Emily's Song

by Christine Marciniak

  He wanted to dance every dance with her, but when his father approached them between songs and requested the next dance with his new daughter, Sam could hardly refuse.

  “And your mother would like to dance with you,” his father told him. Sam bowed gallantly to his wife and father and went to find his mother. Of course he should dance with his mother at his wedding.

  His mother looked nearly young enough to be a bride herself, Sam thought as he approached her. True there was a bit of silver showing in her hair, but her face was smooth and her figure trim and she smiled happily at him when she saw him. He bowed to her.

  “May I have this dance, Mother?”

  The orchestra played another waltz, and he and his mother skimmed across the floor to the music.

  “Do you like Emily?” he found himself asking as they moved together in three-quarters time.

  “I think she’s delightful,” his mother answered, giving his hand a small squeeze. “And she makes you happy, which is the main thing.”

  “I hate having to leave her.” That dark cloud hung over his head this whole day, he would have to leave her and soon, and he would likely never see her again.

  “But you’ll be back,” his mother said with assurance. “Probably by Christmas. We will take care of her while you are gone, and when you come back you will not need to be separated any longer.”

  He wished he could be as optimistic as his mother in that regard.

  The song ended, and with a bow to his mother he started back toward Emily. He had not made it halfway across the ballroom when he saw George bowing to her, asking for a dance. Emily’s eyes sought out his, and he gave her a nod. He could not deny a dance to his best friend.

  “You do plan to dance with you sister at your wedding ball, don’t you?” Elizabeth asked, suddenly at his side.

  “Naturally.” He bowed properly to her and took her hand as the orchestra struck up a polka.

  “Do you think Joseph is going to propose to me?”

  He studied his sister with her curls and elegant gown. How was it that she was no longer the little girl in pinafores, tagging after him and George, but a woman worrying about marriage?

  The polka was not as easy to talk through as a waltz, but Elizabeth deserved some sort of an answer. “He leaves with George and me. He may not want to commit himself, or you, before he returns safely.”

  “You did,” Elizabeth pointed out, apparently intent on having a conversation while they danced.

  “I did.” He waited until the song neared its end before continuing. “I needed to make sure that when I am gone Emily is taken care of. Joseph has no reason to have the same concern for you; you are safe in your father’s house.”

  “I suppose that’s true.” She didn’t sound convinced, and he didn’t want to pursue it. He was fairly certain that Joseph never intended to propose to Elizabeth. As far as he could see any romance between the two was strictly in Elizabeth’s head.

  “You’ll find true love, Elizabeth,” he said to her as the song ended. “If I could find Emily, then anything is possible.”

  “You really do love her, don’t you?” Elizabeth sounded almost mystified.

  “I do.” He stole a glance at Elizabeth’s dance card to see what song was next. It was a Zingirella. He was dancing that one with Emily, and nothing would stand in his way. He made his way to his wife, and although Elizabeth’s Joseph looked poised to ask her for the next dance, Sam intervened.

  “This dance is mine,” he said in a tone that left no room for argument and took Emily by the hand.

  “It’s the Zingirella,” he said, bending to speak into her ear. “Do you remember how to do it?”

  “I do, but it’s your favorite, are you sure you don’t want to dance it with someone who really knows what to do?”

  “No. I want to dance it with you.”

  The music started, and he took Emily’s hands, and they began the dance. She stumbled a bit at first, the steps were tricky, but as the song continued either she had it down, or she’d found a way to fake it, because he really wouldn’t have known that she didn’t know what she was doing.

  When the dance ended, he took her in his arms. “You have made me so happy tonight,” he whispered in her ear.

  She smiled up at him and winked. “And the night’s not over yet.”

  There was so much more night to come. As much as Sam wanted to dance with her forever, he found himself wishing the ball would end, and he could take his wife upstairs and really celebrate being a husband.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Emily

  Emily didn’t know what time it was when Sam led her upstairs. The last guest had not left yet, but apparently, it was fine for the bridal couple to sneak upstairs before the sun rose. Her heartbeat quickened as they approached his bedroom, his hand warm and solid around hers. Beck appeared almost out of nowhere as they got to the door.

  “Does Mrs. Samuel need help getting out of the dress?” she asked, suppressing a yawn.

  “Absolutely not.” Sam steered Emily through the door, and then added almost tenderly, “Get some sleep, Beck.”

  He shut the door, and they were alone. Husband and wife. Emily shivered in anticipation.

  “Are you cold?”

  She had the feeling he would throw a fur over her shoulders if she should mention she had the slightest chill. But she wasn’t shivering because she was cold, quite the opposite.

  “I’m fine.” Her fingers trembled. Was it from drink? Exhaustion? Excitement?

  He lit a lamp and set it low, so there was enough light to see, but barely. Of course candle, lamp, lantern, it didn’t matter much, almost all lighting in this time period was mood lighting. Nothing ever quite dispelled the shadows, and that suited her fine.

  “Are you sure you don’t want Beck’s help with the buttons?”

  He ran his fingers slowly over her bare shoulders. Goosebumps rose up and down her arms. “I am going to undress my wife, myself.”

