Sur le seuil d’ou ménace l’éternelle obscurité,
tu arrives brillant, Mon Amour, le soleil.
—Ambroise Periant
And just when never-ending darkness threatens, comes the Sun—My Love.
Mai 1753
Beauvu
The ride to Beauvu was uneventful. Even in the forced closeness of the gently rocking coach, neither Christina nor Marco seemed aware of their father’s growing discomfort. They likewise took no notice of the perpetually smug look on Guy’s face, but, as always of late, Christina felt uncomfortable just being near him, constantly aware of his eyes on her.
She gazed out the window in an effort to ignore him, watching the landscape roll by and allowing herself the luxury of daydreams. Her uneasiness was forgotten as thoughts of Richard filled her mind.
He would be back tomorrow. She was sure that this summer they would be betrothed, with a wedding in the fall. He would finally accept her as a woman, a woman grown and ready to become his wife. She’d waited all her life to give herself fully and completely to Richard.
When the coach pulled up in front the château, Guy opened the door and helped Christina down. He was excited and wondered if she noticed that his hands were shaking. He decided she didn’t as she thanked him and started to turn toward the steps—pointedly, it seemed to him—avoiding looking directly into his eyes. Well, he would not be ignored, especially by the woman he intended to marry.
“Christina, I’d like to speak to you after supper,” he said with a sly smile. His fingers held hers tightly when she tried to move away from him.
“Of course,” she replied cooly, turning to stare at him until he dropped her hand.
That evening, when she was no longer able to put it off, Christina went out to walk with Guy. Beauvu was so beautiful in the early summer, so peaceful and quiet after the noise and bustle of the city. The last rays of the sun softened the light and turned the leaves of the hedges a silvery grey green. When she saw the little statue of Venus among the roses, Christina felt as though she’d finally come home. She was anxious to finish with Guy so she could be alone in the garden—alone and free to think of Richard and what lay ahead.
“What was it you wanted to talk to me about?” She knew her tone made it obvious that she had other things on her mind. She stopped and bent down to smell one of the fragrant pink roses, the roses Richard had picked for her every summer since she was small.
“Christina, we’ve been spending a lot of time together these past months.” Guy paused, waiting for her to look up.
“Yes,” she agreed, giving him a puzzled look.
He put both hands in his pockets, and took a firm stance, then he looked away. “I think it’s time we were married,” he said abruptly.
“What did you say?” Christina stood up, staring at him. He couldn’t possibly have spoken the words she thought she’d heard.
“I said…I think it’s time we were married.” The look he gave her was anything but warm.
“You aren’t serious?”
“Of course I’m serious,” he said sharply, unable to hide his annoyance.
“Guy, I’m sorry, believe me…” Christina was overwhelmed and attempting to find words that wouldn’t make him even angrier was obviously going to be difficult.
“I don’t know what I’ve done that might make you think that I was interested in you as anything but a friend…”
“Are you refusing my proposal?” he asked, a hard edge to his voice.
“I’m sorry…yes. Guy, you know it’s Richard I love.”
Guy smiled, finding he was enjoying this moment more than he’d ever imagined he might.
“My dear, whom you love is of no concern to me. You and I will be married.”
“What?” She couldn’t understand him. How could he believe she would seriously consider his offer?
“Perhaps you should talk to your father. Let him explain the situation to you. He’s already given his consent.”
Guy took a long look at her, then bowed formally and turned on his heel, leaving Christina standing alone in the garden.
Christina sank down on the stone bench, trying to understand what Guy had said. What did he mean her father had “already given his consent”?
Louis and Antonio were in the library when Étienne entered and announced that Mademoiselle Christina wished to speak to her father alone.
“Send her in, Étienne,” Louis said. “I have some work to do in the study.”
As Christina came through the door, Louis bowed slightly to her, then went out, leaving her alone with her father.
