The Endless Forest
Page 118

“I understand,” he said. “But if you’ll let me explain—”
“Daniel!”
He was trying not to laugh. “Don’t ever play at cards, Martha. You’ll go bankrupt in a half hour.”
She said, “Let me be clear. I really don’t want to know about other women you’ve been with.” She thought: in Paradise? here in Johnstown? girls I know? And she bit down hard on her lip.
He was saying, “Why do you assume I’ve been with a lot of women?”
It was a reasonable question. She took a moment to think about it. “It would be better than hearing about one special person.”
He ran a finger down the length of her arm and she jerked. “There isn’t anybody like that. I’m not bound to anybody by affection or habit. I would have told you so.”
Martha let out a breath. “All right then.”
“But that still leaves your curiosity unanswered.”
She threw up her hands. “Go ahead and tell me. I want names and dates and details.”
“That I can’t give you,” Daniel said with mock seriousness. “But I could show you.”
She heard herself draw in a shocked breath. “I have no interest in meeting—whoever it is you’re talking about.”
Daniel rubbed a knuckle along his upper lip.
“I don’t know why you jump to the worst conclusions. There’s nobody to introduce you to. What I know I learned from a book.” And: “Martha, if you could see the look on your face.”
“I don’t believe you,” she stuttered. “I don’t believe such a book exists. Who would write such a thing? Who would read it? Why did you read it? Never mind. I don’t want to know. Do booksellers have such things available for anyone who asks?”
“Not every bookseller, no. I ordered it from a bookshop in London. It’s a novel, but of a particular sort.”
“A novel. Like Miss Austen’s Pride and Prejudice, or Mr. Scott’s Ivanhoe, or that novel that your mother dislikes so much, what was it called—”
“The Pioneers. A work of fiction, a novel. Yes. That’s what I mean. Though I am fairly sure my mother has never read Adventures of a French Lady of Leisure.”
He was neither embarrassed nor flustered, and moreover, it was clear he was not going to drop the subject. Nor could she really criticize him for that because she was having a difficult time convincing herself—much less him—that she had no interest in this book of his. If it existed.
He was saying, “It’s about a young Frenchwoman named Marie-Rose de la Force. She is very curious about the world.”
Martha bit her cheek but the question came out anyway. “A Frenchwoman?”
“Oui,” Daniel said, and she heard herself giggle. It was time to take things in hand.
She said, “Don’t tell me any more.”
“As you wish,” Daniel said. “It would be easier to show you, anyway.”
She went still. “You have the book with you?”
“Your enthusiasm makes me cheerful. It bodes well for our marital happiness.”
She pinched him.
“Ow!” He laughed and pulled away. “Of course I don’t have it here. It’s at home. We could read it aloud in the evenings if you like.”
She knew she was sputtering, and she knew too that her outrage was not completely sincere; what she was feeling was more a tingling curiosity. A book. He had read about those things they had done in this very bed in a book. About a French lady.
Better to put it out of her mind.
He had moved closer, and now he whispered in her ear. “It’s a long book,” he said. “It will take us ages to work through it.”
A flush ran up Martha’s body from deep in her belly. Her breasts felt heavy and her nipples had hardened enough to make her chemise peak.
“If you are trying to seduce me,” Martha said, “you’re investing a great deal of effort for a foregone conclusion. And if I may say, I hope I’m at least as interesting as a book.”
“Darlin’,” he said. “You’ve got my undivided attention.”
This time there was something new between them. A playfulness, as rough as puppies but far more serious.
Daniel lifted his head to say, “Do you know what this is called?”
And she batted at him so that he laughed harder and pinned her wrist down, levered himself over her and kissed her breathless.
Oh, she was curious. She had to admit that to herself at least. There were so many questions she might have asked, but Daniel’s touch made them all go away. Once again standing over her, he lifted her up to him with his good hand, and she watched him, every nerve firing, as he fit himself to her and then settled exactly where she needed him to be.
“Oh,” she said. “Ooh là là.”
Chapter XXXIX
Paradise the rain came down in winding sheets and mist rose up from the ground and hovered over the town, like a lid on a boiling pot, rattling angrily and threatening to fly off. Not even noon, and two storms had already passed through. And more was coming, by the smell of the air.
Birdie tried to block out the conversation behind her, but without luck.
Adam was saying, “They might still be back today. And then school will start tomorrow.”
The little people could hardly wait for school to start. Even John, who was two years shy of being able to go himself. The only one of them who was unhappy about all this was Eliza. Her sister Amelie and her cousins Mariah and Isabel would be going to school, and she would have to stay behind with the babies. Her eyes swam with tears that she tried to blink away. Birdie felt protective of Eliza, who was just a little too young to fit in.