Chapter Ten

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Amazing, unbelievable, astonishing, impossible...

There aren’t words strong enough to describe the chaotic emotions filling me over this strange turn of events. If I weren’t so worried for Catherine’s peace of mind, I can’t imagine what my feelings would be. During out last year together, I’ve felt how difficult it’s grown for Catherine to keep her emotions under control, how she’s battled to keep her desires hidden from me, ever in silent submission to the wordless barriers I’d erected. And now our positions are reversed.

Amazing. Unbelievable. Astonishing. Impossible. Impossible to imagine such a thing in my wildest dreams.

Vincent looked up from his journal to gaze at the woman sleeping just feet away in his bed. She wore the same nightclothes she’d gone to sleep in above hours earlier, and Vincent remembered them well – it was the same two piece glittery skirt and crop top she’d worn when hanging her new sheers just over two weeks ago, the same outfit she’d worn in his dreams since that night. He resolutely turned his mind from that thought and shook his head, bemused. She barely made a bump beneath the quilted covers, and his heart contracted at the fragility of her appearance in that wide and masculine expanse. He sighed and bent back to the open book before him once more.

I know what has to be done, but dare I? Do I have the courage?

He stared at the words intently, contemplating the questions there. He didn’t know if he had the strength to do such a thing. Indeed his hands trembled at the very thought. Finally he brought his emotions under control, at least sufficiently so as to continue writing, though his script was a littler shakier than it usually was.

Whether I have the strength or not, whether I have the courage or not, is irrelevant. I will do what I must, for Catherine.

He paused for a moment, rereading the last sentence, then bent forward and resolutely added two others.

I’ll do what I must for us both. I will not be the obstacle to the fulfillment of our bond – not any more.

* * *

"Vincent?"

Vincent woke from his nap abruptly and sat upright in his chair, the knitted throw falling away from him as he did. Catherine lay on her side, motionless in his bed, but her eyes were open and she was watching him, a confused look on her face. He glanced at the 24-hour candle and saw that he been sleeping for almost two hours.

"How did I get here? I don’t remember…"

"Peter helped me bring you below at about three this morning," he replied.

"How did you manage that?" she asked, incredulous.

"In the elevator," he said. "Don’t worry, we didn’t meet anyone along the way," he added quickly, at her horrified expression.

"What in the world made you do such a thing?" she asked, frowning suddenly.

"I couldn’t leave you above," he replied simply. "But never mind that right now. Tell me how you feel."

She shut her mouth with a snap, and warily considered his question, her expression now guarded. Finally she shrugged; "I feel fine. Really, Vincent, it was nothing. I just had a bit too stressful a week at work, and Peter unfortunately bore the brunt of it."

The words were at odds with both the lines in her face and the sudden tension in her voice. Vincent sat motionless, silently considering her words, but she read something in his eyes that made her uncomfortable, and quickly scanned the room about her, trying to distract him.

"What time is it?" she asked, as she sat up, drawing the covers high about her.

He stood up and moved forward to sit gingerly beside her on the edge of the mattress.

"It’s almost six o’clock in the evening."

"Six o’clock?!" She looked stunned.

He nodded and reached out to brush her bangs aside, so that he could see her eyes more clearly.

"Twenty-four hours," she whispered, as though to herself. Suddenly she glanced up at him abruptly. "The concert!"

"Not until eight," he replied quickly. "Don’t worry, there’s plenty of time." He paused, then continued on. "Catherine, we need to talk."

A frantic look appeared in her eyes at those words, but disappeared again in an instant, and through the bond he felt the same sudden wave and absence of emotion that correlated to her change in expression.

"I’m starving and I’m sticky. Dinner and a bath is what I need right now, not talk," she added, trying to infuse her tone with a teasing lightness.

He held her gaze but she managed to control her own admirably. He nodded, about to give in, but when his eyes dropped from hers, he noticed that her lower lip trembled.

"Catherine…"

"Ah, you’re awake."

