Page 32 of Margins of Love
He cherished her breath on his face and tilted his head to consider the best angle to take her mouth. This would be magical, powerful, epic. He held back as long as he could, stretching the fizzing sparks of their newfound proximity.
Then he found his voice somewhere near his courage. “He said I should cover you with kisses.”
She whistled and bit her lower lip.
Her palms grew hot in his hands. His brow twitched upward and his body reacted to her shyness.
“C-cover?” Rachel asked.
He nodded. “I would have to disrobe…” He could not complete the sentence. It was too good to be true and yet impossible.
“Disrobe me?” she asked.
He ran his hands through his hair and she seemed to enjoy his discomfort.
“Then you will be disrobed, too?” she nudged him on, clearly her wit and humor never failed her.
Now he could not suppress a boyish smile. What words could describe what he had been dreaming of doing to her? He had lain awake at night, and stared into blank solitude all day, imaging what he would do. He had mulled over and over in his head every word Arnold had uttered. Unspeakable scenes of carnal pleasure unfolded in his mind. But now that the moment was near, he could only feel the heat of his erection and the racing heart in his chest. She was so precious. Ripe for the picking. But he did not dare. Rachel was not his and could never become his. A pre-selected wife was most likely somewhere back in London waiting for her rich match to accept the betrothal, if his father had not already done so on his behalf. The perfect woman was in his arms, and he felt that he could not have her. Not before marriage. Not ever.
He groaned with gusto. “Men do not disrobe,” he said gruffly. “We get naked.” Enough was enough.
Rachel snorted. “How very melodramatic of you.” She pushed his shoulder in jest throwing him off balance.
Thanks to his athletic prowess, he straightened, closer to her than before. Her teasing irritated him, but his frustration gave way to something more basic. She was a treasure, wrapped in silk, and his to unwrap. He knew he was crossing all boundaries of chastity, but the moment felt real.
Moonlight flooded the lavish English garden with an ethereal glow. Neither Fave nor Rachel seemed bothered by the cool April chill in the heat of their mutual explorations. The electricity between them could have caused a storm, resulting in a lightning channel that surely exceeded the heat of the sun, and caused the air to explode outward in thunder. Fave’s hands touched the loose curls that fell onto her collarbone. His fingers traced the line of her bodice. He was so close to tasting the forbidden fruit called Rachel. If anyone found out, and if Lady Bustle-Smith knew, he would be burned like a piece of toast.
Fave nuzzled her neck, kissing the soft skin that stretched from her ears to her clavicle and lower.
Rachel tilted her head back and her mouth fell open. “It looks like rain.”
She was clearly still too composed, but Fave’s competitive inclinations never let him shy away from a challenge. Or was she giving him a way out? Maybe he ought to take it and run for his life. But he was transfixed by her beauty, and nothing could stop him from worshipping her. He wrapped his arm around her head and pushed toward her, holding her upright with his other hand.
“Hmm-mhh,” Fave mumbled. He picked at her bodice.
Somewhere along the way, she stopped talking and melted into his embrace, allowing him to support her weight. The beauty was light, but right in his toned arms. Finally, he found value in the energy he had burned exercising and marveled in the tension of focusing his attention on her.
Their smiles faded, but their souls connected. Rachel looked at him intently, her eyes darting from his eyes to his mouth. She must have felt what he did and needed time to process. He swallowed. And waited. She grew more serious but remained silent. He decided to go as far as the moment would allow, for he might never have this magic again. He took her hand. She hesitated but then intertwined her fingers with his.
“Come with me. We need more privacy,” he said.
And she did.
They walked through the dark garden, past a field, until they saw the little village looming up ahead. Lights flickered in the small far-away windows. They reached the remnants of the orchard wall. It was high, but Fave and Arnold had climbed it many of times in their childhood. He considered this the most hidden, the most private spot. He wanted her. Now. The intention was not to betray his beliefs, for there must be no act, but he was willing to stretch the boundaries beyond propriety. His body ached for Rachel. He wanted her everywhere on him.
“Oh look at that,amour-en-cage!” Rachel let go of Fave’s hand and touched a small lantern-shaped calyx. It looked empty and wilted, but Rachel seemed delighted.
Fave was puzzled by her reaction. He picked a velvety, heart-shaped leaf, clearly a new spring one.
“Sometimes, a fruit grows in here, or a flower. The fruit is a sweet orange berry, a bit like a tiny tomato.”
“It’s a gooseberry.” Fave chuckled.
“Oh, that’s what you call it in English? I only know the French ‘physalis’ for it, or the Latin…” She trailed off into the origins of the name.
“I may regret asking, but why is itamour-en-cage, love in a cage?” Fave asked.
The moonlight reflected off her dark hair. She lifted her finger to her mouth and pressed it on her lips, preparing her lecture on flowers caged in sepals. He felt the pain of being caged in.
