Page 47 of The Forbidden Love of an Officer
He leaned his head back against her bosom, his breathing slowing as he shut his eyes. She kneaded his flesh as he had done for her on days when they had travelled for relentless hours, during their journey to Brussels. It took a few minutes, but the muscles beneath her fingers softened.
‘I love you,’ she said to the air above his head.
‘And I you,’ he answered, his eyes opening and looking up at her. She smiled. She had never been in doubt of his affection. It was constant, solid, and assuring.
‘May we go to bed now?’ he said. ‘I know it is early, but I ache for you.’
‘And how can I deny such a request…’
His smile widened, and then he stood suddenly, turning to kiss her, his fingers combing into her hair and bringing her mouth to his.
He made love slowly, just touching and kissing her for a long time, before moving over her. She opened her legs so he could come between them, and held his gaze, offering comfort with her eyes as well as her body. His gaze clung to hers as he moved, pushing in, and pulling out, over and over, in the pattern which drove her senses towards delirium. Her fingers lifted and stroked through his hair.
It was precious, what he did to her – precious and beautiful. She would hold on to this moment for the rest of her life.
His movements stayed slow and deliberate as her fingers clung to his shoulders and she looked into his blue eyes.
He was hiding from reality. But she wished to hide with him and keep it at bay for as long as they could.
She pressed back against his movement as he continued. An animalistic sound left his lungs, before her name… ‘Ellen.’
She moved more forcefully against him. Wishing to help him escape and escape too.
‘You are a wonderful wife.’
She laughed, clasping his shoulders. ‘You are the perfect husband.’
His gaze became matt for a moment. ‘I will try to continue to be, Ellen.’
Damn it, she had let reality into the room. She did not want to think of the approaching battle, or Napoleon, or anything beyond their bed…
‘Youwillcontinue to be.’ She filled her voice with strength, as her hand braced the back of his head and pulled his mouth to hers. She slipped her tongue across his lips.
His movement became more urgent in reply, his hips working swiftly. Her hands dropped to hold his waist, where the muscles worked beneath his skin.
Oh, he made her feel so… so…
He broke within her in a flood of warm sensations, and his weight came down on top of her, pinning her onto the mattress. She did not mind. She liked the feel of him lying over her, and his presence between her thighs. But then, after a moment, he rose and rolled on to his back.
She rolled to her side, pillowed her head on his shoulder, her hand resting on his chest.
His arm came about her shoulders and held her close.
She fell asleep thus.
* * *
It was warm the night of the Duchess of Richmond’s ball, so they walked rather than try to hire a carriage with no payment. Paul had purchased a new dress for her, though, on goodwill and an I-owe-you payment. It was in the style of the new fashion, a very finely woven white muslin, so fine, the fabric was virtually translucent, and light and fluid. It was cut close to her body, and clung to the curve of her bosom, falling to lay flat over her petticoats. She felt beautiful in this dress, walking beside him, holding his arm.
Nearly every hour he had spent at home, since they had the conversation about the possibility of his death in the park, had been spent in bed together. He wanted to love her constantly, and they lay in bed, kissing, talking and laughing, and acted as though fate could never throw them a fatal hand.
And here they were, attending a grand ball, as if it were something normal in their lives. Of course, for both of them, it could have been, if he had not become a soldier and she had not chosen to marry him and follow the drum.
She and Penny had once crept downstairs and watched a ball at her father’s house, peering about the door which opened onto the musicians’ gallery. The images spun through Ellen’s head.
Her parents’ world, her childhood, seemed as if it had been a fairy tale now.
Her fingers held Paul’s arm as they climbed the steps to the door of the Duke of Richmond’s house, amongst others who had arrived on foot, or in carriages.
