The Gilded Web (48 page)

And his hands roamed her body lightly, touching, exploring, rubbing, slowly but surely arousing. His mouth moved away from hers to trail kisses over her face, down over her chin and her throat to her breasts and back to her mouth again. She set her palms against his chest and spread her fingers wide. She could feel beneath the rough hair the muscles of his chest, his shoulders, his upper arms.

His hand went down between her legs, and his fingers searched and teased. She moaned, and her arms closed about his neck.

“Easy, love,” he murmured against her ear. “Not so fast.”

And he turned over onto his back and lifted her to lie on top of him. He took her legs between his own and held her head in his hands.

“I am going to show you how beautiful it can be,” he said. “There is no hurry. We have hours yet before we will be missed. Slowly, love.”

And he resumed the light exploration with his hands, the feathered kisses, the teasing, warm meeting of mouths. Alexandra became physical sensation only. And yet it was not entirely that. Not for one moment did she forget with whom she lay, who it was who was making such achingly wonderful love to her. And she knew that he was equally aware of her. His eyes were open as hers were. He murmured her name as she did his.

And finally he nudged his legs beneath hers, reached down to bring her knees up to hug his body, and lifted her slightly away from him. When his hands grasped her hips firmly and brought her back down to him, she found herself being deeply penetrated.

“Edmund,” she whispered against his mouth, and pressed her knees to his sides.

“Easy, love,” he said. “Slowly.”

And he moved in her in a tantalizingly slow rhythm that had feeling gradually spiraling upward in her, through her womb into her breasts, into her throat. She lost touch with time and the world beyond her own body and that of the man who was creating such erotic feelings in her.

He took her by the shoulders eventually and lifted her upward so that she was kneeling over him, looking down into his eyes, her hair waving forward like a curtain on either side of her face.

“Ride me, Alex,” he whispered, and she moved to find his rhythm until they were together and moving faster, her hands reaching down to his shoulders, his on her hips, their eyes looking deeply into each other's.

But she closed her eyes finally and bit down on her lower lip. She was tight with desire, in an agony of raw wanting and wanting. And yet every muscle was clenched in protest, holding him away from the center of herself where no one but she had ever been before. And every inward thrust became a pain and an ecstasy, demanding the admittance that she dared not give and that she could not live without giving.

He moved unrelentingly on and she knelt astride his body, still now and taut, resisting the moment that she knew was inevitable, waiting in terror lest it happen, waiting in anguish lest it not happen.

Her body was opening to him, relaxing against him. And now that it had begun, now that there was no holding back the giving, she stopped fighting. She opened her eyes and looked down into his again and allowed each inward thrust of his body to push back the resistance of her muscles.

And then she knew herself fully opened, without defenses, and he paused on the brink of her.

“Alex,” he whispered, “come down here to me.” He reached up his arms and cupped her face in his hands as she came. He brought it close to his own and kissed her lips.

“Now,” he said, and laid her head against his shoulder before reaching down to grasp her hips again and push himself firmly and very deeply into her once, twice, three times, until he was there, there with her, in her, part of her; and all feeling, all tension moved outward on soft waves of sensation until there was nothing left but herself and her lover, cradled in each other's arms, united at their core. Nothing else mattered or even existed. Just the two of them suspended in this moment of time. Life and death and heaven all combined in one timeless moment.

When she came to herself, her legs had somehow been straightened to lie comfortably on either side of his. His arms were wrapped around her, and he was kissing her cheek and her temple—and her mouth when she turned her face toward his.

“Edmund,” she murmured against his mouth. “You are beautiful. So beautiful.”

“It was good for you,” he said. “I am very happy that it was good for you, Alex. I have wanted to give you happiness.”

She burrowed her head against his shoulder and reached up to touch his cheek with one hand. “That is all you ever want of life, is it not, Edmund?” she said. “To make other people happy. And what of yourself?”

He took her hand in his and kissed the palm, holding back her fingers with his thumb. “You cannot doubt that it was good for me too,” he said. “You gave me everything, Alex. No one has ever done that for me before. Thank you.”

He must have drifted off to sleep. Certainly he said no more, and his breathing was quiet and even. Alexandra did not. Utterly satiated and relaxed physically, still united with her lover, she began to return to her separate being mentally and emotionally. Her very separate being.

No one had ever given completely to Edmund before. He was respected, loved by so many people, and yet everyone was at the receiving end of his love. He gave so much that he gave also the impression that he did not need anything himself, that he was sufficient unto himself. She had given him her body, and he had thanked her as if it were the most precious gift of his life. And yet just a few hours before she had publicly withdrawn the gift of herself to him. She could have married him, spent her life giving her companionship, support, understanding, love, children. And she had chosen instead self-respect, freedom.

Selfishness!

And she would reap a just reward. She would spend her life reliving this hour, watching it fade in her memory and cloud her life. Everything in her future would be judged against this night of love and harmony and giving and receiving, and everything would be found wanting. All the happiness in her life was in the past already. In the past hour. All that was left of this night was the getting dressed when Edmund awoke and walking back to the house, perhaps together, perhaps separately.

She was justly served. She turned her head slightly and kissed the warm flesh of his shoulder where it met his neck. He did not stir.

L
ORD
E
DEN WAS UP
very early the next morning. In truth, he had slept but little. A mood of restlessness drove him, the need to be gone on his way, without having the ritual of a final day to live through.

