Emma Barry (13 page)

Trying to forget these things, Theo spent the balance of the evening answering Timothy’s questions about muskets and glowering at Margaret. She was engaged in a lively conversation with Josiah about the exigencies of new music.

“Young ladies have needs too, Mr. Trinkett. We have given up everything that is pretty and light and joyful for this war. We want to be useful and, as we have been told time and again, our greatest use is as decoration. Let us be ornamental. We require new schottisches to learn, so that we may brighten parlors from Maine to Kansas.”

Josiah waggled a finger at her. “Do you ever say what you mean, Mrs. Ward?”

“Not if I can help it,” she said.

Theo leaned across the space between the sofa and the ottoman upon which she perched. This was what he needed. He said to her, “Was that so hard, Margaret?”

She didn’t answer, but turned back to Josiah. “What we desire, truly, is a real way to contribute. We are mourners. We are keepers of memory. We are cheerers of spirit. Important tasks, aye, but … ephemeral.”

“Just so,” Josiah said, rising to bid the Dixes farewell and to collect his own things.

Margaret followed suit, but she paused a moment to whisper in his ear, “Not difficult, but painful.”

Theo watched her, confused. What the devil did she mean? It was painful to be pleasant to his mother’s guests for the evening? What had gotten into the girl?

After everyone had left, and Mother and Mrs. Ruskin removed to begin cleaning up the dining room, he wrapped his fingers around Margaret’s arm and pulled her from the room and up the stairs. They were going to have this out. Immediately.

Theo slammed the door to their bedroom shut. He didn’t release her to a light a candle, and it took a moment for Margaret’s eyes to adjust to the dimness. His fingers still curled around her upper arm. It didn’t hurt, but his grip was strong. For a moment, he only scowled. She was frustrating him then? Good, at least it was something. She felt emboldened.

Raising her chin, she said, “I can tell you’re trying to intimidate me, Mr. Ward, but it isn’t working. We’re past that.”

“Oh, so we’re back to Mr. Ward, are we?” His eyes were narrow.

“As long as you refuse to treat me as your wife and an equal, yes, I think we are.”

“You can be an infuriating woman, Margaret.”

“You’d be amazed at how many times I have been told that before. Usually by students. Usually after I caught them breaking the rules in some manner. Not usually by people as … masculine as you, though.”

Theo’s cheek quirked, but he smothered the smile before it could spread across his face. “Stop that. We have serious things to discuss. What do you mean this evening was painful? Something shifted here, between us, when I was gone. I want to know what.”

Could he truly be so stupid? Margaret’s jaw opened, and she stared at him before slamming it shut. She sighed and said, “Everything shifted. Does that surprise you? Did you think I was a toy? That you could set me down and find me precisely where you left me when you returned?”

“No, of course not, but I thought you would explain the change to me.”

“I thought you meant it when you said you loved me.”

The air between them crackled. The room felt unduly warm. The profile of her husband, outlined by the last light of day glinting through the window, was strong and beautiful. Theo tugged her across the space between them and lowered his face to hers. He nipped at her lower lip, nibbling several soft bites along its length and then soothing the ache with his tongue. Margaret gasped.

Was this his answer? Lust in exchange for love?

Not to be outdone, she tore at the buttons on his vest and then his shirt. She licked up his exposed chest and then brushed kisses up his throat, standing on her tiptoes to do so.

She felt a growl beneath her lips, the stirring of his Adam’s apple. It made her feel powerful. She could not make him love her. But she could enrage him. She could enflame his desire. For the moment at least, that would have to be enough.

Her head traveled down his chest again. She sucked on a pink nipple, eliciting a gasp, before she continued lower. She tugged at the sparse sprinkling of hair and then her tongue swirled in his navel. She dropped to her knees and tugged on the buttons of his trousers.

“Mercy, Margaret,” Theo whispered. He pulled the pins out of her hair and dropped them haphazardly on the floor.

