Chapter Eighteen #4
“What is it?” she asked, terrified, when she felt him shivering. Her heart was racing as fast as his was as he sat holding her, his hands stroking her bare back, “You can tell me, honestly.”
“I tell you honestly you’re perfect,” he said hoarsely, “that’s why I stopped.
I thought I could go on, and bring you some little foretaste…
but I’m not so good as I thought I was—or maybe it’s because you’re better than I could’ve guessed.
Damn,” he said, as he felt her tremble, and he held her at arm’s length and gazed at her with hungry eyes.
“You’re just too beautiful. Come on. I’ll help you get everything hitched together again. ”
“No. I mean,” she said, squeezing her eyes closed. “It’s not necessary—you can—go ahead, if you want. Really.”
“The hell I can!” he exclaimed angrily. “Excuse my language,” he said more temperately, “but what do you think I am?”
“I thought,” she said, her own hands coming up despite herself, to cover herself, as he turned and fumbled among her discarded garments to find something for her to put on again, “we would…I thought it would be best if we tried it now.”
He stopped and gazed at her, astonished.
“Well, it wouldn’t be,” he said.
He looked at the pile of clothes on the couch and carpet, “Lord, what is it that you had on first?” he asked, fishing up her chemise.
“No, it would never be best, or ever better,” he continued, picking up the pair of cotton drawers she pointed to with a shaking finger, “if we finished what we started. What would we gain? You’d know you could marry me with a clear conscience?
Yeah, sure. And then spend the rest of our lives together thinking how I covered all my bets first, how I had to be dead- certain sure everything was perfect before I said ‘I do’?
And maybe, just maybe, hating me a little for it, huh?
“And if it didn’t work. Oho!” he said vehemently, as he tossed her chemise over her head and picked up her corset.
“What about how shamed you’d feel then? Even when I insisted we marry, wouldn’t you just spend the rest of our lives wondering if it was pity or guilt, not love, that made me insist?
And I’d insist, either way, believe me. But if you refused no matter what I said—and I won’t take a bride to the altar with a gun at her back—who would you hate more all your life—yourself or me?
“No,” he said a little more calmly, as he turned her around and started lacing her up.
“No way. You’re a fine little actress, but we can’t pretend we’re just some hotheaded young courting couple that got carried away, either.
Though it was a near thing,” he muttered.
“No. If we marry, it’s going to be like regular folks, with half a heart full of trust, and the other half full of hope.
“The only guarantee I want is that you love me. Saying yes is the only way to show me that. You never said anything,” he said seriously, his hands pausing on her corset strings, before he pulled them so tight she gasped.
“Don’t think I didn’t notice it. I may talk West, but I know East, North, and South, too.
You love me— you marry me. That’s all there is to it. ”
“I won’t be able to do anything if I can’t breathe,” she said, springing up from the couch and taking the laces in her own hands.
“A tiny waist is one thing, strangulation another,” she complained, glad of something else to talk about as she scrambled into the rest of her clothing.
She was almost done when she turned around to see him holding her puffy, lacy demi-bustle pad at arm’s length, like Hamlet with Yorick’s skull, with a bemused expression on his face.
She laughed, only stopping when she managed to snatch it back and tie it on again.
Then his tender expression made her want to weep.
“I don’t know,” she said at last, looking down at her toes, “I don’t know. What I want to do, and what I ought to do, and what’s best for both of us to do—ah, Gray, I have to be sure they’re all the same thing.”
“Now, here’s a funny thing,” he said, rising, coming to stand before her, and holding her hands, “for all I want you, I won’t wait forever.
I can’t. It’s not just desire, I guess it’s pride, too,” he smiled crookedly.
“There’s nothing so sappy as a perennial suitor.
I won’t wait backstage with roses until I look old enough to look right doing it. I’ll need an answer soon.”
She nodded and swallowed hard.
“You’ll have one,” she promised, “soon. I’ve got tomorrow night to get through.
Then I’ll be able to decide about the rest of my life.
Only, Gray,” she said, bowing her head until it touched his chest, “I can promise you one thing right now. If I don’t say yes to you, I’ll never say yes to anyone—except maybe for business reasons. ”
“Now that,” he said, sighing, “don’t make me feel a whole lot better.”
He kissed her hair and let her go.
“Now you’re going home to your respectable landlady,” he said, plucking her outer garments from his hall rack, “because tomorrow night, you’ll be making the most spectacular debut ever seen in New York City.”
“Do you know?” she asked, pausing at his door as he helped her on with her coat.
“I’d forgotten that entirely. I was so anxious about tomorrow night, but now its the least of my worries.
I don’t think it will be any problem at all now, because suddenly I’ve got a much bigger one to think about.
I suppose,” she said with as much wonder as slowly dawning delight, “it’s cured my stage fright altogether! ”
She would always remember the smile he wore at that moment, because it was a bittersweet mix of love, laughter, and pain.
“Glad to be of service, ma’am,” he said wryly, and took her arm and ushered her out before she could think of a thing to say to heal the inadvertent wound that truth had given him.