City of Secrets (24 page)

“They can find their own river.”

The path petered out not much past the edge of the garden, and they began walking across the sloping field. The willows near the distant water seemed to come no closer, and although the grass grew taller and thicker, making walking difficult, neither of them suggested going back. Devin went ahead of her to push the grass aside, disturbing the bees at work in it and startling a wild canary into flight. Impulsively, Maddie pulled off her hat and tossed it over a clump of marigolds. Devin heard the faint noise and turned around, then stopped.

“Your hair’s coming loose,” he said and reached out to push a pin back in. His hand must have been cold, for it made her shiver when he touched her cheek lightly. She took the hairpin from him and stepped around him, smoothing her hair with an automatic gesture as she walked. But in another moment, he caught her arm and said, “Sit down for a while.”

There was a patch of flattened grass near a mound of pale yellow hay. Obediently she sat down, tucking her legs under her the way she used to do when she was a girl.

“What is it you want to say to your husband?” he asked.

She didn’t answer at once but looked down at her hands folded in her lap, as if searching for the right words. “I wasn’t—I haven’t been all that good to Teddy. I want to make it up to him. Or at least, to tell him I’m sorry.”

“What could you possibly have to be sorry for?”

She supposed she should not be telling him these things, but she had never been able to say them to anyone before; and somehow, today, if she did not think too much about the implications of confiding in him, she wanted to tell him.

“When we were first married, I adored Teddy. I wanted to do everything for him, to be kind and understanding and interested in anything that interested him. But I was never any of those things. Instead, I went out and did things he could take no part in ... and blamed him anyway for not joining me. I was never home when he was, and then I accused him of—of being useless.”

Now that she had begun, the litany seemed to pour out of her. “He was always so good to me, never angry, even when I behaved stupidly. And I was senselessly jealous. The night—the last time I saw him—I even said he took more interest in his silly horses than he did in me. It was a ridiculous thing to say, but I can’t forget that it was the last thing he heard from me. If only—”

“Stop.”

He was sitting with his knees bent slightly and his hands on them, playing absently with a piece of straw. The word came out softly but forcefully, cutting her off like a knife into soft bread.

“Never say
if only
.
You can’t change the past, and unless his character has greatly changed, nothing else would be likely to change either. What would be the point of telling him all this? Just to make
you
feel better?”

“You don’t understand. I want to tell him that it was my fault. I was stubborn and selfish and proud, and I made no effort to understand or sympathize.”

“Damn it, Maddie!”

He stood up then and paced angrily in front of her, flattening the grass even more. “How can an intelligent woman be so unintelligent about a man who isn’t worth two minutes out of her life? Stand up!”

Flabbergasted, she did, and he took her by the elbows and shook her. “Maddie, nothing was your fault! He was the selfish one. He wasn’t worth your time, much less your love and loyalty.”

She shook herself free. “But I
didn’t
love him! I mean, I didn’t love him enough. Oh, God.”

Had she really said that? He had surprised it out of her, but she knew now that it had been there all the time. She hadn’t cried in front of anyone for years, but suddenly the tears flowed, astonishing her as much as him. “I didn’t know how to love him,” she said, between sobs. “I don’t think I know what love means.”

She turned away from him, covering her face with her arms and trying ineffectually, like a little girl, to dry her tears with her sleeve.

“You’re a fool, Maddie.”

He turned her toward him and before it registered on her what he was doing, he covered her mouth with his own. She tried to pull away, but he moved his arms around her, imprisoning her within them, and suddenly all the heat of the day concentrated itself in his mouth, the liquid fire pouring into her from him and heating her insides unbearably. Her arms went up around his neck and her fingers met the thick hair at the nape and twined into it.

“No—” she protested, not because she wanted him to stop but because she had to tear her mouth away from the source of heat before it melted her. But he would not let her go, and then it was too late, and when he released his grip to pull her down onto the grass, she moaned only to protest that he had stopped. Leaning over her, he put one hand under her back to keep her away from the ground and took her head in the other hand, drawing it up gently to kiss her again, less violently, and again.

