Christopher's Medal (14 page)

“I can’t blame you for that.” Grace reached back and stroked his cheek. “Why did you join the army anyway?”

“I didn’t really have a lot of choice. It’s the Beaumont family vice, all the way back to the Boer War, always the Grenadier Guards. So, I did my degree, in the equally useless subject of English lit and then went to Sandhurst.”

“What would you do?”

“Marry you.” His fingers trailed along her jaw. He tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear.

Grace twisted in his arms to look at him.

“Will you marry me, Grace? Take me under your wing and look after me in my old age?”

“You’re thirty, so you’re hardly in your dotage.” She put her finger on his lips and wanted to cry. “But, yes, I’ll marry you, I’ll take you under my wing and I’ll look after you in your old age.” The wind chilled the tears on her cheeks. “I couldn’t think of anything I’d love more.”

“Thank Christ for that.” He kissed her. “You won’t regret it, Gracey. I’m house-trained and everything. I’ll wash the dishes and put the toilet seat down.”

She laughed and dashed her tears away with her fist. “How could I possibly say no?”

“I’ve even got a ring.” He fished around in his jacket pocket and pulled out a small, black velvet box. “I hope it fits. I had to guess. I have no idea about these things.” He opened the lid and held it out to her. “Is it all right, Grace? Do you like it?”

Grace looked at the sapphire, square cut and framed with tiny chips of diamonds. “It’s beautiful,” she breathed, touching it with a cautious finger. The diamonds caught the rosy light of the setting sun and glittered with a fire of their own.

He took the ring and placed it on her finger. “And it fits.”

“I don’t know what to say.” The tears started again. The ring looked strange and beautiful on her hand.

“Just tell me that you love me, Gracey.” His voice was hoarse.

“I do love you. I love you so much that you make me want to cry. I love you so much that I can’t bear to watch you walk away. I want to keep you near and protect you from everything. I don’t care if you leave the toilet seat up or leave dirty dishes in the sink. Hell, I’d love you even if you decided to switch from boxers to Y-fronts. Of course I love you and I always will.” She gave in to her tears and let him gather her up. He rocked her like a child and she clung to him, weeping because she loved him and weeping because she was terrified.

“Don’t cry. You’ll make me cry.”

She glanced at him. His eyes were bright. Something glinted on his lashes. Grace reached up, brushed the tears with her thumb and stopped crying. “I’m sorry. It’s my hormones, it must be.”

“Silly girl,” he soothed. “I’d never wear Y-fronts.”

Grace managed a shaky laugh. “Thank God for that. Just the thought of them makes me shudder.”

“Anyway, it’s not like I get a chance to keep my underwear on when I’m around you anyway. You’re insatiable.”

“Toad.”

“Honestly, Grace, I’ve never wanted anyone as constantly as I want you. I just can’t get enough of you.” His lips were warm on her throat. “If we weren’t sitting on a public beach in a howling gale, I’d…”

She shivered when his hands, concealed by the blanket, drifted to her breasts. “I know you would.” She slid her hand along his thigh and smiled when she heard his sharp intake of breath.

“Minx,” he whispered. “What the hell am I going to do for six months?”

“Bromide and cold showers.”

“Darling, if we’re in an FOB, there won’t be showers. It’ll be buckets of cold water. I’ll be longing for you to keep me warm.”

“But, just think, when you come back…we’ll have all the time in the world to make up for those six months.”

“Bliss.” His sigh ruffled her hair. “Will your father give you six months’ holiday?”

Grace giggled. “No way.” The prospect of six months exclusively in Christopher’s company had the feel of an impossible dream. “But I’ll settle for a lifetime of nights with you.”

His voice was a purr as he nibbled her ear. “Oh, God, yes please. Can we go back to the cottage now, please?”

* * * *

“I’m going to miss this place,” Grace sighed and crawled beneath the duvet. Outside, a gale hurled rain against the windows. It seemed a fitting way to end the holiday, with an autumn storm driving in off the sea.

