Sweet Awakening (8 page)

It seemed a long time until dinner was over. “The housekeeper will be here tomorrow, so we can just leave the dishes,” said Justin with a smile. “Perhaps you would like to go up first, my dear?”

“Oh, yes, of course,” stammered Clare. She had not known how to make the move herself and was grateful to her husband for initiating things. She could feel his eyes watch her as she went up the stairs, and she hoped he would not be long in following.

He wasn’t. She had just finished turning down the covers on the bed and was sitting in front of the pier glass, brushing her hair when Justin appeared at the door.

“Let me, my dear,” he said and coming close, he took the brush, and leaned down and kissed the nape of her neck. Then he drew the brush through her curls gently. She could have sat there forever, in a trance of pleasure, but he put the brush down and whispered into her ear: “Your hair is very thoroughly brushed, my dear. And I am hoping that all my good work will be in vain. Come, let us to bed.”

Clare crawled under the covers and watched as Justin began to undress. Although he had been back in England for months now, his skin was still bronze from his years in the West Indies, and instead of modestly lowering her eyes, Clare looked at him admiringly as he took his shirt off, exposing his well-muscled arms and chest. When he started to unfasten his trousers, she did look down and heard him give a soft laugh.

In a moment, he was sliding in next to her. “I am sure that you and your mother spent hours picking out this exquisitely frothy night rail, Clare, and, unfortunately, I am going to slip it right off you.”

Justin leaned down to give her a light kiss and sliding his hand down her leg, began to push her gown back as he traced the shape of her leg with his fingers. He rested his hand on her belly for a moment and then in one quick movement, grasped the gown with both hands and pulled it over her head. Clare lay there under the covers, very still, wondering when he would touch her. She wasn’t sure what part of her body wanted to feel him most: her lips, her breasts, or that unexplored territory between her legs.

Her lips must have wanted him first, for that was where he began, gently at first, and then more insistently. She lay still for his first kiss, but when he teased her mouth open, she found she quite naturally put his arms around him and drew him closer.

One of his hands was now on her breast, cupping it, circling the nipple with his thumb. And then, wonderfully, he slid down and took it into his mouth, teasing the nipple with his tongue, the same way he had with her mouth. She moaned with delight as he leaned over her.

The bedcovers were hampering him, so he threw them off and crouched down above her, looking down into her eyes with such passion and tenderness that she had to close her own or be overwhelmed.

She slid her hands down along his back and traced the line of his waist and hips. She could feel his manhood brushing her belly, but only had the courage to lightly touch it with her fingers, marveling at the combination of satin softness and hardness. Then he was kissing her belly and using his gentle fingers to part her thighs. She was embarrassed that he would feel how wet she was down there; she seemed to be turning into liquid.

“Please, Justin,” she moaned.

“Not yet, Clare. I want this to be as comfortable for you as possible.” And so he first brought her to an exquisite climax with his fingers before finally pushing himself very gently at first, and then harder, into her innermost self.

It hurt for a few minutes, but then she was caught up in the rhythm. Her own pleasure had been so great that she was amazed at how wonderful it felt to have him come in great shudders inside her.

They slept with Clare cuddled in front of him and made love again almost before they were fully awake the next morning. This time it was even better, if that were possible, and Clare lay there afterward, her body still, but feeling as though the ocean was moving through her, pushing her gently, flowing and ebbing as the rhythms of his loving had.

* * * *

They reached Rainsborough late in the afternoon, and Clare first saw her new home just as the sun began to strike the upper windows, lighting them up and making the faded red brick look pink and warm.

“It is lovely,” she said, after Justin helped her down from the carriage.

“I am glad you like it, Clare. I was worried you would feel a bit isolated here in Devon.”

“But how could I feel that way when I have you, Justin.”

He leaned down and gave her a quick kiss before he led her over to be introduced to the servants lining the drive.

And indeed, for their first six weeks, Clare felt as though she and Justin were living in a world as golden, warm, and sweet as a globe of honey.