Antonio could guess what had happened from the look on her face. Not knowing what he could say to her, he turned away, pretending interest in an ancient volume that lay open behind him on an ornately carved stand.
“Is it true?” Christina asked, her voice carefully controlled.
“Is what true?”
“Is it true that you’ve promised me to Guy?”
Antonio, heard the strain in her voice. “Christina…”
She didn’t allow him to finish. “Is it?”
“Yes, it’s true!” Suddenly, he was completely overwhelmed by the hopelessness of the situation. All resistance seemed to drain from his body as he slowly sank down into one of the chairs. His beautiful Christina…what was he doing to her? It was a question he’d been asking himself for months and he knew there was only one answer. He was making a future for his son—even though it might well cost him his beautiful girl.
“But why?” Tears welled in Christina’s eyes. “You know how Richard and I feel about each other.” She simply couldn’t believe what he was telling her.
“I had no choice.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means…” He paused as he looked up at her, his eyes pleading for understanding from the daughter who reminded him so much of his beloved Catharine. “It means that Guy threatened to call the notes due if I refused. Christina, after the loss of that shipment last year…I must think about Marco. The business is his future. Our family’s future.”
“You sold me?”
“I did what I had to do!”
She ran to the door, flung it open, and rushed across the hallway to the foot of the stairs. She nearly collided with her brother, but she never even saw him. She gathered her skirts and flew up the stairs toward her room.
“Tina? Christina!” Marco called as she passed. He saw the tears on her face. Concerned, he turned and followed her.
She ran into her room and threw herself on the bed, sobbing. Marco was right behind her. He closed the door quietly.
“Tina, what is it?”
She turned and sat up, looking helplessly at her brother. “Oh, Marco, what will I do? Please help me.”
“Christina, calm down. What’s wrong?” He sat down beside her on the bed, putting his arm around her shoulders.
“Father has promised me to Guy. He’s sold me,” she whispered.
Marco looked at her incredulously for a moment, then he laughed. “Oh, Tina, you must be mistaken. Father knows you love Richard.”
“Guy threatened to call Father’s notes due if he didn’t give his consent.”
Marco felt a chill as he realized it was entirely possible. He was aware that the business wasn’t doing well. Guy had talked their father into using a different ship when the grain shortage made cargo space hard to come by. One of the Baron’s ships had taken on a load of grain, causing their silk shipment from Italy to be delayed. Their father had reluctantly agreed to the change, but both the ship and the cargo had disappeared. The delay had made it necessary for Antonio to borrow heavily from Guy and then the loss of that shipment had plunged them deeply into debt.
Marco knew his father had always managed to get more money, but if he had been getting it from Guy…He knew only too well his father would go to any lengths to save the family business. Any lengths.
“There must be another solution,” he said, hugging his sister. “I promise you, I’ll do everything I can. You get yourself ready for bed and I’ll go and talk to Father.”
They both stood up. Marco lifted his sister’s chin and smiled at her as he kissed her on the forehead.
“Tina, Richard’s due back tomorrow, and I’m sure he’ll have something to say about this.”
He gave her one last encouraging hug and left.
The old clock in the hall outside her room struck midnight, but Christina was oblivious to the sound of the chimes as she sat staring out the window, the darkness complete but for the glowing coals in the fireplace. Rain had begun falling around nine-thirty, gently at first, but as the hours dragged by the storm developed into a downpour.
Now, in the silence of the sleeping household, the tears of the evening were forgotten and a numbing paralysis slowly engulfed her. She was long past understanding the day’s events. She was simply waiting. She was waiting for Richard. He loved her and she knew that somehow he would be able to save her from the travesty of this incomprehensible marriage to Guy.
Though Richard wasn’t expected back until late the next afternoon, Christina waited.
Marco, in the room next to hers, paced back and forth in front of the fire. He, too, was at a complete loss, unable to understand either the how or the why of what had happened. He was appalled by his father’s callous behavior in agreeing to Guy’s demands, and he was equally dismayed by Guy’s determination to marry Christina, regardless of her feelings. No one had ever imagined Christina with anyone but Richard.
