Prelude to Heaven (27 page)

“I’m glad of the change. I was beginning to find fish soup and bread a bit monotonous, too. Still, I have to admit, it’s nice to have help with the dishes.” She rose to her feet to collect the plates and take them to the kitchen, but Alexandre’s voice stopped her.

“Let Leonie do that.”

“But Leonie has been working hard all day while I've done nothing. And I am still your housekeeper.”

“Not tonight. I am giving my housekeeper the evening off so that she can play chess with me. No arguments.”

She laughed and gave in. “You are an impossible man!” Setting down the plates, she added, “If I'm to leave the dishes to poor Leonie alone, the least I can do is put the babies to bed for her.”

Alexandre nodded and rose, picking up his glass of wine. “I'll be in the library. Join me there.”

She went to the kitchen and relieved Leonie of the two babies, who she was assured had just been fed. She took them up to the nursery, changed them and tucked them into their cradles. She lingered a bit longer over Suzanne, taking extra care with folding the blankets over her, indulging in a bit of pure motherly pride, for her daughter was becoming a very pretty baby. Her eyes had turned from the common slate blue to deep green, and her hair was a lovely fusion of blond and red. She was also as round as a ball of butter, due to Leonie’s plentiful milk supply.

Tess felt a bit melancholy that was unable to feed her own daughter, but she contented herself with singing Suzanne and her companion to sleep with a lullaby.

When she returned downstairs to join Alexandre in the library, she found he had the pieces of the chess set already set out on the board, and soon the two of them were engaged in a game that actually proved competitive.

Alexandre still won the game, but Tess was happy to see that her chess was improving. “Shall we play again?” she asked and began arranging the pieces for a rematch.

“No. You're becoming much too good at this. You might win.”

She laughed at that. “I doubt it. You still trounced me. Though it did take longer.”

“Instead of chess, why don't you show me what you bought in the village today?”

“You really want to see?” She paused and gave him a dubious glance. “Really?”

He nodded, and her grip tightened around the chess piece in her hand, suddenly, strangely apprehensive. During her marriage, every single thing she wore had been chosen by her husband, but until this moment, it hadn’t occurred to her that Alexandre might insist upon exercising the same privilege.

Pink. With your coloring? The one time I give you leave to choose your own gown...

Tess swallowed hard and shut out the past. “What if you don't like what I bought?” she asked, rigidly still as she waited for his answer.

He shrugged, settling back in his chair. “I'm not the one who has to wear it.”

She laughed, relief flowing through her. “I’ll be right back,” she said and left the library, returning a few moments later with an armful of parcels. One at a time, she displayed the fabrics she'd bought, and as she brought out each one, he frowned thoughtfully or tilted his head as if seriously considering what opinion to make of it, but by now she was sure he was only teasing.

Nonetheless, when she had folded the third length of fabric and set it aside, he gave a heavy sigh and slowly shook his head, a reaction that made her tense.

“What is it?” she whispered, dismayed.

“Nothing. It’s just that—” He paused, giving her an apologetic look as he gestured to the pile of fabrics. “None of these are quite suitable for what I had in mind.”

Tess's anxiety tripled in the full five seconds it took her to respond. She lowered her chin and stared at the floor. “What,” she asked in a choked voice, “did you have in mind?”

“A wedding.”

She hadn't heard him right. Or he was still teasing her. But when she looked at him, his grave expression told her he wasn't teasing at all. She took a step forward and faltered. “You want to marry me?”

He closed the distance between them. “You must admit, it is a sound idea,” he said and pulled the swath of fabric from her fingers to toss it aside. “Suzanne would have a name and a father.”

He bent his head and kissed her. “I would take care of you and you would take care of me.”

His arms wrapped around her, and he pulled her close. “As you pointed out, I need taking care of.”

He bent his head again, this time trailing kisses from her lips to her chin to the ruffled collar at her throat. “And, if all that’s not enough to persuade you,” he added, moving his lips to the lobe of her ear, “there’s the fact that Paul and Leonie will stop thinking dreadful things about me if I do the honorable thing and marry you.”

The thought flashed through her mind that now was the time to tell him about her past. But the idea of telling Alexandre about Nigel, talking aloud about the things her husband had done, filled her with dismay. She couldn't do it, she couldn't relive those horrible days. Not now, not yet. Later, she promised herself as Alexandre captured her lips again, she would tell him about Nigel later.

“Your reasons seem to be very good ones,” she said breathlessly when he pulled back.

“There is one other reason.” He cupped her cheeks, and the tenderness in his expression sent her heart tumbling in her breast. “I happen to love you very much.”

Before she could reply, his lips captured hers, and reasons, sound or otherwise, were swept aside as his tongue teased her lips, parting them for a deeper kiss.

All the strength seemed to drain from limbs with that kiss, and she clung to him, molding her body against his. She felt the lust in him, but it evoked no fear in her, only an answering desire. Past experience had been a brutal teacher, but instinct and love guided her now, and she was not afraid.

She slid her arms between them and ran her hands up his chest to his collar. Her hands shook as she undid the three buttons of his shirt one by one. Pulling back white linen, she pressed her mouth to his tawny skin and felt a tremor run through his body at her soft kisses.

“Tess...” Her name was a groan on his lips. His fingers caught in the tangle of her hair, encouraging her to explore further.

She did, savoring a power she'd never known as she moved her lips across his skin, enjoying the smooth texture of his bare skin against her lips and the rise and fall of his rapid breathing.

He groaned again and his hand left her hair. Suddenly, she felt herself lifted into his arms. “Take up the lamp,” he ordered.

She complied, and by its light as he carried her up the stairs and into the master’s chamber, she could see in his face a raw, intense sensuality that he made no effort to hide, and when he kicked the door shut behind him, the sound made her heart give a tiny jolt of panic, but she reminded herself that she was not afraid.