“This
is
our honeymoon,” Justin had said one night as he scandalized and delighted her by drizzling the sticky sweetness on her breasts and in her navel and then licked it off. She blushed and giggled, saying: “Turnabout’s fair play,” and did the same to him. They were sticky with honey and sweat as they finally made love and then took turns washing the other, which led to another hour of lovemaking, this time on the carpet, since the sheets were too sticky.

“Whatever will the maids think?” Clare whispered as she lay in his arms.

“Do you care?”

“Perhaps not. You are turning me into a wanton, Justin.”

“Good, so long as you only play the wanton with me.” It was an odd thing to say, thought Clare, but she forgot it immediately, as Justin kissed her into oblivion.

They spent most of their time together, exploring the countryside on horseback or on foot, for it was almost as new to Justin as to Clare. He ignored estate matters, turning everything over to his manager, and when Clare protested that she should be learning her way around the house, he merely said, “Leave that to Mrs. Clarke. I pay her enough.”

Justin turned down all invitations and turned away all visitors for the first few weeks. Every bit of his attention was concentrated on his wife, and Clare felt loved and cared for in the way she had longed to be all her life.

One morning she had arisen early, and dressing quietly so as not to awake her husband, had gone for a short walk before breakfast. It was lovely to be out while the grass was still wet with dew and heavy with gossamer webs that would be invisible later in the day. It was the first time she had had to be alone in months it seemed, and she reveled in the hour.

When she turned back and came in sight of the house, she was surprised and touched to see her husband, his shirt unbuttoned, his hair still tousled from sleep, setting out to look for her. She waved to him gaily and as he ran over to her, she saw that look of vulnerability in his eyes that had so touched her.

“Where
were
you, Clare?” he asked, his voice almost harsh with worry.

“Why, Justin, I only went out for an early morning stroll,” she answered. “You were sleeping so soundly, I didn’t want to wake you.”

“Don’t ever leave without telling me again, Clare,” he said fiercely.

“Of course not, my dear. Not if it worries you so,” she answered, puzzled by his vehemence but very touched by his concern.

After their time of solitude, however, it became clear that they would have to let the world in. Justin began riding the estate and going over tenant concerns with his manager, while Clare finally got Mrs. Clarke to show her through the house and introduce her to her responsibilities. And early in August, instead of tossing all the invitations back in the tray, Justin lifted one up and said: “The Lyntons have invited us to a supper dance. Do you wish to go, Clare?”

“That would be lovely, Justin. I am looking forward to meeting the people who will be our neighbors and friends.”

* * * *

The baronet and his wife were an older couple with two children, a daughter, and their oldest, a son who had been serving in India for two years. Lieutenant Lynton was home on leave, and the supper dance was in his honor.

Justin and Clare arrived late, just before the move in to supper. Clare had been placed next to the young lieutenant, who was a delightful young man only a year older than she. He had merry brown eyes, a quick smile, and kept her laughing through most of the meal with amusing tales about his time in the East.

“You are giving me a very unrealistic view of war, I am sure, Lieutenant,” she said as they got up from the table.

His face became serious for a moment. “Indeed, I have. But I have found looking for any humorous possibilities enables me to survive, Lady Rainsborough.” His eyes were bleak, but only for a moment, and without thinking, she laid her hand on his arm in silent sympathy. She felt Justin behind her, and withdrawing her hand, slipped it through her husband’s arm.

“Lieutenant Lynton was keeping me well amused all through dinner, Justin.”

“So I noticed, Lynton.”

Clare was surprised at her husband’s tone, which was cold and dismissive. “I will see both of you later,” she said quickly. “I am looking forward to my waltzes,” she added, smiling up at each of them.

But later, she was surprised to have Justin approach her for the dance which was to have been young Lynton’s.

“Oh, Justin, I would love to dance with you again, but I am promised to the lieutenant.”

