Chapter Sixteen

Even though she knew almost everyone they were dining with, Elena was nervous about her attire for the evening. She wore a new gown that she could not quite name the color of. It was a deep, warm orange silk, unlike anything she had worn before. The word was more than orange, but she did not know all the different names for shades of color in English. With this gown, she was trying to say something to David, to herself, that she was looking for the answer, even if she couldn't quite find the question yet.

She had been shaken by their argument several days earlier. Upon further reflection, she now saw she had been so hungry for information about her family, so stuck in her not knowing that she would have done anything Anatole had asked. That scared her deeply, and she was grateful to her husband for his help in pulling her back to herself. And yet, it felt like a chasm had opened between them since that afternoon, and she did not know how to close it. While they still shared a bed, they had not been intimate, nor had they conversed or laughed like they used to. He wasn't cold or cruel, just more distant than before, as if the curtains were closed behind his eyes. Even more than his touch, she hadn't understood how much she loved just talking to him until the past few days without their usual conversations. Shaking herself from her thoughts, she turned to Goliath, who was sitting at her feet.

"What do you think, Goliath?" she asked the dog.

"Spectacular."

She saw her husband approaching in her mirror, but she did not turn around. "You have a bad habit of answering for Goliath."

"Yes, but I am always very complimentary. Goliath is a bit of a critic. May I enter?"

At that, she had to agree and turned around to nod, but at that moment, her breath caught. David was wearing a dark gray tailcoat over an olive-green waistcoat that somehow matched his eyes. The overall effect was so arresting that Elena felt her heart flutter, and she reached her hand to her chest as if to stop the traitorous organ. She was so struck that she had not noticed he was carrying two glasses in his hands, his cane balanced precariously against his chest.

"Dutch courage," he answered her unspoken question, handed her a glass, and sat on her bed.

"Is this one of yours?" she guessed.

"Indeed. Have you ever had sherry?"

Elena shook her head as she considered the dark liquid in the glass. It smelled almost medicinal. She did not quite understand the appeal, but she recognized that this strong-smelling liquid helped them afford this townhouse, so she gathered herself and took a sip. The taste made her want to gag, but she forced herself to swallow it out of politeness. She could tell from his expression as he watched her that David was fighting a grin at her internal struggle.

When she recovered her ability to speak, she gasped out, "It is…refreshing."

"It may be an acquired taste. I was raised on it, so I had to grow up tasting sherry, though I think the first time I tried it as a lad, I might have spit it out behind my father's back." He took a sip, then added, "Imagine my disappointment when we had to turn more to sherry and other fortified wines after the Médoc Classification in 1855." He trailed off as he took in the blank look on Elena's face. "But I am disappointed. I brought you the sweetest one, Dulce."

That made her smile, though she couldn't quite call this sweet as her tastes were overwhelmed by the bitter. Her mind returned to something he had said.

"Why did you say courage? Why do I need courage tonight?"

"Oh, the courage is for me, for fear my friends will do something so embarrassing that it would drive you away."

"I am not worried about that. I have met them before." She gestured, waving off his concern as she braved taking another very, very small sip.

"Be careful. It is a fortified wine, so there is more alcohol than the wine you may be used to."

"Ah, that explains the smell," she murmured.

"Pardon?"

"You know," she offered as she attempted to change the subject, "there is a wine from Cyprus that my father used to drink. He let me try it once, and it tasted much like this. But I do not remember what it is called."

"Most wines and spirits are named for their region, so it may have been named after the specific location in Cyprus. Sherry comes from a place called Jerez in Spain. Champagne comes from Champagne, in France. There is an Italian fortified wine called Marsala we recently began importing from—" He waved his free hand dramatically. "Marsala in Sicily. It seems you were prescient in your intuition that your friend would make an excellent assistant, as she knows Sicilian."

"It is all her own merit. She is a force to be reckoned with."