Try as he might, Marco could not believe that Guy actually loved his sister. She came with no sizable dowery. Why then did he want her for a wife? What could possibly be the advantage in having a wife so totally committed to someone else?
In his own room at the front of the house, Guy sat next to the fire, a near empty bottle of brandy beside him and a satisfied smile on his face. He was enormously pleased with himself and equally happy that the question of marrying Christina was finally resolved.
It was too bad she’d reacted so unfavorably to his proposal, but he was confident that by now her father had explained the situation and that she finally understood she was going to become his wife. He supposed it might take her a while to get used to the idea, but he’d convinced himself she would eventually forget about her imagined love for Richard. He, at least, recognized it for what it was: a childhood infatuation that she’d not yet managed to outgrow. Afterall, what was so special about Richard?
But Guy knew a great many answers to that question. He quickly turned his thoughts back to Christina.
Marco continued pacing, his mind desperately seeking a solution to his sister’s problem. Through the incessant pounding of the rain, he thought he heard the clatter of horses’ hooves on the cobbles of the stableyard below. He wondered if it might just be wishful thinking, but he went to the window and through the spattered glass saw a dark figure dismount and lead his horse toward the stable door. Richard? It must be Richard! Marco grabbed his heavy cape and hurried down the stairs, moving as quietly as he could so as not to wake the sleeping household.
The sound of the horse also attracted Christina’s attention. Could it be Richard? Her heart began to pound. When she heard her brother’s door close, followed by his footsteps on the stairs, she threw her shawl around her shoulders, and unmindful of the fact she was wearing nothing but her cotton nightdress and her thin petit point slippers, she hurried down the staircase, just far enough behind Marco that he wouldn’t be aware of her.
Guy, too, was roused by the sound of the heavy front door gently opening and closing twice. He knew everyone must be asleep, and he sat for a moment listening. Finally, he staggered to his feet, unsteady from the amount of liquor he’d consumed. He looked out the front window, wondering if perhaps there were some sort of emergency. He could see no carriage in the drive, no unusual lights at the front of the house, only the dim glow of the two lanterns that burned on either side of the entrance. He went back across the room to the window that overlooked the stableyard. He saw nothing. Then, suddenly, a single light glowed in the door of the servants’ quarters near the stable.
Good weather had hastened the return of Richard’s ship and, as the storm rolled in, the winds had pushed it quickly up the Rhône to Arles. He had foregone the convenience of the townhouse and had ridden steadily through the rain, anxious to get home, to see his family, and, most of all, Christina. She’d be celebrating her seventeenth birthday in three days, and Richard had made up his mind that the time had finally come to make plans for their marriage.
As he rode up the long gravel drive, he saw there were no lights in any of the windows of the house or in the servants’ quarters across the stableyard. He slowed his horse to a walk as he entered the enclosure, hoping he wouldn’t awaken anyone. There was no sense rousing a soundly sleeping servant to accomplish a task he could easily perform for himself. He decided to ask Henri to let him spend the night in the stable. The old stableman would understand his desire to avoid the commotion of waking the entire household at that hour.
He pulled open one of the heavy doors and led his horse through. Lanterns burned dimly down the length of the building, casting a warm glow over the whitewashed stone. Several of the horses whickered and one of the big draft horses turned to watch as Richard looped his reins through the iron ring on the post beside a spacious box stall. He removed his saddlebags and headed straight for Henri’s room.
“Henri?” Richard called as he knocked softly at the door. He knocked again, louder this time, but when there was no reply he unlatched the door and looked in. The room was dark. There was no fire in the hearth, and no sign of the old stableman. Richard went in and lit the fire that had already been laid. He threw his saddlebags on the small rough table that was littered with pieces of harness in various stages of repair. After removing his sodden cloak and hanging it on a hook outside the doorway, he returned to his horse. He was unbuckling the girth when the stable door opened.
