frederic hadn’t made love to her since the day she had spanked Pierre, and though she’d attempted to seduce him since then, he’d set her aside. But not tonight. Tonight, she’d break down the fortress he’d once again erected around his heart. She had done so before and could do it again.

She was surprised to find him standing beside the French doors, staring down into the gardens. He turned as she closed the door behind her.

“It was a wonderful week, an exquisite evening,” she praised. “You’ve made our son very happy. You’ve made him proud to be called a Duvoisin.”

“Yes,” Frederic murmured, turning back to the glass doors.

“I’m proud to be your wife,” she whispered in a husky voice. Coming up behind him, she looped her arms around his waist and leaned her cheek against his back. “I love you.”

Frederic pulled away, placing distance between them before facing her again. The ball was over, the week behind him. He could stop pretending.

“Agatha,” he began, “I don’t love you. I thought perhaps something akin to love could grow between us—companionship, perhaps—but we’ve grown apart these past nine months.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Don’t you? You despise my children even though they are a part of me.”

She bristled at the statement. “I love Paul.”

Frederic was saddened by her lame defense. “Exactly. You love
your
son. As for John— your own nephew—time and again you’ve set out to alienate him from me. This last time, the worst of all.”

When she started to speak, he held up a hand, and she wisely let him finish.

“I know you have always wished to legitimize Paul’s birth. God knows I’ve wished the same. But to usurp John’s rights because of what happened between us—that, I cannot understand, refuse to accept. I thought our marriage would heal your pain, but sadly, it hasn’t. You’re filled with bitterness and hate.”