At last she freed his rod. She had never beheld it like this: pulsing and engorged and at eye level. She ran a hand up it, her thumb churning over the tip, round and round. She glanced up to see whether her ministrations were working. His eyes were closed, his head was back, and his breathing was ragged. Before she lost her nerve, she repeated the path of her fingers with her tongue and then pulled him, as much of him as she could, into her mouth. He was soft, like kid leather, on the outside. Firm and oaken at the core. Warm and throbbing throughout.

She licked his length. He sighed in appreciation, so she repeated the motion several times. Then she focused on the tip, allowing her teeth to catch on the edge and tracing patterns of stars and hearts with her tongue. All the things she wanted to give the Theo of her dreams. The one who loved her as she did him.

One of his hands twisted gently in her hair, helping her change the angle of her head to be more comfortable for both of them. His other hand found hers and placed it on his shaft. Their clasped fingers ran up and down while she licked and sucked.

It was an intimacy and a power Margaret had never known before. He was in her teeth, in her heart. Totally vulnerable. Totally trusting. Totally connected. Soon, she tasted something salty, and Theo pulled her to her feet with a grunt.

He tossed her onto the bed, a rustling cascade of skirts and petticoats. Together they fought with the buttons and tapes of her dress, trying to get her clothing off as quickly as possible. He peeled part of her bodice down to gain access to a bosom pushed high by her corset. Shoving her chemise aside with his chin, he murmured her name several times while he laved her body with his mouth.

Desire made Margaret’s hands and fingers dumb. She was molten and whimpering. No longer flesh. No longer bone. Turned to smoke by want.

Theo apparently still had control of his faculties. He pulled her skirts up, untied her drawers and stockings, and wrenched them from her body. With hands that were at once both strong and tender, he rolled her to her stomach and gathered her rump in his hands. His lips were on the nape of her neck purring sweet, encouraging words into her ear as he moved into her.

They had never coupled like this. Indeed, Margaret hadn’t known it was possible. He rocked into her, again and again. The hard, uncompromising planes of his body against her back, his thighs against hers, and his mouth on her neck. Tension began to build in every part of her. She was too full of emotions, pulsings, and feelings, to do anything but mewl softly into the bed, seeking release.

“You are precious to me, Margaret mine,” he whispered as his hips pumped into her. At those words, her world broke apart into A dozen lighted pieces that streamed past her eyes.

He thrust several more times before collapsing atop her. Even then, his hands moved over her, depositing gentle caresses over every part of her body while his mouth pressed into her hair.

He shifted his weight to lie next to her after a time. She finally managed to roll her head and examine his half-open eyes. Theo smiled, relaxed and satiated. All trace of frustration was gone. He looked younger and more himself than he had since his return.

His hand began to lazily untangle her hair, mussed from his fingers, and smooth it out behind her. For long minutes, neither spoke. It seemed vital to hold one another, breathing the air warmed by the other’s lungs, and enjoying the power of full, present togetherness for the first time since his return.

In this moment, there was simply nothing left to do but to tell the truth. He might no longer feel or want it. But he had it, and she could stay quiet no longer. Taking a deep breath to prepare herself, she whispered, “I love you.”

She wanted to close her eyes. She wanted to leap from the bed and run away. She wanted to beat her fists on his chest and demand a response. But it could be rejection. So she forced herself to remain still and to train her eyes on his face. She waited.

• • •

His next breath lodged in his throat, and Theo felt his chest constrict. His wife was lying beside him, regarding him levelly. He could see her pulse in her neck, still elevated. Her cheeks were flushed from the moment. She looked happy. Calm. Not as if she had shaken the foundations of his life. He must have misheard her, then.

He sat up. It seemed a more dignified attitude might bring some clarity. “Did you just say that you love me?” he asked.

She rolled onto her back, seemingly intent on removing her clothing now that she had regained control of her hands. She glanced up, smiling and nodding as if this were the most natural thing in the world.

There was a ringing in his ears. He repeated dumbly, “You love me?”

She was rolling her dress off her hips now and not paying him close attention. As if she wasn’t invested in his feelings. “Yes.”

“That’s what’s changed?”

