Duty With Honor Book Five: An Unexpected Pause

by Jordan Bollinger

  *****

  Andrew was still sleeping on the top of the covering. Beth was finding it strange. She was wondering if he was finding it strange, as well. But, she couldn't bring herself to broach the subject.

  The problem was, while she wanted to be closer to him, she wasn't sure she was ready to be intimate. She didn't understand it, but the idea of making love seemed wrong -- disrespectful to James. But that, she told herself, was silly.

  She sighed heavily, rolled to face the outside of the bed, and thought about how complicated things were. If only they could go back to the way things were a year ago.

  No, she told herself. Because then they mightn't have had James at all.

  *****

  "Andrew," Beth asked the next morning, as they drove down St. Charles Avenue, "Don't you think we should move on? Go to San Diego, or fly back to London, or even Litchfield?"

  "Not yet, Beth," he told her. He stopped for a traffic light, smiled over at her and patted her knee.

  Electricity shot through her, catching her completely off guard. It was the first time in almost three months she'd felt passion -- desire. The trouble was she wasn't at all sure what she wanted to do about it.

  "But, don't you have to work... Oh no, don't tell me they suspended you as well. I'm sorry, Drew."

  "For what?" he asked, still smiling. "I want to spend time with you. And, no. They didn't suspend me...however, your godfather and I did have a bit of a disagreement about your suspension." He looked away, before he continued, "Let them get along without us for a while. That will show them, won't it?"

  "You don't really care, do you?"

  "Not in the least. I'm where I want to be -- right here with you."

  "How gallant. But...don't you miss working?"

  "I told you, I'm where I want to be." He leaned over and kissed her cheek, just as the light changed and the car behind them honked rudely.

  "I think you should be working. I think I should be working," she insisted.

  "Let's just enjoy our holiday, at least for another week or so."

  "All right. I'm having a wonderful time. Maybe I should take up another career, and become a tour guide? What do you think?"

  "Just as long as I'm the only one you guide. I love spending time with you."

  They walked through Audubon Park for a while, when Beth announced, "How would you like to eat one of the best hamburger in New Orleans?"

  "Oh?"

  "Well, at least Dad always said they were. Of course, that was a very long time ago."

  "How is it Jack didn't take me? You know how he loves his steaks and hamburgers."

  "Oh, I'm sure he's eaten here. It's pretty much a straight shot from Tulane, right at the end of St. Charles, where you turn onto S. Carrolton. It's a tiny place called the Camellia Grill. And, as I said, the hamburgers are legendary."

  "I think we'll skip this place."

  "Oh?"

  "Yes," he said grinning at her. "There's definitely something you're leaving out. And, I hate to believe it, but I'm sure you're up to no good."

  Beth didn't answer, she just let out a laugh.

  "I do love your laugh, Elizabeth." And he risked an accident with a streetcar to steal a kiss.

  *****

  They drove past the Camellia Grill, down Carrolton, across S. Claiborne and continued heading uptown. Eventually, Beth told him to do a u-turn at the next intersection, and then turn right into the parking lot of Ye Olde College Inn.

  Again, Beth feared the seventy-five year old restaurant -- that she'd describe as family style Creole -- was not quite what Andrew was used to. The thing was, the food was fabulous -- and Drew was no snob when it came to wonderful food.

  *****

  Once again, they returned to the patio garden, and sat listening to the murmur of people passing in the street, and the occasional notes of music on the wind.

  One day, Andrew convinced her to walk to Canal Street, where he took her to the store, introduced her to the nice saleswoman who fawned over Beth while Andrew bought even more things, as the Harpies -- as he'd begun calling them -- watched in jealous frustration.

  Each day they walked down to the square and sat on Beth's special bench. Usually, Andrew would wander around a bit, once he saw Elizabeth settled. He'd bring her coffee and beignets, or a container of gumbo, or a box of pralines. He never came back empty handed, insisting it was his job to spoil her.

