By the Bay Ch. 09

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Troubles only make them stronger.
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Part 9 of the 14 part series

Updated 09/22/2022
Created 09/13/2009
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Three days after his injury, Jay felt infinitely better. There was still a throbbing at the back of his head, but the nausea had passed. It was the nausea that had made it impossible for him to stand upright for the past few days, making him feel like a wuss. But he had been cured overnight it seemed, for he was now able to stand without feeling like he was about to topple over and embarrass himself.

He knew Anita was at the market because it was a Friday and it was her habit. He had to admit, though, that he'd come to like her coddling. For the past twenty-eight years of his life, he couldn't remember ever being coddled. Even when he'd been injured during the war, he remembered treating his own wounds for there weren't enough doctors to tend to everyone. Yes, coddling was a new experience for him, and one he certainly didn't regret.

He hobbled into the bathroom and took a much-needed shower. Then, clothing himself in a pair of trousers and a thin white sweater, he headed downstairs to scour the kitchen for something to feed his growling stomach. He didn't have to look for long, because Anita had breakfast waiting for him on the kitchen table. There was a little note scribbled next to it.

I knew you wouldn't listen to me.

He grinned. Over the past few days, Anita had reminded him repeatedly not to leave the bed. How she knew that he wouldn't be able to be confined to it for much longer, he didn't know. Pocketing the note, he grabbed the plate of food and headed upstairs. He wanted to continue working on his novel as soon as possible. The past few days in confinement had given him too much time to think about the direction his novel was taking.

As he bit into a sandwich and made himself comfortable in his chair, the unopened letter on the table caught his eye. He flipped it over, noting that the handwriting wasn't familiar. Clasping the sandwich between his teeth, he ripped the envelope open and slid the letter out.

The address printed at the top told him that the letter was from Roger, his late father's friend. Intrigued, he scanned the letter. Then he frowned. Apparently, there was an unsolved clause between his father and Roger that required Jay's immediate attention. Roger hadn't stated what the clause was about, but from the way he wrote of it, it appeared that he assumed Jay knew about it. Jay was at a loss, for he'd made sure that everything relating to his father had been taken care of before leaving London. What new problem could have arisen now?

He didn't want to leave for London. It wasn't in his plans for the immediate future. Everything in his life was too perfect for him to leave, even for a month or so. Perhaps the problem could be solved by post? He pulled out a fresh sheet of paper to pen a reply.

He was in the middle of writing the letter when there was a soft knock on the door to the library. He called for the person to enter.

Anita entered, carrying a tray with a pitcher of water and a small bowl with his medication. She smiled at him and he, almost immediately, felt his insides rearrange themselves.

"Good morning," she said, her voice bright.

He returned her smile. "'Morning. What have you been up to today?"

"Not much." She set the tray on the table and paused to pour him a glass of water. "Went to the market and conquered the world is all."

He laughed and pulled her roughly onto his lap. Surprised at his actions, she squealed, and a splash of water poured onto his sweater. He took the cup from her and set it on the table.

Dabbing at the wet spot on his sweater with her dress, she murmured, "You shouldn't be out of bed. The doctor said a week at least."

"I'm fine," he insisted, covering her hand where she was touching him. She paused in her ministrations and looked up.

"You took off your bandage too."

"I had to take a shower."

"What if it gets infected?"

"It won't."

"I'm going to get the cloth."

"No," he said, pulling her back to him when she would've slipped away. "Give me a kiss first at least."

She averted her eyes shyly before pecking him quickly on the lips. He laughed and covered her lips with his for a longer smooch.

"I've missed you," he said when he pulled back. A tiny thread of moisture stretched between their lips and Anita's eyes crossed as she tried to get a glimpse of it. He laughed and flicked his tongue out to catch it.

"I've missed you too," she confessed. Then, clearing her throat, she said, "Now, please stop trying to distract me. I'm really quite afraid you'll get an infection."

She slid off his lap and headed for the door. "Take your medication. I'll be right back."

*

He didn't tell her about the letter. It was intentional, really. He didn't want her to worry that he would leave her before he was ready to part with her. It was an additional emotional stress she didn't need since he didn't intend to leave the island anytime soon. Thus, when she slipped out of the room, he quickly stashed the letter and his reply in one of the desk drawers.