Ebert, the coachman’s six year old son, stumbled into the stable. He was clad in his nightshirt, someone’s oversized coat—most likely his father’s—and a pair of wooden clogs. He held the lantern high, lighting his face as he yawned and rubbed awkwardly at his eyes.
“Ebert,” Richard said kindly, smiling at the child who was obviously half asleep. “What are you doing up? Where’s Henri?”
“Gone, Sir, to Arles to stay with his sister. She’s been ill.”
“Well you get yourself back to bed. I’m taking Henri’s room for the night. There’s no reason to wake the house.”
Ebert yawned again. “G’night, Sir,” he mumbled as he turned and slipped back out the door.
“Goodnight.” Richard was smiling to himself as he unsaddled his horse. He remembered when Ebert was born. After four daughters, Albert, the coachman had been thrilled at the arrival of a son.
He smiled broadly. In another two years or so he and Christina would have a son of their own. Soon. As he put up the saddle, the stable door opened again, this time admitting a very wet Marco.
“Richard! Thank God you’ve come.”
Richard turned in surprise. “Marco, what is it? Is Christina all right?” He grabbed the younger man by the shoulders, rather harder than he meant to.
“She’s fine…it’s just that…” He didn’t know where to begin.
“What then? Something’s brought you out in the middle of the night, and in this weather.” Richard released him, giving him a chance to catch his breath.
“Father’s promised her to Guy!” Marco blurted out.
“What?” Richard threw back his head and laughed. “You can’t be serious.”
Richard led the horse to an empty stall, removed the bridle and turned him loose. He slid the door closed and faced Marco, ready for an explanation.
Marco was still very agitated. “You’ve got to do something. Christina’s terribly upset. She swears she won’t go through with it, but Guy’s asked for her and Father’s agreed.”
Marco’s final words struck a chilly chord.
“I don’t understand. Your father knows Christina and I have been promised to each other since we were children. Why would he do something like this?”
Marco ran his hand through his wet hair in frustration. “It’s the business. Ever since that shipment was lost, things haven’t been going well and Guy threatened to call all the notes due at once if Father refused to give his permission.”
Richard relaxed. So that was all there was to it. He laid a reassuring hand on Marco’s shoulder.
“I’ll speak Father in the morning. I’m sure we can find a way to loan Antonio whatever he needs, and that will put an end to it.” He smiled. “Please, don’t worry.”
Finally, he was able to coax a smile from Marco.
“Now you get back to the house, and quietly. I’m spending the night down here.”
They walked together to the door of the stable. Marco smiled at Richard, immeasurably reassured by his presence.
“I’m glad you’re home,” he said, and then started back toward the house, anxious to give his sister the news that Richard had returned.
But Christina had followed her brother. The loosely knit shawl she’d wrapped around herself was little protection from the cold drizzle, but she didn’t seem to be aware of the rain making the thin cotton of her gown cling to her legs. Her delicate slippers were covered with mud and soaked through, but she paid no attention as she ducked behind the crates and barrels stacked beside the building, watching as her brother pushed the door open.
As soon as Marco came back out and disappeared around the end of the wall, Christina slipped from her hiding place. Richard had just removed his pistol and belt and hung them on the hook over his cape. He was replacing the ankh dagger his father had given him in its scabbard when Christina threw herself at his back, her arms clinging to his waist. The impact caused the dagger to slip from his fingers and fall to the floor, unnoticed.
“Oh, Richard,” she cried, collapsing against him. All the suppressed tears erupted in a flood.
“Chrissa!” He was surprised. He pried her arms loose and turned to hug her tightly, then held her at arm’s length. She was wet to the skin and her teeth were chattering.
“Come, you’re soaked,” he said gently as he led her to Henri’s room. “What on earth is going on?”