"True. But you do tend to bring out people's strengths. To see something others might not see, even in themselves." He paused awkwardly as he finished, as if he had just said too much, then seemed to abruptly jump to his next question. "You say her husband was transported?" His brow furrowed as Elena nodded. "That is odd. Men are rarely transported these days. She's sure he's not in prison somewhere here?"

Elena shook her head and braved another sip of sherry, but it was much too large and almost made her choke. While she tried to cover her coughing, she saw David's gaze travel to the skirt of her gown as if suddenly caught by something.

"My lady," he said softly, all thoughts of prison seeming to evaporate. "You're wearing something bright."

"Yes, well, I can't stay hovering between mourning and not mourning forever." She tried to keep her tone light, but her heart warmed that he had noticed.

"There is something called half mourning, but I suppose it doesn't apply to the case."

Taking in his expression, she frowned. He looked concerned when she thought he would be pleased.

Noticing her scrutiny, he sat on her bed, head bowed. After a moment, he looked up at her. "Elena, I don't want you to push yourself if you're not ready," he explained. "You're in an impossible position with no good solution. If you want your clothing to reflect that…" He held his hand up as he trailed off.

She considered her words as she eyed the remaining sherry, then set her glass down at her vanity.

"Husband, this does not mean I have moved on or am trying to force myself. " She looked back at the sherry as she strove to find the words. Perhaps it did offer some kind of courage. "Sometimes when it feels like the world is ending, if you just breathe and smile, and think to yourself, ‘Someday, I will wake up, and I will enjoy the sun and the sky and the air again, though not today,' well it's a little like putting on that smile, even if you don't mean it yet. Do you understand? I'm not saying I'm whole, but it's more the hope that someday I will be."

"I've felt that way before," he said after a moment. "When my father died, the first few days, I hardly bathed or changed my clothing. But after a week, my valet forced me to shave, bathe, and obtain a mourning wardrobe. I wasn't ready to stop grieving. But it was the start of a new phase. I felt the same outside Balaclava after the incident with the laudanum."

Elena nodded and stroked Goliath's nose, glad they were speaking again like they used to. She was suddenly struck by how well-matched they were. Looking over at her husband, she was not sure she would have ever created him in her wildest imagination, would have ever dreamed she would end up here with this tall, striking Englishman.

He noticed her heated gaze and returned it with a smoldering look of such force that she felt down to her toes, then he appeared to catch himself and glanced away. "That being said, you do look breathtaking in that gown," he said politely.

She was embarrassed by how pleased she was by his compliment. "Husband, you must stop this flattery. My vanity will not take kindly to it."

"You're not vain, Elena."

"I was, once." She turned and looked back in the mirror, trying to remember that girl she had been. She realized that she tended to idealize that time, the time she always called before, and that she had grown, possibly in some good ways since then. "When I was younger, I was rather vain. I led several boys in my village on a merry dance."

"I can't fault you for that. Most young people are vain. I think I was rather vain before I went to war. Fate had different things in store for both of us." They both absentmindedly touched their scarred temples. She caught his eye in her mirror, and he gave her a small smile and continued. "Except your scar only makes you more beautiful, as it always makes me think of your determination to survive. A determination that led you here."

Elena turned around again and stared at him. This time, he did not catch himself but met her gaze with an intensity of his own. She opened her mouth to speak, but no sound came out. She wanted to say something in return. That he was beautiful both because of and in spite of his scars as well.

But instead, she said, "Not all young people are vain. Irene isn't."

He snapped out of the moment they had been in and smirked. "Irene is a unique case. She takes after Sophie."

"She would put her hand in the fire for those she loves." Elena's heart squeezed as she thought of her grandmother's saying, and how it applied to her new sister, then she caught herself. When had she started to think of Irene as a sister? This conversation was getting out of hand when she should focus on the evening ahead of them.

"What color would you say this gown is, Husband?" She tried to return the conversation back to her dress. "I do not know the names for all the shades of color in English."

He gestured for her to stand and turn around. As she acquiesced, Goliath gave a short bark at the motion.

"It's all right, little one."