He ran his fingers over the keys to his typewriter idly, thoughts focused on the object of his desire. The fact that he didn't want to leave her weighed heavily on his mind. He'd never felt the need to be near anyone all the time before. The intensity of it shook him. But instead of scaring him, it made him feel whole. Alive. Powerful. It wouldn't matter if the whole world around him disintegrated, as long as he had her by his side.

She slipped back into the study, a basket of supplies in her hand. He watched her silently, a perilous thought entering his mind. Had he fallen in love with her?

Out of habit, he shook his head. Love – a much overused concept, in his opinion – was not for him. Love led to marriage, and he'd vowed never to subject himself to such a life sentence. He'd seen how disastrous a marriage could be. It was nothing but a sham, a façade for society's sake. Love and a perfect marriage between a man and a woman was something best left for poet's to write about. Companionship was what lasted.

He watched her as she snipped a roll of white cloth from the bundle. Her actions were smooth, efficient. Yes, he could imagine her as his companion. She could make him laugh. She was simple and transparent. She was independent. She was loving. What more could any man ask for?

"You'll have to take your sweater off," she murmured, rummaging through the basket for a pin to secure the cloth. He did as he was told, pulling the shirt over his head and laying it on the table.

Anita turned with the materials she needed clasped in her hand. She hesitated a second, watching the play of golden skin before her. The marks of ink on his skin seemed to call out to her, tempting her to put everything away and climb onto his lap for a moment of pleasure. How was it that he managed to seduce her without even batting an eyelid?

"What?" he questioned, eyeing her hesitance. She gave him a small smile and shook her head.

She began to wrap his wound, smearing a little of the anti-infection cream the doctor had given her over it before covering it with cloth. The wound seemed to be healing nicely and there wasn't a sign of pus or infection.

She was acutely aware of his skin under her fingertips. It was warm and solid and male. Familiar. She never thought she'd find male skin familiar in all her life.

As soon as she pinned the cloth down and stepped back to appreciate her handiwork, she found herself pulled down onto Jay's lap once again. This time, however, she ended up straddling him, with her knees encapsulating his legs. His fingers clasped her nape, pulling her down to him.

"What are you doing to me?" he growled against her lips before claiming them completely. He suspected that she didn't know exactly how she affected him. Her eyes, dear lord, her eyes, could disarm him in a second. All she had to do was look at him with innocent desire and he was undone. As he slanted his lips over hers, all he could think about was giving her pleasure and watching as she came apart because of him, for him, with him.

Her fingers clutched at his shirt as she tried to steady herself over him. Her head felt light, and her limbs were trembling. His tongue completely tore her inhibitions apart and she grasped him shamelessly, begging for more.

His fingers undid the long row of buttons on her dress until he was able to free her breasts. He didn't cease kissing her as his fingers found the hard tip of one breast and circled it. She jerked in his arms, moaning into his mouth, but never letting up on the kiss. Her knees settled on either side of him on the chair and she could feel the old wood creaking as it struggled to hold their combined weight. Then his teeth scraped against her other nipple and everything else save the fireworks in her blood was blocked out.

It was raw and hurried. She wouldn't have had it any other way. She fumbled with his trousers as he hiked her skirt up. They panted with exertion as their eager fingers entangled themselves in cloth, hair and zipper. Impatiently, she flipped her hair aside and fumbled with his zipper, freeing him.

He grasped her hips and pulled her closer to him. His lips caught hers in an unending kiss yet again as he pushed her petticoats aside and thrust up into her. A string of shudders wracked her frame and her fingers dug into her shoulders as she adjusted to the new position.

"Are you all right?" he asked, the strain in his voice evident.

She nodded shakily, moving her hips tentatively against his. The movement felt too good to stop, too good not to repeat several times. He reached up and pulled her down for another kiss, moving his hips in a rhythm as old as time itself. For every one of his upward thrusts, she slid downwards, making a crude, slapping noise echo throughout the room.

"Jay!" Her entire body seized atop him, but he felt her sheath spasming around his length. The milking movement was too much for him to bear. With a hiss of breath, he came inside her, feeling her jerk as his heat breached her womb.

