Page 49 of The Quiet Wife
People were taking their leave, so she stood and Jemie offered his elbow. She curved her fingers around the muscle of this arm, then they followed Lizzie and Mr Rossetti. As they made their way down the steps, Frances stopped.
“My reticule,” she gasped looking about her. “I think I left it in the box.”
“I’ll get it,” Jemie offered, and she watched gratefully as he hurried back up the stairs and along the corridor.
“I should go with him,” she turned at Lizzie. “Perhaps you and Mr Rossetti go and find the carriage and we will join you?” She didn’t give her sister time to reply, she turned and hurried up the stairs after Jemie. She found him coming out of the box with her reticule in one hand. He appeared startled when he saw her.
“Here it is,” he said.
“I’m sorry, I just needed a moment to speak to you before we go back. I need… I need…” she swallowed.
He pulled her gently to one side. They were completely alone.
She gazed at him, wishing she could touch him as she longed to. “I need to say thank you for doing this. Thank you for listening to me and knowing how much I desired this. Just… thank you. I needed to say it properly not in a polite social kind of way.” She shrugged and tried to laugh, but it sounded flat and sad. She didn’t dare look at him as she felt the blush rise to her cheeks.
“Come, Lizzie and Mr Rossetti are searching for the carriage.”
She moved, but Jemie slid his hand into hers. They wore gloves, but she could feel the warmth. She clutched it for a moment, held her breath and looked at him. He looked serious. More serious than she’d ever seen him.
“Oh, Frances,” he murmured softly. “You don’t need to thank me.”
She swallowed as he moved towards her, tilting his head in such a way that she knew what was coming, knew she should turn away, but she didn’t.
He kissed her. Soft, chaste, and oh so terribly tenderly.
Her breath stuttered in her chest. She pulled back to look at him. He was breathing heavily, as was she. She hesitated, then pressed her lips to his again and he moaned softly, wrapping his arms around her and this time the kiss wasn’t quite so chaste, it sent spangles of sensation coursing through every inch of her body.
He pulled away and they stared at each other.
“I probably shouldn’t have done that,” he swallowed, only inches apart from her lips.
“Probably not.” She leaned closer and he kissed the corner of her mouth leaving her yearning for more.
“We should go,” he announced, clearing his throat.
Frances touched his cheek, her hand trembling. “I was right,” she murmured. “You do have eyes like starlight.”
His lids fluttered closed, and he lay his forehead against hers.
***
The journey back to Leyland’s house took forever. Jemie listened to Lizzie and Rossetti’s laughter and chatter as they travelled. Frances joined in, although he wondered if her sister could see she was a little shaken. He eventually relaxed enough to steal a glance at Frances.
What in God’s name had he done.
She was laughing now at something Lizzie said about the performance. It had been good. Very good. Funny, witty, and rather sad in places. Frances had simply gobbled the whole thing up. For a man who was so exact, so focused on detail whether it be in business or in a work of art, her husband was strangely oblivious to the charming woman he’d married.
More than once during the performance, Frances had grasped his hand, then quickly let it go thinking better of herself. He saw now how her eyes were bright and sparkling, a smile lighting up her beautiful face, amused by something Rossetti had said with her sister, and smiled.
The play itself had given him a jolt. An artist creating the woman of his dreams. Bringing her to life, but then losing her again. It felt… prophetic. Was Frances Leyland to be Galatea to his Pygmalion? Was he about to create the perfect woman in his painting of her, only to lose her?
They tumbled out of the carriage as they arrived at the house at Queen’s Gate.
“Oh, do come in for a drink?” Lizzie begged. Rossetti agreed with alacrity, and Jemie had little choice but to follow suit.
The butler bowed as they settled in the drawing room and brought out the brandy for the gentlemen.
“Tea for me, I think,” Frances unpinned her hat. “Lizzie?”