"Little?" David snorted. Goliath gave him a look, then laid his head back down. David ignored this, putting his hand to his chin as if deep in thought.

"Sunset," he said after she had slowly turned around. "I think the color is sunset."

Elena hadn't thought of that word as a color before, but she found herself deeply pleased by it and felt a slow smile creep across her face. Perhaps this gown would not compare with the diamonds of the ton, but it would do for a dinner with old friends. She went back to her vanity to put on her gloves.

"I am glad we will be among friends tonight. Not quite so many people."

"True, though with you and this chap, I think I've become better equipped to handle crowds than I used to be."

"Still."

"Still." He stood, set down his glass, and traced the line of her jaw with his gloved hand, the feeling of the glove simultaneously rough and smooth against her skin. She was overcome for a moment by how much she had missed his touch, how exhilarating but deeply comforting it was all at the same time. As he pulled his hand away, Elena felt her heartbeat change, then drew a breath to settle herself as she bid Goliath goodnight.

****

David had now been to several social events with his wife, but none with only his friends. He prayed that everyone behaved, though he doubted Elena would cast judgment if they did not. She had that wonderful gift of accepting everyone as they were and seeing the best in them, no matter what. He had meant what he said earlier, she might not know it, but Elena's gift was to draw out the strengths of others, particularly when they didn't see it themselves. Hell, she had seen something in him when he was little more than a stranger and in Goliath when anyone else would have left him to die.

Regarding his friends as they entered, he was struck by how aristocratic they appeared, which made him feel uncomfortable in his own skin. In spite of his title, he did not always think of himself as an aristocrat. With one foot in trade and the other in the peerage, he often felt like a strange outsider with no clearly defined role. And yet his unique social position had been oddly welcoming for Elena, as he was sure that neither Henry's nor Michael's ancient, titled families would have been pleased if they had brought home a foreign bride from the war. As he formally introduced her to Henry, Elena met Henry's irreverence with amusement, and he was glad to see his old friend looking more animated, more human than he had before. Sophie, who had deigned to join them, appeared both entertained and annoyed by the mostly aristocratic guests, though she had been uncharacteristically quiet ever since they had returned from the hospital several days prior. But she had always gotten along well with Lord Gaius who, for a scholar and gentlemen, had the ability to talk to people of all walks of life. Sophie always mentioned how she enjoyed his lack of sense of what was fashionable and his slightly eccentric household.

Michael was also there and even more his typical self than usual, droning on about the war and their recent conversation regarding various armies. Michael was generally not one to surrender a point until it had been thoroughly dissected, so David groaned internally when Michael decided to return to the issue of the size of the Russian army at dinner.

As he spoke, David saw Elena begin to fidget in the corner of his eye, first with her napkin, then with the folds of her gown. Those who did not know her well or who were generally unobservant, like Michael, might not notice she was distressed, but David now knew her better than he knew himself, and he shot Michael a look full of daggers. Michael, the fool, was belaboring an academic point, not once stopping to think that details of the Russian military might be a sore spot for someone like Elena, whose whole life was overturned by a Russian invasion. Or himself, for that matter. Fortunately, Lord Gaius's daughter, Antigone, noticed Elena and David's discomfort.

With her eyes wide, she turned to Michael, who was sitting to her right, and, apropos of nothing, asked, "Lord Michael, if there is a war in the United States, will Britain fight against slavery?"

Michael quickly turned his head toward her, not seeming to mind the change in subject as long as he could have an opinion about it.

"Antigone, there won't be a war."

David saw a small line cross her brow. He remembered that both Elena and Irene had told him she did not like to be called by her full name. It was also rather inappropriate for Michael to use her Christian name when she had politely called him Lord Michael, even if he had been given leave to do so before.

"Father says that John Brown has been raising money among abolitionists in New England, and in Canada, they had a congress—"

"And very few people attended."

"Still, if there is a war, shouldn't Britain fight against slavery?"

"Even if there is a war, Britain will mind its own affairs."

"But Britain profited from the slave trade—"

"And made it illegal in 1807. Abolished slavery completely in 1833."