She lay in mind-numbing bliss, draped over him for the longest time. And he was content to let her lay there, still locked to her, his fingers caressing her hair. He smiled when he saw a small, secret smile curl her lips. He kissed her again, and they both winced at the numbness of their lips.

"Why are you smiling?" he asked softly, not wanting to break the post-loving haze that surrounded them.

She shrugged, her eyes flickering open slightly. Her gaze locked with his. "You make my life so unbelievably perfect."

"Making love in a chair is perfection to you?" he teased.

But her eyes remained serious. "No," she said, pulling herself up so that she was face-to-face with him. "Just being near you all the time makes me feel whole... perfect."

The unanswered question lingered between them. What would she do when he left?

Slowly, she disengaged herself from his arms and righted her dress and hair. He watched her as he tucked himself back into his trousers. She was irresistible. Her skin alight from their loving, her hair a tumbled mess, her body lithe. If he'd been a poet, he'd have written scores of poems about her by now.

He watched as she gave him a smile and disappeared into the house. Damn! What he wouldn't do to keep her to himself, in bed, for the whole day.

*

London

Holly was disappointed when her father didn't join them for supper. He'd excused himself, citing a mild headache, and retreated to his study. But at least Holly didn't have to have supper by herself. Lady Elena sat by her side, looking as perfect as always. The lady was quiet, picking at her poached quail with little interest.

"Is the quail not to your liking?" Holly asked, having already eaten her fill.

Elena looked up, blinking. She'd retreated to her own world for a minute. "It's lovely, Holly. You have a wonderful cook."

Holly beamed. "Thank you. I'll be sure to tell Cook that. She'll be pleased."

A maid refilled their glasses with cider and cleared Holly's plate. Elena continued turning her quail around on her plate.

"Holly, would you mind if I asked you a personal question?"

"No, not at all." Eagerly, the girl slid to the edge of her seat.

"Would you tell me about your mother?"

The innocent enthusiasm in Holly's eyes seemed to vanish. She looked down into the cider in her glass for a long while.

"I-I'm sorry if I overstepped -."

"No, no, nothing like that." Holly braved a smile. "I just never knew my mother. She died when I was born."

Elena felt horrid for bringing the subject up for her own selfish reasons. She reached out and covered the girl's hand with hers. "I'm sorry."

"It's fine. I don't really feel her loss that keenly. Not like daddy does. Theirs was a love match, or so my nurse told me."

"A love match?" Elena repeated in a small voice.

"Yes," Holly smiled. "Romantic, isn't it? Meeting a handsome man, falling in love..."

"Yes. Yes, it is."

At that moment, lightning lit the sky, and in seconds, raindrops pelted the windows.

"Oh no! Not now!" Elena rose and ran to the window. Holly followed closely behind her. "The rain would take hours to subside and I brought only the phaeton with me."

"You may stay here if you wish. We'll send a note to your father to inform him of the situation."

"But I don't have anything to wear..."

"I could lend you a nightgown. We'll have a good time..."

Elena looked back out at the rain. She could barely see the gravel-lined road. It was hopeless to think she'd be going home tonight.

"All right, I'll stay here with you."

Holly let out an excited squeal. "Imagine the things we could do! We could style each others' hair, try on different gowns..."

Elena smiled as the girl led her back to the dining table for dessert. She wondered how a cynical, brooding old man like Matthew could have a bright daughter like her.

*

Holly was asleep by midnight, dressed only in her chemise and pantalets after rounds of trying on various gowns. Elena remained awake, her heartache disallowing her to sleep. Instead, she kept herself busy by tidying the room and thinking about what could have been.

By two in the morning, she found herself curled on the windowseat with Shakespeare'sAs You Like Itopened in front of her. The rain had long since subsided and only a few raindrops from the ramparts flitted down the window.

Absorbed in her own thoughts despite the book in her hands, she started when a dark carriage pulled up in front of the house. Who the devil could be visiting at this late hour?

She watched as a cloaked feminine figure stepped out of the carriage and started up the steps. The door was opened from the inside, which meant that whoever the visitor was, she was being expected.

