Plain Jane Wanted
Page 25
George reached to take her fingers and held them in his hand. “I planned this with your apprentice, Suzie. She was supposed to make you come by boat to give me time. I took the fast road with Evans. My father is having dinner with the duke, and I left them because I wanted to come here. I put the trees like this to make a private room under the stars. I didn’t look at you in the church because I wouldn’t have been able to deliver the speech otherwise, and particularly not with you wearing this dress.”
He had come closer somehow during his speech and now put his other hand in the small of her back and pulled her gently towards him. She could see his chest through the open shirt, all golden skin and a narrow trail of soft brown hairs. She remembered his chest from their night together and her tongue came out to lick her lips. She swallowed. The pressure from his hand, hot through the fine silk, woke up a tornado inside her.
“The leaves on the ground,” he said, his voice suddenly husky, “are mint and lemon verbena and camomile, I think, and some other things. I chose anything soft enough that smelled nice. Think of it like a herbal carpet. What else did you ask me?”
Both his arms were around her, pressing her against him. his arousal, like an iron fist inside his trousers, pushed against her, and her knees nearly buckled.
George breathed into the side of her face. “Oh yes, the rest of my suit is on the back of a chair inside your cottage. Which, incidentally, is where I think your dress should be, because I’d hate to ruin it.”
* * *
In the end, the dress was hung on a branch of eucalyptus.
The herb carpet was thick and soft, and it released a different wonderful fragrance with each movement.
They made love with aching tenderness at first which built up into a storm. She gave herself up completely to him, to his hands and his lips and to the forceful rolling of his hips into her. And he gave himself up to her too, let her taste him and enjoy him as they both took their needs from each other again and again.
They lay panting side by side, slick with sweat on the fragrant carpet, leaves sticking to their skin. It was a long time before they could speak.
“Millie?” Her name sounded beautiful when he said it. But she wanted to say something first.
“George. I only found out tonight that this used to be the cottage where your mother grew up. I would never have taken it if I knew—”
He kissed her, and the words went away.
“I’m glad you didn’t know,” he said later. Much later. “I was trying to keep it like an empty shrine, a mausoleum. You made it into a place of beauty and life. Something worthy of my mother. Thank you.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t let you explain last Easter. I’m sorry I mistrusted you.”
“Millie.” His voice roughened. “Can you get up, please? I need you to stand up.”
His eyes were on her as she stood up. He remained on his knees, his head tousled, stray bits of lavender tangled in his hair. Millie smoothed her fingers through his hair, and she couldn’t let go. She wanted to keep her hands in his hair forever. Please. Because he was up on his knees, she pulled his head into her stomach and stroked his hair with both hands.
“I don’t think this will work out like this.” He stood up. Taking her hand in both of his, he kissed the tips of her fingers. She stopped breathing.
“I forgot to answer one of your questions earlier,” he said.
She waited, still not breathing. This man was going to kill her if he didn’t hurry up.
“I came here tonight to ask you something,” he said, eyes shining in the moonlight. “Will you be my friend? My lover? My equal?” He kissed her fingertips. “Millie. Will you be my wife?”
Millie started breathing. This magnificent naked man. This brave-hearted, amazing, surprizing man who not only had her fingers but her entire heart in his big warm hands.
“Do you have an answer for me?” he asked, reaching for her other hand. He held both of them against his heart. Millie could feel it hammering inside his chest.
“I was waiting for you to finish talking,” she said, her voice a half whisper, half sigh. “I will never, ever again interrupt you.” The scent of fragrant trees was all around them.
“So?”
“I take you, George. As an equal, a lover, a friend. I take you as my husband.”
In the end, they decided to lie down on the herb carpet again because it was easier to make love that way.
The End
Dear Reader, thank you for reading my novel. If you would like a free story, The Girl with No Name (a novella), please click here.
Acknowledgements
It would be impossible to mention everyone who helped this story become a published book. I must mention the author friends who read my early work and were so generous with creative advice and encouragement. MK Harkins, Sue Seabury, Elle Wylee, and Ann Howes. I also want to thank Monika Holabird for her sterling professional editing and sound advice.
In particular, my thanks go to Scribophile and The Ubergroup for providing a platform where writers can work together and develop. Mary Jayne Baker for the beautiful cover that captured my vision for the story and Adam Myhr for his expert help with formatting the manuscript.
And finally, my dear friends, Philippa Decker, Bailie Hantam and Alice Kahrmann who said what I needed to hear when I needed to hear it.
About the Author
Rose Amberly was born in London and started making up stories as a little girl when she couldn’t get her hands on anything to read. She spent fifteen years writing for theatre and radio before moving to fiction. Her favourite stories are about brave, flawed but wonderful people trying to overcome difficult life challenges to find happiness without losing their sense of humour.
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