The heat from the fire had warmed the small room, which now smelled distinctly of straw and leather. He stood her in front of the blazing hearth and slipped the sodden shawl from her shoulders, wringing it out onto the dusty stone before hanging it on a nail. Christina stood there shivering, watching Richard’s every move with a look of desperation on her pale face. He returned to her and lifted her chin, looking into her fearful, red-rimmed eyes.
“Now is this any way to greet me? You look like a half-drowned kitten.”
The tears began again and Richard, sorry he’d teased her, once again took her in his arms.
“Chrissa, hush. Everything’s all right.” He stroked her wet hair.
Christina began to relax. He smelled of salt and of the sea. He smelled like Richard.
The dampness of her gown finally bled through his linen shirt, reminding him how wet she was. He began to look around the room for something to dry her with, then went to the bed and picked up the old coverlet that was folded neatly at the foot. He returned, holding it open.
“Now then, off with it.”
For a moment she just stared at him blankly, then looked down as she realized he must mean her nightdress. She looked back up at him, startled.
“Richard!”
He couldn’t help but smile at her shocked reaction. “This is no time for modesty. You’ll catch your death if you don’t warm up.”
Christina was embarrassed. Chastely turning her back to him, she slipped the soaked gown over her head. Immediately he wrapped her in the coverlet and turned her back to face him.
“There. Isn’t that better?” He put his arms around her again and began rubbing her back vigorously. Her waist-length hair was so wet that it quickly began to soak the coverlet. His eyes scanned the room again for something else with which he could dry it. There was nothing but the pile of rags under the table, none of which looked too clean.
Releasing her, he pulled off his shirt and turning her toward the fire, began toweling her hair with it. Christina stared into the flames, content for that moment with Richard’s nearness.
Though he was too inebriated to make sense of what he was seeing, the activity in the stableyard had convinced Guy that something was going on and he’d left his room shortly after Marco and Christina left the house. Drunk as he was, and moving slowly, he reached the entrance to the stableyard just as Marco was leaving. He flattened himself against the wall, concealing himself in the shadows. The younger man had not seen him. Guy turned the corner of the building just as the stable door closed behind Christina.
Marco returned to the house. He entered quietly, hoping he could still avoid detection. He was grateful for the Baron’s habit of doing without a nightman, a practice Marco had previously thought strange for such a large house. He went up the stairs and down the hall to his sister’s room, his footsteps adequately muffled by the thick oriental carpets. He knocked softly on her door. When there was no reply, he knocked again. Thinking perhaps she’d fallen asleep, he pressed the door handle and went into her room.
“Tina?” By the dim light of the glowing embers in the fireplace he could see that her bed was empty, and though it was turned down, it had not been slept in. He realized that she must have seen Richard, too, and gone down to the stable, though he thought it strange that he hadn’t passed her either coming or going. He left her room and headed back down the stairs.
Richard seated Christina on the rickety little stool in front of the fire and ladled some of the water from the iron kettle into a wooden grain bucket. He removed her slippers and let her soak her nearly numb feet in the warm water. He rummaged through Henri’s things and found a half empty bottle of brandy. He wiped the mouth of the bottle with his fingers and handed it to her. She swallowed the burning liquid obediently as he knelt and dried her feet gently with his shirt, rubbing them in an effort to warm her.
Christina remained strangely quiet. Hoping to cheer her, Richard decided to give her the gift he’d intended to celebrate his homecoming.
“I’ve brought you something.” He picked up his saddlebags and dug through one side, discarding a small velvet box in favor of a tiny carved one.
Christina took it from him, tentatively fingering the intricate pattern of flowers worked into the dark wood. She lifted the hinged lid and shook the contents out into her hand. It was a delicate filigree locket made of silver on an unusual twisted chain. She stretched the chain over her fingers, holding it up in the flickering firelight.
“Not even a little smile?” Richard said as he lifted her chin.
Her eyes brimmed with tears again. He stood up, frowning down at her. Why was she so upset? Surely she knew they would never be separated.