Frowning, Elena rose from her seat and set the book back on the shelf. Then, wrapping a robe over her nightgown, she peaked into the hallway. It was sparsely lit, save for the light emanating from the door to the study.

The study?

Now more panicked than curious, Elena stepped into the hallway and shut the door softly. Her footfalls were masked by the carpeted floor as she scurried across the hallway, afraid of what she would find.

She heaved a sigh of relief when there was no sound on the other side of the study's door. Laughing at herself for her active imagination, she turned to return to Holly's room. Perhaps the visitor had been for someone else, like one of the servants.

She'd taken merely three steps away from the study when she heard sounds of movement behind the door. Panicked yet again, she ran back to the door and pressed her ear to it. It sounded like a chair or a piece of furniture was being moved.

Then, to her horror, she heard a husky feminine laugh.

"You were always one to cut right to the chase," she heard the woman say with laughter in her voice.

Elena was having a seizure. A heart collapse, if you will. Nothing could feel worse than the pain in her heart at that moment. What was Matthew doing with a woman so late at night? Had he requested that she come visit him? Lord, Elena knew of these kinds of women. Her own father had taken to visiting them a few years after her mother had passed on. They were women who gave their favors away for a few coins.

A sultry moan reached her ears and several tears began trickling down her cheeks. No, no, no! She would not let this happen! She would not give up on this man so easily, no matter what he might do to dissuade her.

Swiping at her tears, she stiffened her back before swinging the door open.

Then she wished she hadn't. She dearly, dearly wished she hadn't.

She had only seconds to take in the image of Matthew with his mouth fastened to the other woman's breast before tears clouded her vision and grief engulfed her body. She bent her head and tried to wipe her tears away.

"Elena?"

She heard him call her name, then let out a singeing curse. He said a few low words to the woman, who quickly righted her clothes and walked out the door. Elena shrank from the woman as she walked past her.

"Elena?" he called again, but she didn't know what she should say. What would one say in this situation?

"What are you doing here?"

Her eyes rose to his, hers turning a vengeful red. "How could you?" It was a hiss, but it conveyed the pain thrumming through her blood.

He stepped around the desk. "How could I what?"

"That woman... how could you?How could you?"

"Elena, I've told you before, you and I are nothing. You have no right to question me about Portia."

Portia.She lifted anguished eyes to him. "I would have given you everything. Why would you belittle what we had by cavorting with that woman?"

Matthew's eyes narrowed. "I am not going to repeat myself anymore, Elena. There is nothing between us!"

"Liar!" she shouted. "Liar! Liar! Liar!You can lie to yourself but don't lie to me."

He crossed his arms over his chest. "I am not lying. You're young. You do not understand what goes on between a man and a woman."

Her eyes pleaded with him. "But I want to. I want to understand everything that goes on between a man and a woman, but only with you."

He didn't say anything for a long while. His face was impassive, and she felt anger bubble in the pit of her stomach. She had to know something.

Her robe landed on the floor at her feet. She tugged her nightgown over her head and flung it aside.

She stood in front of him, naked as the day she was born. She watched as his eyes widened.

"Is this what you want?" she asked softly. "A woman's body? Then take mine."

He began to shake his head, to deny her, but she cut him off.

"I am offering myself to you. Freely. You don't have to pay me."

He looked away.

"I know you've been trying your damnest to dissuade me from loving you, but it's not possible. Your words in the hall last evening, this woman, they were for my benefit, weren't they? You aren't such a man. I know I wouldn't fall in love with such a man."

"Elena -."

"No, don't say a word. If age is what you're concerned with, I'll wait. When I'm thirty, it would be acceptable for you to court me, wouldn't it? As a spinster, my father would be delighted to give me away. And Holly – she'll probably be married and a mother by then, unconcerned with what you do with your life. If that's what you want from me, I'll wait."

She paused for breath and took several quick steps forward. "But until then, we'll always have this."

She stepped forward, rose to her toes and pressed a kiss to his lips. Her bare body molded itself to his and it was all he could do not to take her into his arms and show her how he really felt.

The more she'd talked, the more he'd been convinced that she was perfect for him. How had she known? How had she been able to see through the façade that he was trying to build around himself? How did she know that everything had been a lie?

12