  She, in turn, enjoyed her people-watching, as well as spending time with Andrew. They spoke about James every day. And a calmness about him had descended over them both.

  Once again, Andrew spoke to her about doing something to honor him. And, when he suggested a scholarship, she made a surprising counter offer -- to set up scholarships for Tara and Kenneth, and any other siblings they might someday have.

  "But," Drew argued, "we don't know their last name, do we?"

  "Andrew, I'm pretty sure you could find them, if you tried. And, if you and Ruth can't find them, I'm sure Jack can."

  "Well, you're probably right. But, can you explain why these children?"

  "Because of what Murielle did. Most mothers wouldn't let anyone outside of their immediate family hold a newborn -- let alone a complete stranger. She didn't have to let me. I didn't play 'the tragedy card'. I didn't tell her anything, until after she'd handed Kenneth to me. She trusted me with her most precious thing. And, it made all the difference to me. I can't explain why it did. But even you can't argue it did."

  "I wouldn't try to argue. I know it did. It made a difference for both of us. I'm just not sure why you don't want to do something more...I don't know...more organized. Although, that isn't quite what I mean."

  "I know you thought about a scholarship to Eton for boys who wouldn't normally be able to afford to go there. Or, donate the money for a new wing of some old building at Cambridge.

  "But this...this is more personal. I'd rather we just keep our eyes and ears open, and give help to people that need it -- in James' memory."

  "If that's what you want, Sweetheart, then that's what we'll do. But, I'm not sure how we'll decide who is worthy."

  "Well, first of all, I didn't mean just you and me. I meant all of us -- Mom and Dad, and Father, and Richard and his children, and Jack and Ruth. Even if each of us finds just one person 'worthy', as you put it, a year, we'd be helping a bunch of people -- a variety of people."

  "Well...I just don't know how we could set up something like that."

  "That's just it, Drew. We wouldn't 'set it up'. Anyone would be eligible -- theoretically."

  "I suppose we can try, Beth. If that's what you want to do," Drew told her. But, she didn't seem to hear him. She was staring off into the depths of the fenced in square. "Beth...Elizabeth...did you hear me? What I just said?"

  "What? I'm sorry, Drew. I...keep seeing that same man. At least, I think it's the same man."

  "What man, Beth?"

  "I've seen a man. I can't exactly place him, but he seems familiar. But, I don't think it's anything to worry about. After all, I do spend a lot of time sitting here. You've spent enough time around the square. I'm sure you've noticed the same people several times."

  "I guess," Drew told her, but he wasn't convinced. "Well, we'll see what we can do about implementing your idea. Now, what would you like to do tonight? Where do you want to eat?"

  "Why don't we just pick up some gumbo and go back to the apartment?"

  "If that's what you want to do." Andrew studied her and asked, "Is something wrong?"

  "No, but I don't want to go to some great restaurant and not be able to eat. And, we did eat those beignets earlier. I tell you what though, tomorrow, let's have breakfast at Brennan's."

  "We can go out for breakfast."

  "Well, this is a little more than an ordinary breakfast," Beth told him. "It's a real meal."

  "You mean like a traditional English breakfast? Bacon and kidneys, eggs, mushrooms, tomatoes, fried bread, and the like?" he asked, enthusiastically.


  "Not exactly. It's more like a three course meal. And, it means I can have turtle soup, some kind of variation of Eggs Benedict, and Bananas Foster."

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  "I can't believe how much I ate -- for breakfast!" Drew exclaimed. "But, I have to admit, I did enjoy it all. Especially the milk punch. I wasn't at all sure I would, but I did. We're going to have to leave soon, or I won't be able to walk."

  "Oh pooh!" Beth told him. "You haven't gained an ounce. We're only eating one real meal a day, and just having coffee or tea for breakfast."

  "And hot beignets and coffee, and pralines, and little cups of different gumbos as we walk around," he countered.

  "Well, that's true enough. But," she said, smiling over at him, "everything is just so good."