"But the illegal trade went on much longer, and certainly Britain has purchased cotton. There are some mills here that are refusing to process cotton purchased from slave owners. If the mill workers can take such a stand, surely the government can as well."

It had reached a point where everyone had ceased conversation and was watching the two of them spar. While politics and foreign affairs were typically forbidden topics for ladies of the ton, Lord Gaius had always encouraged anyone at his table toward open dialogue and opinions, including his daughter, and his table had always felt like a respite from the stuffy nothingness of ton discourse. Irene and Lord Gaius were watching Miss Sprague with pride while Sophie and Henry looked vaguely bored and distracted. But David had eyes only for his wife, who looked engrossed with their rapid rapport when Michael suddenly changed the subject.

"What does Sir Trevathan think of this matter?"

Miss Sprague looked up, seemingly unprepared for this swift change in the conversation. "What does he have to do with anything?"

"Are you not betrothed to him?"

Miss Sprague's gaze darted to her father, then back to Michael, whose expression was, as ever, unreadable. "That is no business of yours, my lord." She glanced around the table as if in hope of reprieve.

Michael opened his mouth to respond, but David knew he had to do something. The conversation had moved from politics into the personal and Miss Sprague did not deserve to have her private affairs dissected at the dinner table. After all, she had saved him moments earlier.

"Lord Gaius, I should like to try that new port you were speaking of," David said loudly, giving Michael a sharp look. "We have no imports from Portugal, though we've been thinking of expanding, haven't we, Aunt Sophie?"

"I make it a habit not to discuss business amongst the aristocracy. They say it's crass." Sophie raised an eyebrow at David and crossed her arms, seeming unaware of what he was trying to do.

"Have you ever had safir, Aunt Sophie?" Elena, ever the savior, had seen that the conversation needed to be rescued. Elena had not spoken much at dinner. Thinking back, David realized that when he had seen her in a large group, she was often very quiet. But her soft voice had a strength and sweetness, so much so that he saw even Michael was paying attention.

"No, I can't say I've heard of it before." Sophie's posture relaxed ever so slightly.

"I do not know enough about spirits to compare it to anything else, though I am becoming more familiar with fortified wine." Elena gave David a conspiratorial glance and went on. "But it is very sweet, much sweeter than sherry. It tastes like honey and oranges. I have only had it a few times in my life when my father had a bottle. Many in the empire are haram, so it can be hard to find." She looked around at several confused faces. "They do not imbibe spirits as part of their faith," she explained.

Sophie had softened her gaze, but she had not moved or uncrossed her arms. "We'll have to look into importing it, won't we, Nephew?"

"Lady Grayston, I hope I have the good fortune to try some one day, I have not had the privilege to travel to that region of the world yet in my lifetime." Lord Gaius rose and bowed toward Elena as he politely closed the subject. "Gentleman, I think that is our cue to move on from the ladies for our port." As they adjourned, Lennix leaned over and drawled under his breath.

"Always an entertaining lot, aren't we, Grayston?"

****

Later that evening, Elena and David sat with Henry as he regaled them with tales of his exploits with his friends in the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood, a group of artists Elena had never heard of before. Irene, Annie, and Sophie sat around the piano while Michael and Lord Gaius were deep in conversation across the room, though Elena saw Michael look over at the piano ever so often. Henry glanced over at Michael and frowned.

"What was that about at dinner?"

"Damned if I know," David muttered. "Sorry, my love."

Elena shook her head, she did not much mind if he cursed. "You truly do not know?" she asked. Both men looked at her with such clueless expressions that she wanted to laugh. "Is he not one of your oldest friends?"

"Spare us the reprimand and let us know, Lady Grayston, I am on tenterhooks." Henry Lennix's relaxed repose was the very opposite of on tenterhooks, but she obliged him with a nod. She crooked her finger for them to look at the scene from her perspective.

"He"—she pointed toward Michael—"is enamored with her." She signaled for them to look at Annie, sitting with Irene over at the piano. "And he is furious about it."

