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swine. Then I'd get to the breakfast table and there you'd be, enthroned behind the coffee tray without a hair out of place, looking as cool and aloof as an iceberg.' Frances gave a little sob. 'Underneath I was a seething mass of tangled-up emotions, wanting to tell you I loved you, only you, and had from the moment you first made love to me that night.' 'What night?' he demanded, holding her so tight she began to wonder if her ribs would stand the strain. 'How many wedding-nights am I supposed to have had?' she asked pertly, and Harry smiled down at her in a way that flooded her with relief and happiness before his mouth was so occupied with kissing hers there were no more smiles or words for a long, breathless, ecstatic interval, while both of them tried to reassure each other of their true feelings without recourse to the English language to make themselves clear. Harry raised his head after a while, grinning down at her in a way Frances had missed badly the past few weeks. 'When it comes to wedding nights, Mrs Curthoys, I'm afraid ours was the only one you're likely to experience, if I can help it. And I humbly apologise for wrecking it with my insane jealousy.' Frances drew back, her eyes wide with delight. 'Oh, Harry,' she breathed blissfully. 'Were you really?' 'Jealous? Othello had nothing on me, I assure you. I still am jealous, if it comes to that,' he added gruffly. Frances's eyes widened. 'Are you really, Harry?' she repeated, abruptly serious, and touched her hand to his cheek. Harry caught the hand in his and kissed her fingers, his teeth catching each pink-nailed tip in emphasis. 'Until I met you, my heart, I'd never been jealous of anyone in my life never even realised what an insidious, degrading feeling it can be. Now, I might tell you, I know precisely how Othello must have felt when he smothered Desdemona. I could only too easily have done the same to you when you muttered the wrong name that night.' Frances gave a stifled protest that Harry silenced with a finger on her lips, his eyes deadly serious as they stared down into hers. 'I'm even jealous when I see you mooning over that miniature of Hal every night while you brush your hair at the mirror over there. I begrudge every moment you spend in thinking about him even, a man who's been dead for three hundred years, God help me!' 'Harry!' 'Hilarious, isn't it? Laugh if you want!' Instead of laughing, Frances reached up to kiss him suddenly, surprising Harry even as he returned the kiss with interest. 'I'm glad,' she said fiercely. 'Glad?' 'Wonderfully, gloriously glad! If you can be jealous of a man who's dead, or even his miniature, then I know it's true. You must love me.' Harry crushed her to him, rubbing his cheek over and over again against hers, it's the incontrovertible truth, Frances Curthoys.' She drew back to look at him, her eyes luminous. 'But I do love the miniature just the same, Harry. But not because it's Hal. The reason Fm so attached to it is that it reminds me of you.' A look of such incredulous delight dawned in Harry's eyes that Frances was affected deeply, and laughed shakily to disguise it. 'You know how Shakespeare described a miniature like this, Harry? He called it "the manacle of love".' if that means I have you chained to me for the rest of our lives then I think he was on the right track though manacles sound a bit kinky, sweetheart!' The old, gleaming smile was back in Harry's eyes at long last, and Frances relaxed against him in utter relief. 'But let's get something straight, Harry Curthoys,' she said with severity. 'Let's have no more talk of jealousy about Chris, poor Hal, or anyone else, living or dead. You have no need to be jealous ever.' 'Do you really mean that, Frances?' 'Of course--' Whatever else she had in mind to say was stifled as Harry's mouth came down on hers with such hunger that she hardly knew what he was talking about when, some time later, he asked if her ankle was troubling her. 'What ankle?' she answered, gazing up at him, and Harry laughed breathlessly. in that case, darling, I have a suggestion to make.' She wriggled closer. 'Yes?' it probably sounds odd, under the circumstances I mean, I know very well you've let me make love to you all along--- 'Let you? Is that what I was doing?' Harry shook her slightly. 'Listen to me, woman. I'm trying to be serious.' 'Sorry. Go on.' 'I just had this idea that we could look on tonight as our real wedding night, because now we know how each other feels only I'm frankly astounded that you're capable of loving me at all, after the way I've treated you lately.' 'Very true. But I do love you. Warts and all,' she assured him lovingly. 'Hey, steady on. That was Cromwell. The Curthoys family have always been strictly Royalist.' 'Don't I know it.' Frances shivered and burrowed her face against him. 'I dreamed Hal was trying to take me with him tonight, Harry.' His arms tightened protectively. 'Put him out of your mind, darling. He had his chance, poor chap, and he chose the wrong girl. I almost did the same, but I was given a second chance, thank God, when I found you, Frances Curthoys, and I'm hanging on to you. Forget about statues in future and concentrate on your flesh and blood husband.' She slid a hand inside his dressing-gown, smoothing his warm skin with pleasure. 'And deliriously happy I am with the arrangement. You needn't warn me off marble effigies, Harry. After tonight my enthusiasm for them has rather evaporated.' Harry reached out to turn off the light before sliding down beside his wife in the wide bed, pulling her close with a deep sigh. 'There,' he said in her ear. 'You won't get away from me tonight, I promise you.' 'I shan't want to. It's where I want to be, Harry, tonight and every night.' She stretched against him, luxuriating in their restored harmony, and smiled into the darkness, deciding that now was the perfect time to tell her husband a piece of news she had been keeping to herself for some time. 'Harry,' she began. 'Mm?' he murmured inattentively, his lips against her throat. Frances wriggled in delight, but pushed him away a little, determined not to be sidetracked. 'I've been waiting for ages to hit on the right moment to give you a rather interesting piece of news, Harry . . .' * * * [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ] |
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