Pumpymuckles

by JayneFresina

  It was like sleep-walking, so Dr. Frazer had said, except she was not asleep. As he described it, her mind vacated her body for a while. Sometimes she performed mechanical movements while in this state and so special locks had to be fitted on the front door to ensure she didn't try to walk outside without anybody knowing.

  Yes, she remembered that clearly suddenly— the big locks on the door. Was that why she felt as if she'd been freed from a prison?

  Images came and went. Confusing.

  Don't think of it anymore tonight. Live in the present.

  Whatever that may be.

  Hmm. Whatever that may be. Odd thing to say.

  * * * *

  The next day they continued their journey to Norwich, where a large market, colorful, exuberant, and full of festive cheer, was taking place in the center of the city.

  "I daresay you'll want to get me something for Christmas," Gabriel said.

  She chuckled. "Really? And what would I want to buy you?"

  "I don't know. Somethin'. You're the clever one!"

  "Well, I haven't much money."

  "So? Doesn't have to be expensive, does it? The best gifts come from the heart and cost nothin'. I'll meet you back at this lamp post in one hour," he said. "Mind you're not late. Or else I'll think you've run orf and left me."

  She rolled her eyes. "For goodness sake. I'm not going anywhere."

  "You might," he grumbled. "I don't like to let go of your hand. It only takes a second for someone to disappear. You did it to me before."

  Her heart ached suddenly. Fiercely. He was so sure that she was the little girl that fell upon him in the water. He believed it without question, just as he'd known that she was the one he wanted as his governess the moment he got her letter.

  Was this just another of his impulses?

  If it was proved one day to be some other girl with whom he almost drowned, he would be disappointed.

  And so, she realized suddenly, would she.

  "I'm not leaving you, Gabriel Hart," she said solemnly. "If I left you before it wasn't because I wanted to go. I must have had no choice. But I'm not a little girl anymore and I can make my own decisions now."

  For a long moment he looked at her, then he pulled up the collar of her fur-trimmed coat, using that as an excuse to step closer. "I'm very, very glad you're not a little girl anymore."

  But Ever knew she never had been really. Not inside. Not her soul.

  He leaned down and kissed her, right there in the busy marketplace. Snowflakes twinkled all around them, like pieces of broken glass spinning through the air, but without any sharp corners to hurt.

  How warm his lips were. She could go on kissing them and not be at all afraid of the scandalous glances they would soon attract.

  Finally he resettled the scarf around her throat, nodded firmly and walked away on his own errand.

  Fatter flakes of snow began to fall, settling on shoulders and hats and lamp posts. Carol singers and roast chestnut sellers in the market added to the festive atmosphere. It was, she mused, like walking through a merry painting. How life should always be. If only it was Christmas every day.

  The practical side of her mind immediately pointed out that these pleasures, had every day, would soon lose their luster. But she was in no mood for dull practicality today. Ever Greene was touching, tasting and feeling the joy of life at last. Living in the moment.

  As she wandered around the stalls, Ever felt happier and more content than she had for some time. She had expected to miss her parents this Christmas, and she did, but not quite as much as she'd anticipated and not in the same way. There was a warm glow in her heart when she thought of them, as if, in fact, they were not far away at all.

  But what to buy Gabriel Hart? A man who had, or could have, everything? It almost seemed as if he'd set her a challenge. A test.

  She realized then, walking in the snow, surrounded by the rumbling, clucking noise of the Norwich marketplace, that she was in love with him.

  It took her breath away for a moment, brought a tear to her eye.

  Until she remembered the strong Norsewomen of her family tree. Stop with that nonsense!

  Oh, but she loved him.

  She could hear her mother, That's no excuse.

  I didn't come all this way to get my shoes marked to pieces.

  But what was life about, except to get one's shoes marked to pieces? They didn't give you points in heaven for unmarked shoes.