  "I was thinking," Andrew began, as he helped her into the car, "Since you love this place so much, and love antiques...perhaps we should look for something special to commemorate this trip. There's an antique store practically below the apartment."

  "Oh no. We aren't doing serious antique shopping in the French Quarter," Beth insisted. "If we're going to do some heavy-duty shopping, we're going to have to go up and down Magazine Street."

  "You know, Sweetheart," Andrew said, grinning, "for the first time in our marriage, the idea of shopping with you has me worried."

  "Why?"

  "I think it's terms like 'serious' and 'heavy-duty'."

  "Andrew, for nearly a year you've been fighting to buy me things, and even this was, after all, your idea. What's the matter?"

  "The matter, my sweet, is that I saw a distinct gleam in your eye. And, I'm beginning to think it would be cheaper to buy a little pied-à-terre here, and furnish and maintain it, then buy whatever it is you find, and then to pay to ship it home, and the export and import duties," he said, smiling.

  "Not to mention," Beth added, happily, "everything that goes with it."

  Andrew let out an exaggerated groan. But he was happy.

  *****

  "You're sure this time? You're sure it's her?"

  "Yes, I told you. But I've only seen her in the Square."

  "Well, I'm not going to kill her with hundreds of tourists milling around. You have to find out where she's staying."

  "That's just it. Every time I get near her, she seems to catch sight of me, and I'm forced to melt back into the crowd. I think you're going to have to follow her tomorrow. She won't recognize you."

  "Is there any part of this assignment you think you'll be able to handle? And by 'handle' I mean you actually do it -- without aid or supervision?"

  "Just find out where she's staying, and then kill her. I'll take care of everything else, after that."

  *****

  It had taken several days, and what Andrew was sure must have been a thousand shops, but Beth found her Mallard bed. It was a simple -- for Victorian furniture -- rosewood half-tester bed, with a matching armoire, as well as marble topped wash stand, dresser, and duchess table.

  And, when Drew compared it to what he'd paid for Beth's engagement ring, it was fairly reasonable. Well, perhaps not. But, he didn't care. Elizabeth was ecstatic at their find.

  Of course, they'd probably have to build on an addition so that the ceiling was high enough to get the bed in the room. But, it was only money, and Beth was happy.

  The real worry Andrew had was he was forced to give their local address. He'd also had to tell the store where it was to be shipped. The thing was that Drew was serious about it not fitting in the house, and would have to arrange with Fitz to find somewhere they could deliver it.

  And that seemed like too much information about them. They really would have to move on very soon.

  *****

  "But what are we going to do with it, Bethy?" Drew asked over drinks.

  "What do you mean, silly? We're going to sleep in it."

  "It's too small," he insisted.

  "It won't be. We'll find someone who can make some extensions for the sides, so it can support a king-size mattress -- without damaging it. Like a platform bed. And," she added, hesitatingly, "we might have to have a mattress made for it."

  "I see."

  "And we're going to have to find a pair of night stands that will blend in, and have the half tester redone in azure blue. Then I'll feel just like Scarlett O'Hara."

  "And that's a good thing?"

  "Well, yes..." she answered.

  "But, doesn't she lose Rhett Butler in the end?" Andrew asked.

  "At the end of the book...but," Beth told him, "they get back together."

  "When, exactly, does that happen? Did I miss something?"

  "You just...know...you just know they do." And when he just grinned at her, she added, "You have to believe -- that's all."

  "But, I do believe, Elizabeth. That's why I'm here."

  She looked at him, reached over the table and took his hand, and squeezing it, whispered, "I know. I do too. I believe in you...in us."

  *****

  When they returned to the apartment that night, they didn't go upstairs. Before they reached the door, Andrew captured her hand, drew her into the center of the patio, and pulled her into his arms.

  It was a warm, humid night -- the air heavy with the sweet scent of gardenias. Somewhere in the square, a lone musician played a sad, slow song on a trumpet. Andrew hummed into Beth's ear, as he began dancing with her, in that slow, tight way they had danced that first night in New York.

