Castaway Dreams (42 page)

Then she pulled his head back down to continue her lessons, and he let himself be carried away by the physical world, the wonder of Daphne in his arms.

"So much to learn," she said breathlessly when she broke that perfect contact.

"One can also osculate upon other curves," he whispered into her neck.

"Show me!" she demanded.

"My pleasure."

He put his lips to the curve of her breast, following it with his mouth down to the point at the center of the warm, fragrant globes, their spherical shape demanding further exploration and, of course, more intense osculation.

Daphne clutched at him and writhed in his arms, her sheer joy in the moment, her responsiveness filling his heart. This woman fit him as ideally as two halves coming together for a perfect sphere, like a shimmering drop of rainwater falling through a sunlit sky. She taught him so much. He never knew lovemaking could involve laughter before he met Daphne Farnham.

"Would you like to learn some more geometry, Daphne?"

"Oh, yes!"

"This," he said, taking her hand and moving it down to his groin, "is a rod."

He heard her huff out a laugh in the dark.

"I knew that. Now you are bamming me, Dr. Murray!"

"I would not do that, Daphne, not about something as serious as geometry. Here, feel."

She did, and he kept his hand over hers, stroking up and down. He was so hard he ached and nearly lost his ability to continue the lesson, but he gritted his teeth and tried to concentrate, not think about how her warm, soft hand felt as it moved up and down his...

"Shaft!" he gasped. "A solid, three-dimensional cylinder is a rod, or a shaft, or dear heavens that feels exquisite!"

"I wonder if rods and osculation go together?" she murmured.

Mindlessly he followed her instructions as she climbed over and knelt between his legs and put her Latin skills to work. Daphne cradled his balls in her hand while the other worked him in a perfect rhythm with her skilled tongue and mouth, and he clutched the bed linens and could not think about geometry, trigonometry, calculus, or any cold numerals but only the sensation of the wet heat enveloping him, how her tongue snaked around the tip of his rod, stroking the sensitive spot behind the crown that forced a sound of delight from deep in his chest.

She paused then, and pulled all the way off of him, and he sighed with regret. Until she eased forward again, lifting him with her hand and he felt her wet mouth on his ball sack while her hand worked him. And then...and then...

Dear heaven, he would never complain about her humming again!

When he stopped seeing stars behind his closed eyelids, and his breathing returned to normal, he turned his head and saw the succubus lying next to him, her head propped on her hand and a smile that must be termed smug sitting on her pretty mouth.

Sweat darkened the curls around her face and he brushed one away from her eye.

"I did not want to finish without you, Daphne."

She looked down at his relaxed member.

"Are you done for the night, Dr. Murray? I thought you navy men were made of sterner stuff."

He pushed himself up on his elbow.

"Are you challenging me, Miss Farnham?"

She just smiled at him, and he pulled her into his arms and kissed her, tasting himself in her mouth, tasting her. If the reputation of the Senior Service rested on his ability to rise to the occasion, he must be prepared to give his all.

"I have not finished instructing you, Miss Farnham," he said sternly, which elicited a coo of delight from his student as he positioned her across his lap. She shivered in the cool air and he pulled the covers around her, but knew better ways to warm her up.

"The mouth, my dear Daphne, is an amazing organ, as you just demonstrated so skillfully. Your ears hear." He took one soft lobe between his teeth and pressed down, which caused her to gasp and clutch his arms.

He moved his fingertips over her soft eyebrows and he felt the lashes flutter down like butterflies coming to rest on her cheeks, then he kissed each lid.

"Your eyes see, but your mouth, Daphne, your beautiful mouth can do so much more. It can lick." And he demonstrated against her neck as he laid her back on the bed.

"Bite." He nipped at the juncture of her neck and shoulder, and she licked her own lips, parted now on her panting breaths.

"Suck." He showed her, demonstrating on first one breast, then the other, her nipples engorged and hard as she encouraged him to do more, and he moved down her body to accommodate her, until he came to the place where she was ready for his attentions, honey flowing from her core. He felt a wholly male and primitive burst of satisfaction that he was the man who aroused this woman to this level, where she was begging him in that breathy little voice of hers to demonstrate osculation to her complete satisfaction.

