by Raine Miller
It happened the night after he showed her The Grandparents portrait.
Imogene reached out to him when he came to bed, and after such a long time without her, Graham was nearly frantic in his response and rushed himself. Then, he kept asking if what he was doing felt good for her, and if she was finding pleasure in it, which readily snuffed the passion of the moment. The most awkward part though, was that he pulled out of her and spilled on her stomach when he found his release. He withheld his seed from her, and Imogene was devastated by his decision to do so without talking to her about it. She felt greatly insulted but didn’t tell him so. She just cried in his arms, and Graham, misunderstanding her tears, assumed he had imposed himself on her and into intimacies she was not ready to resume.
To make it easier on both of them, Graham started coming to bed late after Imogene was already asleep, and slept in a nightshirt, something he had never done before. He was still an attentive husband, loving and generous, ever watchful over her. Imogene had never appreciated his tendency to over-worry and fuss, but indulged him in allowing such behaviour because she knew he was only doing it out of love for her.
Eventually their situation had to be faced because they just couldn’t keep going on as they were…
Imogene had walked to Tristan’s house earlier, hoping for the companionship of her friend for an hour or so to break up the monotony of the day. Graham met her on the path as she returned, concern clearly showing in his expression.
“From where have you come?” he asked.
“I went to visit my friend, but he is not at home.”
“Oh…” He looked sad and weary. “I could not find you and I was worried.”
She sighed in frustration. “Do you live in constant fear for me, Graham?”
He didn’t answer.
“I do not recognize this person before me. I do not know you anymore.” Imogene felt her tension give way to anger. “You are not the man that healed my broken heart, Graham, you are breaking it anew. You will not touch me. I am not loved by your hands or your body anymore. I am rejected. You have broken your promise to me, as well. The promise you made when you offered yourself to me, ‘with no other requirements other than to care for me and to make me happy.’ Do I appear happy? Do I sound happy? Do you see happiness in my eyes when you look into them? Can you live your days and nights in this way? How can you even bear it?”
He winced at her questions as his eyes filled with pain…and what looked like shame.
“Do you love me or is it just the fantasy of me? Because if it is just the fantasy of me, then, Graham, you have nothing!”
His head snapped up, tortured eyes targeting her. “I love you! More than my own life. How can you even ask me such a thing?”
“But is it reality?” She held firm in her opinion. “Graham, if I cannot be loved by you as a wife should be, then I am already lost to you and you to me. You see me as a fairy princess—you always have. But I am not! I am an ordinary woman, who wants nothing more than the real junctures of life, with you, and if it pleases God, to be mother to our children. I want to live a life, not be a rack for your ornaments of beauty!”
He flinched.
“A regular…ordinary…life, Graham. You want the fantasy of me. But it is just that, a fantasy. Not. Real. And not me!” She shouted at him.
His head down, he couldn’t even look at her.
“Everyone must die someday. Even I will die, Graham. It is already fixed for each of us, and not in your power to control. It might be fifty years from now or it might be five. But if it is five years, I would hate to think we would spend them in this way, frightened and aching for love. I can’t bear that idea. I would rather wish my life over now and done with.” She whispered the last part. “Face your fears, Graham. Be brave, my love. Rescue me from that future?”
HE saw that she waited for him to say something, to do something, but he was frozen, unable to step out of the prison he’d forged around his heart. I am afraid, Imogene…so afraid of losing you.
When no response was forthcoming, Imogene turned from him and began to walk away.
“Where do you go now?” he blurted.
Sighing heavily, she spoke slowly and with mustered patience. “I go to the house to change my clothes for I am going riding. If you would wish to join me you are welcome, if not, do not worry yourself. I will ask Ben to come along with me.”
She turned again and left him standing on the path.
Graham must have stood there for a long time but he couldn’t be sure because his mind was busy. Very busy swirling with the visions of her he had created since he’d first known her—those gorgeous visions juxtaposed with the words she had just spoken to him. They spun around his head, whirling and forcing a reckoning, shifting the fear out and rattling off the chains that had bound him.
Imogene was so strong and brave.
He felt weak and stupid, ashamed of what he’d done, and of how he’d treated her.
But it’s not too late…she wants me still. Imogene, I am coming for you!
Racing back to the house, he took the stairs three at a time until he reached the top and made his way to her rooms.
He burst through the door.
She was dressing into her riding clothes.
The view of her standing in her shift and stays stopped him dead. Regardless of her feelings about how he saw her, it was undeniable: Imogene was an extraordinarily beautiful woman…and she belonged to him.
Looking boldly at her, he saw the slight curl of a smile form on her luscious lips. He would have those luscious pink lips on his skin soon.
“Hester, you may leave us.”
“Yes, Lord Rothvale.” Hester bolted from the room.
Graham approached Imogene, locking onto her liquid brown eyes, willing her to keep them on him and not break their gaze. Without speaking any words he reached his hands around to her back and began to untie the lacing of her stays. She continued to look into his eyes for they were both familiar with this game already.
They had played together many times.
