The Wallflowers To Wives Collection. Bronwyn Scott
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don’t know is what are you doing in Dover?’
Jonathon shifted, uncomfortable with the question. What would she think? Would she think he was crazy or that it was a foolish hope?
‘What?’ She raised herself up on one arm, cajoling him with a sleepy smile. ‘You can climb into my bedroom and wring my secrets out of me, but I can’t do the same for you?’ She was teasing him, but in the dim light of the room, he could see the uneasiness in her eyes. Her question had inadvertently become a test of trust.
‘Jonathon?’ Her body tensed when he hesitated, the light in her eyes diminished. ‘I see.’ She had come to him, declared herself to him and trusted him to protect her. Now, it was his turn to reciprocate. This had become a defining moment for them. She had made the leap of faith. She was waiting for him to follow.
Jonathon swallowed. ‘You will think I am crazy.’ He couldn’t bear it if that were true. He understood why his parents had stopped looking, stopped hoping. He didn’t speak about it in society in general because they didn’t care. He’d grown tired of the patronising pity in people’s eyes whenever he brought Thomas up.
‘What could be crazier than allowing you to believe I had a suitor? Your secret can hardly be more embarrassing than mine.’ She squeezed his hand. ‘Try me, Jonathon.’
‘It’s my brother, Thomas. There’s been word that he might be found. There’s an informant who is coming to meet me, who says he has information.’ He could hear the hope in his voice as he said the words out loud.
He watched her brow knit, watched her expression change into contemplation. ‘Your brother? Isn’t he dead?’
‘Maybe. His body was never found.’
‘Has he been found, then?’ she asked gently. He could see her doing the maths in her head, her mind debating the doubt and probability of such a thing. Seven years was a long time. Any moment she’d ask the question: If he was alive, why hadn’t he returned home by now under his own power? It was what everyone asked.
She settled back down, resting her head against his shoulder. ‘It seems you have quite the tale to tell, Jonathon. Perhaps you should get started. We only have all night.’ Just like that, an enormous weight, one he hadn’t fully realised he was carrying, was lifted from him.
It felt good to talk, or maybe it was that it felt good to talk to her. There in the dark, with her body against his, he told her about Thomas, how his brother had ridden off with the dispatch in his place, how his brother had not made the meeting place, how he had wandered the battlefield and roads looking for Thomas until he’d been shot down, unable to search any further. ‘The trouble is, I don’t know if I want to find him. In some ways, I think I am afraid to find him, afraid to know what happened to him.’
Those last words were out before he could take them back. He’d not meant to say that much. He’d never spoken those words out loud, not to anyone, not even Owen. He needed to find Thomas, alive or dead, to assuage his own guilt at having left his brother behind. But want? No, he didn’t want to find Thomas. Didn’t want to learn why Thomas chose not to come home. There was more guilt down that road of not wanting. It was a dark question he did not examine often. He waited for Claire’s response, waited for her condemnation. What kind of person didn’t want to find his brother alive? But what he got in return was a single word, a single question.
‘Why?’ she whispered, her hand covering his, her eyes soft. There was no judgement in her gaze, only concern for him. It unlocked the dam that had held back his thoughts for so many years. Words flooded from his mouth.
‘Because war changes a person. If he’s been found, why hasn’t he come home sooner? Did he choose not to? Or has he lost his memory? Maybe he’s not Thomas any more.’ Memories defined who a person was, gave them a history. If they were gone, Thomas would have built new ones without him. ‘Who am I to disrupt whatever new life he’s found?’ That would compound selfishness with the guilt he already knew. Dragging Thomas home was for him, for his parents. It had occurred to him that Thomas might not thank him for it.
‘I think you put too many horses before the cart, Jonathon.’ Claire smiled gently. ‘Go and see what this man knows and then decide what you should do. Your heart will know what is right.’
Jonathon shook his head. Her faith in him overwhelmed him. ‘How do you know that when I don’t?’
He felt her laughter warm against his chest. ‘Do you remember that summer at the Worths when the four of us wanted to go fishing with you and Preston?’ Her eyes sparkled with little amber lights. ‘Preston was adamant we not go. But you simply went into the shed and pulled out four more rods and handed them to us. You spent the day helping us bait our hooks and reeling in a few fish. You even showed us how to gut them.’ She wrinkled up her nose.
He did remember that day. He’d never dreamed four girls could keep him that busy. ‘By the end of the day, none of us wanted to fish again. But we discovered that by ourselves. You knew fishing wasn’t for us, but you also knew we’d never accept being told. You never had to worry about us going fishing with you and Preston again. You invested one day and won a lifelong reprieve. Preston, on the other hand, was willing to beg for one day. We would have just kept nagging him every time the two of you went out.’ She kissed his cheek. ‘That’s how I know. You’ve always known the right thing to do and the right way to do it, even if your brain doesn’t recognise it. Call it instinct.’
He was certain now. Claire was too good for him, a man who’d left his brother behind. She saw the real good, not the manufactured social good based on what he looked like and how he acted. ‘You humble me, Claire.’ She enlightened him, too. Being with her gave him a glimpse of what marriage ought to be, could be; this being able to see into another’s soul and understanding them for who they were. Claire proved it was possible marriage could be something more than two people forming an alliance to exchange goods and services. It would bring him a different kind of peace than the one he sought in Vienna, a more valuable, personal peace. Would she come to hate him for it? To claim her and all she offered meant to put her in the eye of scandal. But surely she’d understood that when she’d come to Dover. Surely, this consummation that had taken place tonight was a prelude to other consummations to come. Tonight was just the beginning.
‘I’m glad you came,’ he whispered into her hair. The words were inadequate. He was glad she had come, that she was with him in this next step in his search for Thomas, glad that he was no longer alone.
Claire kissed the flat rise of his nipple, nipping it with her teeth. Where the hell had she learned such a thing? She slanted him a decadent gaze, her eyes a dark shade of melted chocolate, hot and rich, and he knew. She’d learned it from him. His body tightened with anticipation as her kisses trailed down his torso. What else had she learned from him? What else would she dare?
‘What are you doing, Claire?’
She gave his cock a considering look before she slid down his body. ‘I wonder, does my mouth work for you, too?’
He felt himself grow hard as if he hadn’t spent the last hour slaking his needs. ‘It works,’ he growled, but his reluctance was only feigned.
Her hand slipped beneath his phallus and cupped his ball sac. ‘And this?’ Her eyes glittered as she gave the tender bag a squeeze, watching him the whole while.
‘Yes, that works, too. Why don’t you see for yourself?’
She licked her lips, pulling her hair to one side in a move worthy of any Venetian courtesan. ‘Oh, I mean to.’ She put her mouth to his tip and he shuddered, letting the delicious pleasure ripple through his body. He intended to fully enjoy this, and he did, until he couldn’t, until it ran it away with him, and he was a bucking, thrashing mess begging her to bring him off. He cried out at the end, a wordless yelp.
‘Veni, vidi, vici,’ she whispered, crawling up his body and taking