in the country, a few subtle suggestions, and Dorning would become Richard’s spy in truth.
Chapter Seven
For a year after Dirk’s death, Vera had endured the waking ritual of drowsing in bed, knowing the day must be begun, and knowing that leaving her bed meant confronting some great sadness. A sanguine intention to rise and see to the tasks at hand was sent toppling into the ditch of grief as she faced the realization again—and again and again—that Dirk was gone forever.
Vera had loved her husband, she hadn’t always liked him. He had doubtless held her in dubious regard from time to time as well, but particularly after Alexander’s birth, they had learned to rub along in charity with each other. Dirk’s intimate demands on her had slowed considerably after the first year of marriage, while his affectionate displays had become more frequent.
And Vera had missed that, missed the cuddling and talking, the walking hand in hand, the friendly good-morning and good-night kisses. She missed the smiles and casual familiarities that she and her husband had shared.
To awaken in a man’s embrace was thus lovely, a fragile dream to be cherished until cruel reality once again intruded. Birdsong pierced the predawn chill beyond the window, but under the covers, all was marvelously cozy and content.
Very cozy, in fact.
Exceedingly cozy.
Vera’s waking mind registered the fact that she truly was in a man’s embrace. She lay on her side, facing the window. Her companion was ranged along her back like a heated blanket, his arm draped around her waist.
He was not Dirk. This fellow was appreciably taller and leaner. He smelled of lavender soap rather than the Continental fragrances Dirk had favored. He apparently slept without a nightshirt, and without being able to say why, Vera was pleased to find him in her bed.
The mists of sleep thinned the last increment, and Vera recalled inviting Oak Dorning to join her in bed.
“You’re awake,” he said, making no move to shift away.
“As are you.” An understatement, given the length of hard male flesh pressed against Vera’s bum. “Have we become lovers?”
“We have not.” Soft lips pressed against the side of Vera’s neck. “Not yet. You were far gone in sleep when I joined you. I was tired, and here we are.”
“I can’t remember when I’ve slept so well.” Vera recalled many occasions when Dirk had roused her from deep slumber, not a word spoken between them for the duration of the coupling. She’d accommodated him, sometimes without entirely waking, and regarded that variety of lovemaking as a wifely obligation easily dispatched.
“I slept soundly too,” Oak said, lacing his fingers with hers. “I dreamed of you. You were tangled in green and purple quilts, trying to thrash loose but exhausted. I so wanted to peel the covers away and reveal the bare glory of you as the Creator fashioned you. I wanted to let you sleep, too, though, to rest.”
“Green and purple quilts? That feels good.” His hand trailed over Vera’s hip and around her bottom in a slow, kneading caress. She abruptly wished to be free of her nightgown and in the next instant wished that sunrise was hours away.
“Shall we make love, Vera?” Oak asked, nuzzling her ear. “Shall we begin our day with mutual pleasuring?”
He was as hard as an andiron, and yet, he asked for her participation. That question solved a riddle in Vera’s mind relating to those silent couplings she’d shared with her husband. She liked lovemaking, liked the closeness of it.
Dirk’s husbandly presumption had undermined any true intimacy, though, and left a vague residue of annoyance where only affection ought to have been.
“We can make love,” Vera said. “The household will soon be stirring, though. We’d best hurry.”
She wanted to use her toothpowder and halfway had to use the chamber pot. When Dirk had indulged in morning copulation, his goal had been quick satisfaction, not languid lovemaking.
Oak Dorning, given the chance, would be a very different sort of lover.
His touch on her flank disappeared. “Is a hurried moment how we’re to begin?” He eased her cotton nightgown aside and kissed her nape. “The sun isn’t even up yet, and I locked the bedroom door before joining you under the covers, Vera.”
Thank goodness for that bit of caution. “A sip of water would be appreciated,” Vera said, struggling to sit up.
Oak sat up as well and passed her the glass of water he’d apparently poured for himself before climbing into bed.
“Having second thoughts, Vera?”
She was thirsty, as it happened, and