Susan Johnson (34 page)

She giggled. “You do indulge me.”

A special warmth shone from his eyes. “My husbandly duty, if I recall.”

“Am I too demanding?”

He laughed. “Don’t worry, darling. I think I can keep up.”

One cold frosty afternoon Elizabeth had stayed at Goldiehouse to nap when Johnnie had ridden into Kelso with his men for the races. Two of his barbs were running in the holiday meets.

The sun was gone when she woke, and she lay amidst the down comforters and pillows, drowsily contemplating the winter twilight outside her windows. She missed Johnnie; his absences were rare since their marriage.

Snuggling deeper into the warmth of the bed, she wished him home beside her or, actually, inside her, she thought with a dreamy, luxurious self-indulgence. Her senses, her body, her skin, and her nerves seemed on constant sensual alert, and she wondered if other pregnant women were as single-mindedly focused on passion. There was no one she dared ask—certainly not Helen or Mrs Reid. And Johnnie only took delight in her sexual appetite.

She stretched languidly, infinitely aware of the smooth warm linen rubbing against her nude body. Glancing at the clock on the mantel, she saw the delicate gold hands balanced at half past four. It was almost dark. The racing should be over soon. She stirred restlessly.

For five minutes more she lay abed watching the minute hand move sluggishly across the painted and filigreed face of the clock. Should she ring for Helen to light the candles, or call for food, or have her help her dress? Did Johnnie have plans for the evening, were guests coming? She couldn’t recall in the frenzied bustle of the Christmas schedule what had been planned. She
wasn’t hungry or thirsty or inclined to Helen’s company at the moment so she fretted, fidgety, agitated.

She wanted Johnnie.

Then she smiled to herself in the depths of the enormous bed because a flash of an idea had come to her. Something to pass the time while she waited for his return. Something to please her husband and ultimately please herself.

Inspired, she threw off the covers and climbed from the bed. She lit a few candles herself so she needn’t call Helen and added coal to the grate because she wanted the room warm.

Because she didn’t want to be cold—later.

Then she gathered the gifts of jewelry Johnnie had given her over the past days and walked into the dressing room.

With a taper from the fire burning in the small swedish tile stove set in the corner, she lit the two candles on the brackets of the cheval glass and smiled at herself in the Venetian mirror. Her skin was still rosy from sleep, her tousled hair in need of a brushing.
Later
, she lazily thought, moving to the ornate candlelabra on the dressing table. The five candles set in the silver holder added considerable light to the interior as did the candles in the crystal sconces on both sides of the doorway.

Easing the dressing room door almost shut, but leaving it open a fraction so she could hear when Johnnie came back, she tossed the taper into the green porcelain stove and began implementing her idea. Shifting the mirror so her reflection was visible from the dressing table, she reached for her pearl earrings in the jumble of jewelry piled on the table top.

But the earrings didn’t show, she decided, with her hair falling on her shoulders, so she brushed her wayward curls and pinned them up with the new green jade hairpins Johnnie had given her last night. The precious ornaments, owned long ago by a T’ang princess, were smooth as satin, lush to the touch, intricately carved with floral motifs.

There
 … she decided with satisfaction. Now the
Scottish pearls were visible—huge tear-drops dangling from diamond rosettes. She turned her head from side to side so they moved and gleamed in the candlelight.

Next she clasped around her neck a small enamelled gold locket—Johnnie’s first gift for Christmas—one side set with diamonds, the other decorated with a crowned heart between the letters J and E, the edge engraved
Fidel Iusq A La Mort
—Faithful Unto Death. She stroked the letters for a moment, touched by his tender promise, and then let the elegant locket slip between her bare breasts.

She added two rings to her fingers, a rare gold diamond and rarer Siamese ruby, so deep crimson only kings had been allowed to own it in the country of its origin, Johnnie had said.

Lifting a Baltic amber belt of exquisite canary yellow from the array of gems on the dressing table, she rubbed the magnetic beads over her skin, feeling the small sparkles of energy emitted by the friction, and wondering what other women might have worn this resplendent ornament. The gold and turquoise buckle was Egyptian in design, the stylized palmetto motif sinuous, refined.