  She melted against him, allowing him to lead her around the courtyard. And then, he kissed her. Softly, at first, as he moved from her cheek to her lips. Then he kissed her -- full and hard on her mouth.

  He took her breath away. Actually, they took each other's breath away.

  He'd gradually moved her towards the doorway, and pressed her against the door frame, gripped her bottom and lifted her up a bit, and rocked against her, as he continued kissing her.

  Andrew had been making a conscious effort to keep himself under control -- and, he had been dealing with his libido since he was twelve, after all. The problem was Beth didn't have that experience.

  His kisses affected her like a lightning strike on a dry, grassy plain. But, Andrew didn't realize this until it was too late.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  She was wearing the little sundress that had caught his eye in the shop window. And, except for a pair of panties, that was all she was wearing. She'd asked him if he could see through her skirt earlier, saying that it was too muggy to wear the slip if she didn't need it.

  So, she was very open to his ministrations.

  Her breathing was ragged, her lips burned against his, and her heart pounded. He ground himself against her, as he kissed her, and Beth -- always very responsive to pressure -- reacted. There was no going back.

  All he could do was keep doing what he was doing, and be ready to support her when her knees buckled. He just hoped his knees didn't give out, as well.

  Her climax broke like waves crashing against a rocky shore and her moan nearly drove Drew mad. As soon as he was sure she could stand on her own, he pulled her inside and upstairs to the first floor of the apartment.

  But, that was as far as he could go. Andrew rarely wore jeans, but had chosen them that morning, because he knew Beth would have him climbing, digging, and poking around dusty antique shops, as they'd been doing for several days. He'd never understood why some people lived in jeans. He always found them confining and uncomfortable, but now he was in agony.

  "Wait a second, Beth," he said, pushing off his shoes, unfastening his belt, and then -- finally, undoing the zipper.

  Elizabeth sat a few steps up from the bottom, as he did this. She picked up his shoes, and set them on the steps beside her, and smiled at him. As he stepped out from both the jeans and his shorts, his erection sprang up, and bold as brass, Beth reached out, and coyly ran a fingernail along the under length of him.

  Now it was his turn to lose control. Groaning, he leaned down and began kissing her hard on he
r lips, as he tried to free a breast from the sundress. She neither resisted, nor helped him. She only kissed him back.

  He ached for her, and there were only those flimsy panties between him and his goal. And, those silly bits of silk and lace were no match for a man on a mission.

  He ripped them from her, and then, as she gave that Mona Lisa smile at him, he entered heaven. Just possessing her was bliss. And, as he had tried on that wild night in Washington, D.C., six months before, he tried to savor the moment -- but lost the fight.

  The best he could do was to cradle Beth's head from a stair edge as they writhed in ecstasy on the steps. And, except for the fact that he would have left Beth a widow, he really didn't care if he died, for his petite mort was anything but petite.

  Andrew felt behind him for what remained of the La Perla's and pressed them between Beth's legs, as he helped her sit back upright. Then he handed her his clothes and shoes, scooped her up in his arms, and climbed the final flight of stairs.

  He carried her straight to the bathroom. They were not only sticky and grimy from their antiquing, but now gritty from their foray on the stairs. And, in truth, Andrew had been dreaming of Beth in that old-fashioned, oversized, ball and claw foot tub for weeks, now.

  Eventually, they moved into the bedroom, and they made love in that excruciatingly slow, spiritual way they had that very first morning in London. And once again, the angels spoke to them.

  They fell asleep in each other's arms, exhausted, but sated and content in the knowledge their passion was still very much alive and well.

  *****

  Andrew was awake. He'd been awake for a while now. Just lying beside Beth, with his right arm stretched out, beneath her pillow, where his gun lay; and his left hand resting on Beth's hip. It was the way they'd always slept, and he found it both comfortable and comforting.

  He'd just been lying next to her, watching the soft, slow rising and falling of her breast as she breathed. He was a very happy man.