“So am I.”

She curled up against Christopher, not wanting to sleep.

“Will you come and see us off, Gracey?”

“What do you mean?”

“When we leave. I’ll let you know what time. Everyone gets one last chance to say goodbye at the barracks before we get on the bus.”

“Just try and stop me.”

“My family will be there too, so it won’t be so bad for you.”

It will be horrible, no matter who’s there.
“That would be a big help.” Grace put her hand to his face and wanted to remember every touch, the way his early-morning stubble felt beneath her fingers, his breath in her hair. Her throat hurt, but she swallowed the knot away. She had a ring that was his promise to her that he would come back. That there would be so many mornings huddled together under the lemon-yellow duvet in her bedroom, drowsy with love.

“There’s one other thing.”

“What’s that?”

“Mark.”

“What about Mark?”

“Will you visit him? Will you keep in touch with him? He’s so up and down these days. We’re the only people who bother with him. Take him out for lunch now and then, phone him, email him…anything. I don’t want him to think he’s on his own.”

They’d been to visit Mark a few times since the wedding. “I can do that.” She liked the idea of keeping in touch with him. He was another link to Christopher, one who was close at hand, who’d know what Christopher was going through.

“Thank you, darling.”

“It’s all right. I don’t mind. It’ll give me an excuse to get out of the yard.” Grace shifted beside him, seeking his warmth.

“Ah, Grace, you feel so good.” His arm tightened around her.

“So do you.”

“This is where we say our real goodbyes.” He kissed her, softly, slowly.

“Yes.” Grace held him close when he shifted onto her, pressing her down into the tumbled bedclothes. His need for her was evident, burning between her legs. She pushed aside her fears and sorrow as her body responded to his heat and his careful touches. Christopher teased her with his fingers, wriggling them into her slit, moving them around until Grace shuddered with each touch. Whimpers escaped her throat when he reduced her to a needy mess with every glide of his hand. He ground his palm onto her mound, clutching it while she reached for his cock. She wrapped her fingers around it, loving the heat beneath the soft skin.

Christopher trembled and groaned when she pumped his shaft. She punctuated each careful stroke with a swipe of her thumb over the tip, spreading the pre-cum around. Meanwhile, he worked her relentlessly until she eased his hand away from her core and guided his dick toward her pussy where it belonged.

He slid into her, moving slowly, following a distant timeless tempo that she answered with her own, matching him thrust for thrust, counting the breaths, listening to the wind rattling the windowpanes. The world diminished to the room, the bed, to Christopher’s sighs and the reverent sweep of his hands over her skin. She felt every glide, heard the whisper of his body meeting hers. She wanted to remember everything, from the way her core absorbed him, to every slow incursion. This was the stuff of romance, the books she used to read. This was what it was all supposed to be. She didn’t need words. She
knew
they were meant to be together. The ring was just a symbol, this was what was real.

Grace felt him grow inside her, filling her—her pussy accommodated each push, demanding to be filled. Every nerve end screamed for resolution but she bit her lip and drew the moments out, wanting them to last forever.

“I love you,” he whispered, his voice tight.

“I love you too.” She brushed the hair from his forehead and touched his cheek.

Christopher turned his head and placed a kiss on her palm. Grace nearly wept at the gesture. She drew him close, feeling the need rise to boiling point. He quickened and moaned, dropping his head when he came. Grace followed, holding him tight, wanting him to remain inside her forever, and knowing it could never be.

Chapter Eight

It didn’t seem right to Grace that the October morning should be so clear and bright and beautiful. She shivered as she stood on the vast parade ground of the regimental barracks and waited with his family for Christopher. Everyone was subdued, even Sally’s boys who stared, wide-eyed at the huge space.

“There he is,” Sally’s youngest shouted out. “There’s Uncle Christopher.”