  And she laughed. Ever stood in the crowded marketplace, turned her face up to let snowflakes land upon her lips and softly melt there. I love him.

  "I love him."

  Suddenly it was easy to let it out. She wasn't afraid of the strange glances and the giggles. She smiled back at them and shouted, "Merry Christmas."

  And they returned the sentiment, smiling and nodding, amused.

  It was a wonderful world in which to be alive, and she intended to make the most of every second from now on.

  * * * *

  That evening he took her to the New Hippodrome Theatre in Norwich to enjoy a variety show— her very first apparently.

  "It ain't Shakespeare," he warned her anxiously as they took their seats.

  She turned her head and laughed softly, her green eyes gleaming with happiness. And she placedher hand in his. "If you like it, I will too. I have no doubt."

  It seemed as if his amusement gave her pleasure, for whenever he laughed, she looked at him and laughed too. Made him self-conscious at first, but he got used to it. Having her hand in his helped.

  Then she leaned close to his ear and whispered, "One day I'll take you to see Shakespeare too and you'll love it just as much as I do."

  He squeezed her hand, never wanting to let it go again. "Good." In truth he would go anywhere she wanted and tell her he liked it, even if he didn't.

  After the theatre they dined at the finest restaurant in Norwich, where they ate lobster and drank champagne. For dessert they ordered profiteroles, which he'd never tried before. Several people wandered up to their table, wanting his autograph and he was always polite and obliging, but got rid of them again as soon as etiquette allowed.

  "I'm sorry," he said to Ever.

  "Why? I don't mind."

  "But they interrupted our dinner."

  "Not really." She smiled. "I still have you mostly to myself."

  He reached for her hand. "You could have all of me to yourself if you wanted."

  Her eyes seemed to be filled with stars. Or were they tears? "Nobody could ever have all of you. It wouldn't be fair to the rest of the world."

  "Well, they've got that statue, haven't they? Gabriel Hart as he were while living. Let them be satisfied with that."

  Slowly her lips bent in a wry smile. "I hear it's not a patch on the genuine article."

  His heartbeat quickened. Daren't say anything else, in case he'd got the wrong end of the stick. Perhaps it was just wishful thinking that made him read more into that remark than she could possibly mean.

  When they got to the hotel in Norwich that evening after dinner, he had ordered separate rooms again, but this time, she had other ideas.

  "I want to spend the night with you," she whispered. "I don't want to be alone."

  "Why?" he asked, hardly trusting his own ears. "Are you afraid of the dark?"

  For some reason that made her laugh too. "Not anymore."

  Remembering that a gentleman should be patient, he raised a hand to her cheek and stroked it gently with his fingertips. "Are you sure, Ever?"

  "I couldn't decide what to give you for Christmas. What is the one thing I know nobody else could ever give you and that you could never buy for yourself?"

  He wanted to kiss her there and then in the foyer of the hotel. But if he began, he might not stop.

  "So this is my gift to you," she said simply. "Me. It's not much, but—"

  He grabbed her by the arm and headed directly for the stairs.

  Chapter Thirteen

  She let
him undress her, but in the soft amber gaslight he fumbled over her buttons and laces as if he'd never done this before. When she pointed that out he replied with an unusual amount of humility,

  "I've never done this with you before."

  "Am I so very different?"

  "Yes." He finally slid the last lace free from her corset. "You are everything."

  It was somewhat worrisome that he thought of her that way. "I hope I don't disappoint then."

  Thinking to help him, she reached up to unpin her hair, but he stopped her. "No. I want to do it all. I want to unwrap you. You said you're my present."

  And when kissed her neck, she very soon she forgot her anxiety about pleasing him because he was too busy pleasing her. His lips moved across the curves of her body with a slow, deliberate intent, knowing all her most sensitive spots and leaving none neglected. There were, she thought dimly, some advantages after all to being seduced by an experienced man, even if she didn't like to think of his other conquests. Men, of course, always had more opportunity to misbehave or, as the devoted Mrs. Palgrave put it, "sow their oats". They could always escape the consequences, as long as they had feet swift enough and a conscience untroubled by any sense of honor and duty.