Both turned toward the door abruptly, surprised by Mary’s sudden presence.

"Yes, finally," Catherine said with a relieved smile. "I was just telling Vincent how hungry I am. Do you think William might have some dinner left for a straggler?" she asked.

"William always has something for a straggler," Mary teased in turn. "Why don’t I bring a tray here for you both?"

"Thank you, Mary," Catherine replied, accepting quickly. "In that case, maybe I can squeeze in a quick bath first?"

"Of course you can. And if you’ll give me your nightclothes, Ellen will wash them. They’ll likely be dry by the time the concert’s over," she added.

"Really? That’s amazing."

"We have a few tunnels here that get some strong cross-winds – Ellen staked out those areas long ago for the laundry’s use."

Catherine pressed a hand lightly against Vincent shoulder, her message unmistakable, and he reluctantly rose so that she could move out of the bed and past him.

"Why don’t you put the lanterns out for Catherine, dear," Mary asked, turning her attention to Vincent as Catherine paused in the middle of the room, glancing in his direction.

He nodded and turned to retrieve two unlit lanterns by the door, then disappeared around the corner in the direction of the bathing pool.

"Take your time in the bath, Catherine," Mary said, returning her attention to the slight woman, who was now standing with her back to her as she tugged off her rumpled nightclothes. Mary handed her a tunnel robe in exchange for the uptop garments and Catherine belted it securely about her naked body. "You could probably use a long soak after sleeping so long. I’ll bring your dinner back in about forty-five minutes. And don’t worry," she added quickly, seeing the concern on the younger woman’s face as she turned to face her once more. "You won’t miss the concert."

Catherine nodded gratefully, then turned to step into the slippers she found waiting for her near Vincent’s reading table. They left the chamber together, Mary turning right to take the path that led to the main tunnel of the hub, and Catherine turning left, to continue down the small side passage that dead-ended in the bathing pool Vincent shared with Father. About fifteen yards down, she encountered Vincent on his return.

"Catherine…" he began.

"Vincent, do you still have the clothes I wore when I stayed below after my father died?" she asked, quickly interrupting him.

He nodded. "Of course. They’re in my chamber."

"Good. Mary said she would bring our dinner in forty-five minutes, so I’ll make sure and be back by then." She moved quickly past him without waiting for a reply.

Vincent watched her rapid retreat, frowning, and after a moment turned and continued on toward his chamber.

Catherine sank into the warm depths of the pool, immersing herself in the buoyant and soothing darkness. Bubbles trickled slowly from her nose as she stared up, watching the flickering lights from the torch reflect off the almost motionless surface above. It was eerie and silent, and strangely satisfying. Finally the last of her air was gone. She closed her eyes and stood up slowly, breaking the surface of the water with a sigh of regret. When she brushed her hair back from her face and cleared the water from her eyes, the first sight that greeted her was Vincent. With an inarticulate gasp of sound, she abruptly sank down until the water was almost to her chin, though the water reached just above her breast-line when she stood on the pool floor anyway.

"Your clothes, Catherine," he said, setting a folded bundle on the ledge near the far wall.

"Thank you," she replied, suddenly breathless once more, waiting motionless for him to leave.

But he didn’t leave. Instead he pulled off his cloak and let it fall across the boulders arranged before the ledge.

"What…?"

"Do you mind if I share your bath?"

As he spoke the words, he was already pulling off one boot, as though the answer was a given.

"It’s been a long day," he added, pulling off the other one and setting both beside the entrance.

Catherine’s eyes widened.

His socks followed quickly, but these he tossed into the empty wicker basket that sat beside the one loaded with fresh towels, bottles of shampoo and fragrant bars of hand-made soap. Glancing at the pool-side ledge and finding it empty, he pulled two bottles of shampoo from the basket, along with two bars of soap. One of each was tinting a pale shade of pink, while the others were an equally pale shade of green. Catherine knew that the helper who made these items used two recipes, one scented with floral essence and the other with herbal. A minute amount of pink and green food coloring was sufficient to distinguish between each. Next to those items, Vincent set a stack of fluffy cotton towels then stood up and stripped off his blue woolen sweater. It went the way of his socks.