“There isn’t a cold or unloving bone in your body,” he said, moving his hands down her spine as if to prove it. “You just haven’t been loved as you should be ... as I can love you.

“I want to love you,” he said in a low voice that she would not even have heard if she had not known what he was saying without having to hear it.

“No, Devin.” It was a feeble denial, for she did not want him to stop kissing her. “I’m afraid….”

He pulled back to look into her eyes but did not let her go. “Of what?”

“I’m not...” She didn’t know how to say it. “I’m afraid I’ll disappoint you.”

He chuckled softly, and as if he had put a brake on himself, his urgency slowed. She could feel his breathing change too as he began to kiss her face, her neck, her hair, each light touch another sweet reassurance, until he reached her mouth again and entered, a little deeper, a little more forcefully, but never quite hard enough to satisfy the desire that was growing instead of cooling inside her. When would it stop? she wondered. How far would it go before she no longer felt anything?

“What did he do wrong, darling?” he whispered. “Did he kiss you like this?”

“No....”

Why did he say that? What could it matter that another man had tried and failed?

But then she began to understand that there was something different in what he did, in what she was feeling, in the way she responded involuntarily to his touch. The realization made her gasp and want to test herself a little more, but she was still fearful.

“Not here,” she said, although she had thought, “not now,” and did not know what she really meant.

He lifted his head, and there was a dizzying mix of laughter and desire in his eyes. “Shall we go back to the inn and rent a room?”

“No!”

“Here, then.”

His mouth closed on hers again, and she felt something else unlike anything she had ever felt before, something that dispelled her fear of disappointment just long enough to make her reckless. She knew she ought to stop him while there was still time, before she reached that last peak she had never been able to scale. But instead she arched her back so that her body touched his along its full length and she could feel his skin hot against her even through all their clothing. Where she could touch it directly, his skin was surprisingly smooth and smelled of sun and poppies and tasted lightly of salt. She wanted to taste more, and the idea of what he would feel like without that cloth barrier between them made her tremble. He lifted his head, and she saw the passion blazing alone and naked in his eyes—had she really thought them cold?—and heard his breathing come faster.

He began unbuttoning her bodice with expert fingers, and she giggled crazily. “We forgot Louise.”

“Do you think I can’t button them up again?”

“I shouldn’t like to think you an expert on ladies’ intricacies.”

“Necessity makes experts of us all. Stand up.”

Fascinated, she obeyed and stood still, moving her arms or lifting a foot as he instructed. She watched him pull her bodice and the blouse off from underneath her and lay them gently on a patch of dry grass. Her skirt and petticoat and silk drawers followed, and decorated a haystack. He took his time, pausing to kiss each newly exposed bit of flesh of her arms and neck and above the top of her chemise.

She was wearing the kind of stays that fastened up the front, and it took him only a moment to release the metal tags. She felt the sudden coolness on her waist and breasts, reminding her of the night he had burst into her hotel room, when she had had to hold a gun between him and her trembling, barely clad body to keep him from doing what he was doing now, and what she had not known she wanted then.

He ran his hand down her side, closer to the skin now than before, then removed his own clothes and disposed of them carelessly in a heap beside him. In those few seconds when he was out of reach, she didn’t know what to do with her hands, but when she covered her breasts with them, he took them away again and laid her gently back on the grass.

“Didn’t your nanny tell you that no nice-minded girl wears beautiful underwear?” he said as he caressed her lacy muslin chemise. He didn’t take it off at once, reaching instead beneath it to release the garters that held up her pale pink stockings, then rolled the stockings slowly down each leg. As each tiny patch of nakedness was revealed, he kissed it, moving his mouth slowly down the insides of her legs. She reached toward him, sitting up a little, the center of her more eager than any other part, but holding back, waiting to be touched first, for his gentle hands to warm that part of her too and make it tremble.