There was so much to be said to Edmund and Mama, and especially to Madeline. Too much to be said and too little time in which to say it. Oceans of time in which there was nothing to say. It was always like this at parting. He could remember it to a lesser degree every time he had left home for school or university. One felt the day before that one wanted to do and say so much, and yet one's actions felt paralyzed, one's tongue tied.

He wished he could snap his fingers and he would be on his way, all the farewells said. Once away, he could forget the sadness, the partings, though he would carry with him wherever he went his affection for those left behind. He would be able to concentrate on his future, on doing what he had always wanted to do.

And perhaps once away he would be able to blank his mind to a horribly bungled love affair. He had renounced Susan in his heart the night before and felt that heart breaking. The eternal noble gesture. Don Quixote. Susan must not be faced with the realities of war and mortality, so Susan must be given up. And Susan had promptly betrothed herself to an officer whose regiment might be off to Spain at any moment.

He might have had her after all. It seemed that she would not have said no. She had cried and told him she loved him, and then she had gone in and accepted another man's offer of marriage.

He had spent a couple of hours of sleeplessness in a fury against her. She had been playing with his emotions, dangling after the larger prize, he had thought at first. But his anger had faded. Susan, sweet little Susan, was incapable of such scheming duplicity. She really did love him and had hoped until that last moment that he would marry her. But Susan was a realist. She had always protested that she was not good enough for him. She had given in to reality and accepted a good man when he had offered.

And so, the morning after the ball, when he rose early and left his valet in his room packing the belongings that he would need to take with him, his feelings were battered and bruised, his need to be gone strong upon him, and an uncomfortable day of pain yawning ahead of him.

Edmund was not yet up, the butler informed him. It was unusual for Edmund to be in bed so late, but of course it had been a late night, and a demanding one on Edmund as host. Madeline, on the other hand, was up and out riding already. That was surprising, as Madeline was not an early riser at the best of times. But of course, she had her own reason to find sleep difficult.

“Where did she go?” he asked the butler.

“I am afraid I could not say, my lord,” that individual said with a bow, and Lord Eden was left to stride out to the stables to see if anyone did know.

He found her less than an hour later galloping along the beach toward him as if she had all the hounds of hell at her heels. She slowed her horse when she saw him and came riding up to him, watching him warily.

“Are you talking to me today, Mad?” he asked, flashing her a grin.

“Yes,” she said without any of the dash of spirit he expected.

“Are you still angry with me?” he asked.

She shook her head and turned her horse to walk along the beach in the direction of the black rock. Lord Eden brought his horse into step beside hers.

“I have always known that you would go,” she said. “I just thought that perhaps if I ignored the fact, it would go away. Perhaps it would be easier to have a twin of the same gender, would it not, Dom? I feel so very close to you, and yet you are so very different from me that sometimes I cannot understand you at all. But one thing cannot be ignored, and must not be, since this may be the very last day I will spend with you. I love you more dearly than I could possibly say.”

Lord Eden grinned across at her. “Perhaps I should get you to put this down in writing, Mad,” he said. “It would be delicious ammunition to use against you in future arguments. ‘Look,' I would be able to say when you are hurling cushions or books or hatchets at my head, while I wave a piece of paper in the air, ‘you love me more than you could possibly say, Mad.'”

To his surprise, she raised eyes to his that were brimming with tears. “Will there be future arguments?” she said, before breaking into loud and indelicate sobs.

“Mad!” he said. “Hey! For goodness' sake, stop this, will you? Anyone would swear that I was going to be led straight out to a firing squad or something as an initiation rite into the army. A surprising number of soldiers go home after war to tell the tale, you know, a large number of them with all four limbs too.”

But her sobs only increased in volume as she flapped her hand around in search of a handkerchief and slapped at his as it reached across to take the reins of her horse.

“Hey, you goose,” Lord Eden said, vaulting from the saddle of his horse and dragging his sister down from hers. He held her very tightly to him despite her effort to escape and her snorts and hiccups as she tried to control the humiliating tears. “I haven't seen you cry since Papa thrashed me when we were ten for pulling your hair and kicking you in the rear end, and then refused to do the same to you though you had contributed at least your equal share to the fight. Until yesterday, that is. And now again.”

She snorted inelegantly. “I hate you,” she said.

“No, you don't, love,” he said cheerfully. “You love me more than you could possibly say. You see? I had no idea that I would have a chance to throw that back in your teeth quite so soon.”

“Don't, Dom,” she said, clinging to his arms suddenly and raising a red, tear-streaked face to his. “Don't act this way as if everything is normal and as if you are not going away forever tomorrow. Don't. I can't fight back today. It is not fair to fight with me when I am not in form.”

He bent and kissed her forehead. “You are a goose,” he said. “I have no intention of getting killed, I would have you know. I wouldn't give you the satisfaction of knowing yourself the oldest surviving twin. I intend to outlive you, little sister, by at least half an hour. First in and last out, so to speak. But not for fifty or sixty years at least yet, Mad. I'm not in any hurry. Are you?”

She clung to the lapels of his coat. “I wish I could go too,” she said. “I wish women could go to war too, Dom.”

He raised his eyes to the sky. “Heaven forbid!” he said. “I would spend more time fighting with you than with the French, Mad.”

“Are you very unhappy about Susan?” she asked.