Voice of the Heart (59 page)

Her touch scorched him, sent the heat flaming through him. His blood raced, his heart thundered in his chest and his desire was rampant in him, made his head swim. And he needed to know every part of her, to make every inch of her his, and his alone. He brought his lips to her breasts and kissed her sensuously, and slid his hand down over her stomach until his fingers were entwined in the golden silk between her thighs. Slowly, and with infinite tenderness, he sought the core of her femininity enclosed in its protective velvet petals.

Francesca was quivering and moaning gently under his loving hands, excited in a way she had not imagined possible even in her wildest fantasies about him. Victor was arousing her to a point of agitation and she was overwrought, and yet she did not want him to stop. She wanted his hands, his lips, his body, wanted all of him, wanting him to prolong the exquisite sensations trickling through her. He was dazing her, blinding her, thrilling her beyond belief. Suddenly she caught her breath, trembling uncontrollably, and a stronger fiercer heat flooded her, and she gave herself up to him. He was learning her intimately, and with thoroughness, and he drove her on and on relentlessly, until she was gasping and caught on the brink of the most rapturous feeling she had ever known.

And Victor, besotted with her, enthralled by her, was being carried along by the onrushing tide of their mutual passion. He brushed his lips across her thigh, and as he caressed the core of her it felt as if a rare exotic flower had suddenly bloomed under his hands, one that was slowly unfolding its sun-drenched buds to him. Tremors rippled along her thighs and he shifted his body, moving lightly on the bed. He brought his head down and kissed her with delicacy, until spasms replaced the tremors and she cried out, ‘Oh Vic! Oh Vic!’

He continued to kiss her until the spasms lessened and then he lifted his head and slid up onto her body, and took her to him with great swiftness, plunging into her with such force he felt the impact himself. He hoped this unexpected domination of her at the height of her excitement would dim the pain. But she did stiffen under him, and she stifled a cry with a quick gasp, and held herself tense. He gripped her, his hands under her back, and he moved into her more forcefully, knowing this was the only way to lessen the pain, to sweep her up and away from it to new heights.

Gradually Francesca relaxed as the sharp flaring pain receded, and she felt a different and more marvellous warmth
spreading through her as Victor began to thrust deeper and deeper into her. And her heart crested with ecstasy as he took complete possession of her, made her truly his.

She was liquid fire under him and he was being consumed by the heat emanating from her. He took her harder, loving her with a fervour he had long forgotten, with the strength and virility and wildness of his youth. He felt her body arching up to meet his clamorously, and she blended into him, moved with him, found his new rhythm, and he was dimly conscious of instinctive movements from her. Her arms tightened on the small of his back and her legs went around him automatically, so that he could love her more thoroughly and with all of himself. He was trapped now in a velvet vice, the possessor being possessed. He was hot, his body burning up with hers, and then he felt as though he was falling, falling through space, spinning down the slope, taking the long downhill run with the speed of light. Faster, faster, his speed increasing, breathless as he hurtled on into the blinding glare… white snow… white heat… infinity. Oh God, oh God, I love her, he screamed silently to himself. I’ve always loved her from the very first day…

Victor lay on top of Francesca, shudders still rippling through him, his face buried in her neck. She smoothed his shoulders lightly, gentling him as he had gentled her earlier, waiting for a calmness to settle over him. At the very last moment he had moved against her almost violently and had gripped her arms so tightly she had winced in pain. Then the shuddering had started and he had erupted with a frenzied burst of passion, calling her baby again and again, and begging her to take all of him.

Francesca kissed the top of his head, and smiled inwardly, loving him more than ever. She
had
taken all of him, just as she had given him all of herself, and he belonged to her now. It did not matter that there had been countless women before her, for her instincts told her that something quite extraordinary had occurred, not only for herself but for
Victor too. She also knew he had not taken their lovemaking lightly, was convinced in her heart of hearts that he did love her. She shifted imperceptibly, easing his weight without disturbing him, and she smiled to herself again. Her body ached, but it was a delirious feeling, like having the imprint of him on her. Euphoria pervaded her whole being. She thought she was going to burst with happiness, and her arms went around him and she held him closer and with tenderness.

