he said without looking at her. “I am sure you don’t want me to touch you. I swear I will not drink like that again. But, oh, my dear, don’t look at Whitton the way you did tonight. It cuts to the quick.”
Clare couldn’t stand it. It had been a nightmare after all, albeit a waking one. A short, brandy-induced madness that had overtaken her husband. And only caused by his love and need for her. Of course, he would be jealous of Giles. It was understandable. After all, she had almost married him. Would have married him, had not Justin come along.
She couldn’t stand the sight of her husband’s back any longer. She slowly walked over to him and slipped her hand in his. “I don’t wish to sleep alone tonight, Justin,” she whispered.
He lifted her hand to his mouth and brushed it gently. “Are you sure, Clare? I would not blame you.”
She leaned into him and felt him shudder as he softened against her. “Come, Justin, let us go upstairs.”
They walked hand in hand as though they were two children finding their way in the dark. When they reached Clare’s room, Justin gave her one more chance to send him away, but she just shook her head, smiled, and led him in.
He had never been so gentle. There was a basin of water on the nightstand, and he made a cool compress for her cheek, holding her in his arms as if she were a baby. Then he slipped her night rail over her head and laid her back on the bed.
“I am afraid to kiss you, Clare,” he whispered, and she saw that he had tears in his eyes. “I don’t want to hurt you more.”
“There are other places to kiss besides my mouth, Justin.”
He began with her neck and shoulders, and moved down to her breast. His tongue caressed each nipple, and then suddenly he took one breast into his mouth and sucked on it like a child sucking on a sugar teat.
Clare guided his hand in between her legs. Soon they were rocking together, slowly at first, and then faster. He came first with broken cries that were echoed by her own a few moments later. And then tears from both of them.
“Clare, you are the most precious thing in my life,” he whispered. She reached out to caress his face and felt it as wet as her own.
“As you are for me, Justin,” she responded, pulling his head close to her breasts and kissing the top of his head softly.
* * * *
The next morning Clare looked dispassionately at herself in her glass. Her upper arm was indeed marked by purple bruises, but those could be concealed quite easily by several of her morning gowns. It was her face that was the problem. Luckily her eye was not affected, but her cheek was still swollen and red, and she expected it would be a day or two before she was back to normal. She would have to cancel all her engagements for the next two days, for she could not imagine any excuses that would explain her appearance.
When Martha came in to help her dress, Clare saw the maid’s eyes widen at her mistress’s appearance.
“Oh, Martha,” Clare said with mock despair, “I was looking for a book to put me to sleep last night and was foolish enough to think I could make my way without a candle. I bumped right into the doorjamb. I vow, I am almost happy, for it gives me a day or two to myself to rest.”
Clare chattered gaily about this and that as Martha helped her dress and arranged her hair. Usually it was Martha who gossiped away, but this morning the maid seemed to have little to say and Clare couldn’t bear her silent scrutiny. But it was no one’s business, after all, thought Clare defensively. Certainly not her abigail’s.
“Please direct Peters to turn down all my invitation for today and tomorrow, Martha. And I will breakfast up here,” she added, gesturing at the small table by the window.
“Yes, my lady.”
Martha was devoted to her mistress, as were all the servants, and she went down the stairs muttering to herself, “Walked into the doorjamb, my arse. That handsome husband of hers did that to her,
Clare couldn’t stand it. It had been a nightmare after all, albeit a waking one. A short, brandy-induced madness that had overtaken her husband. And only caused by his love and need for her. Of course, he would be jealous of Giles. It was understandable. After all, she had almost married him. Would have married him, had not Justin come along.
She couldn’t stand the sight of her husband’s back any longer. She slowly walked over to him and slipped her hand in his. “I don’t wish to sleep alone tonight, Justin,” she whispered.
He lifted her hand to his mouth and brushed it gently. “Are you sure, Clare? I would not blame you.”
She leaned into him and felt him shudder as he softened against her. “Come, Justin, let us go upstairs.”
They walked hand in hand as though they were two children finding their way in the dark. When they reached Clare’s room, Justin gave her one more chance to send him away, but she just shook her head, smiled, and led him in.
He had never been so gentle. There was a basin of water on the nightstand, and he made a cool compress for her cheek, holding her in his arms as if she were a baby. Then he slipped her night rail over her head and laid her back on the bed.
“I am afraid to kiss you, Clare,” he whispered, and she saw that he had tears in his eyes. “I don’t want to hurt you more.”
“There are other places to kiss besides my mouth, Justin.”
He began with her neck and shoulders, and moved down to her breast. His tongue caressed each nipple, and then suddenly he took one breast into his mouth and sucked on it like a child sucking on a sugar teat.
Clare guided his hand in between her legs. Soon they were rocking together, slowly at first, and then faster. He came first with broken cries that were echoed by her own a few moments later. And then tears from both of them.
“Clare, you are the most precious thing in my life,” he whispered. She reached out to caress his face and felt it as wet as her own.
“As you are for me, Justin,” she responded, pulling his head close to her breasts and kissing the top of his head softly.
* * * *
The next morning Clare looked dispassionately at herself in her glass. Her upper arm was indeed marked by purple bruises, but those could be concealed quite easily by several of her morning gowns. It was her face that was the problem. Luckily her eye was not affected, but her cheek was still swollen and red, and she expected it would be a day or two before she was back to normal. She would have to cancel all her engagements for the next two days, for she could not imagine any excuses that would explain her appearance.
When Martha came in to help her dress, Clare saw the maid’s eyes widen at her mistress’s appearance.
“Oh, Martha,” Clare said with mock despair, “I was looking for a book to put me to sleep last night and was foolish enough to think I could make my way without a candle. I bumped right into the doorjamb. I vow, I am almost happy, for it gives me a day or two to myself to rest.”
Clare chattered gaily about this and that as Martha helped her dress and arranged her hair. Usually it was Martha who gossiped away, but this morning the maid seemed to have little to say and Clare couldn’t bear her silent scrutiny. But it was no one’s business, after all, thought Clare defensively. Certainly not her abigail’s.
“Please direct Peters to turn down all my invitation for today and tomorrow, Martha. And I will breakfast up here,” she added, gesturing at the small table by the window.
“Yes, my lady.”
Martha was devoted to her mistress, as were all the servants, and she went down the stairs muttering to herself, “Walked into the doorjamb, my arse. That handsome husband of hers did that to her,
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