rested on top of the sheets and he breathed steadily, his chest rising and falling. Her fingers stroked down his cheek.
Suddenly his eyes opened wide and he grasped her arm as he sat up. The grip hurt.
There was a moment like that and then his eyes looked at her face when he fully woke and he recognised her. Letting go of her he tumbled back on to the bed with a sigh, his arms lifting and his hands then pressing on to the top of his head.
She rubbed her aching wrist.
‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘It is better not to wake me.’
‘But it is getting late, I thought you must be hungry.’
‘Lord. Yes. I am hungry. What time is it?’
‘Nearly seven.’
‘Really.’ He sat up again. ‘The servants—’
‘Have returned. But they have said nothing about your hat in the hall. Mark invites other women here, though, sometimes. That is why I have my own rooms, so I can stay out of his way when he wishes. So perhaps the servants do not care and why should I not have a man here, when he is entertained by other women?’
He smiled, but not widely, and his hand lifted, then the back of his fingers ran over her cheek. ‘Do you think we have taken a risk we should not have? Will you be in trouble? I suppose I should not have fallen asleep.’
‘You should have done, you were tired, and this is my house when Mark is away. I have the run of it and the say of it in Mark’s absence.’
A quiet sound that expressed amusement escaped his throat. ‘There is so much conviction in your voice that I shall let myself be convinced by you.’ He sat up and she stood, moving out of his way so he could get up. ‘You are right, I am hungry, but we will go out and eat at an inn. I am not inclined to ask the Colonel’s kitchen to cook for us.’
While they ate, in the inn he’d taken her to on the second day they had shared a bed, with Ash at their feet, she persuaded him to come back with her and remain for the night. This was what she wanted, to be with Captain Harry Marlow. She had delighted in his company at the seashore and she enjoyed being in a bed with him and yesterday and today she had appreciated his companionship. This was what she wanted.
When they returned to the house, she fetched one of Mark’s cigars, lit it herself as she did sometimes for Mark, and handed it to Harry. They shared it as she sat on Harry’s lap while they also shared a few glasses of Mark’s whiskey.
She asked Harry about the places he’d travelled to with the army and the things he’d seen of the world. He told her some horrible stories about the war and spoke of the men he’d sought to comfort as they’d suffered with their wounds and men he had seen fall upon, or carried from, battlefields. He also spoke of men who were his friends; men who had done miraculous things. Harry was a good man. Everything he said to her screamed of it. Then he told her about his horse, Obsidian. She could tell from his voice that he was fond of the horse and as kind to her as he was to Ash and as he had been to his men.
When he’d finished speaking, she said, ‘Would you introduce me to Obsidian one day. I’d like to meet her.’ Then she held his hand and stood up. ‘But let’s put Ash out into the garden now, for a moment, and then retire to bed.’
This was very different to the way she had lived for the last seven years with Mark. She had talked and laughed with Harry and now they walked upstairs for a second time holding hands, only this time it was her leading him. In her room she looked immediately at the brass buttons on his coat and began undoing them as Ash found a place on the rag rug beside her bed.
Harry let her take his coat off, smiling indulgently at her. Then she pushed his braces off his shoulders so she could pull his shirt up and over his head.
When he stripped his shirt off his arms, she began undoing her dress. He did not try to help, but instead sat on the bed and watched her as he pulled off his boots.
He seemed slightly intoxicated, but so was she and the taste of the cigar still filled her mouth. She felt naughty, as she had as a child when she’d sat on top of a hayrick chewing on a liquorice root, when she had run away and hidden when she was supposed to be in Sunday school.
She was hiding again, with Harry—she wanted to hide away with Harry forever.
When she remembered the days she had lain on hayricks, she always longed to go back in time, then she would never climb into Mark’s carriage and she would hide on a hayrick forever. She hadn’t known what would happen then. But now she knew the future and she wanted to stay in this moment and stop time.
When she turned her back to him, so he could unlace her corset, Harry was sitting on her bed, in only his trousers, stocking-less, with his braces hanging by his hips. His fingers tugged the lacing free, jolting her body. The assurance with which he performed the task pulled strings inside her as well as pulling the lacing loose.
When her corset fell off she turned and held Harry’s head, the heels of her palms pressing against his cheeks as she bent and kissed him.
His hands grasped her chemise at the hem and lifted it, then he drew it over her head and off her arms. When she straightened, his gaze dropped to her navel and his hands settled at her hips over her drawers. He pulled them down, leaned forward and kissed her stomach, then the place between her legs.
‘Oh.’
Her hands rested on his head and her fingers combed through his hair as his fingers spread and pressed into the skin and the flesh of her bottom, holding her against him as his tongue explored. He moved her hips as he wished, while the movement of his tongue stirred up the pleasurable sensations she’d discovered with him. Then his fingers slid into her and the rush of emotion rolled over her. She clung to his shoulders.
He looked up at her, his eyes hazy with liquor, yet saying he was proud of his success.
She took control, pushed him back on to the bed, straddled him and undid his trousers, so she could get at him, then freed him from his underwear and put him inside her. It was her turn to control the movement, moving up, backward and forward. Seeking to catch him out with unexpected movements as his hands slid over her thighs, gently, with the flow of her motion. But he did not try to take control from her.
She moved more determinedly, her palms resting on his chest, her fingers splayed. She wanted to feel successful too, to feel as smug as he had looked when he’d brought on the rushing waves of the little death in her. She wished to make the waves crash over him, as though there had been the wildest storm.
His pale-blue eyes looked directly into hers and his lips parted slightly as he breathed more heavily, in a quick rhythm of breaths, even though it was not him who was moving.
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