Grace looked at the men filing out of the barracks and wondered how the child could possibly know, but, as she tried to find him in the crowd, he waved and ran toward them. She realized she had never seen him in combat gear and it seemed strange to reconcile the professional-looking soldier in desert camouflage with the man she had fallen in love with, who was rarely out of jeans. There was a flurry of hugs and Grace waited, knowing that she’d be last. She trembled while she watched him. Tall and striking, even dressed for war. The square was full of people, all saying goodbye and trying to fill the final moments before departure with brave chatter. She tried to ignore the row of buses, engines running, that waited beside the entrance.

“Gracey.” He swept her up into his arms, squeezing her. His face was pressed to her neck. “God, Grace, this is so bloody hard.”

Her eyes filled with quick tears. She fought them back. She wasn’t going to ruin the moment with tears. She had six months to cry as much as she wanted. “Yes, it bloody is,” she sniffed.

“I promise I will do everything I can to get back to you. I should get a week’s leave sometime in January. I intend to spend it in bed, with you.”

“I know you will. I still have your toothbrush, remember?” She cradled his head in her hands as he kissed her, a deep bruising kiss full of everything he obviously couldn’t say.

“I love you so much, Gracey.”

“Same here.” She kissed him back.

He let out a long, shuddering breath and stepped back. Grace looked at him and wanted to fall to pieces.

“I have something for you,” he told her. “It’s just some music. There’s a letter too.” He handed her a brown envelope. “Wait till you get home.” He fished in his pocket. “Here are the car keys. Ask one of the staff, they’ll show you where it’s parked. You look after it, Gracey, I don’t want you flying up the M11 at a hundred miles an hour.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t.” She managed a feeble smile. “Tempting as it is.”

Somewhere, from across the square, someone shouted an order.

“Jesus. They don’t give us long.” He hugged her once more. “I’d better go. I’ll email you as soon as I can.”

Grace nodded mutely.

“We’re four and a half hours ahead of you.”

It could’ve been a universe ahead. He was leaving her and that was bad enough. “I’ll be waiting.”

Another kiss, quick and fierce. “Take care, Gracey. I’ll see you soon.”

“And you, please be careful.”

His hand slid down her arm, grasped her fingers one last time then fell away. He smiled at his family, blew her a kiss and walked away.

Grace watched him go. He walked with the same easy grace as a good horse and, for a moment, she was pulled back to that first evening when a moment like this hadn’t even been considered a possibility.

“Are you all right?” Sally’s arm was around her shoulder.

“No, not really.” She took a deep breath and watched him climb on the bus. He turned on the step, waved then disappeared. She managed a smile. “But I’ll wait till I get home and then I’ll lock the door and have a good cry.”

“Don’t worry. It’ll fly past, you’ll see.”

Grace swallowed at the stubborn knot in her throat. “I’m sure you’re right.”

Margaret kissed her cold cheek. “Come on, darlings, let’s go and find somewhere to have some breakfast. I think we could all use it.”

They stood and waited and watched the buses pull away. Grace waved at the bus that she saw Christopher climb onto. She wasn’t even sure if he could see her, but she would wave anyway, anything to show him she could cope with this.

* * * *

After breakfast, Grace made her way back to the barracks and, with some help, found Christopher’s car. She stood and looked at it for a little while, then plucked the leaves from the windscreen. She had never regarded cars as anything more than a means of getting from one place to another and a receptacle for rubbish, as numerous friends liked to point out. This car was different, low-slung and rakish, and Christopher’s one material indulgence.

She opened the door and sat down. The seat was set far back to accommodate his long legs. She pulled it forward and closed the door. The scent of his cologne lingered and Grace shut her eyes to stop the tears. She couldn’t navigate the tortuous streets of London if she was crying but there were so many memories tied up with the car—the drives to country pubs, the trip to Pembrokeshire, visiting his parents, the way his long fingers curled around the gear shift. The leather seats were warm and spotless.