"No," Henry scoffed. "He is always trying to rile her up."

"Have you never been put out because a young woman you were interested in did not pay attention to you?"

Henry began to speak, then looked to think the better of it. He glanced at David beseechingly. David shrugged. "I just never imagined Michael having particularly romantic feelings. He's so logical."

"Hence why he is furious about it." Elena was secretly pleased that she was getting rather good at reading these things.

"He's not a romantic hero like you, Grayston. Just because he doesn't act doesn't mean he doesn't feel." Even though he was still sitting back in his chair, Henry Lennix looked tense.

"Well, I have good reason to be romantic." David gave Elena that same smoldering look he had given her earlier, and the world fell away, and it was just the two of them. After a polite cough from Henry, David appeared to realize there were other people around, for he turned to his friend. "And what of you, Lennix?" The other man suddenly seemed preoccupied with his glass.

"We are not speaking of that dangerous subject. I know many women who I will never give my heart to." Elena saw David narrow his eyes at his friend and was about to speak when Lennix continued. "Poor devil. Michael, that is. She won't have him."

"How would you know that?" David asked.

"She's one of those white knight types. Michael is too, well, Michael for her taste. Think about it."

Elena did have to admit that Annie had an inclination toward big, idealistic notions. Lord Michael was perhaps too stuck in the particulars for her.

David made a face at his friend. "You know, you're more observant than people give you credit for, Lennix."

"I'm the oracle no one listens to. What was that, Delphi? No, wait, I think people listened to Delphi."

Elena regarded the scene on the other side of the room as she tried to remember the correct oracle. "He just needs to show her his heroic side," she said as she studied Lord Michael. "You know, in my village, we have a story of a MihaiBravu . "

"Bless you."

Elena gave Henry a look, and he grinned devilishly back. He did seem to be quite good at that. She ignored him and went on, "It means Michael the Brave. He was a hero for independence, a great unifier."

"Elena believes names are destiny," David explained, the corner of his lips creeping upward.

"Well, I have many a different Henry to model myself after, and yet I choose to waste my life in excess. Eight English kings, multiple saints, you name it. I happen to do an excellent St. Crispin's speech." As David rolled his eyes, Henry looked over at Michael sympathetically and sighed. "Honestly, I am not sure he has a heroic side, my lady. Mind you, he's one of my oldest friends, but if you want someone heroic, look no further than your own husband."

David shook his head as if to brush away the praise. "I have trouble thinking of him as a romantic hero, but I think he can be brave. He has that potential."

Lennix lifted an eyebrow, leaning back in his chair. "I'll believe it when I see it. He's not a wastrel like me, but I can't see him charging off to the Crimea like you."

"That doesn't make me a hero."

"I didn't say it did. It was hero- ic. An annoying quality you have in spades."

Elena could tell her husband was growing uncomfortable with the praise, however reluctantly given, and sought to change the subject for him.

"We'll have to see how it all plays out. Why don't you check on Lord Michael, Husband? I want to hear more stories of your youth from Mr. Lennix."

****

Having been ordered over to the corner by his wife, David marveled that she had only met Michael on a few occasions yet seemed to know more of what was in his heart than David ever had. He felt that shame rise in him again. Shame that he had not paid enough attention, not listened enough to those around him. He doubled down on his resolution to do better and approached the two men as Lord Gaius rose.

"Excuse me, my lords, I want to speak with your aunt, Grayston, about a few matters before the evening ends." Lord Gaius walked toward the piano, leaving just him and Michael in an awkward silence.

"I shouldn't have spoken of the Russian army at dinner," Michael said quietly after a few minutes.

"No." David sighed. Michael meant well, so David went on. "The Russian army invaded Elena's village when they occupied Dobruja. Near the Danubian—"

"I know where Dobruja is. And they almost cost you your legs. My apologies, not appropriate dinner conversation."

"Michael, you're amongst friends. You ought to be able to speak freely, but there are some sensitive subjects."

