Page 70 of The Virtuoso
What he had in mind turned out to involve his mouth, his beautiful, luscious, naughty, knowing mouth, and Ellen’s most intimate person. She was scandalized and shocked and most of all, she waspleasured.
***
Long moments later, with Ellen’s clothing still in disarray, Val gave her some time to compose herself. He rummaged in the hamper, poured himself a drink, took a sip, and passed the mug to her.
“Cider,” he said. “Sweet, like you.”
“God in heaven.” Ellen raised her head enough to take a sip from the mug he held for her. “Merciful, everlasting God… Where does a man learn to do such things?”
Val took that as proof dear Francis had not done such things, at least not with Ellen. The man was a fool, a blazing, benighted fool, and to be pitied for his waste of a wonderfully passionate and generous wife.
Wife. The thought landed like a flaming arrow in the dry tinder of Val’s imagination, but he pulled it out and ruthlessly doused it in common sense for later consideration. Again.
Val smiled down at her where she sprawled in boneless, satisfied splendor. “Let me cuddle you up, and no, you are not to put yourself to rights. I’ll do it, when needs must.”
Instead of tidying her up, he drew her down to curl on her side, then spooned himself behind her. “Go to sleep,” he urged, his hand finding her breast and cupping it gently.
She subsided, no doubt hearing in his voice how pleased he was.
Leaving Val to hold her in the sheltering curve of his body and wonder again what crime such an innocent could have committed that was worse than murder.
***
Dinner on Saturday night was a lively affair, with Phillip and Dayton providing much of the entertainment as they regaled their parents with stories of the mishaps and altercations of the week past.
Abby rose at the conclusion of the meal. “Ellen, would you join me on the back terrace for a cup of tea?”
“It would be my pleasure.” Ellen smiled, meaning it. The day had had a few dips and bumps, but the afternoon and evening had been lovely. A cup of tea with good company would finish it pleasantly indeed. The gentlemen rose and repaired to the library, leaving the ladies whispering, arm in arm as they left the house.
“You didn’t eat much at dinner,” Ellen observed. “Is it the baby?”
“I get a little queasy.” Abby linked her arm with Ellen’s. “It passes, and then an hour later, I am stalking through the kitchen like a hungry wolf.”
“Peppermint tea sometimes helps, or it did me.”
“I wasn’t aware you’d carried. Will it offend you if I order peppermint tea for us now?”
“Of course not.” Ellen sank onto a wicker rocking chair. “After such a rich meal, I could use some too.”
Abby took a second rocker and smoothed a hand over her skirts. “So you lost your baby?”
Ellen did not meet Abby’s eyes in the silence that followed. She could mutter some polite inanity—she had on many occasions: It was a long time ago. It wasn’t meant to be. The Lord makes these decisions.
Except the Lord hadn’t made the decisions.
“Three,” Ellen said in low, bitter tones. “I lost three babies, all in the first half of my terms. I was miserable with the pregnancies—couldn’t keep much of anything down, and I survived on mint tea.” On what she’d thought was mint tea, God help her.
“Oh, my dear.” Abby reached over and took Ellen’s hand. “I am so, so sorry.”
“I shouldn’t be telling you such things. Your disposition cannot benefit from such a tale.”
“But it’s part of life,” Abby countered. “Axel’s first wife lost two babies, and he said that, more than anything else they faced, daunted her spirit. He did not know how to comfort her, but it’s why in seven years of marriage they only had the two boys. Axel would have loved a daughter, though.”
Ellen met her gaze in the waning light. “And all you want is a healthy child who grows into some kind of happy adulthood.”
“Desperately,” Abby said, and they shared a silent moment of absolute female communion. “I pray without ceasing for it, and I know Axel does too. But let me order our tea, and we can watch the moonrise while we discuss more pleasant things.”
A deft signal the topic was to shift, and Ellen was relieved. She hadn’t spoken of the babies to anyone, but Abby was becoming a friend, and five years was long enough to live in silence without a single friend.
