Lady in Rags

Chapter Fifty-Three: Come True

Time was a series of moments, which became hours, which became weeks. They were mostly quiet, comfortable moments. The pain had faded away, so gently that Verity hardly noticed when it left. But there was still that friendly new distance between her and Neil, an ocean of smiles and hand-touches and cheek-kisses between friendliness and love.

They reached the end of it one night, without her even noticing the moment they touched the shore. She was sitting on the couch, Annie asleep against her chest, while he read aloud from a novel. She had her eyes on their daughter, and only looked up when she realized he had fallen silent, long ago.

He had dropped the book unfinished on his lap, and was watching her with an unfathomable emotion in his eyes. She could not look away from it, and dared not name it.

Nobody moved. No words were spoken. Silence, warm and welcoming, filled the room. But everything, in that long moment, changed.

It ended, unmarked, and she found she could speak.

"Let's take her bed," Verity said. "I'll carry her. She's already asleep."

"Yes. I suppose it's getting late."

He came with her, and they put the baby to bed, as usual, and Verity followed him to the door to say goodnight, as usual, and he leaned in close to kiss her on the cheek, as usual. Only, it was not as usual, for he did not kiss her. He paused, instead, his lips a bare inch from her skin, and gazed consideringly at her. The thing she dared not name was still in his eyes, and again, she could not look away from it. Finally, he dropped the kiss, this time, not on her cheeks, but on her lips.

"Come with me," he said softly.

She seemed to float after him, his hand still at her sleeve. Softly, he closed the door on the sleeping baby, and a moment later, pulled her into his arms.

She was dizzy with happiness. Her knees were weak. His arms around her might have been the only thing holding her up.

"Oh," she said, when he broke away at last. "Neil."

He seemed to be beyond words. But his eyes spoke volumes. His hands came up to delicately brush her hair back from her face.

He kissed her again. There was something in his kisses, some exploration, as though he was finding away across new territory. But it was becoming more familiar to him all the time. She tangled her fingers in his hair and let him explore.

There was another interregnum while he held her close and only looked at her. This time it was not her eyes. His gaze traced its way down her neck, lingered anticipatively at her bust, and then followed the line of her waist and hips. One of his hands traced the line of her spine, sending dizzying stars in its wake, before settling on that hip. Finally his eyes met hers again.

"My god you're beautiful."

In answer, she kissed him with a passion inflamed by months of loneliness. She pulled him coaxingly to the bed, but he stopped her by kissing her hands.

"Wait." He stepped away a moment, and began to undo his jacket. "I find myself so devilishly constrained."

"Here." She laughed. "It is normally that I help." She took the task over, and helped him out of his jacket, taking the chance to caress his shoulders and arms. With little regard for his tailor, she tossed the jacket on the sofa. He took the moment to kick off his shoes.

"Normally?" He swooped to kiss her again. "Verity, my dear, I confess I have forgotten most of this too."

"Oh." She began to untie his cravat. "Let me remind you." She pulled off his cravat, and parted the neck of his shirt, and kissed his collar bone. Her fingers worked away at the buttons of his vest, between a staccato barrage of kisses. At last that could be discarded too, but she paused at his shirt, running her hands up and down over the silk, feeling the warmth of his flesh radiating tantalizingly beneath it. His muscles shifted under her palms. She squeezed his waist greedily, and pressed herself against him as she kissed him.