"I know. Amongst the ton, I'm usually able to hold my tongue, but here, sometimes I forget myself." He glanced over at the piano again. David realized they had not been together since that ball, even though he had asked him to call. There were lines of worry and stress around Michael's eyes that had not been there before.

Before he could inquire after him, Michael began, "I meant to tell you, I was just discussing with Lord Gaius, there is talk that Lyons will be named the ambassador to the United States. He has asked me if I would like to join him if he is."

"You would go to Washington?" David asked slowly.

"It is a possibility, yes."

"Is there any particular reason you are suddenly thinking about taking up this post?" "Restlessness," Michael answered, almost defiantly.

That was likely all David was going to get in response. He supposed he should try to dissuade him. From across the room, David caught Elena's eye. Try harder , he almost heard her think. He knew he ought to, but reasoning with Michael was like trying to talk to a brick wall.

"Well, perhaps before you reached a decision, you could consider addressing this restlessness."

"There is no cause. In this case, a man just finds himself at a crossroads and must act accordingly." Michael squared his shoulders and his jaw, apparently more for himself than David. "I'm just letting you know. I'm sorry that our reunion was so brief."

"Michael." Michael glanced up and finally looked him directly in the eyes. "You're a better man than you let the world see, you know."

Michael looked unsure of what to do with this. He glanced down for a moment. "I knew it. Marriage has made you soft," he muttered.

David caught Elena's eye again and gave a small shrug. She gave him a half smile. Michael, who had been watching this exchange, rolled his eyes in only the way a curmudgeonly gentleman can.

"I know what you're going to say. Besot—"

"Besotted," they both said at the same time. They sat in silence for a moment, in which both of them realized how brief their reunion might be. David knew he would miss him if he went to Washington. He only hoped that going to America might loosen him up a bit. Michael had always been so straitlaced and restrained, even as a young man. Thinking of memories of when they first met, he looked up at his old friend and smiled. The corner of Michael's mouth ticked up a fraction, and he nodded, his glance returning to the piano as if compelled. He hoped Michael wouldn't become the patron saint of lost causes, but if he wasn't accepting help, there wasn't much more that David could do.

Across the room, Henry had just made Elena laugh, and she threw back her head, the warm light catching the golden strands of her brown hair. He wasn't exaggerating when he said she looked spectacular earlier in the evening, as again, his eyes drank in how the sunset silk lovingly caressed all the lush curves of her body. The dress and the fact that she was wearing bright colors gave him hope tinged with melancholy. He felt wretched that his hope came at the expense of her belief that she would find her family one day. He had yet to hear back from the ambassador any news on their whereabouts. He wasn't even sure that he would be granted an annulment if she decided to leave after three years, but he wouldn't stop her if she wanted to go. He had promised her that. He had also written to the Foreign Office about the suspicious note from Anatole and further inquired about Elena's family, but perhaps he ought to go in person. He suddenly thought of Orpheus and Eurydice again. Like Orpheus, he knew he would do anything to save her from her own personal hell. Even if it meant that once he had gone through every outlet he could, he would turn around, and she would disappear into the air like Eurydice. But Orpheus had his lute and his musical gift from the gods. What did he have? A title, small fortune, some amount of power. That should do something. He resolved that he would go to the Foreign Office in person before they left for Grayston Park. He could do that much for her.

What a damnable situation they were in. He had been keeping his distance these past few days because the thought of her leaving was too painful. But he found distance painful as well, as he longed to make love to her or just talk and laugh with her like they used to. He wondered if he should just give in and enjoy the time he had with her, whether it was forever or just a few more months, for anything seemed better than this lonely longing. His gaze fell on Michael, who was determinedly not looking over at the piano. Maybe it was better to be like Michael and never confront or admit one's feelings. At that moment, Elena noticed him looking over at her, and she gave him that half smile, the one where she pursed her lips together, but both of her dimples appeared on her cheeks. It shot straight to his heart. No, he was glad he could and did acknowledge everything he felt, but he did not know where fate would lead them next. He hoped the peace and beauty of Grayston Park could be a new beginning, but right now, he felt tired and defeated.