After admiring the rich antiquity of the translucent belt, she draped it over her hips, then slid a bracelet onto each wrist, one of enamel and gold, the other of violet sapphires. Another bracelet of heavy gold links that fastened with a heart-shaped padlock she placed on her ankle. When she moved her foot, the chain gleamed in the mirror, the weight of the solid links heavy on her slender ankle, and a little tongue of fire stirred inside her at the barbaric implication.

Extracting from the glossy tangle one of the ropes of pearls Johnnie had given her on the eighth night of Christmas, she draped it around her neck, the rest of the large, lustrous South Sea pearl necklaces following one by one until she was richly adorned in cascades of pearls. Adjusting the long garlands into double loops, she slipped the numerous strands around and under her breasts so they lifted the mounded fullness high, the
heavy weight of her breasts pushed upward, suspended by a dramatic halter of pearls.

Swaying slightly, the jewels embellishing her body twinkled and glittered. What a decorative Christmas present, she reflected, gazing at herself in the mirror, her pink-tipped breasts offered up in sumptuous thrusting splendor, the heated amber twined around her waist a primitive, mystical gem. And Johnnie’s promise of faithfulness lay nestled in the deep valley between her breasts, his golden chain weighty on her ankle.

She could feel a glowing heat kindling inside her, pronounced and insistent, her restless impulses focused now and hot-blooded; she was turning to check the time when she heard the bedroom door open.

A moment later she stood in the opened doorway of the dressing room. “Merry Christmas, my Lord.”

Looking up, Johnnie stopped pulling off his glove, the black leather half-rolled over the back of his hand.

His gaze swept over the spectacle of his wife’s ripe body in resplendent undress and his smile slowly spread until his eyes shone with appreciation. “Had I known your plans, sweetheart,” he said, “my horses could have run without me this afternoon.”

“You’re home just in time,” she murmured. “You haven’t missed anything yet.” She was posed like a young Cleopatra, her eyes exuding a mischievous sensuality.

He grinned and resumed stripping off his fringed gloves. “How fortunate. You’ve been waiting for me then.”

“I’ve been spoiled,” she said, leaving the dressing room portal and gracefully walking toward him, her breasts bobbing and swaying like the pearls swinging from her ears. “I prefer you to substitutes.”

His fingers were moving quickly on the buttons of his great coat. “I’m at your service,” he said with a roguish smile, shrugging out of his coat, and tossing it aside. “Although give me a minute to warm my hands or you’ll suffer.”

“Touch me with your cold hands,” she begged in a delicate whisper.

Her breathy words triggered a flaring lust and he
waited for her, enchanted by her florid sexuality, aware of the surging rise of his erection. As she neared, he saw her eyes raised to him, warm with wanting and when she was close, he leaned over and touched her, his left hand sliding between her warm thighs, his right slipping under her from behind, his fingers meeting, clamping hard over her hot cleft.

She gasped, stunned for a moment, the stark chill of his winter cold hands stinging and thrilling simultaneously, her nipples hardening as if touched by ice. Then a flame exploded deep in her belly, and a fierce wanting swirled through her body, leaving her breathless. Her forehead dropped against his shoulder as she absorbed the shattering sensation; a low, almost indistinguishable moan vibrated in her throat. His fingers were slowly opening her, seeking entrance, finding it. Johnnie’s long cool fingers sank in up to his palm.

Her low rapturous cry thrilled him. He could feel her weight settle on his cupped hands as her knees gave way. Lifting her slightly, he put pressure on her pulsing core and she felt every compressed throb more profoundly, felt his fingers more acutely as they stretched her wider. She whimpered as her flesh yielded to his penetration, as the delirious palpitations ravished her senses.

“Put your arms around me,” he whispered, scooping her off her feet. Eagerly she complied, flinging her arms around his neck, clinging to him.

Carrying her to a nearby chaise, he gently placed her against the cushioned back and kissed her waiting lips, tasted the sweetness of her mouth as he smoothly freed his hands. Tipping her chin up with a light fingertip, he gazed into her pleasure-hazed eyes. “This is the best Christmas present I’ve ever had.”

Her scent on his fingers drifted into her nostrils … stirring a primitive arousal. “Kiss me again,” she breathed, reaching up for him, wanting to feel his power.

His lips brushed over hers, his mouth unhurried, gentle. He was always less impatient than she, always more restrained, as if he knew how much better it was with delay. “Would you like your present,” he murmured,
kissing her rosy cheek, “for the eleventh day of Christmas?”

“If it’s you.” Her fingers slid through his silky hair.