When he raised his head again and held himself a whisper away from the length of her to look into her eyes, she held her breath, waiting ... no longer sure for what. And still he lingered over her lacy chemise, and she wondered if she really had been wicked to buy such a garment that no one else had ever seen. But it seemed right that it should be him, that he should see it in the way he did.

Then he ran his hands back up her legs, taking the chemise with them. He took hold of her waist, lifting her slightly to take the garment all the way off over her head, and she gasped when she realized they were both naked now. Hurrying, breathing audibly, he held her up long enough to slip the chemise between her and the ground and lay her gently back on it. Then his mouth took hers again, and his hands covered her breasts. She returned his kiss, eager to discover what it was in him that drew her so strongly. But when she reached up for him, she found her arms too weak, her will gone, overtaken by sensation. His body pressed hers down, and her weakness did not matter, for he had strength for both of them.

His mouth was all over her now, hotly, desperately, and her flesh became hot and desperate wherever he touched it, until she begged him to end it. But he knew it was too soon, and he parted her legs only to slide his body down hers to kiss the insides of her thighs, sending a tremor of pleasure through her. She moaned and reached for him, to pull him closer to where she wanted him most. But he approached the end with agonizing slowness, while the rest of her melted away under his touch, her flesh turning to ashes, leaving only that central place untouched, unmoved, as it had always been.

Then he moved over her again, and his core touched hers. Suddenly, instead of being snuffed out, the flame inside her roared up, as if she had been dry tinder all along, just waiting for him to set her ablaze.

“Oh, Devin!”

“Tell me.”

“Please…. I don’t know....”

“I love you.”

“Yes!”

He entered her then, and the final searing flame shot through her, and she cried out with the delicious agony of every inch that he made her climb with him, higher and higher, beyond that impossible peak and into the heavens, until she fell, shuddering, gliding gently down again, away from the heat into sudden, cool release—and she knew that she had not been destroyed, but healed. She was whole again because he was what had been missing in her.

It seemed hours before her breathing returned to normal and she opened her eyes to see a single red poppy at a curious angle above her, as if it had been watching through the grass all this time. She laughed softly, and he moved a little, lifting his arm from across her breasts.

“Don’t go,” she said, shivering with the sudden touch of cool air.

He kissed her ear and whispered, “Awake now?”

“Did I sleep?”

“Only for a few minutes.”

She took a deep breath. She ought to get up, but it was so comfortable there, so soothing.

“I had no idea,” she whispered. “It’s never been like that.”

“I know.”

She looked at him fully for the first time, admiring the dark, smooth skin of his arms, and the taut muscles beneath it, his strong thighs and the film of light hair that covered his chest. There was a scar on his shoulder; she touched it, gently, as if it might still pain him.

“What is this?” she said.

“A mistake.”

She kissed it. “There. It’s forgiven.”

He smiled and moved his hand along her arm. She shivered, and he thought she was cold and drew his shirt over her. It was hot and dry from the sun, and the crisp fabric absorbed the heaviness out of her, leaving her feeling weightless and free. She moved her head to kiss him, to tell him she wasn’t cold any more, but then he reminded her, “It’s getting late.”

“What time is it?”

He reached for his coat pocket for his watch, looked at it and smiled, but said only, “Late.”

She sighed and looked up at the sky. He was right; she could no longer see the sun, which beat at them at a deep angle through the grass. He reached for her clothing and dressed her again, gently moving her limbs into the clothes, as if she were a child. She felt drunk and smiled giddily at him as he stood in front of her to button her blouse. He laughed at her unexpressed invitation and kissed her breast through the chemise, leaving a deliciously warm, moist spot on it. She sighed.

“Hussy.”

“Yes.”

A dark flash of desire came back into his gray eyes. “I told you.”

“Yes.”

He took her head between his hands and kissed her mouth. She opened it willingly, wanting more, but he drew a deep breath and let her go, then bent down to find some loose hairpins in the grass for her to use. He found a comb in another pocket and smoothed the hair off her neck for her to fasten in a practiced knot at the back of her head.