****

David was quiet all the way home. As they climbed up the stairs of the townhouse that evening, he sighed and looked down at his wife.

"I tried, with Michael, I really tried."

"I know. Some people have trouble accepting help."

"I suppose." He seemed to be leaning on his cane more than usual. She looped her arm through his other arm to support him without being obvious about it.

"Husband, no one is a better friend than you. No one tries harder to watch out for the people they care about."

"If I'm such a good friend, why was I away for so long? What use was I?" She hadn't heard him sound so despondent since Balaclava as he went on. "Michael is leaving anyway. He might go to Washington."

Elena's heart went out to her husband and the sorrow in his voice. Here was someone who tried so hard to take care of everyone, to take care of her. She had to do something for him.

"Irene, can you take Goliath tonight?" Irene, who had been walking in front of them, stopped.

"Of course." Irene peered back at them with a raised eyebrow. "I have been taking him a lot lately."

"He just prefers you, I think." Irene gave them a suspicious look but ushered the dog, who had just come to greet them, down the hall with her.

As they reached his chambers, Elena led her husband by the hand to his bed.

"I'm going to take care of you. I'm going to be your valet tonight."

"Elena," he growled.

"No, you take care of everyone else, of me. Sometimes, someone must take care of you."

He held her gaze for a moment, seeming at war with himself. Then, finally, something broke in his eyes, and he sank to the bed, accepting her touch. She knelt to remove his tongue boots, running her hand down the inside of his leg and the blended texture of his trousers. She felt great satisfaction at the shiver she felt in turn.

"Elena, you'll ruin your dress."

"Well, we can do something about that." Thank goodness this dress was relatively easy to unlace compared to others. The garment was quite simple in its elegance, with the material and the draping doing the work of drawing the eye. She turned around as she removed her gloves, and set them down.

"Help me so I can help you." She could feel his hands tremble as he carefully unlaced her gown, and the thrill of anticipation coursed through her as he began to stroke her shoulder blades, lightly trailing a finger down her back.

She turned back around, letting the gown fall from her shoulders, then crept down her body to the ground. She stood there under her husband's hungry observation, bare in her chemise, corset, and layers of petticoats. She felt his gaze start at the base of her throat, then brazenly trail down to her breasts, cupping and caressing them with his gaze. As David stood and lifted her dress to hang it over a chair, she held out a hand and had him help her step out of her heavy crinoline. She then came to him and pushed off his unbuttoned tailcoat and waistcoat, then she stopped to admire him, taking a deep breath in. She had never realized it until that moment, but she so dearly loved the way he smelled. She couldn't quite name the scent, but it reminded her of a forest she had gotten lost in as a child. And yet, she hadn't been frightened as she wandered deeper and deeper into the woods. The scent of the trees made her feel safe but still intrigued, pressing her to go farther. That was the eternal lure of the woods, she mused as she began to unravel his cravat. It was both familiar and dangerous all at once. As her hand brushed his chest, she could feel his pounding heart against the heel of her hand, matching her own. As they both pulled his shirt over his head, she put her face against his chest, feeling warm and safe but also rather unbearably aroused. His arms went around her tightly as he dropped his head to her ear, his breath warm against her skin.

"I know you intended to take this at a slow pace, but I have another idea." He sought her eyes. "Trust me?"

She pursed her lips together and nodded, feeling giddy with anticipation. Suddenly, his trousers fell to the floor. He stepped out of them, then used his arms to cage her against the wall, at the same time meeting her mouth and kissing her deeply. As he held her against the wall, he stroked down her leg and wrapped it around him, and Elena put her arms around his neck as she drank in his kiss. It had never been like this before, raw and rough, with a bone-deep need to be filled completely and utterly. He pushed her remaining petticoats out of the way, and she felt his hand along the slit of her drawers, parting them as he sought her eyes again.

Yes? he mouthed.