Setting her down on the edge of the bed, he sank to his knees in front of her. He raked his hands through her hair, tilted her head back and kissed her—long, slow, deep kisses that acted on her senses like a drug.

She was lost in a sensuous haze by the time he finally broke the kiss, when he lifted the hem of her gown over her knees and began to remove her slippers, it took her a moment to realize he was actually undressing her. Such a thing was so unexpected, that she couldn't move. All she could do was watch, fascinated, as he pulled the ties of her garters. When the bows came loose, the garters fell away, and Tess let out a startled gasp of pleasure as his fingertips caressed the backs of her knees. And then, slowly, he pulled off her stockings, and her gasp became a moan as his warm palms slid the wisps of silk down her legs.

This tenderness, this slow, sensual consideration was wholly beyond her experience, and it felt like soft rain on her dry, parched soul. She hadn’t known and could never have guessed that a man could be tender like this, and she had the sudden, strange, absurd desire to cry. Joy sung in her blood, for she knew this was how lovemaking was intended to be.

His hands grasped hers, warm and strong as he pulled her to her feet and turned her around. Beginning at the top, he undid the hooks down her back, then pulled the gown from her shoulders, down over her hips, to fall in a pool of muslin at her feet. She closed her eyes, feeling the soft cotton petticoat slide down her bare legs to join the gown on the floor.

He loosened the lacings, and as he did, she helped him by undoing the hooks at the front of her corset. The garment came apart, and he tossed it aside, and then he drew up her chemise, and the cool air teased her hot skin as he pulled the chemise over her head.

His fingertips danced along her spine, causing her to shiver. He pushed aside short wisps of hair and kissed the nape of her neck.

Every remaining ounce of strength she possessed deserted her and her knees buckled. His arms came up to encircle her waist, holding her against him. But she still felt as if she were falling—sinking down, down to a place she’d never been in her life before, a place that was hot and dark, carnal and sweet.

Strange longings were building inside of her and, restless, she tried to turn around, but he held her prisoner against his hard length with one arm as his free hand move up to cup her breast.

He caught her nipple between his thumb and forefinger, evoking such unfamiliar and turbulent feelings within her, that when she said his name, it was a groan on her lips. “Alexandre...oh, God, Alexandre, I feel so strange.”

His laughter was low and warm against her ear. Loosening his embrace, he allowed her to face him before gently guiding her backward. The edge of the bed hit her knees, and she fell back into the mattress, her gaze locked with his. She could see the reflection of her own passion in the black depths of his eyes, hear it in their quick, mingled breathing in the quiet hush of the room. Slowly, his eyes never leaving hers, he began to undress.

His boots hit the floor. His shirt flew somewhere behind him. Their gazes remained locked until he slid his trousers off his hips, and she had to remind herself that she was not afraid, but when he slid onto the bed beside her, she froze, instantly stiff and tense.

He must have felt the change in her body, sensed her fear, for his arms wrapped around her. He nuzzled her neck and caressed her breasts, murmuring words in French and English, fanning her fires with caresses and kisses until he had gained a series of pleasurable cries from her lips and every cell of her body seemed to tingle with sensation. For the first time, she longed for what she knew was to come. Opening her eyes, she looked at his. “I love you,” she whispered, expecting him to complete the act.

But again he surprised her. He rolled onto his back, grasping her hand and pressing it to his chest. “Touch me.”

She rolled onto her side, resting her weight on her elbow, and experimentally, she ran her free hand over the hard muscles of his chest, down his flat stomach and back up. She touched his face, her fingertips brushing across his mouth, lingering there a long moment before she once again moved lower to caress his body.

Alexandre tilted his head back, letting out a groan of pleasure. Her hand moved lower still, and he grasped her wrist to stop her.

He turned, pushing her onto her back once again, rolling with her. His weight pinned her to the mattress, his knee parted her legs. She bit her lip and allowed it, fighting another wave of fear, but when his fingers touched between her thighs, every painful memory of her previous experiences shattered. She cried out, her body arching upward into his hand, and then seeming to shatter into shards of white-hot pleasure, and she collapsed, panting against the mattress.

He moved on top of her, settling his weight between her thighs, then with one more murmured endearment, he entered her with a swift, hard thrust.

Soft. God, she was soft. He held himself motionless for a moment, savoring the warmth of her all around him. Willing himself to go slowly, he began to move, but her body was pulling him deeper and deeper, and he couldn't hold back. The softness and warmth of her were too much for his starved body, and he quickened the pace. She clung to him, her hands caressing his back, her body matching his pace thrust for thrust, but it wasn't until he heard her cry his name and felt her body climax a second time that he allowed his own release. With a shout of triumph, he plunged deep inside her one last time and the confession was torn from his lips. “Tess, Tess, I love you so!”

His body jerked, shudders of pleasure racking him, then stilled. He fell against her, drinking in great gulps of air and the fragrance of her skin.

It was a long time before he had the strength to stir. He started to roll away, but she made a sound of protest, her arms tight around him. He lifted his head, resting his weight on his arms, his gaze roaming possessively over her.

Tess reached up to touch his face, running her fingers down his lean cheek, loving this blissful aftermath almost as much as what had preceded it—again it was something she’d never known before. She weaved her fingers through his hair—black as a raven's wing, thick as a horse's mane, it was as soft as silk in her grasp as she wrapped the long strands around her hand and gently pulled his head down to hers. “Don't ever cut your hair,” she ordered, her mouth an inch from his.

“I won't.” Touching his lips to hers, he vowed, “I'll let it grow until it reaches my ankles.”

She laughed softly. “That will probably take a long time.”

“Mm-hmm,” he agreed and kissed her. “The rest of our lives.”