Authors: Dearly Beloved
The knife spun in the air, hilt over blade, too swift for the eye to follow but implacable in its murderous accuracy. With paralyzed horror, Diana saw the knife intersect Veseul's throat, saw gouts of blood gushing from severed arteries.
The count's body, dead but not quite aware of it, crashed into Gervase, carrying them both to the ground.
As they fell, Veseul's weight knocked all the breath from Gervase, and the edge of the swordstick grazed his ribs as the Frenchman's blood sprayed over him. The mad black eyes glared as life flickered out, but no words could escape that ruined throat.
Gervase lay stunned for a moment, not quite believing that he was still alive. Then he shoved the Frenchman's body aside. Veseul had no more importance. What mattered was Diana.
He staggered to his feet and lurched to where his wife crouched in a numb little ball, shock and horror indelibly clear in her frantic blue eyes. Dropping beside her, he pulled her into a crushing embrace. She was trembling violently as she burrowed into his shoulder, whispering his name over and over.
"It's over, love, it's over," he said raggedly. "You're safe now."
Gervase was also shaking with the reaction that follows battle, his mind a broken jumble of thankful prayers. Even with Diana in his arms, he had trouble believing that she was truly there, alive, not seriously injured, and as desperately grateful for his presence as he was for hers.
The dark, deprecating part of his nature jeered that she would have clung to any rescuer the same way, but he rejected the thought instantly. No longer would he allow his life to be ruled by doubt and self-hatred.
He had read once that grace was being loved despite one's sins and weaknesses. Gervase had not truly understood then, but he did now. Diana offered him that kind of love, and he would accept it as the miracle of grace that it was.
A kaleidoscope of images flickered through his mind. That first heart-stopping sight of Diana at Harriette Wilson's. The first time they had made love, when she had taught him to rediscover innocence. The soul-deep need that grew stronger every time they were together.
Even the bitter estrangement of the last days had value, tearing away the lies and secrets until the two of them were fully revealed to one another. Now he had her, and he'd never let her go again.
A few minutes later, that was how Francis found them when he ran into the clearing, followed by two of the larger footmen. Without loosening his embrace, Gervase glanced up at his cousin. "Veseul tried to kill her. Have someone... take care of the body. May I have your coat?"
Wordlessly Francis took off his finely tailored wool coat and handed it over. Gervase wrapped the garment around his wife for warmth and for modesty, then stood. As he lifted her, she was light and fragile in his arms, her eyes closed as her head rested against his shoulder, her loosened hair veiling her face.
"I'll take her inside," he said to Francis. "Please look after the guests, give them my apologies or whatever. Anything but the truth. Keep them eating and drinking. I'll worry about the legal aspects of this later."
"Of course." As Gervase left with Diana, Francis was issuing crisp orders to the footmen.
He used a side entrance where there would be no one to see or ask questions. He'd reached the upstairs corridor when he was intercepted by Madeline, her eyes wide with fright as a dazed Geoffrey tugged her down the hall.
Understanding the boy's need for reassurance, Gervase knelt, bringing Diana within Geoffrey's grasp. The boy reached for his mother, his blue eyes questioning. "Mama?" he asked, touching her hair.
His voice penetrated the mists of Diana's mind and she gave a crooked smile, reaching up to clasp her son's hand briefly. "I'm... fine. You did well."
Geoffrey's small hands brushed her face before he glanced up at his father.
"She's not hurt, just shocked," Gervase assured him. "She'll be all right. The blood is Veseul's, not hers or mine." Shifting Diana's weight, he stood again, adding with grave commendation, "If not for you, she would have been killed."
His fears allayed, Geoffrey sagged against Madeline, who swiftly steadied him.
Looking at Diana's friend, Gervase said, "Don't worry, Madeline, I'll take care of her."
The older woman evaluated him with a penetrating stare. Approving what she saw in his face, she nodded, turning to guide Geoffrey back toward the nursery.
Gervase took Diana, not to his room, scene of their alienation, but to hers, where they had shared so many hours of joyous intimacy.
He laid her on the bed and tried to stand, but she said, "No!" with sudden urgency, her arms tight around his neck.
They were both stained with Veseul's blood, but bathing and fresh clothes were trivial compared to Diana's need for warmth and reassurance. Besides, Gervase shared her primitive desire to stay in close physical contact. Carrying her to a deep rocking chair, he cradled her in his arms, gently stroking her back and slender neck, feeling the tension slowly dissolve from her body as the room darkened.
Gervase had been twenty-five when he had first killed a man in battle. His attacker was a wild-eyed stranger intent on slaying an Englishman, and even so, Gervase had been sickened and haunted afterward. He couldn't imagine the full dimensions of the shock Diana had suffered. Her whole nature was love and gentleness, for her son, her friends, her husband. He had seen her capture a trapped butterfly so she could release it again to freedom.
And this evening she had killed a man.
He began to talk again, surrounding her with sound, telling her that the danger was past, that Geoffrey was well, and how much he loved her. Eventually she stirred, her breath quickening. Her eyes were still dark with shock, but no longer unseeing. "I killed him, didn't I?"
"Yes. I'm sorry it had to be this way." He pressed an infinitely tender kiss on her forehead, "You've taught me much about forgiveness, Diana, both by words and by example. Weep, or curse, suffer if you must, but in the end, forgive yourself. To take a life is tragic, but you saved my life and your own. That can't be wrong."
She began to cry then, burying her face against his bloodstained shirt, her hands knotting in the fabric as her body shook. The paroxysm of grief passed quickly and her sobs faded into silence as her head tucked under his chin, her glossy chestnut hair falling across his chest. Finally she raised her tear-smudged face to Gervase. "I want you to make love to me."