Victor was drained. He felt as though every ounce of his strength had trickled out of him. He had loved Francesca in a way he had not made love to a woman for years, not merely with physical enthusiasm and vigour, but with all the passion of his heart and mind. Yet despite the exhaustion, he was experiencing an inner exultation coupled with the most wonderful sense of peace, a peace rooted in the kind of contentment that had eluded him for the longest time. He had forgotten what it was like to feel completely fulfilled emotionally as well as physically. His own fault maybe. He was always seeking solace in the wrong arms, and coming up empty in the end. So many women, so many faces, the famous and the unknowns, those faces long since blurred. He sighed. There were far too many for him to remember and, for reasons of good taste, to count. But
she
was different.

He raised himself on one elbow and looked down at her, his emotions still high on the surface. The fire had burned low and the fight had dimmed, but he could see her quite clearly. His eyes rested on her reflectively. What was it about her that made her so different from all the others, that affected him so strongly? His answer to himself was instant: It was some indefinable thing that he could not quite grasp.

Francesca’s gaze was wide and candid as she searched his face. She lifted her hand and touched his cheek with ineffable gentleness and her eyes grew wide and more brilliant. ‘Oh Vic, oh Vic, darling,’ she began, and sighed and said no more, and her mouth trembled.

He read the adoration and devotion in her face with the
greatest of ease, and he saw her love reflected there, and suddenly his heart missed a beat. It was not only the way she was looking at him, but the use of his diminutive and the particular way she had said it which now struck a chord in his mind. It was
déjà vu
… he had seen that look and heard his name pronounced in exactly that same tone before, long long ago… And then that evanescent memory which had so nagged at him since their first meeting now took shape, became substance.

Francesca reminded him of Ellie.
It was not that she looked like his first wife, for in all truth she did not, rather it was a special quality of personality that was the link between them. Implicit in Francesca’s character were honesty, sincerity and goodness, outward manifestations of an extraordinary inner beauty and grace which she possessed in great abundance, as had Ellie. He was unable to speak, but he leaned forward and kissed her brow, and then he ensnared her in his arms. Everything had become quite clear to him.

They lay for a long time, embracing each other, not speaking, drifting with their thoughts, watching the firelight dancing on the walls and the ceiling. At one moment Francesca shivered slightly and Victor pulled the eiderdown over them and drew her closer to him. At last, recovered from his surprise, he said, ‘It’s funny, the way you suddenly started to call me Vic—’

‘I’m sorry,’ Francesca said, rousing herself, recalling that he seemed to dislike this abbreviation of his name. She had heard him correct Hilly Steed several times. ‘You hate it. I’d forgotten.’

‘I don’t hate it from you, or Nicky, just as I never minded when Ellie used it. Anyone else, yes, particularly someone I’m not close to, I guess because it smacks of familiarity.’ He chuckled softly. ‘Also, I was brainwashed by my mother. She never permitted anyone to shorten my name when I was a kid. But it sounds nice when you say it, sort of soft and gentle.’ He rested his head on hers, and went on, ‘I’ve heard
your father and Kim call you Frankie, and Diana calls you Cheska. Which do you prefer?’

‘Cheska, I suppose. Frankie sounds so, well, so boyish.’

‘I don’t think anyone would mistake you for a boy, baby. Not by a long shot,’ he laughed.

‘But I don’t mind
kid
, or
baby
either,’ she asserted, settling back in the crook of his arm contentedly. ‘They’ve become very special, to me at any rate.’

‘Have they now.’ He smiled and ruminated for a few seconds. Brushing his lips across her shoulder, he went on, in a low voice, ‘I
was
the first, wasn’t I? The first man in your life, I mean.’

This question did not really startle Francesca, for she had guessed that
he
had guessed, but she remained silent. Finally she whispered, ‘Yes.’

‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

‘It never occurred to me. It didn’t seem to be of such great importance, certainly not to me. Why, was it important to you, Vic?’

He was thoughtful, and after a beat, he replied carefully, ‘Yes, it was in many ways. And I hope I didn’t hurt you. I tried to make it as—’

‘Sssh,’ she murmured, pressing her fingertips to his mouth. ‘And you didn’t hurt me. Well, not too much.’