Her hands stilled. Finally she said, “I think I’ve always loved you, Theo. That is to say, I don’t think I ever stopped.” He wanted to reach for her. He wanted to crush her beneath him and kiss every sweet inch of her. But her words had frozen him.

She continued, “I had been telling myself I didn’t for so long it was difficult to admit I did. When we married, there was scarcely time to draw breath, let alone ponder everything that changed in a few brief weeks.” She stood up and removed her corset and chemise. “I was trying to guard my heart, Theo. But where you’re concerned, that’s impossible.”

Quite nude, she knelt to scoop up her discarded hairpins before crossing to the armoire, shuffling around for a nightdress and drawing it over her head. Each movement was precise and elegant and detached.

She loved him. Had always loved him. Couldn’t resist him. Was that right? If so, would it be in bad taste to jump on the bed and holler?

Still frozen, however, Theo enjoyed the spectacle, taking the excuse to try to make sense out of this evening. Their fight, their joining, this confession: it was too much to be believed. She sat at the vanity and began brushing out her long, brown tresses. He stared at her reflection in the mirror and blinked several times. It was as if a warren of rabbits had burrowed in his ears. He could hear the timbre of her voice, but the words didn’t make any sense. She … loved him.

“Are you ready to sleep?” she asked with a full smile, looking at him in the mirror as she tugged her brush against a snag.

Sleep? He had too many questions! Picking just one out of the ether, he said, “So many letters, Margaret. There were so many letters. Why didn’t you tell me?”

Her brows knit together. “I thought I had. I thought you knew. Does this really change so much?”

“Yes!”

He needed to touch her. He stumbled from bed and half-knelt behind her to braid her hair. He ran his fingers against her scalp and down the thick, honeyed lengths in his hands.

This touch felt somehow more intimate than their coupling had. The daily ritual of it felt worshipful and reverent. This was how he loved his wife. Through a thousand quiet touches, each one a silent prayer of thanks and praise. He sectioned her hair carefully and began pulling the pieces together in a rhythmic pattern.

It was magical. Who had first figured the braid out? How did it work? As he watched the plait take shape, he knew this was the architecture of intimacy. This moment was the foundation of their future life together. The life he had always wanted was his — even with everything he done and seen. Even with the precariousness of life. Margaret loved him. He loved her. He fumbled with a blue ribbon. Once it was in place, they both moved toward the bed.

“Whatever is the matter?” Margaret asked, pulling back the covers and sliding in.

“You said you didn’t love me. Couldn’t love me. I didn’t believe you at first, but … more than a year.”

“It only seems a change if you have changed your mind.”

Theo climbed atop her, setting a hand on either side of her face and leaning close. “So this has been what’s wrong, Margaret mine? You were finally able to admit that you loved me and thought I did not reciprocate?”

She closed her eyes and whispered, “Aye. I could not see any of your former tenderness in you. Your letters have grown so short.”

He brushed his mouth over her neck to make the devising of words difficult before rolling on his side, facing her. He waited for her to look at him again. He couldn’t articulate what he needed to without being able to see the gold-brown windows to her soul.

After a long minute, she opened them and he said, “Margaret, the things I’ve seen and the things I’ve done … it chills me to me to the soles of my feet. I don’t think I can tell you. I don’t think I want to. But never mistake my reticence for lack of affection. Never doubt I love.”

Her hand grazed over his cheeks, accepting and comforting, but then she laughed. “That promise didn’t work out well for Ophelia.”

He kissed her softly. “I am no Hamlet. I have loved you for many years. More than you know. You are my wife. I have always been faithful to you. I have always cherished you, even when you were absent from me. I will for the rest of my days. And beyond.”

“You had better, Theo Ward, because I cannot survive another broken heart.”

“Shall I tell you, then, of the war?”

She nodded. And so he tried to find the words. “It will hardly surprise you to know you were right. I act now, every day, in ways that would have been unimaginable to me a year ago. But
ennui
, Margaret, is too weak a word for what is left inside a man once he’s walked a battlefield … ”

He talked for hours. Margaret brushed the tears away from his cheeks and whispered over and over again, “I’m so sorry. I love you.” He reciprocated in kind.