thrusts accelerated and her thoughts flew out of her head, replaced by sensation. Need. Growing. Nearing its promised end.
Her release shattered inside her, sparkling like the sunlight on the rose windows of Notre Dame. Then the release came again and again. And again when he spilled his seed inside her.
He collapsed on top of her, and she relished his weight upon her for the moment he remained there. Before he made it hard for her to breathe, he rolled off her, pulling her into another kiss and another.
He finally faced her, twirling a lock of her hair in his fingers. ‘Ah, Cecilia. Words fail me.’
She merely snuggled against him, relishing the scent of him and the warmth of his skin against hers.
‘I wonder,’ he began.
She could feel his voice through her body as well as hear him with her ears.
‘I wonder,’ he said again. ‘Perhaps I might extend my visit...’
A frisson of fear raced up her spine. No. That was not what she wanted. One day, he’d said. One night. More time together and what could happen?
One night did not seem like enough to her either, though.
She did not answer him, instead closed her eyes and let herself drift into sleep. Another pleasure—sleeping naked next to the man who had just joined with her.
She could still pretend for a few more hours, even if he wished to extend that time into days. She was determined not to let go of this wonderful illusion until she absolutely must.
* * *
Oliver, too, drifted to sleep with the thought that he had no real reason to start his journey back to England so soon. What would a few more days hurt? Frederick and Jacob could manage things until he returned. One more week would not matter.
He slept deeply, content to hold Cecilia in his arms.
* * *
When he woke it was to a loud knocking on the door.
‘Sir. Sir.’ It was his valet knocking. ‘The coach is due in an hour. You must rise now.’
Oliver shook himself awake and sat straight up.
He turned to the space in the bed beside him.
Cecilia was gone. Her clothes were gone.
‘Sir!’ His valet knocked again.
‘One moment,’ he answered, climbing out of bed.
He searched to see if she’d left him a note, but there was nothing in the bedchamber. He entered the sitting room and searched there. To no avail.
There was nothing to indicate she’d ever been with him.
He had no way to find her. No surname. No address.
Perhaps he could find her on the banks of the Seine, giving coins to the children. He must dress quickly. He ran back to the bedchamber and grabbed his drawers, managing to don them as he started towards the door to let his valet into the room.
A glance towards the window depressed his spirits. The sun was high in the sky. He’d slept through most of the morning. She would not be on the banks of the Seine giving coins to street urchins. She would be long gone.
‘Sir! Sir!’ his valet cried.
‘Coming!’ He walked to the door and opened it, and knew he would never see Cecilia again.
Cecilia had left Oliver’s bed at dawn and hurried to the river to pass out the coins to the children who, hungry, flocked to her.
Now when she met the children she would be reminded of him for ever. She’d see him running to rescue her. She’d see his smile and remember his laugh.
How would she be able to sit in Notre Dame, listen to the bells, witness the Mass, without remembering him at her side, seeming to understand the special aura of the place? When she gazed at her favourite paintings in the Louvre, would she not think of him standing next to her, listening to her enthuse about what she loved about the work?
As she’d walked back to her room, she fingered the pearl next to her skin. The memory of him would always touch her if she wore the necklace.
How good it was that the memory of her day with him was a happy one. She so much relished having a happy memory to replace the unhappy ones from her past.
On her way she stopped at an apothecary to buy the items necessary to keep from getting with child. She returned to her room afterwards.
Her room was about half the size of Oliver’s sitting room in the hotel, but it was as clean and as cheerful as she could make it, with a pot of flowers she’d impulsively bought from a vendor and the lace curtains on the window it had taken weeks of saving to afford. She reached behind her to untie her laces so that she could pull her dress over her head and folded it carefully.
Next she removed her corset and set about using the items from the apothecary.
When first married to Duncan, she’d pined for a baby, but it did not take long for her to pray a child would never happen. She’d learned what to do to prevent it. Too many times, though, she could not clean herself afterwards. Still, she did not become enceinte. She’d concluded his punches had damaged her and she could not conceive. At the time she thought it a blessing.
After completing her task, Cecilia climbed on her bed and burrowed under the quilt she’d crafted from scraps of cloth collected during her years of marriage. Sewing the quilt had helped her endure. It was her prized possession, her badge of honour.
Her mind drifted as she lay on her bed. She’d slept only briefly the night before. In Oliver’s arms. Most of the night she’d gazed out of the window, keeping herself awake so that she could be sure she’d rise before him and make her escape.
She’d waited until the first light of dawn appeared, then slipped out of his embrace where she’d felt warm and safe. As quietly as she could she searched for her clothing, scooping it into her arms and tiptoeing to the sitting room to dress. On a table had been a stack of Oliver’s calling cards. She took one as a souvenir of the man with whom she’d spent this wonderful day. When she was fully clothed, except for her shoes, which she still held in her hands, she peeked in the bedchamber one last time, for one last look at him.
So handsome. His face was relaxed in sleep, which only accentuated the perfection of his features. His dark hair was in wild disarray. She stared at him a long time, committing his image to her memory.
As if she could ever forget him.
He’d proposed more days together. He’d tempted her especially when her body had still been humming with the pleasure he’d brought her. But she knew she’d reached her limit with one day. One glorious day.
More time was too great a risk. More time making love with him would