She felt him smiling against her shoulder and then he said, ‘I didn’t shock you, did I? Some of the things I did…’

‘No.’ She felt her cheeks grow hot as she remembered their lovemaking, and then she brushed aside her sudden self-consciousness, and finished shyly, ‘I… I… liked everything you did.’

He laughed. ‘I’m glad to hear it.’ He slipped out of bed, padded across the room, threw a couple of logs on the fire, found his cigarettes in one of his trouser pockets, and returned to the four poster. He propped the pillows behind him, settled down next to her and lit a cigarette. He said, ‘By the way, what time’s dinner?’

‘Nine o’clock,
but we should go down about half an hour before, for drinks.’ Francesca glanced at her small travelling clock on the bedside table. ‘It’s almost eight already,’ she exclaimed in surprise.

‘I’ll smoke this and then I’d better go back to my room and shower and dress. I guess I have to put on a shirt and de?’

‘Yes, but you don’t have to wear a suit, if you don’t want to. A sports jacket is perfectly fine.’

‘If I’d been smart, I’d have stopped off and picked up my robe before coming in here.’ He looked at her sideways. ‘But I was anxious to get to you, baby. Now I guess I have to make myself decent to return to my suite. I can’t very well flit along the corridor clutching my clothes in my hands.’

‘I’ll go and get your dressing gown,’ Francesca cried, and had swung her legs out of bed before he could stop her.

‘Come on, baby, that’s not necessary,’ he protested as she disappeared into the bathroom. She returned almost at once, struggling into a bathrobe. ‘I’ll be back in a flash,’ she told him and went out.

Victor lay back against the pillows, smoking his cigarette, musing on Francesca. He smiled. They were perfect together. Within seconds voices outside the door disturbed his train of thought, and he straightened up, listening alertly. Francesca had obviously run into her cousin. He heard Diana’s light laugh, a few mumbled words exchanged between them, and then Diana said something more clearly, in German, which he did not understand.

The door opened and Francesca came back into the room. Looking across at him, she said, ‘I just ran into Diana.’

‘Yes, so I heard. She knows then… knows I’m in here… knows about us?’

‘I don’t think she
thinks
I’m borrowing your robe,’ Francesca laughed, her eyes dancing. ‘It’s far too large to fit me.’

‘What did she say?’

‘Nothing.’ Francesca’s blonde brows shot up. ‘It’s really
none of her business, you know. Besides, apart from being very romantic, she likes you a lot, so I’m sure she approves.’

‘No, no, I was referring to the remark she made to you in German.’

Francesca sat down on the end of the bed, still clutching his white silk robe to her. ‘Diana said,
“das letzte Hemd hat keine Taschen.”
That means, the last shirt has no pocket. What she was trying to say was that you can’t take it—’

‘With you,’ he finished for her. ‘I get the drift. She’s a smart one, that lovely cousin of yours. And she’s right, life’s too short to waste.’ Now Victor’s curiosity about the von Wittingens surfaced again, and innumerable questions about the parents, and also the reason for Christian’s disability, flew to his tongue. But he realized it was the wrong moment to embark on such a discussion, and so he held back, reserving the questions for another time. He stubbed out his cigarette and got out of bed. Francesca handed him his robe. He slipped into it, belted it tightly and stood looking at her, then he pulled her up off the bed and into his arms. Kissing her very tenderly, he murmured into her hair, ‘My sweet, sweet baby.’ With a swift glance at her, he asked, ‘You are mine, aren’t you?’

‘Yes, Vic. Oh yes, darling, I am,’ she replied, and her face was radiant.

They drew together again, reluctant to leave each other, and their kisses became long and passionate. It was Victor who finally broke their clinging embrace. He said, with an irreverent, lopsided grin, ‘Listen, lady, I’d better get outta here, otherwise we’ll never make dinner tonight.’

‘The dress looks divine on you, Cheska,’ Diana said. ‘Perfect. I’m so glad I remembered I had it in the stock room.’

Smiling, Francesca turned to look at herself again in the cheval mirror. The evening gown Diana had loaned her from the boutique was made of silk velvet in a lovely shade of clear amethyst. The skirt was cut on the cross, flaring to the floor, and the close-fitting bodice had a low scooped-out neckline and long sleeves. It was elegant and its svelte lines made her look more lithesome than ever, whilst the colour was immensely flattering to her fair English-rose complexion and honey-blonde hair.