Corset removed, he reached down to grasp the hem of her shift and pulled it up and over her head. He stroked her face and caressed her lips with loving fingers, admiring her bare exquisite flesh on display before him. He put his hands on her breasts and cupped them, his thumbs brushing back and forth over her nipples as they tightened into buds he wanted to suck and bite with his lips.
His eyes never looked away from her.
She touched him, too. By feel, she unbuttoned his shirt, pulled his arms through, lifted it over his head, and caressed his bare chest. She smoothed her hands down to his abdomen and lower. His Imogene held onto his eyes and claimed his body with her hands, showing him that he belonged to her, too.
Both of them were finding the way back to reconnecting the threads that had hung tenuously between them for too long.
Imogene was gloriously naked already. And Graham needed to join her in that state. So when she moved her hands down lower with a purpose in mind, he knew what it was and waited for it. He sucked in a breath when she unfastened his trousers and pushed them off his hips, her hands still moving until one of them took hold of his prick and stroked the length slowly up and down.
“I will never stop wanting you like this,” he whispered, their lips very close but not touching.
“And I will never stop needing you like this,” she whispered back in the lightest voice.
Stepping out of his clothes, Graham moved forward, forcing Imogene backward, step by determined step, until they reached the edge of the bed and could go no farther.
Their hands both grazed over the naked flesh of the other’s body as their eyes stayed locked together.
He pushed her back, and went with her as they fell down onto the softness of the bed together.
Settling her beneath him he fit his hips in between her thighs and let his cock find the way to the gate of her delicate flesh. “I’ve loved you always, and I’ll never stop
loving you,” he told her as he sank his cock down deep into her wet, divine warmth. It was heaven to feel her wrapped around him again, the walls of her quim tight and clutching.
He could die this way and never feel a moment’s regret when he was buried inside her.
Knowing she was ready and wanton for him only fuelled his need to possess her again. And he would—thoroughly. There would be no part of her unclaimed this time.
She arched her hips into his with a gasp of pleasure as he filled her, flinging her neck backward, her throat and breasts exposed for his pleasure, and waiting for his mouth and tongue to claim them.
He did all of the things he wanted to do to her body. Things he had done before, and some he had not. All of it done in love. Nothing mattered except being inside of her.
Graham in Imogene.
Imogene in Graham.
She was inside of him, too. She was inside of his heart.
They became one body, one heart, and one mind together.
Love. Pleasure. Love. Strength. Love. Bravery. Loss. Graham felt each emotion. All were as important as the others he realized, while taking back his woman.
He worshipped her with his body in the only way he knew how.
THEY lay together, silently staring.
Imogene’s fingers moved softly over his face, his hair, his lips. Graham stayed still for her, indulging her the joy she drew from the simple act, and of knowing he belonged to her.
“I have you back now, my darling. My heart is restored,” she said on a whisper, her emotions rising up and taking over.
Graham merely nodded at her, his deep green eyes reflective of the same feelings, understanding that words were difficult to form, and more importantly, unnecessary for either of them right now.
With his cheek against her shoulder, she felt the divine rasp of his stubbly beard and relished it against her skin. His long fingers stroking over her breasts made her feel cherished. The way he breathed in the scent of her hair and stared into her eyes told her he was content.
In time he spoke, “You are so brave, and I was so weak. Imogene, your understanding and wisdom fills me with wonderment. I have come back to you, and I will never leave you again. I know I lost my way, and shame fills me for what I have done, of how I treated you. Thank you for showing me the way…to a life with you.” He caressed her cheek with the back of his fingers. “My compass…guiding me, leading me. How can you ever forgive me?”
“There is nothing to forgive, Graham. If it pleases you, then know you are utterly forgiven. Accept that idea with all of my love. Take it and believe it and hold it. It is what you must do.”
“I will do it then.” He kissed her reverently, his lips moving over hers with gentle possession, in the way he had always done, making her feel like the most cherished woman in the world.
“Graham, I believe we’ll have the fifty years. I truly do believe in that. God owes us some charity for all we have borne.”
He pulled her closer and tucked her head under his chin. “Yes, he does, but even so, fifty years would not be enough time with you. An ocean of time would not be enough. Un océan de temps ne serait pas assez de temps avec vous, Imogene.”
They did not ride that day.
EIGHT weeks later, when she told him she believed herself with child, she detected shuttered fear behind his kisses of congratulation. Imogene touched his face and reminded him, “Be brave, my love, for I have need of you. Fifty more years, remember?”
He brought her close and held her against him. “If I am brave it’s because I draw it from you. But do not fret, chérie, because I go anywhere you are going. All will be well—you will be a most perfect mother to our child.” He bent and put his lips to her stomach, kissing lovingly. “I know it, truly I do. For I have seen you…and it is my most beautiful vision of you yet.”
One year later ~
IMOGENE knocked outside the door to his study.
“Come.”
“Sorry to interrupt you while you are working, but we are at our wits end here.” She brought the howling infant forward.
He stood and opened his arms. “That’s all right, chérie, for I could hear you coming long before you actually arrived. I was anticipating you.” He leaned over the baby to kiss his wife. “What does my little angel need to make her happy again?” he crooned down at his daughter.
