Redemption - Leon Uris [332]
Brodhead had peeked at some of her famous nudes at Rathweed Hall, although they were now out of public eye.
Brodhead wrestled with the top of a champagne bottle, and its blast spilled on him. Caroline assured him there was plenty more and suggested he, too, make himself comfortable. He returned in a silk brocade bathrobe of Asian design. Between mentally undressing her and continuing his suspicions, his unease became apparent.
“How did you manage to get all the supplies in?” he asked.
“There’s a large-wheeled pushcart in the barn for just that purpose.”
“Of course, how stupid of me.”
“I don’t blame you for being suspicious—” she began.
“Blast,” he interrupted. “This is all a bit new to me. It doesn’t feel quite natural without a platoon of guards.”
“I quite understand. Cheers, this will help settle things.”
About three-quarters through the bottle, a second one was uncorked and Llewelyn promenaded before the fire, hands clasped behind him, up on his toes, down and up on his toes again. On the sofa nearby, Caroline played her cleavage and bared leg to perfection and his attention became riveted.
If there was one thing Caroline Hubble was the master of, it was making her company feel at home. Comfortable he became. Two and a half decades of wondering about her would soon be realized.
The meal was exquisite.
He made a grope or two and she countered with an ethereal quality to touch in a way that he never had felt before or knew existed.
“I’m a dullard, Caroline, a bit unsure of myself.”
“You won’t be when we’re through, General, we’re on my battlefield now,” she said, “and stopping time slowly is what we’re going to do.”
“Woman, you are magnificent. Why me, or is that not to ask?”
“It wouldn’t have been proper of me to let my years of affection be known to you. I’ve always been amazed by your strength and single purpose, and you’re straightforward, as a British officer should be. I’ve always loved those things about you. Alas, dear Roger, along with his decent side, was a very devious human being. And alas, Gorman is certainly not all that much of a man beside you.”
“Why do you keep him around?”
“There aren’t many men I care to be with. And those I might want, I can’t have. Gorman is soft and entertaining, knows a lot of mutual jolly people.”
“I want to do this job here in Ireland with such finality, the War Council must give me a command in France,” he said suddenly. “I am going to return a field marshal.” He caught his breath. “I want to be able to come to you on an equal basis, and as the strongest and most gallant man you’ve ever met.”
“Maybe I can help, quietly, of course.”
“Would You?”
“Llewelyn, what do you want me to say? I don’t give myself easily. I am very taken by the thought of the power we could share.”
“May I sit beside you, Caroline?”
“First, pour us a little Irish, something with a bit more snap to it.”
Much of her lovemaking with Roger depended on her ability to fantasize, mostly to herself. Toward the end of their relation ship, she found him disgusting but played a role of feigning enjoyment. Can’t take that away from a man. It is his basis of his existence. Brodhead believed his uniform was the basis of his existence. Nonsense, he was no different. All of them were the same…except…Conor Larkin.
The slug of Irish whiskey helped a bit. Her revulsion toward Llewelyn Brodhead turned to hatred. You son of a bitch, she said to herself as she smiled and looked lovingly, while he reached inside her robe and grabbed a breast.
She slowed him down with sweet kisses and whispers and he was awed into understanding that the game had a rhythm. Thank God, Caroline knew what was on his platter soon. The thought of it allowed her to translate his nauseating touches into an ecstasy. She ran her fingers through his hair and repeated, “Slowly, darling, softly,” as his lips searched her neck and shoulders like a hungry hyena.
Another grand jolt of Irish whiskey. Rory was right. Sir Llewelyn could not hold his booze.