“Oh, Richard, what are we going to do?”
He lifted her by the elbows, taking the necklace from her hand and carefully fastening it around her bare neck.
“Well,” he said as he pushed her still damp hair out of the way, “I suppose there’s always marriage-by-capture.”
Christina looked at him in confusion. Was he seriously suggesting they attempt to foil her father’s plan by indulging in the ancient peasant custom? Of course, it would solve the problem. If Richard took her in front of witnesses and kept her away overnight, then her father would have to relent, but it would certainly create a scandal in their social circle.
He laughed. “I have a better idea,” he said. “Why don’t we wait for the weather to improve, and then we can announce our betrothal?”
“But …”
As Richard’s strong hands encircled her waist, Christina’s moved lightly across his chest. She caressed the hard muscles under his dark skin. Suddenly she felt very small, and very nearly naked. She reached up to touch the links of gold around his neck—her mother’s chain, the one she’d given him two Christmases before.
“Chrissa…I told you nothing would ever separate us…nothing. I always thought you believed me.” He stroked her cheek tenderly, looking at her for what seemed a very long time. He had waited a lifetime for this moment and he had no intention of hurrying it. As his thumb moved slowly across her lips, they parted. Hesitantly, he accepted the invitation and kissed her.
Christina was still holding the coverlet tightly around herself when their lips met. In that instant she realized the full depth of her commitment to Richard. She was ready. The day that she’d longed for all her life had unequivocally become now. She released her hold on the coverlet and her arms slid around his neck. As the fabric slipped to the floor, she pressed herself tightly against him, suddenly breathless at the warmth and hardness of his body, the sensation of his bare skin against her own.
Through a crack in the narrow wooden door to Henri’s room, Guy watched them. Enraged with a jealousy he didn’t fully understand, he was ready to tear the narrow barrier from its hinges and go after them, to stop the loathsome display he’d been spying on, to tear Christina away from Richard. It was disgusting. With that dark skin and those muscles the man looked like a common laborer. But at the same time, Guy found the contrast of Richard’s strength against Christina’s softness unbelievably exciting. He hesitated a moment, watching them together, longing to share those caresses.
He shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. How could Christina stand to have Richard’s dark hands on her beautiful ivory skin, to debase herself that way? She wasn’t one of those stupid whores and he couldn’t let her be seduced into behaving like one. He knew Richard was capable of it, it had all happened before—women fawning over his body—even that simpering child at Madame Dijol’s. But this time Guy knew he couldn’t just stand by and watch. This time he was going to do something about it.
He turned around, looking frantically for something—a weapon, a club—anything that would stop Richard. He saw the pistol hanging above Richard’s cape. He started to reach for it, but reconsidered. Too noisy. It would wake the servants and he’d be caught. Something more subtle was in order.
The dim light from the lanterns flickered along the metal blades and tines of the tools on the opposite wall. As Guy took a step toward them, his foot struck something solid on the floor. He looked down, seeing the silvery gleam of metal in the straw. He picked up Richard’s dagger.
How fitting, he thought, that Richard should die with a dagger that symbolized eternal life. Guy almost laughed out loud, but caught himself, drunkenly putting a finger to his own lips as he crept back to the door. Peeking through the crack he saw Richard’s dark hands slide down Christina’s back and cup the swell of her buttocks.
Then, despite his fury, he realized he couldn’t kill Richard, not when Christina would know he did it. No, there had to be another way. He rubbed his hand nervously across his mouth. Suddenly, it came to him. Convinced he had the solution, he rushed out of the stable, unaware he was still clutching the shining dagger in his hand.
Marco had almost reached the stableyard again when he saw Guy staggering toward him through the rain. Guy stared at him, a hazy look of recognition fluttering across his face.
“Where’er you going? Ha! To tell your sister’s sad tale to Richard, I suppose?”
Marco was preoccupied with thoughts of Christina and not interested in discussing anything with Guy.
