Page 9 of Miss Debenham's Secret
Was this what it meant to love a man?To give oneself to him?
He’d lain her down upon the sand now and she saw him silhouetted above her against the sunny blue sky.“Tell me to stop,” he said, but she didn’t think he expected her to do that and nor did she intend to.Alistair was the best thing that had ever happened to her and she wasn’t about to tell him to stop.
He was heavy, although she was sure he wasn’t pressing his entire weight onto her, but just enough for her to feel the hard muscles of his chest beneath his jacket and the silver buttons.His skin smelt of the sea and the spicy lotion he put on his skin when he shaved; there was a scar under his jaw when he lifted his head, just a little one, but she had so longed to touch it and now she did.She ran her tongue along it and kissed it.
He groaned as if she had hurt him but she knew she hadn’t.He kissed her face and then her throat and then his kisses moved down to the neckline of her dress, and the tingling inside her grew more pronounced.
She thought, rather wildly, that she might let him do whatever he wanted to, despite knowing it was foolish to allow such liberties to a man who was going to leave her, perhaps for a very long time.He buried his face in the softness of her breasts and groaned again and she stroked his dark hair.
And then he sat up with a heavy sigh.His dark eyes were gleaming and his tanned cheeks were flushed, and when he touched her lips with his fingers the caress was almost clumsy.
“Enough,” he said huskily.
“Why is it enough?”she asked, but she sat up and brushed the sand from her clothing, pretending that her hands weren’t trembling.
He looked annoyed.“You know why, Clarissa.I can make you no promises and I think anyway that you are destined for Mr.Marly.”
She felt hurt.As if he was making excuses to rid himself of her or so he wouldn’t feel guilty when he sailed away.“Mr.Marly is too busy with his own ambitions to worry about me,” she said quietly.“He wishes to teach at a larger and more prestigious school and my father is helping him.”
Alistair had stood up and now he looked down at her.“But isn’t that what you want too, Clarissa?A fuller life?What is there for you here in Lyme?”
She didn’t know how to answer him without giving herself away.Clearly his thoughts were not on the same plane as hers.Because she knew she loved him, and her dreams were of spending her life with him, of marrying him and having his children and every day waking to his smile.
“I enjoy teaching,” she said, just to say something.“I sometimes think I might have my own school one day.Nothing grand, just a small establishment.Mr.Marly is a good teacher, but some of his methods ...It may be arrogant of me but I think my ideas are better.I think children respond to kindness and patience as well as order and discipline.I would like to put my ideas into practise so that others could see what I already know.”
“There you are then.You have a future in mind already.You want your own school; you want to teach in your own way.”
He held out his hand to help her up but she ignored it and stood up herself, quickly packing up the picnic.She felt her heart ache and tried to ignore it.The day was not over yet, she reminded herself.They had yet to sail back and that meant more time to be spent with Alistair.
Time to remember when he had gone.
He helped her into the little sailing boat and after pushing it out into the water, his shoes and stockings flung into the bottom of the boat, he jumped in and they set off.
The journey back was slower and the wind was in the wrong place so he had to tack constantly but she didn’t mind.She enjoyed watching him work, seeing how clever he was.How very much at home he was on the water.It was as they rounded the headland into the little bay that the wave came out of nowhere.It reared up, looming over the little boat, swamping them.
Next moment they had capsized.
Clarissa felt herself sinking, the world suddenly all green with sunlight streaking through it.Her mouth and nose filled with salty water and she wondered if this was to be the end of her life, right here and now.And then she bounced back to the surface, her clothing full of air, and splashed her arms to try to keep herself afloat.She felt his hands fumbling to grab hold of hers and then she was being tugged along toward the upside down keel of the boat.He hauled her up onto the hull, giving her a hard shove until she was able to clamber further herself, until she was safe and out of the water.
Half sitting up, she pushed the long wet strands of her hair from her eyes.Her bonnet was dangling about her neck, sodden and ruined, and no doubt her dress was too.She shivered as the breeze blew on her wet skin and looked down to where Alistair was swimming beside her, his face upturned to hers and his dark hair plastered to his head.His eyelashes were clumped together, she noticed inconsequently, and his lips were a little blue from the cold.
Suddenly he shook his head and water sprayed everywhere and now his hair stood up in tufts.He looked so funny that she laughed.She tried to cover her mouth but the laughter kept coming and suddenly he was laughing too.
When finally they stopped he said, “You are an amazing woman, Clarissa Debenham.I don’t think I have ever met a woman as amazing as you.”
And he was gazing at her with a look that told her he meant it.
She knew she should be frightened; she should be anxious, but all she could think was that she was here in the sea with Alistair and he thought her amazing.
Chapter eight
CHAPTEREIGHT
“Ooh, miss, you’re soaked.”
The maid’s eyes were round as she helped Clarissa off with her wringing wet clothes and offered her a towel to dry herself on.The inn was small and the only private room left was tiny, being upstairs in the attics.Clarissa thanked her, shivering still, and very glad to be on dry land.
A fisherman had come to their aid when he saw them waving and calling out for help.They’d been taken to the harbour, the upturned boat towed behind them, and now they were in the inn being tended to by the kindly inn-keeper and his staff.
