three to yield the right of way to a big white cow in a Jaipur street. The cow had prevailed, but she had called it a very naughty cow and its owner had requested baksheesh to salve his pride. Then there was the gaily decorated little wagon in which she took her dolls, Indian and European, out for an airing-he had done a wonderful sketch of it and many other drawings of Susannah.
His swift pen had captured her sturdy body and cropped hair, and a characteristic look of mischief in her eyes, as well as a definite and stubborn pout. But her father wrote that her pout that would turn quickly to a smile at the sight of an animal or bird, which he deftly sketched as well.
Once she had reached the awkward age, he hadn’t stopped adding to the book. That was a time she scarcely wanted to remember-the swinging between extremes of emotion, gloom one day, glee the next-and the way she had felt suddenly and dreadfully far too tall and too, well, womanly.
The final pages were begun when her father knew he was gravely ill, and they constituted his last words to her: So loving and so warm and so encouraging that she could not read them without dissolving in tears at first.
By now she had memorized most of it, especially the final page:
In his way, he had. And now, of course, she had Carlyle. Wherever her father was-not in heaven, not in hell, but perhaps in an afterlife that allowed for a few pleasurable sins-he would have approved of that.
As unconventional as their love was, it was exactly what she wanted, sustaining her heart and soul. She had meant the vows she’d spoken and so had he.
Much later that night, she lay under him after their lovemaking, giggling drowsily as he lavished caresses on her breasts, kissing them noisily and moving up her neck to growl in her ear and make her laugh some more.
Susannah had never regretted choosing him. No one else could make her feel this way and she wanted no other man. Of late she had been considering having his child. Considering his skill at the ultimate kiss-and the similar skills she had learned to satisfy him-she had not yet conceived, but that was all to the good.
They had spent many months exploring the techniques in the old book he had taken from Dr. Josephus’s library. She had even managed to decipher some of the ancient script and set it down in erotic poems, creating a pillow book for the two of them to read together. There was nothing he was not eager to try, but it had been some while before he permitted himself to penetrate her, waiting until he thought she was ready, and pleasuring her in myriad other ways.
He really did spoil her, no matter how much he complained about her imperial tendencies in and out of bed, simply because it amused him to do so. Susannah sighed with happiness when he lifted himself off and curled around her, one hand between her legs. She was slick and he-she felt the nudge from an eager shaft-he was hard again.
“Ahh. May I, my love?”
She decided to deny him. “I am not ready.”
His gentle fingers probed and teased. “I beg to differ. Mmm. Swollen and soft. Made for me.” He swept her tangled hair off her neck and bit her nape very nicely.
Susannah wriggled, pushing her bottom back against the curve made by his thighs and lower belly.
He groaned. “You are a tease.”
“Far from it. I have not recovered from our first time.” She pushed his exploring hand away. “Your lovemaking was so splendid and you-you are so virile that I have folded my petals, so to speak.”
He snorted and put his hand back where it had been. “And I shall open them.”
Susannah clamped her thighs around his hand.
“My heavens, what a powerful grip you have.” He pretended to be unable to yank his hand out, twiddling his fingers between her legs in a way she found irresistibly exciting. It was not easy to hold off, but it was amusing.
Carlyle forced his thigh between hers to open them. At last, laughing, she rolled on her back and let him top her again. But he did not enter her body at once, just looked down at her with love in his eyes.
Susannah looked at him quizzically. “Why are you waiting? What do you want?”
“Oh…just give me a kiss, Mrs. Jameson.”
She did.