For a moment he hesitated, wondering if Diana really knew what she wanted. She was bruised and bloody and had been the target of far too much violence in the last day, from him as well as from Veseul.
"Please, love," she whispered huskily, "I need you so."
When he looked into the depths of her eyes, Gervase understood, his heart leaping to a perception beyond logic. She needed to forget, and they both needed to be joined in love, to seal their reconciliation in the most profound and intimate of ways.
He stood and carried her to the bed, pulling back the covers before he laid her gently on the smooth, cool sheets. Then he lit a candle so they could see each other.
Holding her gaze with his own, he said, "Nothing heals as swiftly as love, and no one, not the friends of your heart, not even the child of your body, can ever love you as much as I. You are my salvation, and in your love I see the reflection of the loving God whom I never believed in."
He stripped off his clothes, making himself vulnerable in nakedness, careful to always be touching her so she would not feel alone, even for a moment. As he removed her bloodstained clothing, he continued to talk softly, the words less important than the tone.
The fair silken skin over her ribs was turning dark and ugly where Veseul had kicked her. There were other bruises and scrapes as well. He gently kissed each mark as it was revealed, worshiping her with touch.
She was passive at first, watching him trustingly, drinking in the words that flowed over her as a healing balm. They had not made love in nearly three months except for that one joyful night when he had returned from the Continent, and his body hungered for her. But this time there was none of the frightening obsession he had felt before when they had come together after separation. Now that Gervase had accepted her love, his desire was uncontaminated by desperation.
He lay down beside her, admiring how exquisite her slim body was in the soft light, a harmony of curves and shadows. Laying one hand on her heart, he whispered, "You are beautiful, but only now do I see how beautiful. Mere perfection of face and form are only the beginning. You have the beauty of soul that will not fade, but grow greater with the years."
Then he lowered his head to kiss her, his lips gentle and undemanding. Her mouth welcomed him, first with sweetness, then with increasing urgency as her passivity faded. Diana raised her hands, stroking his arms and back, wanting to feel his warmth and firm strength against her.
Gervase made slow love to her, using all his knowledge of what pleased her. She was aware of how carefully he moved, how he supported his weight, never trapping her beneath him in a way that could remind her of the terror of Veseul.
With unhurried skill he worked his way down the length of her body, tasting her mouth, bringing her nipples to tingling delight, trailing kisses across the soft curve of her belly. With his warm expert lips and tongue he brought her to the edge of ecstasy, but she did not want to make that journey alone. She wanted to feel Gervase buried deep inside her, to know that he was as open and trusting and needful as she.
Understanding her wordless signal, he rolled onto his back and lifted her on top of him. She gave a soft cry as he entered her, wanting to weep at the rightness of their joining, at the exquisite sensation of her breasts pressing against the hard muscles and softly textured hair of his chest, at all the differences of surface and firmness between his body and hers.
For all his practiced control, she knew from his sharp, involuntary gasp and sudden tightening that he was as aroused as she, as close to the edge of explosion. Prolonging their intimacy, for long minutes they lay wrapped almost motionless in each other's arms, on a high plateau of pleasure, so close that it was impossible to tell one pulse beat from the other.
When floating was no longer enough, she began moving her hips against his, wanting to feel him deeper and deeper. She was in control, setting the pace of their lovemaking, and it was perfect for this night. In a distant part of her mind she marveled that a man who had so long been severed from his emotions could now understand hers with such uncanny perception.
Then reason and logic were swept away, and there was only the primal rhythm of love, building to an unbearable pitch of intensity before shattering like a shower of stars. Once before she had felt their souls briefly touch, but tonight they soared far beyond that, their spirits as intertwined as their bodies, discovering levels of passion and fulfillment that neither of them had ever reached before.
In her release Diana escaped the horror of the maze, unwinding the fearful tension that had knotted deep inside her. Only this closeness mattered, and she knew beyond doubt that nothing in the future could separate her from Gervase again.
It was marvelously comfortable to lie cradled on top of him, their bodies fitting perfectly together and his arms around her. Eventually she turned her head, propping her chin on her arm to look into his face. His eyes opened at her movement and he smiled up at her.
Diana caught her breath in wonder. She had never seen him look quite like this, the spare, chiseled lines of his face utterly relaxed, his gray eyes as transparent as quartz.
"I love you," she whispered, knowing how inadequate the words were, but having no others.
His hands linked securely around her waist, Gervase raised his head to kiss her. "I'll never know why," he said huskily, "but I no more intend to question it than I would question the sun or the sea or the wind for existing."
After the kiss, he settled back on the pillow with a rueful chuckle. "In spite of what I just said, I find that I do want to question. Wanting to understand is my besetting sin. Or at least, one of them."
She laughed and slid down beside him on the mattress, tugging him until they lay face-to-face. "Ask away, love, though I don't promise a rational answer."
His shadowed face was somber. "You said that... after our marriage, you hated me, and then you didn't anymore. I can understand the hatred. You had every right to that. What I can't understand is why it ended."
She closed her eyes, remembering that time. "The answer to that actually
is
logical, at least to a woman. I hated you until I began to feel my child move inside me. It was such a wondrous thing that there was no more room for hatred."
She opened her eyes. "And to hold my son in my arms... it was a miracle. I decided then that any man who could father so sweet a baby couldn't be all bad. Yes, you'd behaved wickedly, but that didn't make you a wicked man."
Her eyes distant, she searched for words. "When I came to London, it was with the desire to find a man I could love. Though technically it meant that I would be an adulteress, you were not quite real to me. I did not feel like a wife.
"Then I met and recognized you as my husband. I knew I must learn to know you better, that I could not seek another man until I was absolutely sure that my marriage was meaningless. And when I came to know you"—she smiled into his eyes—"I fell in love."