So he lowered his mouth to her, and with his tongue, and his lips, and his skilled knowledge of anatomy he licked, and bit gently, and sucked, and caressed her until her back bowed off the bed and she cried out at the completion of his lesson on osculation.

By this time he was ready to move from geometry to more practical applications of mechanics, demonstrating the insertion of a rod into a cylinder, not as a cold mechanical device, but the complete joining of two individuals in a timeless dance of love and satisfaction.

By the faint light filtering in through the window he saw her watching him as he rose over her, her mouth relaxed and full, her eyes heavy-lidded as her desire built again, and when he finally slipped into her welcoming heat she continued to watch him, as he watched her, silently sharing their love as their bodies said what he could not say aloud.

At the end there was no way he could keep it inside him, any more than he could stop the rush of his desire for her when he felt himself tighten and strain to be part of her forever.

"My love, my love," he whispered into her hair as she climaxed, crying out his name.

"You will see, Alexander," she said afterward as she dropped off to sleep. "Everything will work out for the best."

He knew that. He would do whatever was necessary to make sure Daphne had the best life she could. And it would not be the life she'd have married to an impecunious surgeon.

He held her in his arms, stroking her hair until she fell asleep. When the dawn began to lighten the room, he was still awake, staring at the ceiling.

* * * *

The trip to London was mercifully uneventful as the scarlet wheels turned and turned, taking Daphne home. At first she chatted with the other passengers, a curate of middle years who did not appear at all interested in the latest fashion trends, and a motherly woman engrossed in her knitting. Mrs. Nealy
was
interested in hearing about the new bonnets being worn by London ladies, but acknowledged she came to town not to shop, but to assist her daughter in childbirth, hence the need to finish the garment growing beneath her clacking needles.

"Taking the mail was more dear than I planned, but it's my Bessie's first, and I wanted to be there with her," she said.

"What a fortunate girl, to have her mother with her," Daphne said, and couldn't keep a note of sadness from her own voice. Her hand rested on her own belly. She did not think there was a baby growing in there, but how wonderful it would be if there was! She must learn to knit so she, too, could make darling little jackets and blankets to keep her baby warm.

Daphne had never traveled by mail coach, of course. When she traveled to the country with her father it was always in his well-appointed carriage, with plenty of stops along the way to rest and refresh oneself. The mail coach was not nearly as comfortable, but it went so quickly! When the coach took its brief breaks Pompom jumped out of her valise and took care of his business before taking a drink of water and climbing back in. Her darling was an experienced coach traveler and was no trouble, though she saw her surgeon slip some extra silver to the coachman and the guard to ensure they would not fuss over the animal riding inside.

It was not Pompom who worried her, but Alexander. He did not talk to her as the mail coach flew down the road, but stared out the window, his arms crossed over his chest, lost in his thoughts. Maybe he was thinking about how he would introduce himself to her father, and ask for her hand.

Alexander kept talking about taking her home, but was the mansion in London still her home? Was her home on a desert island, or on a pirate ship, or in a seaside town? No, home was where her surgeon was. Daphne knew in her father's house she would want for nothing, nothing that could be bought with gold. With Dr. Murray she might have to forego a bonnet or two, or another pair of kid slippers, but she would be with Alexander and that thought warmed her more than any fur-lined cloak or swansdown muff could ever do.

Any suspicions she had that Alexander meant what he said about not marrying her, because of his foolish belief that he could not make her happy, were suppressed. She would not dwell on that, not now, not when she was so close to seeing her papa again and rebuilding her life, a life that would most definitely have Dr. Alexander Murray in it!

The courtyard of the Swan With Two Necks vibrated with noise and chaos, but it was an organized chaos befitting a bustling coaching inn. The passengers on the mail gratefully climbed down to the cobblestones, stretching cramped muscles, or in one furry passenger's case, poking his head out of the valise to bark at a duck risking feather and limb searching for oats left behind by the horses.