He chuckled, his breath warm on her skin. “You’re easy to please.”

“Maybe you just know how to please me.”

Sitting upright, he drew away and holding her hands in his, contemplated her jeweled splendor with roguish amusement. “Since you’ve been pregnant, darling, pleasing you has been uncomplicated. Now let me get your present.” He smiled as she took his hand and guided his fingers inside her. “I’ve another ornament for you.”

“To add to my wanton glitter …” A small breathy sigh registered appreciation of his masterly touch.

He paused infinitesimally. “Yes, that too,” he said.

“You feel strong,” she purred, lazily moving against Johnnie’s powerful hand.

“You feel eager,” he replied, his blue eyes teasing.

“So?” The breathy word was a light command.

“So I’ll be right back,” he whispered, sliding his fingers out, and rising from the chaise.

She watched him walk to a large marquetry wardrobe and pull open one of the bottom drawers. Dressed simply like a country gentleman he wore a plum coat with his dark breeches and boots, his hair untied and loose. She thought him the most beautiful creature, powerful and tall, graceful, so handsome she always found her eyes dwelling on his finely wrought features no matter that she knew them from memory.

Swiftly rummaging through a drawer of neckcloths, Johnnie came up with a small flat box of royal blue velvet. Forgetting to close the drawer—not a tidy man after being raised with an army of servants—he walked back and handed the box to Elizabeth with a warm smile. “Merry eleventh day, darling.”

Sitting down at the foot of the chaise, he began pulling off his boots.

Noting the Valois crest embossed in gold on the box lid, Elizabeth opened it with fascinated interest. At her first glimpse of the dazzling jewel her eyes flared
wide. A spectacular pendant rested on crushed white satin: oval in shape, it was a magnificent ruby etched with a passionate depiction of Leda and the swan, and bordered by two rows of gems—first, one of brilliant diamonds, then an outside rim of perfect matched pearls. And suspended from the bottom were three exquisite baroque pearls.

“It’s breathtaking,” she exclaimed, touching the shimmering dark ruby, her fingers tracing the ardent mythical scene.

“A gift from Charles VII to Agnes Sorel originally. Robbie found it for me in Amsterdam,” Johnnie said, shifting around to face her, his boots discarded. “Something for you to wear with your pearl earrings.”

“It’s gorgeous,” she whispered, picturing it in her mind with her earrings—“… and Agnes Sorel. How romantic …”

“Given in love,” Johnnie gently said, “then and now.” Lifting the pendant from the box, he took the case from her hand and set it on the floor. “Depending on how you want to wear this,” he said, holding the jewel in his palm, “we need a gold chain …” His voice dropped in volume. “Or—”

“Or?” His insinuation tantalized her.

Setting the pendant down on the upholstered seat, he appeared not to have heard her, his gaze on her breasts. “One of your necklaces has slipped,” he murmured, reaching toward her. Cupping her right breast in his palm, he elevated it slightly, adjusting the string of pearls under and around the extravagant fullness so all the strands were back in place. Then, lifting her left breast, he stroked the pale outside flare admiringly before easing the lush weight back into the luxurious halter. “Such magnificent breasts,” he said, his fingers tracing a circle around the jutting nipples.

The pink crests responded to his touch, the large tips hardened, and Elizabeth arched her back in languourous ecstasy as a heated warmth rushed downward.

“I like the flagrant display,” Johnnie whispered, the pads of his fingers lazily smoothing over the prominent
mounded curves held high by the pearls, her voluptuous breasts fuller now with her pregnancy.

“I was hoping you would,” she breathed, her smile lush, the pressure of his fingers sending a spiraling heat into the glowing center of her body. “For purely selfish reasons …”

Lying against the colorful needlework cushions of the chaise, her skin exquisitely white in the dissolving light, tinseled and bangled with glittering jewels, she looked like an exotic scheherazade made for love.

Johnnie gently eased her legs apart as he shrugged out of his coat, the hot eager feel of her intensely provocative. He shifted his position to ease the tightness of his breeches, then reached for the ruby pendant which lay almost invisible against the intricate colored silks of the needlepoint fabric. “There’s a story with this jewel,” he quietly said, delicately arranging her legs, spreading her thighs wider, bending her knees slightly so her hot cleft was beautifully exposed. Lightly caressing her inner thighs, his fingers moved up to glide over her rosy distended vulva.