A Minor Fall - Excerpt
For all the spirit evident in their debate over dinner, when Stephen and Amy walked back to their cabin, words seemed to suddenly fail them. Amy was almost painfully aware of his proximity, of the feeling of his muscles taut under the fine fabric of his coat.
Joseph opened their cabin door but made himself scarce right afterwards, leaving them to stand alone in the living room, supposed to bid each other good-night and vanish into their respective bedrooms. Something apparently neither of them was quite ready to do. In Amy’s case, because she was not sure her shaking knees would support her were she to try and walk.
“I had a wonderful time tonight,” Stephen said quietly and slowly lifted her gloved hand to his lips, closing his eyes as he breathed a kiss on the silk. As he opened them, there was no doubt as to what he communicated. He wanted her to ask, right now, right here.
She wished she would not need to. Wished he would just whisk her off her feet, kiss her and make her forget about everything. She knew he could.
Her trembling knees threatened to give way under her soon, so she stepped into his arms, hoping it would serve as an invitation.
It seemed as if it did.
With infinite tenderness, he breathed light kisses on her forehead, her temples, her eyes. The smell of wine lingered on his breath and she burned to find out if she would also taste it in his kisses. She lifted her hand to the nape of his neck, and ran her fingers upward into his smooth, ink-black locks. If asked at that moment, she might have admitted that his hair held an equal fascination for her as hers did for him. Her breath came faster as his fingers fluttered over the leaping pulse at her neck and her bloodstream sent the signal of his tentative touch throughout her body in thrilling, aching waves. The feathery kisses reached her mouth, brushing over her lips until all thoughts but one had scattered.
“What do you want, Amy?” he whispered against her mouth.
“Kiss me,” she murmured.
Surprisingly soft lips slanted over hers, applying sweet pressure. But just for a moment, and then they were gone.
“What else?”
The question resounded in her head for a while, an echo in a black void. By the time her brain had assigned it meaning, self-consciousness cooled her blood. Did he expect directions from her? Could he not just go on with his intoxicating kisses and caresses and proceed to whatever he wanted to do with her? Why did he feel he needed to disrupt the mood with such questions?
“Hold me,” she stammered finally.
His lips were still almost touching hers, his breath warm and delicious on her skin, and she hoped fervently that he would kiss her again and take her back to oblivion.
“I cannot just hold you, Amy,” his whispered hoarsely. “Not… not tonight.”
His arms tightened around her, pressing his body firm and hard against hers. There was no mistaking his meaning.
“What do you want?” he repeated, the urgency of his body evident in his voice.
A twinge of sadness brushed her as she thought of the woman in the dining room she had been only half an hour ago. The woman who could hold her own in a debate between men. The woman who could answer questions much more complicated than this. She was gone.
Stephen’s arms gradually slackened around her as she stood there mutely. A few moments later, he drew back from her.
He gulped some deep breaths and ran his hand through his hair once, disheveling it.
“I’m sorry. I did not mean to pressure you.” He looked at her and then – obviously upset by what he saw – looked away. “It won’t happen again.”
Dejection surrounded him like a black cloud, and she could not stand to think he would somehow blame himself.
“You might think it silly,” she said after swallowing a few times. “But I’d like to wait until it’s a year and a day.”
The lie was to placate both of them: him for the disappointment, her for the frustration about her own indecisiveness.
“I don’t think it silly,” he said with a sad attempt at a smile.
“Thank you.”
“Good night, my lady.” He bowed formally and then left.
“Good night, Stephen.” Her voice sounded oddly hollow in the empty room.
Sleep did not come easily that night, even the deep vibration of the ship’s engine that usually put her to sleep, could not soothe her jangling nerves. She tried to understand what had happened that night, at what point things had gone so wrong as to leave her once again alone in her bed, feeling lost and empty.
Why had he asked? He had spoiled his own success with that stupid question and she was sure he knew that it would rattle her because she had no answer for it.
Not that she did not want him. She did. She wanted his hands and lips and his body to fulfill the dark promise they made, wanted to explore the tingling and trembling in her centre and follow it to where it beckoned her.
But at the same time, she feared she’d dissolve under the onslaught of his passion, feared that the pitiful remnants of her self would be overwhelmed by his self-assured vivacity, would integrate into him like an organ, a limb. Hooked on his bloodstream, depending on every beat of his heart and unable to live on its own.
Still, it would probably happen sooner rather than later, she was too drawn to him to resist the lure of his charms for long. And though her mind grieved for the loss of what could have been, her body hummed with anticipation at the thought of truly becoming his wife.
After all, that was her role in life.