“Get some sleep, Guy. You’ve had too much to drink.” Then he looked at him more closely, trying to decide how far gone he was. “Have you seen Christina?”
“Seen her?” Guy let out a howl. “SEEN HER? I’ve seen her all right.” The image of Richard’s powerful arms around Christina’s slim body filled his mind and he stood stock still, staring at nothing, enraged and at the same time helpless with a feeling he was unwilling to acknowledge.
“Guy…”
His attention returned to Marco. He laughed. “I’ve seen quite a bit of her, actually…but not as much as she’s showing him right now…the slut!”
“You stinking sot…drunk or not, you’ll take that back!” Marco yelled as he reached out and grabbed the front of Guy’s shirt.
It was the wrong thing to do.
Automatically, Guy raised his arm to defend himself and planted the dagger deep in Marco’s stomach. Both of them were surprised and for a moment neither moved. Wide eyed, Marco slumped slowly to the ground. As he fell forward, face down into the mud, he reached out and caught Guy by the leg.
Guy was terrified, and the rush of adrenaline sobered him a little. What had happened? He hadn’t meant to hurt Marco. In a panic, he pulled away from the young man’s grasping fingers and ran toward the house.
Marco remained where he’d fallen, his life slowly ebbing out into the rain-soaked ground, unable to move or find the strength to pull the blade from his body.
“Oh, Chrissa,” Richard whispered as he reluctantly released her.
He brushed strands of her hair back from her face gently, conscious of the roughness of his work-hardened hands. The sensation of her breasts against his bare chest was almost more than he could bear and he knew that if he didn’t stop soon, it would be too late. He knew, too, that he had waited so long for her that a few months more really didn’t matter.
“Richard?” she breathed against his chest. “What’s wrong?” Why had he stopped kissing her?
He laughed softly. “Nothing’s wrong, Beloved, but I think it’s time we got you back to the house.”
“No…please…” There was a note of panic in her voice.
Saying nothing, Richard bent down and picked up the fallen coverlet.
“Don’t you want me?” she asked in a small voice, her eyes still rimmed with red and once again starting to fill with tears.
Richard slid the coverlet around her shoulders and looked down at her. “How can you ask me that? You know how much I love you,” he said patiently. She had absolutely no idea how difficult this was for him.
“Then why…?”
“Chrissa, we’ll be married soon. I don’t want to spoil that for you.”
Christina’s disappointment was clearly written across her face.
“Richard, I’ve loved you all my life. Let this be our wedding night…now…please…”
For a moment he lost himself in her eyes. They were no longer the eyes of a child. Putting his arm around her shoulders, he pulled her close as she, in turn slipped one arm around his waist and placed her other hand on his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart.
Richard was torn. She might think this was what she wanted, but how could it possibly be all he wanted for her? His fingers tenderly traced the line of her throat. The loving caress moved on until his hand cupped her breast, his thumb moving lightly over her nipple.
She lay her head against his chest and closed her eyes, lost in the feeling of his gentle fingers against her skin, the security and warmth of his body. He did want her. She could feel it.
His hand moved on, tracing the line of her belly, his eyes following his fingers as he marveled at the beauty and perfection of her body. When he reached her navel, Christina looked up at him as she lifted her hips toward his hand. He grasped the curve of her hip and pulled her to him as his mouth found hers. He kissed her deeply. There was no longer any doubt in his mind. It was their time and regardless of where they were, the only thing that mattered was that they were together.
Christina was swept away, her heart pounding as he picked her up and carried her to the bed. He lay her down gently and covered her, then leaned across her and kissed her before sitting down to pull off his boots and breeches. He stood, silhouetted for a moment against the flickering firelight, then slid under the coverlet beside her, enfolding her in his arms.
Christina caught her breath as she felt the hard length of his body against hers in the narrow bed. Slowly, he covered her face with kisses, running his tongue lightly across her eyes, her temples, the intricate curve of her ears, but always finding his way back to her eager mouth.