  A shiver of pleasure went through her.

  “You are lovely.” His breath tickled her neck as his fingers moved to the dozens of small buttons that ran down her back. He fumbled with them and she didn’t know if his fingers were unsure or if he was toying with her. Either way, it only made her shivers increase. She almost wished he could unzip her dress and have it fall to the floor, but as he undid button after button and her skin tingled with yearning, she realized this was definitely the more exciting option. As each button loosened, her heart beat a little faster and her breath became more ragged. His fingertips brushed her back as he worked.

  Finally the buttons were undone, and he slid the dress down her arms, exposing her corset. But the dress wouldn’t slide down over the hoops. Should she have undone the hoops first? How did people get graciously naked in the 1800s?

  “I think the dress has to go off over my head.” She turned to face him again.

  “Then that’s what we’ll do.” His voice was rough, as if he was having trouble catching his breath. He took hold of the bottom of the skirt and brought up over her head, nearly getting lost in the yards of material himself. She laughed as she untangled him from the dress, and together they placed it across a chair, out of the way.

  She stood in front of him in her corset and hoops and petticoats, and crossed her arms, suddenly shy and exposed.

  “Don’t hide,” he said, taking her hands in his, and putting them by her side. He gazed at her longingly and her breath came faster, as the muscles in her legs weakened. “A minute,” he said and let go of her long enough to slip out of his shoes and uniform jacket. He placed the jacket on her dress and stood in front of her again.

  Now it was her turn to fumble with buttons. Wordlessly she reached out, the linen of his cloth smooth beneath her fingertips, undoing the three that closed his shirt, while he let his fingers touch the tops of her breasts. She nearly swooned at the touch. Swooned, like a fangirl at a boy band concert. But his touch was electrifying. She wanted hi
m to touch more of her, all of her. And now.

  She grasped the hem of his shirt, intending to pull it over his head, but with a touch to her hand he stopped her and first removed his cuff links. Then he smiled and raised his hands to assist her, as she stripped him of his shirt. One shirt off, but he still wore an undershirt. It was amazing anyone ever managed to have sex with all the clothes they had to take off first. She ran her hands over the cotton of his undershirt, wanting to be touching bare skin and afraid she’d never get the chance. Her fingers felt for the buttons on his fly and trembled as she tried to make the button go through the hole.

  He took her hands in his and instead of helping her, moved her hands away and whispered. “My turn.” He loosened the tie of her petticoat and lifted it over her head, then he let her unfasten his pants. She fumbled in her eagerness to get him undressed, but finally his uniform slacks pooled around his ankles. She smiled shyly at him, because, while he still had on his under drawers, it was obvious he was ready for what lay ahead. Gently she stroked him and he made an odd strangled sound as he caught his breath.

  With one hand behind her neck he pulled her closer, and his lips found hers. She melted against him, feeling the heat of his body against hers with only a few layers of cloth separating them.

  After a long minute, she put her hand on his chest and pulled back ever so slightly. “We haven’t finished undressing,” she murmured, her mouth resting against his cheek.

  “It was taking too long,” he replied.

  “But we’re almost there.” She let her hand wander again. “It will be worth it.”

  “You’re right,” he said and nibbled lightly on her ear. She giggled and held him tighter. “Can’t get you undressed if you don’t let go.”

  So she took a step back and held her hands out to her sides, inviting him to remove the rest of her clothing. He undid the first hook on the front of the corset, and her breasts popped free of their restraint. He gently touched each nipple through the cloth of the chemise while electric currents shot through her body and she struggled to stay standing.

  “The hoop first,” she said as he fumbled with the next hook on the corset. She reached for the buttons that held the hoop to the corset.

  He took her hands in his. “I’ll do it,” he whispered in her ear.

  “Quickly, please.” Her whole body tingled with the desire to be naked and in bed with him.

  “Quickly,” he assured her as the hoop pooled around her ankles.

  She didn’t bother to kick it aside but reached for his undershirt and pulled it over his head and, dropped it to the floor. She ran her hands over his warm chest, letting her fingers play in the dark curly hair.

  “You have the advantage on me,” he said, his voice thick. He undid the next hook on the corset.

  Her breath came in rapid shallow bursts. Every cell in her body cried out for his touch. When the last hook was released the corset fell to the ground with the hoop.

  She took hold of the chemise, not wanting to wait a second longer to have it off, but he removed the cloth from her hands.

  He pulled her chemise over her head, and his hands went right to her breasts, making her whole body strain toward him. She untied the top of his under drawers and pushed them over his hips. He stepped out of them, and untied her bloomers. They fell with the rest of her under things to the floor.

  Naked except for their stockings, he scooped her up in his arms and deposited her on the bed. She wanted him to lay down beside her, to touch her body, to become one with her. Instead he sat beside her and pulled off his socks, then he untied the garters from around her thighs, his fingers inching so close to her upper thighs that she was sure he would feel the moisture and heat she was generating. Slowly, he pulled her stockings off.

  She’d never imagined getting undressed could be as sensuous as this. Forget foreplay, she was ready for the main attraction and all they’d really done so far was get naked.