Catherine blinked in astonishment and stepped back into the shadows of the pool as Vincent tugged the cream-colored thermal shirt from the waist-band of his trousers and pulled it over his head, tossing it unerringly into the waiting basket. He was just as she remembered him that night almost a month ago, when he had brought her here just days after the fall. Strong muscles, ripped and defined, were clearly visible beneath the golden coating of silky hair. Against his broad chest lay the leather pouch containing her rose, and he slipped it over his head and carefully wrapped the thong about it protectively before turning to set it well out of harms way on the chest-high ledge lining the far wall behind the boulders. She gasped as his muscles rippled silkily under taut flesh with each motion, stepping back further and covering her mouth with dismay. She couldn’t believe he was doing this, even though he’d done it once before. That was then, and things had been so different…

Her thoughts scattered as his hands rose to undo the buttons of his trousers. No, he couldn’t, he wouldn’t…

But he did. The pause that followed was almost impossible to catch, especially in her current state of shocked disbelief, and then he had stripped the trousers down his long legs and stepped out of them. He still stood with his back to her, near the far wall and she couldn’t take her eyes off him, despite the discomfort she knew he must be feeling now. She was sure that could she feel him through the bond as he did her, anxiety, both his and her own, would now be the predominant emotion. Though she’d sensed things through it more frequently in the past, right now it was utterly silent, and she didn’t dare ease the barriers she herself had erected during the last week in order to confirm her thoughts. Besides, at the moment, the image before her left no room for anything else.

Why had he done it? Her eyes were pinned to the long, strong lines of his body. It was impossible to look away. He looked so much taller suddenly, naked as he was, and the rounded, firm flesh of his buttocks held her gaze with an almost hypnotic force. Even there, though, his anxiety was evident, that taut flesh tensing visibly as she watched. When he turned toward the wicker basket and tossed his trousers in, her focus was abruptly broken. She didn’t know where to look, her flustered gaze darting everywhere but in his direction. Though she didn’t know it, Vincent was as studiously avoiding her as she was attempting to avoid him.

He entered the pool as he had that other time, only there were two distinct differences now; she stood within the water, instead of resting in his arms, and thus could watch his approach unimpeded, and this time there was no denim or cotton or wool, no fabric of any sort, to hide his body from her hungry eyes. Now he was completely naked, and as he progressed around the perimeter of the pool on the long step-benches and the water moved slowly up his body, Catherine’s will wavered. A small voice inside spoke insistently, frantically urging her to look before the opportunity was lost.

It was no use. Finally she gave in to the inevitable. Her eyes rose to scan the full, long length of him, and she was lost. The muscles at her core tightened painfully, and she turned away abruptly, desperately trying to control her wildly escalating emotions. God, he was so amazing, so perfect, so virile. The need she felt in that small instant was visceral. It was instinctive and wild, and she reached out to steady herself against the rock wall of the pool, her whole body trembling.

Once he was safely covered by the chest-high water, she turned back and watched him reach for the green-tinted bottle of shampoo on the edge of the pool floor, the sight of him absolutely irresistible to her. He paused, plucked the pink one from the ledge beside it as well, then turned and stretched out his hand silently, and after a moment she reached out and took it. Both of them busied themselves with washing their hair then, grateful for the distraction that chore provided.

For Vincent’s part, it was almost impossible to hide his mortification. The decision had been formed and made at almost the exact same moment – an instant after Catherine’s hurried escape in the side passage between here and his chamber. He’d read so many conflicting emotions in her face and body language then, but what struck him most forcibly was the utter lack of any of those clearly visible emotions felt over their bond. Only then had he realized the full extent of her trauma over the – in her mind – inevitable impact of her scar on the potential of their future relationship.