She pressed herself against him, fired by his kisses and wanting more. He slid his leg between hers, his mouth moving lightly over her throat. He tenderly held the swell of her hip as she began to move rhythmically against his leg. Slowly, his mouth slipped down to her breast.
Christina moaned softly and his lips again returned to hers. He untangled her arms from his neck and guided her hand to his own chest. She was thrilled as she felt his nipples stiffen under her touch. She wanted to know all of him, even as she wanted to give all of herself to him.
He lay back then, taking a deep breath, determined not to rush her. Christina, breathless from his caresses, and longing for more, nestled against his shoulder and tentatively began to explore his body. She ran her fingers over his chest and belly, feeling the astonishing hardness of the muscles beneath the smooth skin. Growing bolder, her hand moved on. When she found what she sought, Christina let out a gasp of surprise. Richard chuckled softly.
Suddenly, she became timid, painfully aware of her lack of both knowledge and experience. What must he think? She couldn’t bear the thought that she might disappoint him, but there was no way to make him think she knew what she didn’t.
“I don’t know…” she began breathlessly.
“I do,” he said, and he kissed her yet again. This time his kiss was tender, gentle, reassuring.
“But I want…I need…” she said helplessly. She felt the demands of her body, but didn’t know how to appease them.
“You need me…inside you, My Love…”
“But how? I…”
He stopped her with another kiss, but his hand answered her as it slowly slipped between her legs. Involuntarily, she stiffened at the intrusion, but he waited until she relaxed and began moving against his gently probing fingers.
Christina felt a flicker of surprise as his finger slipped inside her. She had never really understood how this thing between men and women was accomplished. Now that he’d shown her, she wanted him more than she’d ever imagined possible.
Instinctively, she spread her legs as Richard slid over to lie between them. His mouth moved down, kissing first her chin and then running his lips lightly over her throat. His tongue found one nipple and then the other, teasing, sucking until she cried out. She never knew it could be like this, never imagined the extent of the passion Richard had so skillfully ignited. She abandoned herself to pure sensation.
Her fingers twisted in his dark curls, unconsciously forcing his mouth lower. But he moved without haste, softly running his tongue over the underside of her breasts and covering her stomach with kisses before he pressed his face against the smooth curve of her belly. She began trembling as he moved still lower, his lips finding the soft brown curls between her legs. She arched against him, anticipating the feel of his mouth, but he teased her, spreading lingering kisses over the silken skin of her thighs.
When at last he tasted her, she was overcome by a wave of pleasure. He stayed with her a little longer until she began to move more urgently. And then he was back at her mouth, his tongue sharing the salty sweetness of her own body.
Christina was lost in the moment, her entire body quivering with need and desire as Richard rolled onto his back, pulling her over on top of him. He held her hips in his strong hands, pressing her against him.
“Richard…please, I need you…” she whispered, her body aching for his.
He pulled her knees up until she was astride him and very gently unclasped her arms from his neck. He pushed her up until she was sitting across him, looking down at him in confusion.
“This will be easier for you, Beloved,” he said softly as he urged her up onto her knees.
Christina was beyond caring, she only knew she needed him, wanted him, now. He held her by the hips and as she eased herself down on him she cried out, more startled by the exquisite sensation than by the pain. Within moments she was moving, instinctively seeking her satisfaction. Richard moved with her, carefully gauging her response as her breathing quickened and small soft sounds escaped her lips. At last she moaned, her body shuddering in one prolonged tremor of ecstasy as Richard’s hard-won restraint exploded, binding them together for one perfect moment.
Then she was completely still, her head back, her eyes closed, his thumbs resting against her hipbones as he held her. Gently, Richard’s hands moved up around her waist and slowly pulled her down against him, his fingers lightly caressing her back. Christina slid her arms under his shoulders and relaxed.
“Oh, Richard,” she sighed, “I never knew…”