Yes, she answered, more than ready for him, and he entered her with a deep thrust and a groan low in his throat, filling her and, at the same time, pushing her against the wall. This position felt different than before. Even though she was trapped against his body, she felt like they were racing together, running wild and free into oblivion. The pleasure was so exquisite it was almost unbearable. His lips went to her neck, and he found that spot, the spot that sent her into rapture as they moved together with greater speed and intensity. His hands then went to her chest as he pushed down her loosened corset and tore the top of her chemise, freeing her breasts.

His hands were rougher than usual, but she loved the raw adoration he gave her breasts, the animal need with which he massaged and grasped them as he pumped into her. Suddenly, she felt like she was reaching toward something, an even greater joy and longing. She began to feel her entire body shake as wave after wave crashed into her. She cried out at the same time he did, dropping her head to his shoulder. Slowly, he withdrew, and she lowered her leg to the ground. They stayed against the wall, wrapped up in each other for several moments. Elena pushed off her corset, drawers, and remaining petticoats and stood there in her sheer chemise, now torn so that it revealed that spot David liked so well, right between her breasts. He traced his finger from her collarbone down to that spot, and she saw his lips form a soundless word.

Mine.

She led her husband to the bedpost, then took a cloth and poured a small basin of water. She wrung out the cloth and then began to bathe his body. She moved the cloth carefully from his broad shoulders down his back to his well-muscled backside and legs, which were strong from all the exercises he did to regain his walking. She guided his arm to lean against the bedpost so he did not have to stand on his own for so long. Strangely, of all the things they had done together, this felt the most intimate. She could tell he felt the same. As she came to his front, she could see color flushing his face, spilling down his neck

"Elena, you don't have to do this." He put out his free hand as if to stop her.

She caught his wrist. "I want to. Tonight, I'm taking care of you, yes?"

"But—"

As she wrang out the cloth, she carefully brought it down the length of him, and he seemed to lose the power of speech. She smiled as his arousal was clearly returning. She wrang out the cloth again, then worked her way up his body. She had to look up as he was at least a head taller than her, and what she saw in his eyes floored her. She dropped the cloth and found herself in his arms again, his skin hot and damp.

"I love you, Elena," he whispered against her ear, "I love you so much. Stay with me."

In response, she kissed him deeply, saying everything with her body she couldn't yet say in words. She used her tongue to tease open his mouth, but going slowly, gently, unlike their rough and raw coupling moments before. She could feel the heat of his body through her thin chemise. She ought to take it off, but she liked the rough sensations it made against her skin. As they broke apart, he sat on the bed, looking away from her.

"I did not withdraw in time."

She stared at him for a moment, then thought back to their coupling. She hummed in understanding.

"Nothing would please me more than having a child with you. But I want you to be able to go back to your family if…" He sighed deeply, running a hand through his hair, then went on. "If that is what you decide to do. I wanted to stay away from you until we found out, but I don't think it is possible for me to do so. In that case, perhaps it would be wise if, in the future, I try to withdraw before completion. Or we could use French letters. You know what those are?"

"Yes." She dipped her head. Anatole had used what David called French letters, and she had heard them talked about in the hospital among women before. She understood what he was saying and why he was saying it, but her heart and body rebelled. She loved their intimacy, their skin against each other's skin. It didn't make all the horrible moments from her past completely go away, but the memories were fewer and far between. She was so happy to feel pleasure and desire again with him that she didn't want to change a thing. But if she found out her family was alive, could she bear to have a child she might have to leave behind? Could she bear to leave him behind? She had longed for her family for so long that she had not stopped to consider what her life would actually be like if she were to go back. Those were questions for another day, and so she brushed them aside for now.

"You are wise, Husband." She pulled her chemise over her head, leaving her only in her stockings, and she pushed him back onto the bed, angling herself over him as his gaze hungrily roamed her body.

For some reason, she felt lighthearted, and playfully emphasized her accent as she said, "Let us try, how do you say, withdrawal this time, yes?"

His expression changed, and he broke into a wicked smile. And no more was spoken that night.