Christmas Nights. Sally Wentworth
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an inner sigh of relief when it was decided at last. All day she had been on tenterhooks in case they lost their weekend together. Will, she knew, had felt the same. Their eyes had often met in exasperation and impatience; to them the verdict was cut and dried and it had been frustrating, to say the least, waiting for everyone else to agree.
They filed back into court, the judge came in and they were asked if they had reached a verdict. The foreman replied that they had and the prisoner stood up. He was a little pale, Paris saw, but there was still a jauntiness in his shoulders, the charming smile clung to his lips, and it came to her that he had the inescapable belief that they would acquit him.
When the verdicts were read out Ramsay changed completely. For a few moments he just stared as if he couldn’t believe his ears. Then he shouted, ‘No!’ and grasped the front of the box.
The policemen on either side of him quietened him as the judge gave sentence. ‘You are an evil and sadistic man, entirely unable to control your emotions, and your vindictiveness finally led to murder. I sentence you to life imprisonment.’
‘No!’ the prisoner shouted again. His face convulsed with fury. The boyish charm disappeared and his inherent cruelty was plain to see as he shouted, ‘I’ll get you for this. All of you!’ His frenzied eyes swept round the court. ‘Every last one of you.’ His finger stabbed out like a stiletto blade at the judge, the officials and then the jury. ‘Curse you, you filthy swine. I’ll make you pay. I’ll cut your throats. I’ll make you beg to die.’
He went on swearing and screaming insults as the guards tried to overpower him and eventually managed to drag him out of the dock and down out of the court. When they’d gone and the door had banged after him, there was a terrible silence, everyone too shocked by Ramsay’s hatred and venom to move or speak. It was the judge who broke it.
Wryly, speaking from long experience, he said, ‘You must take no notice of his threats. You have done your duty and I will make it my concern to see that you are all exempted from further jury service for the next ten years. Thank you for your services. You may now leave the court.’
They did so numbly, as did everyone else: the judge, the barristers and clerks, the public up in the gallery, their ears still ringing with the curses that had been hurled at them.
Will collected his car from a nearby car park and drove Paris to her flat where she packed some clothes for the weekend, then to his place where he threw some things into a bag. Within an hour they were on the road and heading out of London, away from the court and the evils they’d had to listen to for the past month or so, away from the threats and curses that had shattered their peace.
It was quite late before they reached the country hotel where Will had booked a room for the weekend. There was no time even to look around; they were shown to their room and Paris took the bathroom first, showering and changing quickly. Then it was Will’s turn, and immediately he was ready they went down to the dining-room for dinner.
Here, at last, they were able to relax, to enjoy a meal after having had little to eat all day, to drink a bottle of wine which helped to dispel the slight embarrassment that had been forced on them when they’d had to rush to change in each other’s presence but when they weren’t intimate enough for that yet. The meal also helped to ease the tension that Noel Ramsay’s outburst had caused. As Will said, they had more pleasant things to think about.
Looking into his eyes, so warm and expressive, Paris felt her heart miss a beat then fill with the excitement of anticipation, an emotion mirrored in his gaze. ‘What things?’ she asked, being deliberately provocative.
He gave a slow smile. ‘Do you really want me to tell you here and now?’
Again her heart leaped. ‘Yes,’ she said on an unsteady note.
‘All right.’ Taking her hand, he lifted it to his lips and kissed her fingers one by one. ‘We could think of how I’m going to very slowly take off all your clothes and look at you and then tell you how beautiful you are. And about the way I’m going to carry on kissing you like this until there won’t be a part of your body that I haven’t touched and loved. And of how—’
Paris hastily reached out and put her fingers against his lips, silencing him. ‘Don’t,’ she breathed, her eyes wide with awareness, her cheeks flushed. ‘You mustn’t.’
‘Oh, but I must tell you how lovely you are, my darling.’
‘No, I meant…’
‘What? What did you mean?’
Her colour deepened and she looked suddenly shy. ‘I meant that you mustn’t make me feel this way—not here, in public.’
His grip on her hand tightened a little. ‘Tell me how I make you feel.’
She hesitated, then said, ‘So—wanton.’
Will smiled, the pleasure at her answer deep in his eyes. But he said warmly, ‘And wanted too, my lovely one. You know that.’
‘Yes.’ Not trying to hide the desire she felt, she said, ‘I feel that way too.’ And, lowering her free hand below the table, she placed it on his thigh.
He gave a small gasp, her gesture completely unexpected, but then he laughed softly. ‘Now who’s turning who on?’ Putting his hand over hers, he pressed it against himself, then said on a note of strong urgency, ‘Let’s go to bed.’
Paris gave him a demure look. ‘You haven’t finished your coffee.’
‘To hell with the coffee,’ he said emphatically.
His vehemence increased Paris’s excitement; for someone who had been content to take things slowly up to now, he was showing a gratifying eagerness. Slipping her hand from under his, she picked up her own coffeecup. ‘Really? I’m quite thirsty,’ she said teasingly. And she took a deliberately casual drink.
An answering gleam came into Will’s eyes and he looked around as if searching for a waiter. ‘You’ll probably want another cup, then. And perhaps a liqueur. And then we might as well have—’
He broke off as Paris put her hand on his arm. She looked at him for a moment, then shook her head. ‘No,’ she said softly but with firmness. ‘I want you to take me to bed.’
Will’s grey eyes filled with warmth and desire. He didn’t ask if she was sure, didn’t fuss; he merely stood up and drew her to her feet with him. They said goodnight to the waiter and he tucked her arm in his, keeping hold of her hand as they walked across to the stairs and up to their room.
He had said what he wanted to do, what he intended to do, and he did start by undressing her slowly, murmuring words of pleasure at her beauty, his lips caressing her skin as he did so. But Paris was shaking with awareness, her breath coming in unsteady gasps that caught in her throat, her hands gripping his shoulders as he bent before her to take off her stockings.
Her pleasure and anticipation were an aphrodisiac too powerful for him to resist; Will’s own breathing quickened and he stood to kiss her fiercely, saying her name over and over against her lips. ‘Paris. Oh, Paris. I want you! Oh, God, I want you.’
The rest of her clothes came off fast, Will’s soon joining the scattered heap on the floor. And then she was lying in the bed and there was no time to look, no time for endearments. She was reaching out to him, her body opening for him eagerly.
The next moment he was over her, taking her with overwhelming passion, lifting her towards the thrust of his body, and groaning out his climactic pleasure. He carried her with him, lifting her to spiralling excitement, to gasping, crying physical fulfilment, and then into the long aftermath of exhausted peace.
Earlier Will had ordered a bottle of champagne to be sent up to the room. It stood resplendent in its ice-bucket, but they hadn’t even noticed it. When they’d recovered a little, when Will had kissed her lingeringly and told her how wonderful she was, he noticed the wine and laughed ruefully. ‘The champagne was supposed to come before, not after.’
‘Were