He was firmly convinced – he knew – that it had been himself who was solely responsible for the lack of progress between them up to that point, but despite that, on witnessing the effect of what she perceived to be a new and final futility toward that long-hoped for dream, he found himself instantly and abruptly on the other side of the fence. If some part of his mind had always thought it best that Catherine give up this dream, the stark reality of it he saw in her in that moment was a grim slap in the face. To let her accept the hopelessness he saw now in her listless eyes, to step back and accept that this was what should be, to allow himself to fade into the background of her daily existence…

No, impossible!

His heart had literally ached with the pain of that thought, ached with a pulsing burst that actually frightened him in its intensity. There and then, almost without conscious thought, he had vowed to himself to make her see the possibilities before them, taking up the mantle of champion to their cause even as she regretfully let it slip aside.

Had either the ability to see all ends, they would have shook their heads in wonder at the overwhelming power inherent in their bond; a power that refused to accept defeat, that simply transferred its focus to one when the other was blinded by hopelessness and despair. Despite its silence to both right now, it was anything but asleep.

From there to his chamber he had moved, an unfocused and almost undefined determination filling him that nonetheless animated his entire being. Once in his chamber he tenderly retrieved the clothing she’d asked for from deep within a drawer of his wardrobe, but then, as he turned to set the stack upon his table, he’d paused, and his eyes widened in stunned disbelief.

The memory had washed over him then, as vivid as its corresponding reality some weeks back, of the bath he and Catherine had shared. He’d decided then that at least some portion of the balance between them needed to be restored, and for the sake of that parity had steeled himself to bare his chest to her view. Coward that he was, that was all he’d been capable of then, but now a bolder image intruded. Now, in light of his recent resolution, the uncertainty of the practical matter of implementation was usurped abruptly with a clear image, with a way to begin. Certainly, if he had the courage to do this thing, then he would know that deep in his heart, despite the fears that remained – and their were many – that he could do it, that he could change the patterns and beliefs of a lifetime for the sake of his love for her, and hers for him.

The moment of the image and decision were almost indistinct. The clothes were swept up again, and before he could change his mind – indeed before he allowed himself to truly consider the consequences of such a shocking thing – he left for the bathing chamber.

Looking back on it now, turned partially away from her as he washed his hair, his features hidden in shadow, he was stunned at how he’d managed to step through the door, and from there into the bath. Impossible to even remember what he’d said, or how he’d managed to shed his clothes; it was a blank in his mind, and for that he was grateful. Had he been fully cognizant of his actions during those moments, he doubted he would have been able to find the will to complete them.

The serendipity of that moment was clear to him now in its aftermath, but again his mind missed the bigger truth behind it. What had needed to be done was done, and that was all he was aware of, not the almost unbelievable improbability of such of thing given his past history. The bond didn’t need acknowledgement or credit, it only needed completion. That was its sole purpose, though the design of the universe within which it was contained was far too complex for either of them to grasp the astonishing nature of such a thing in its entirety.

Whatever it was, it had led them here, to the warm, dim, soothing waters, where both stood just feet apart, naked together.

Amazing.

He shook his head, sinking quickly beneath the water to hide his incredulous response from her. While beneath the surface he stroked the soap from his hair, watching it drift away towards the natural vents on the side of the pool, then finally emerged. Whatever amazement and disbelief he felt, he didn’t question his resolve. Reaching for the pale green bar of soap, he lathered it up and quickly washed his arms and chest, trying not to imagine what Catherine was doing – or where she was looking – as she stood behind him. He rinsed the soap off haphazardly, and before he could lose his nerve, turned to face her, the soap held in his outstretched hand.

"Could you wash my back, Catherine? I always have a problem reaching the center."

His voice was impressively even – a testament to his will, and not to his actual emotional state, which were still in a stunned state of disarray. She took the soap automatically, her mouth opened in a small oh of surprise. It snapped shut abruptly, though her wide-eyed gaze continued to communicate that emotion clearly, and simply nodded.