“Not anymore. I convinced him that a newlywed couple wanted all their waltzes together, unfashionable though that may seem,” he answered lightly, lifting her chin with his fingertip and looking down into her eyes with that passionate concentration that always undid her.

“As long as he doesn’t feel I slighted him, Justin, I am happy,” she replied after they moved off.

* * * *

On the ride home, however, Justin started to question her.

“Whatever were you and Lynton laughing at over dinner, my dear?”

“Oh, he kept me entertained from beginning to end with one foolish story after another about the army,” she answered.

“I see. And your hand on his arm? Was that in response to his good humor?”

“Why, Justin! I do believe you are jealous.” Clare laughed.

“Why was your hand resting so long on his arm, Clare?” Justin demanded in a hard voice that Clare had never heard before.

“You are not teasing me, are you, Justin? You are quite serious,” she said, wonderingly.

“I assure you, I am.”

“I hardly remember why. I think it was that I accused him of glossing over the reality of a campaign, and for a moment or two, I could sense the pain beneath his laughter. And he is so young to be in the middle of a war. It was a natural gesture of sympathy, I assure you.” Clare could still not quite believe that her husband was upset.

Justin took a deep, ragged breath and then said, in his own familiar voice: “Forgive me, Clare. You are so warmhearted, of course you would be touched by his situation. Who would not be?”

“Justin, you could not really think that the lieutenant held any attraction for me?”

“Why not? He is young and handsome in that uniform.”

“He is a boy, Justin. And you are a man. The only man for me,” she added quietly. “The man I love with all my heart.”

“Forgive me, darling, for my moment of madness?” her husband said, putting his arm around her and pulling her to his side.

“There is nothing to forgive, Justin. I know you only said it because you love me,” she answered, all her tension drained away as she cuddled against him.

That night, her husband’s lovemaking was more gentle and at the same time, more passionate than ever, and Clare marveled that even after six weeks of marriage and a minor disagreement, their love, which had seemed perfect that first night, was only becoming stronger.

* * * *

Giles had known that Clare’s wedding would be torture, but he had hoped that if he could take the pain of seeing her as Rainsborough’s bride, then he would have faced the worst and could begin to recover. As he drove down to Whitton, however, seated next to Sabrina, he realized how often he had fantasized Clare beside him. How he had dreamed about this summer. She would have accepted his proposal and come down to Whitton for her first visit as his fiancée. They would have walked and fished and ridden and accepted the congratulations of their neighbors and friends. They would have ... Giles clenched his fists as he replayed the scene. They would have kissed again. He had gone so slowly with Clare, this Season, and then, suddenly, there was Rainsborough.

Giles spent much of the journey looking out the coach window, and Sabrina could get no more than one-word answers from him, no matter what topic she raised. She was very aware of his pain. All their lives they had shared a special wordless communication, sensing each other’s slightest change of mood. Had it been any other than Clare who had hurt him, Sabrina would have pushed and prodded Giles until she got him to open up to her. But this pain was so deep and so private, that she couldn’t speak, but just sat in silent agony herself, hoping that time, the great healer, would work its way with her brother.

The first weeks home were the worst of Giles’s life. He was up early in the morning, either riding or tramping the hills for hours. In the afternoon, he closeted himself in the library, losing himself in his study of Persian. He had become quite an Orientalist at Oxford, and had translated several poets. His reputation had followed him down from university, and the Home Office often called upon him for translation of various messages, official and otherwise. He thanked God for his interest now, for trying to find the right phrase in English to fully express a poet’s intention was the only thing that kept his mind off Clare.

After a while, however, he had been everywhere alone that he had visited in fantasy with Clare. Having faced down the worst, he realized he would survive her loss. Perhaps he would even come to think of her as she did him: an old and dear friend. Perhaps by the fall, he would be able to see her and simply enjoy her presence in his life. He hoped so.

Early one morning of his third week home, the groom brought both his gelding and Sabrina’s mare to the front of the house. When Giles looked at him inquiringly, the man said that Lady Sabrina had informed him last night that she had planned to ride with her brother.