  Signora Brunetti had stood by his drawing room fireplace just a few weeks ago and accused Gabriel of having no conscience. That woman had been his acquaintance for longer, so she ought to know. But Ever knew he did have a conscience. He was a good man who helped others. Didn't talk about it, just got on with it. Perhaps she had been treated to another side of him, a reformed side that some of his friends had not yet seen.

  "Gabriel is a wayfaring gypsy, like the rest of us. He collected his friends around him, chose each one of us because we amused him. Now he thinks he wants something more, yet another playfellow, and so he reaches beyond us, seeking the new and unusual. But soon you will be just another of his tribe, another in his collection."

  Well, that prediction had come true, for here she was, abandoning herself to him, despite the warnings.

  "You will be...prudent?" she muttered, slightly breathless.

  He licked the side of her neck. "Hmm?"

  "Prudent."

  Tenderly, he nibbled her earlobe and she shuddered, falling back against him.

  "You know what it means," she gasped. "I am sure you do. Don't make me be any more ...descriptive."

  His soft laugh tickled her ear. "Are you afraid to say it? The word is withdraw, Miss Greene. Say it now." His voice took a deeply sensuous timbre, serious and authoritative.

  She swallowed. "Withdraw."

  "Withdraw my what?"

  "You know very well!"

  "Can't you say it? Even to me, the man who is about to make love to you?"

  "It's not necessary to say the damn word."

  "I see I'm going to have to school you tonight, Greene." Again that masterful tone swept through her being and took possession of all those heated, tense parts of her.

  "Yes," she managed tightly. "Please...please do."

  He kissed the top of her spine and then her shoulder. "And when our lesson is done, you won't be shy to say or ask for anything. Anything," his fingertips slowly meandered down over her stomach, "anything at all. I'll give you anything you want."

  She caught a hiccupped breath as he touched her intimately.

  "I'll do anything for you," he murmured huskily.

  Despite her vivid and wayward imagination, Ever Greene had never pictured it quite like this. In fact she had never imagined her deflowering at all. As she'd once told Mrs. Palgrave, she preferred books to men.

  But that was before she met this man. Before she knew that he could do those things with his lips, tongue and fingertips— play her as if she was a musical instrument and leave her gasping, trembling, humming.

  For a fighter he was remarkably gentle and, for once, patient. So much so, that when Ever felt the flames he'd ignited within her, about to become a wildfire, scorching all in its wake, she had to urge him to hurry.

  He had left her hair till last and only then, when he let it tumble down her back and briefly buried his face and hands in it, did he let her turn to face him.

  "I knew you were the one," he murmured, tugging her into his arms. "I knew it the moment I saw you." His voice broke. "I've waited so long."

  * * * *

  She was satin and silk of the finest quality. Touching her made his hands ache, because he had to hold himself in check, be careful, remember that she was new to all this, a maiden. And he wanted to get it right, to please her so that she would not regret this. So that whatever she felt for him now would only be deepened, not spoiled in any way.

  Aware of having a certain reputation to live up to— even though she pretended not to know about any of that— he still felt a certain pressure, a responsibility to be sure she enjoyed herself. To leave her gasping for breath, floating, utterly satisfied. She was the demanding sort, he mused, quite the haughty schoolmistress when she wanted to be.

  But tonight she was his pupil. And he was the happiest, luckiest master in this universe, or any other.

  He moved to turn the lights down, but she caught his hand and stilled it. "I want to see." But she didn't want to undress him. She left that to Gabriel, while she lay on the bed, clutching a pillow, her dark hair spilled over her shoulders, her green eyes wide, cheeks pink, lips damp.

