Chapter 10

Chapter 10

Something very important was happening in Claire's dream. She did not know what it was but she knew it was something she was going to want to remember at all costs. Her body was warmer than she could remember being for a very long time. Somewhere in her sleep-addled mind, she knew it was not Richard who lay with her.

The very few and rare occasions that they shared a bed, he had not touched her. He had been tall, reed-thin, and lanky, with broad shoulders and large hands and eyes. Not traditionally handsome, but he had had a desperately kind soul. This was not him. Which meant she was dreaming of Dorian again.

On those few nights where she had actually dreamed about him, she always awoke with the scent of fresh hay lingering in her nose—a phantom memory association that she could not rid herself of, nor did she wish to. Those were always the mornings that she desperately tried to cling to sleep for as long as she possibly could.

She would lay in bed until her maid practically hauled her out of bed as she tried in vain to linger in that hazy half-asleep world. Just as she did now. Claire kept her eyes closed as she snuggled down into his warm chest. She relished his soft skin and the steady, strong heart beating within Dorian's ribs as her arm draped lazily over his chest. She breathed him in deeply, savoring the moment.

Alice, her maid, would be in at any moment to help her wash up and dress for the day. Then Claire would be forced to confront the fact that she was not in bed with Dorian and that she was far more likely wrapped around a pillow that had been warmed by her own body. Times like these, the truth of reality simply was not her friend.

There it was, the knock on the door. Just two knocks. It was Alice, giving her a moment to wake restfully before she came barging in to wrench open the curtains. Alice did not care in the slightest how well Claire might or might not have slept. Perhaps if Claire were not a mother, she would have been afforded more leisure time in the morning, but as it was, Eleanor had lessons that Claire wished to oversee.

The body underneath of her moved.

Actually moved.

Dorian was not a dream—she had not imagined the whole thing. The delicious tenderness between her legs was not a fluke or imagination. He was here.

Suddenly, Claire was very much awake.

Her eyes snapped open and her head lifted just enough for her to visually confirm that Dorian was sleeping soundly in her bed. Though, he was nearly too tall for it at the angle that he was positioned.

He truly had come to her last night. Dorian had sought her out and had snuck in through the window. Lord, she hoped that in the sober light of morning, he would not come to regret the choice he made. She knew he had been in his cups, but he had assured her it was not so deep as not to make sound choices.

Still, his head was likely to be pounding this morning.

Alice knocked on the door to Claire's bedroom again, three times this time. There would be no more warning. "My lady? Are you well?"

She opened the door and strolled into the room casually, a basket of freshly pressed linens in her hands. Claire was up and across the room before Dorian could stir. Never before had she been quite so grateful for the fact that she and Alice had become quite close friends over the years of Alice's employment. Claire covered the lower half of the maid's mouth before she could exclaim or make any sort of noise.

Shhh," Claire pleaded as she walked the pair of them farther away from the bed. She tapped the door shut with her bare foot—and only realized then that she was still very much nude.

Her body was tender in places that she did not know it was possible to feel—muscles she had never had the chance to use before and did not know if she would get the opportunity to use again in the future. She wore the marks of his love on her skin and the tangled mess of hair atop her head.

The basket of linens fell from Alice's arms as she fought to keep from giggling. Claire only released her when she was certain Alice would not say a word. Then, she hastily scrambled for a dressing gown. It was a mercy that Alice was already acquainted with her nudity, given that she helped dress her every day. The situation at hand was embarrassing enough as it was.

"Is that…?" Alice whispered excitedly as she, too, seemed to admire Dorian's frame on the bed.

Claire nodded, and bit her lip to contain her smile from nearly splitting her face. "It was wholly unexpected."

"I would suppose so!"

"I do not know what to do. I have no idea how to get him out of here," Claire whispered. Though, she did not truly wish for him to leave. As this was no doubt their last time together, she would have much rather spent the morning in a different fashion—perhaps a gentle repeat of last night before he left.

"Well, I would presume he would leave the same way he came in." Alice cupped her hand to her mouth. "Is that why there was a strange horse out front this morning, ma'am?"

Claire nodded. "I suppose it is. He clambered in through the window! Just like when we were children."

"It is dreadfully romantic, is it not?" Alice giggled.

Dorian stirred on the bed.

"Never you worry, ma'am, I shall distract the house while he rouses. You can count on me. And when all of this is over, then I hope you will share each and every little detail with me as well!"

Alice skipped over the discarded basket of linens and nearly skipped out of the bedroom door. Claire had only just flicked the lock into place when Dorian rolled again. She spun with her back to her bedroom door with her hands behind her back.

Had he always looked this handsome in the morning?