  He ran his fingers lightly over her skin, tracing her nipples and making her arch her back and gasp as she reached for him. She needed him beside her. Her body was crying out for full skin to skin contact. She needed to know him to feel him, to give herself to him totally and fully. She was ready in a way she had never thought possible.

  “Let me turn out the lamp.” He shifted his weight, as if to move, his voice was hoarse with excitement.

  “No,” she said, reaching out and touching his thigh. “Leave it on. I want to see you. I want to see your face when we make love.”

  “You do?” He raised an eyebrow as he gazed at her.

  “I do.” She let her fingers stroke his thigh. “At least the first time.”

  “First time?” He let out a slightly strangled cry and touched her hand. For a second she thought he was going to make her stop, but then instead he stroked her inner thigh.

  “Oh!” She gasped as erotic sensations filled her. “You weren’t planning on sleeping tonight, were you?” she managed to ask.

  “That wasn’t on my agenda, no.” He lowered his mouth to her nipple and sucked and she bit her lip to keep from crying out.

  This was her husband. Husband. Lying here with her. Touching her. Making her gasp for breath. Making her want to be one with him. Her husband who would be going off to war and never coming back. They didn’t have time to slowly get to know each other. She had to memorize every inch of him, the way he felt, the way he made her feel. Every second counted in a way it never had before.

  They came together as husband and wife, and she wanted the moment to never end, the sensations to never stop. She cried out, not even caring that someone might hear, and Sam collapsed on the bed next to her, breathing as hard as she was.

  “Are you okay?” he asked, his voice like a caress.

  “Yes.” Her breathing still came in ragged gasps. “I didn’t ever want it to end.”

  “Don’t worry,” he said, already stroking her breast as he held her. “We’ll take our time the next time.”

  “And the time after that.” She let her hands explore his skin, relishing the heat and sheen of sweat that covered him.

  “And the time after that.”

  She laughed, delighted at the prospect.

  This time when he moved to turn out the light she didn’t stop him. She’d never forget the ecstasy she saw on his face when they made love.

  They got under the coverlet, holding tight to each other. “I didn’t know it was going to be that amazing,” he whispered into her hair.

  “I’ve heard it gets better with practice,” she answered, lightly running her fingers over his nipples.

  “Then shall we practice?”

  “Yes.” Because they didn’t have years to get to know each other’s body. They had a week. Only a week. She tried not to focus on that as they made love again, and she tried to memorize how it felt. She would never feel this way again. Tears brimmed in her eyes but she blinked them away. This was not a time for tears.

  Finally, as the sun shone through the curtains, she fell asleep, safe in the arms of the man she loved. The man she would lose.

  A couple of hours later, she awoke to his hands caressing her naked skin. This was oh so much better than any alarm clock could ever be. She wriggled closer to him and enjoyed the warmth of his skin on hers. She wanted to wake every morning to his hands on her, to her senses bursting with excitement. But she knew that was impossible.

  “We’re getting good at this,” she said when they had brought each other to completion once again. “Must be all the practice.”

  “You are an amazing woman,” he said. “Do you think anyone would notice if we stayed here, in this bed, until it was time for me to meet my company?”

  “We might get hungry,” she answered. Why had he brought up his deployment? She’d been trying to forget that. She gently circled one of his nipples with her finger.

  “We can have food brought up.”

  “In that case we can stay here all week.”

  But of course
, they couldn’t. By the time the shadows in the room lengthened as the sun made its way across the sky, she knew they had to get up and be social. After all, when Sam did deploy in a week, it wasn’t only Emily he would be leaving behind, but his whole family. They deserved some time with him.

  Emily slipped into her chemise and picked scattered garments up from around the room. It didn’t take Sam long to be dressed in trousers and shirt. It would take her longer. He helped her into the corset. It had been so much more enjoyable when he’d helped her out of it. She fastened the hoop to it and put on a petticoat. She hung her wedding gown in the armoire and took out her new blue day dress.

  “Will you help me, husband?” She didn’t want the magic intimacy between them to end by having to call Beck in to get her dressed.

  “Of course, my love.” He helped her get it over her head and situated around her hoop, then he buttoned it for her. “They should really make these dresses with fewer buttons.”

  “They will.” She wasn’t sure when the zipper would be invented, but it was definitely an underappreciated item.

  “I’m afraid I can’t help you with your hair,” he said as she sat at the dressing table and studied the rats nest that had once been a fancy hair style.

  “That’s okay. I’ve got it.” She did the best she could without any styling products. It might not look how Beck would do it, but it did look a little less like she’d just crawled out of bed.

  “We should have a photograph made of us in our wedding outfits.” He took her hand as she stood from the dressing table. “There’s a man in town who does that. We can go in tomorrow; would you like that? We can have two copies made, one for each of us.”

  “That sounds wonderful.” She kept her voice light, but needing two copies reminded her that her time with Sam was limited and every time she thought of that she got a piercing pain through her heart. She understood now how people could die of heartbreak, and he hadn’t even left yet. What would it be like when he did?