  As he stripped off his garments, she observed it all without comment, but her lips parted and her lashes lowered, her gaze taking on a sultry, smoky heat. If he was not mistaken, her arms had just tightened around that pillow too.

  Finally he padded to the bed and joined her, prying the strangled pillow out of her grip.

  "You were right," she whispered. "Nothing compares to the genuine...almightiness...of Gabriel Hart. I really don't know where to begin."

  He laughed low and pulled her close, all barriers gone, their naked bodies warm and roused, their heartbeats colliding.

  "I love you," he murmured, lowering his lips to hers. "Never leave me." Her spine curved under his palms as he spread his fingers and drew her even closer, so close that there was no longer any clear definition of where his body ended and hers began. His thigh slipped between hers and he rolled over, holding her beneath him.

  "Are you asking me to marry you?" she wheezed as his weight came over her.

  "I'm commanding you to marry me." He licked the tip of her nose.

  "You cannot command that—"

  Of course he knew she would argue, but he was prepared. Before another word could emerge from her argumentative lips, Gabriel had shifted down her body and begun to use his own lips in such a way that she could, very soon, not make any sensible sound at all. Only sighs, moans and of a rather unladylike nature.

  * * * *

  She cried out, reaching for his powerful shoulders, digging her fingernails into his skin.

  "Gabriel!"

  "Sshh. You'll wake every bloody soul in the hotel," he growled.

  But she heard and felt the chuckle fluttering through his body.

  Boldly defiant she declared that she didn't care who she woke, didn't care who knew what they were doing.

  "You'll care in the morning," he informed her gruffly, "when you have to walk through that foyer with everybody looking at us."

  She giggled. Ever Greene who had never giggled before in her life, rippled with it now, as she pictured all those outraged faces staring through the potted palms, over teacups and around newspapers.

  There goes Gabriel Hart. He was the World Heavyweight Boxing Champion, several years in a row. Who is that woman with him? Somebody said it's his governess!

  Just look at them. They must have spent the night together.

  Yes, the other guests would all know, merely from looking at the two of them. Passion this wild, once uncorked, could never be bottled again.

  Raking her fingernails down over his back, she eventually gripped his buttocks and felt them tense. In the next moment he thrust forward and
she arched, head flung back, all giggles well and truly vanquished, for this part was no laughing matter. Indeed it felt like a holy anointing of some kind and when he uttered a terse, "Good God!" the sensation was complete.

  Well, perhaps not a holy anointing, she mused, as his breath rasped in her ear and he claimed her body with no further gentlemanly restraint— more like a pagan sacrificial rite.

  * * * *

  Her lips tickled his chest. "Is it always like that?"

  His answer was a succinct, "No."

  "What is—"

  "I don't think it's ever been like that." His body tingled with a blissful contentment, sated for now. Although he knew it wouldn't be for long.

  They would not sleep tonight until they fell, exhausted into their dreams.

  She hitched up on her elbows to study his face. "You liked your gift then?"

  "Oh yes, and I'm not done enjoying it yet." He smiled lazily at her flushed face. "You are the best gift anybody ever gave me." But when he thought about it, nobody had given him a gift before. Which reminded him.... "I have a present for you too. I was going to wait until Christmas day, but you might as well have it now." He gave her bottom a little squeeze. "Since I have mine."

  At once she was up on her knees, long hair falling down over her breasts. "You bought me a gift?" Her eyes were alight with excitement. She looked younger now, whatever troubles she usually kept behind those soulful eyes were swept away. For now.

  "It's in the pocket of my trousers. Over there."

  Smiling merrily, she slipped off the bed and went to find it. A moment later she returned to the bed with the small, wrapped parcel in her hand. "This?"

  He nodded, sat up, adjusted the pillows and leaned back against them. Legs stretched out, ankles crossed, and with his hands behind his head, he watched her untie the bow and carefully unwrap the paper from around the jeweler's box. "I had it ordered last week. Designed it myself specially for you. So nobody else will have anything like it."