And now they were. She was his wife, she was coquettish for his delight and he was filled with joy and pulsating. Thank God for that, he thought, monumentally relieved--he had worried for weeks, reliving the Yoshiwara girl, when nothing had worked. "Angel," he said throatily.
Shyly she stepped out of her pantaloons and slip and walked over to the gimballed lamp and turned the wick down, leaving just enough light, more strikingly lovely than he had imagined--the sight of her naked body was like a dream, and at the same time achingly, vividly real. Without hurry she climbed into the other side of the bunk and lay alongside him.
Whispering words of love, hands touching, exploring, his breathing heavy, moving closer, breath catching painfully when he moved, lips hot and kisses passionate. Her own hands tentative, carefully controlled, all her mind concentrated on the picture of happy, innocent first love that she wanted him to have of her-- desperate to please but a little frightened.
"Oh Malcolm, oh Malcolm..."
Murmuring and kissing him deeply, loving him-- praying that what Babcott had said in answer to her questions, "Don't worry, for a time he won't be able to ride comfortably, or dance a polka brilliantly, but that doesn't matter, he can drive a coach-and-four, captain a ship, run the Noble House, sire many children--and be the best husband ever..."
Her need for him was strong now. But she modulated it, checking her own desire, sticking to the plan, helping and guiding and then a sharp gasp, never wavering, now holding him tightly, reacting and reacting until so soon he cried out, her whole body rocked by the contortions of his release and cries that went on and on and then his helpless, panting, dead weight crushing her--but not crushing her.
How odd that I can bear his weight so easily, everything fitting together, she thought, her mouth whispering sweet and tender words, soothing his panting whimpers, content that their first joining had been accomplished so pleasingly.
He was half conscious, lost in some strange plateau, weightless, empty, feeling nothing yet sated with love for this incredible creature who, nude, was all that he imagined and more. The smell and taste and being of her. Every part of him satisfied. Everything worthwhile. In euphoria. Now she's mine and I was manly and she was womanly and oh Christ I hope I didn't hurt her.
"Are you all right, Angel?" he asked huskily, his heart slowing but still hardly able to talk. "I didn't hurt you?"
"Oh no, my darling... I love you so much."
"So, so do I, Angel, I can't tell you enough." He kissed her and began to lift his weight on to his elbows.
"No, don't move, not yet, please, I like you like th-- What is it, my darling?" she said nervously, her arms tightening.
"Nothing, nothing at all," he muttered, dealing with the sudden pain from his loins that stabbed into the base of his skull as he had moved.
Cautiously, he tried again, better this time. And he stopped the groan this time.
"Don't move, Malcolm," she said tenderly, "stay still, rest, mon amour, I like you like this, please... please."
Gratefully he obeyed, starting to murmur how much he loved her, so comfortable, so possessed, so peaceful, so utterly satisfied, to drift into sleep, to sleep deeply. The ship's bell sounded one bell: half-past midnight but he did not stir, and she lay there, calmed and soothed and gratified, her future launched, enjoying the quiet of the cabin, timbers creaking sometimes, waves lapping the hull, savoring the sensation of fulfillment too.
Without waking him, she slid from under him and went to the bathroom and cleansed herself. She sighed and begged forgiveness. A nick with the small knife.
Andr`e had said, "It's difficult, almost impossible for a man to tell if the girl's a virgin or not on their wedding night if he has no reason to suspect, a little fear, a gasp at the right time, a little telltale blood the clincher, and in the morning all will be serene and as it should be."
What an awful cynic Andr`e is, she thought.
God protect me from him and forgive me my sins --I'm glad I'm married, and soon off to Hong Kong so I won't need to think about him ever again, just my Malcolm...
She almost danced over to the bunk. Softly into bed to hold his hand and close her eyes, seeing glorious mind pictures of their future. I do love him so.
Suddenly she was awake, thinking she had felt another earthquake. The cabin was dark, just the barest flame of the gimballed lamp, swaying slightly. Then she remembered dimming it before she slept, realizing the sound that had awakened her was the ship's bell and not the pealing of the cathedral during the earthquake of her dreams, the earthquake only the ship's movement, none of the dream bad. Then, seeing him there beside her, she experienced a loving glow, unlike anything before, knowing they were married and that not a dream either.
Four bells? 2:00 A.m. Or 6:00 A.m.? No, silly, it can't be, or there would be light outside the portholes and Malcolm said he had to go ashore before we slip anchor for civilization to beard the Dragon in her lair-- no, to greet a mother-in-law I will charm and beguile who will quickly love me and be the perfect adoring grandmother.
She watched him in the half-light. He was sleeping on his side, his head cradled in his right arm, his sleeping face without care lines, breathing soft, his body warm with his good, clean manly smell. This is my husband and I love him and am only his and the other never happened. How lucky I am!
Her hand began to touch him. He stirred. His hand reached for her too. Not quite awake he said, "Hello, Angel."
"Je t'aime."
"Je t'aime aussi."
His hand sought her. She responded. Caught unawares he flinched and turned to her, held his breath as a pain leapt to the back of his eyes, and then, as it passed, exhaled.
"Je t'aime, cheri," she said and leaned down to kiss him, and between kisses whispered, "No, don't move, stay there, stay still," and added with a little laugh, her voice husky with need, "Lie still, mon amour."
In moments passion swamped him. Aroused and throbbing, everything forgotten, now sensuality shared and now moving slowly and slowly and then quicker and slow again and deeper, her voice throaty, urging him, him reacting, on and on, stronger and stronger, all his glands and muscles and yearning centering, centering until she was near and very near, and going and near again, holding her, helping her, thrusting until she sensed her body vanish, her weight vanish, everything vanish and she collapsed on him, her spasms and cries pulling him further into her, his muscles stretched to the limit by his final thrust. Then and then and then he too cried out and was weightless, his body grinding of its own accord, pumping of its own accord, until the last, frenzied so welcomed spasm passed and all movement ceased.
Only panting breaths mixed, sweat mixed, hearts mixed.
In time he became conscious. Her sleeping weight on his chest was as nothing. He lay there in wonder, vibrantly aware, euphoric, one arm holding her safe, knowing she was comely as ever a wife could be. Her breath cooled his cheeks, long and slow and deep. His head was cleansed and future clear, without a shred of self-doubt.
Utterly sure that he had been right to marry her, certain that now he could end the conflict with his mother and that together they would end the Brocks, as he would end Norbert, end opium sales and cannon sales, and persuade Jamie to stay, and he would rule Struan's as it should be ruled--as the tai-pan would want it ruled. Until, with the fullness of time, he would have done his duty and made the Noble House first in Asia again, to pass it on to the next tai-pan, the firstborn son they would name Dirk, first of many sons and many daughters.