"No, Pompom, stay put!" Daphne said. "I vow, Dr. Murray, that was fast, but I feel as if all my bones are bounced to pieces!"

"Our journey is almost ended, Miss Farnham."

He led her to one of the hackneys ready to transport people to and from the inn. He stiffened when she gave him the location of her family's house in Mayfair, and she felt a chill, as if he was pulling his warmth away from her, even though they were sitting in a small space. Once she would have found the grime and smell of the hired vehicle disconcerting, but now she ignored it, watching the man with her as if she could hold him with her glance alone.

They were silent as the hackney rolled through the streets, streets that became cleaner and wider as they moved away from the inn, and Alexander withdrew deeper into himself and Daphne found it hard to breath, her stomach cramping as they neared her house. Pompom whined, feeling her tension, and tried to lick her face.

"Stop! Stop here, at the park!"

He looked at her sharply.

"Are you ill?"

"Stop, please!"

He gave the order to the driver, helped her alight from the vehicle and took their valises and his surgeon's case. She released Pompom, who sniffed around the grass at her feet.

Alexander watched her, concern on his face, but Daphne looked behind him to the house she knew so well. Her father would not be home yet from his warehouses, but she saw lit lamps and knew the servants would be there, preparing for the master's return.

She swallowed, worried for a moment she would indeed be ill, but then straightened her shoulders and grabbed Alexander's hands.

"Do not leave me, Alexander."

His bleak face paled further, but he shook his head.

"We do not have a choice, Daphne."

"Stop saying that! We do have a choice, Alexander! I can choose to be miserable, or I can choose to stay by your side."

"Daphne, if you marry me and leave your world behind you
will
be miserable."

"There will be bad days, I know that! But I am also sure, very sure, there will be many days where we will not be miserable, and when we fight we will make up, and when we love, it will be a love that will carry us through the difficult times. That is what love is, Alexander! It is a shield against despair, and against poverty, and against the feeling life is happening to you without your being able to choose or to control it at all. You think you know everything, but you do not! I may not have a head stuffed full of knowledge, but I know what love is!"

He smiled then, a small smile, barely a lifting of the corners of his expressive mouth, but it lifted her heart and she began to smile in return.

"I know you know what love is, Daphne, you taught me that. It is because I love you in return I must leave you now. You deserve the life you were born to, and you cannot have it with me. I love you too much to watch you fade away in genteel poverty."

Her own smile washed away like a watercolor left in the rain. Daphne reached up and held his head with its rumpled curls of silver and red between her hands. She looked into his eyes, eyes lined by years of thinking too hard and tending too many men who died no matter what he did. She said the words she needed to say, the words from her heart.

"Alexander Murray, you are the stupidest man I have ever met."

He opened his mouth, but she put her hand across his lips and he stopped, but cocked an expressive eyebrow at her. She was not about to be intimidated by a caterpillar-looking bit of hair, not when she had things to say to this fool.

"Do not argue with me. I know stupidity when I see it, believe me. You have a chance at love, a chance at happiness, and a life with someone who loves you. Me. And you are throwing it away, you big looby. Sometimes it takes stupid people longer to figure things out. I understand that, and I am willing to give you time to become more intelligent."

She took her fingers off of his mouth because she could not kiss him with that in the way. When she was done kissing him, and tasting the sweetness of his love for her, because she knew he loved her, even if he was stupider than a box full of rocks, she squared her shoulders and picked up her bag.

"You know where to find me, Dr. Murray. I will not wait forever, because I am a useful person and I need to move on with my life. I will not sit around moping and longing for an idiot. That would be you," she clarified, just in case he was as dense as she suspected he was. "Come, Pompom!"

Pompom whined and tried to stay with Alexander, but she gave a tug on his leash. She walked away without looking back, because she did not want him to see the tears rolling down her face, not after that fine, brave speech. Oh, they were a pair of fools, they were! No wonder they suited each other so perfectly.