Had she ever truly seen him when he awoke like this before? She did not think so. It was a wholly new memory. If she had been born with even the smallest talent in painting, she would have captured the way the buttery soft yellow rays of morning sunlight washed over his skin.

"Have we been found out?" Dorian groused, his voice rough with sleep.

Her knees felt weak all over again. "No," Claire lied and pushed off of the door to cross the room to him. "I was just locking the door to ensure our privacy. But the work here begins early… I dare not venture a guess as to how long we will have before somebody comes needing something."

Dorian's eyes lingered on her as she hovered by the side of the bed. "I suppose that means I should hurry off."

Claire wanted so badly to protest. She wished she had some brilliant, magical reason for him to stay here with her for a while longer. She just wanted to stay with him. That was all she had ever wanted.

She dipped her chin into a nod, even as her fingers undid the laces to the dressing gown she had only just put on. "Perhaps in just a moment?"

Dorian rolled fully onto his back, where she could see the impressive tent his manhood had left for her. "You make a very convincing argument."

He reached for her as the gown fell to the ground in a heap of soft white fabric. His hand closed around her waist and pulled her to him so that she easily straddled him through the thin blankets she favored in the summer. Already the ache and stretch of her thighs protested the movement. He had no idea how long it had been since she had been touched, how long she had waited for him, craving and missing him.

Emboldened, she reached for his hands, lifting them to her breasts and encouraging him to squeeze, to massage the skin there as she arched her back into the contact. She needed to commit every bit of him to memory. He was the only man who would ever have her like this.

The only one who could have her heart.

In an easy movement, Dorian flipped them both so that she was on her back. The bed groaned in protest of the movement but he wasted no time in pulling the blanket from between them. She could feel him pressing between her legs, hovering in silent question that she was only too happy to answer. She reached down to his waist, urging him forward with her hands—and he obliged. In a quick shunt, he buried himself inside of her.

She could have cried from pleasure and momentary pain all at once as he filled her. She hooked her legs around his waist, pulling him deeper as she bit down on her lip to keep from crying out. She could not afford to have anyone hear. She could not afford the questions.

Even still, his name slipped from her lips—prayer and plea all in the same breath. "Dorian…"

He kissed her, covering the sounds of pleasure that left her as his hips moved with slow and steady purpose. Each stroke seemed to somehow fill her more than the last as the pair of them found a perfect rhythm that hit somewhere deep inside of her, making her toes curl.

It should have always been like this. She should have had him morning and night, every day and twice on holidays. She should have been his to touch and make love to as often as he pleased, making one another happy like this forever.

So many years had been robbed from them… and still the future would not see them together. But at least she had this.

She wanted to imprint him onto her skin. She wished it were possible to pause this moment and hold it somewhere outside of time itself so that she could visit it at her leisure. That way, no matter what happened after he inevitably left this morning, she would have these memories to view as she pleased.

Each movement and pause of his hands over her flesh was committed to memory. Every expression and soft groan of pleasure until her climax found her slowly—a tempered thing that unfurled inside of her, spreading through her core until her whole body was awash in heat. Then, only a moment later, Dorian's heat pulsated inside of her as well.

Claire savored his lingering kiss—only to be interrupted by a sharp, insistent knocking at the door. That was the warning. Her maid signaled to them with those specific knocks that now was the time to sneak Dorian out of the house. They were out of time. Not another moment could be spared between them, and just that notion alone filled her with a deep sorrow.

Dorian glanced over his shoulder toward the door. "Should I…?"

Claire shook her head in response. No, she did not need him to answer the door or attempt to make excuses. Though, she was somewhat flattered that he was not simply getting up to leave or scampering back out the window without another word.

The first time they had spent the night together all those years ago, they had been discovered in the wee hours of the morning by the stable hands entering the barn. To this day, she did not know if they were simply being loud because they were very drunk, or if they had actually been witnessed. Perhaps it did not matter either way.

Dorian kissed her forehead, the weight of all of their unsaid words lingering between the pair of them as he removed himself from her and reached for his clothes. Claire watched him dress as she clutched the bedding to her chest.

She wanted to ask him to stay, despite how impossible that was. She knew he had to go. She could not bring herself to ask him to come to visit her again, for she feared in the back of her mind that he might reject the idea or claim that what had just happened had been a mistake.

No, she corrected herself. Dorian would not do that.

He dressed and handed her the dressing gown off of the floor for herself. There was something in his expression that she could not read. The years between them had ensured she could no longer simply know what he was thinking just by looking at him. It almost looked as if it were longing. For more time, for the words to explain the years apart, something, anything.

Dorian's mouth opened, and the knocking at the door came again, more insistent this time.

His mouth shut, and he ducked right back out of the window that he had come through.