“She needs her papa to take her for a stroll into the gallery I think. She loves hearing your soothing voice tell her all about the paintings. A girl after her father’s heart. You know, Graham, you may not have to deal with impromptu pony rides with Byrony when she is older, rather she might demand a painting lesson instead.”
Graham had to smile at the thought.
“A walk around the gallery it is then, my sweet, precious Byrony.” He kissed her soft downy cheek and settled her into the crook of his arm.
The baby stopped fussing, curled her fat little fist around her father’s finger and looked up at him.
“Her eyes look different to me. Do you sense a change in her eyes, chérie?”
“They are turning green. I told you; dark hair, long and straight, and green eyes…just like you.”
He lifted the green eyes he’d been born with to his beloved wife and mouthed an ‘I love you.’
“Yes, you most certainly do,” Imogene whispered, her eyes glittering over at him beautifully. She would forever take his breath away even if it were something he could own in his heart…and treasure the pricelessness of the gift he’d won when he’d found her. He understood she was a real woman, living a vibrant life, and that fantasies existed only in stories. He knew this, but it still would never change how he saw his Imogene. She was beauty. The muse of beauty lived within her, and it always would for him.
“I’ll bring her up to the nursery once she’s fallen asleep, chérie.”
“Thank you, my darling. You are the best of men…and fathers…and husbands.” She blew them both a kiss and let herself out of his study.
Graham made his way slowly to the portrait gallery, stopping to show Byrony anything of interest along the way, or to greet a member of the staff. She took it all in, happily content to be on an adventure with him. He’d not known it was possible to feel any more love for another person than he had already with Imogene, but he’d learned his heart had a greater capacity than he’d realized the moment his daughter was placed into his arms on the day she was born.
“…Now this is the most magnificent painting I ever conceived. I did not paint it. Mr. Mallerton did this one. I merely suggested it would make a nice picture. Isn’t it something? It is your mamma, Byrony. Can you see it is Mamma? She is sleeping. Asleep and all tucked up into the chair. So beautiful in her yellow dress…so perfectly beautiful…”
EPILOGUE
What one man can invent another can discover.
Arthur Conan Doyle ~ The Dancing Man, 1905
Present Day
Christie’s Auction House, London
“NEXT up, lot 501. Three portraits.”
“THE ARTIST: Sir Tristan Mallerton. Portraitist. Romanticist. Life 1783 to 1864. Knighted by Queen Victoria, 1850. Exhibited at the Paris Salon, 1808. A contemporary and friend to Lord Byron. The paintings of this lot were completed early in his career, spanning the years 1808 to 1812.”
“COMMISSIONED: Patron and life-long friend, Graham Everley, Lord Rothvale, Baron IX, Gavandon, Warwickshire. Philanthropist and original founding member of The National Gallery, London. Father of the acclaimed portrait painter, Byrony Everley Russell.”
“SUBJECTS: Lady Imogene Rothvale, wife of Lord Rothvale, and other probable family members.”
“PROVENANCE: Discovered recently by the Everley family at the estate Donadea, Northern Ireland. Existence unknown to the family until exposed during renovations. All have been hidden together for the past one hundred thirty years in the minimum. Excellent condition due to a superb storage situation. All have passed vigorous standards of certification as to originality, artis
t validity, and dating accuracy. The private journals of Lady Imogene Rothvale, made public this year, bear out these findings to be correct and true.”
“SUBMITTED: Gifted by the Everley family. All proceeds to the benefit of charity administered through the Everley Trust for the Advancement of the Arts.”
“We begin with Number One.”
“Les Grands-Parents. Translation: The Grandparents. Date of creation, 1809. Multiple. Elder couple. Surmised to be the parents of Graham Everley, George and Isabelle Everley, Lord and Lady Rothvale VIII. Georgian dress, romanticized scenery, two babies, a boy and a girl assumed to be twins. Photographic analysis indicates the babies were added at a later date, but within ten years of origin. Items of note: intricate, fringed, topaz colour Indian shawl; indigo blue woven blanket. Size is a generous, eight by six feet. We will begin the bidding today at £100,000…”
“NUMBER Two.”
“Déshabillé. Translation: Undressed. Date of creation, 1812. Single. Lady Imogene Rothvale, lounge attire, green brocade robe, bedchamber setting. Items of note: intricate Indian shawl, appearing to be one in the same as the shawl in Number One; pearl choker necklace and matching tiara, circa1725; storybook entitled The Princess and the Toad. Artistic impression: fantasy, romanticized, staged image of a woman in bed. Unknown style for the period. In layman’s terms, folks, the aristocracy did not commission fantasy portraits containing this type of subject matter in 1812. It would have been considered scandalous to sit for and most certainly was kept private. In addition, there were no known portraitists willing to paint subjects in this manner in 1812. This is unsigned but certified to be Mallerton’s work. It would bear out the close friendship between the artist and the family. The style is much more indicative of 1880. It could be said that Mallerton was a good seventy years ahead of the times. He died 1865, well before the period in which subjects were commonly painted in such a manner. Size at two by three feet. Bidding begins for this item today at £850,000…”