He turned around again, to face away from her, and stood quietly while she lathered the soap in her own hands. He could hear it, the preparatory sound setting his muscles atremble in a wash of fearful anticipation. When her hands touched his back he actually flinched in response. He knew she’d felt it in the sudden stillness of her hands against him. Drawing in a deep breath, he swept his hair over broad shoulders and let his head fall forward to bare his back as much as possible.

He bit his lip a moment later, when her hands began to move upon him, desperately holding back the moan that swelled in his chest and throat. The sensation of her touch was devastating.

The brotherly clasp of a hand on a good friend’s shoulder, the hugs he’d given and received by his family and friends both above and below, were far from unknown to him. They were a close-knit community, and Vincent was a being very comfortable with such touches. He never thought to question his comfort with them, in fact, though for some others, especially the men who had been raised above, there was often a very clear level of discomfort in the same. He always knew when a warm but brief clasp should be used in place of the more hearty and, for some, intimidating hug.

Despite being aware of that distinction in others, he never thought to question his own comfort with such things. His father and Peter, though, had discussed it several times during their numerous reflections and speculations on Vincent’s origins. The very comfort he evinced in such contact they ultimately attributed to two things; the utter security so common to the alpha males of a species, something patently obvious in the primal virility inherent in his makeup – which he also appeared completely oblivious to – and the absence of a mother’s touch growing up. That he craved those familial touches while at the same time being unthreatened by them, was no doubt, at least in their opinions, the root of his unconscious pleasure in them.

Of course those touches were just that – familial. They were totally unlike this one he experienced now. Never had anyone touched him in such a familiar, intimate way. Never had the touch of another human being caused his heart to pound and his head to spin as her touch did now. The simple, tender touch of her fingers sliding along wet and soapy-slick muscles, especially when they delved along his spine where a portion of the undercoat of his mane continued to grow in a dwindling pattern down half his back, was the most erotic sensation he’d ever felt, and in an instant his body surged to a full and throbbing state of arousal. The moan that had been building escaped as a soft, throaty growl and he reached forward to blindly clutch at the edge of the pool before him. An instant later realization flooded his being, and the sound disappeared, even as his muscles tensed beneath her hands.

Catherine froze, uncertain of what to do. His behavior this night was more than inexplicable, it was baffling. Only this, this abrupt containing of his emotional and physical response was familiar, and she grasped at it as the sole source of stability in her suddenly-foundering world. The abrupt and rigid control of his emotions reminded her of what she already knew – he would never allow there to be more between them than a simple friendship. She grasped at that thought and used it to anchor her own wavering control.

Whatever she did, she would not – could not! – give him any reason to take what little they had away from her. With a resolute shake of her head, she bent back to her task with clear-sighted focus, scooping water over his back and quickly brushing the suds away, all the while trying desperately to ignore the masculine beauty of him so close at hand.

Meanwhile Vincent fought with his own demons. It took all his will to marshal sufficient force to regain at least a semblance of control. The shock he’d felt upon hearing that sound – the sound of his own passionate response to Catherine’s touch – helped considerably, however. The few seconds it took were enough to make him realize that he if he allowed her to touch him like this any longer, all his efforts might be in vain. With that thought he stepped forward abruptly, until he stood beyond her reach. He drew in a deep breath, then faced her, gesturing silently for her to turn. Her eyes widened, but her pause lasted only for a second before she complied.

Vincent frowned as he realized that her shorter stature meant that very little of her back was actually bared for him to return the favor. He stepped forward slowly and reached beneath the water to close his hands around her waist. Catherine jumped, startled.

"Kneel here, Catherine," he whispered hoarsely, by way of explanation, lifting her to a mid-level bench step.

Vincent realized that he had misjudged the level by one too high when he saw that her back was bared to just below her waist once she was settled on her knees. The pose was both evocative and provocative, leaving her in a vulnerable and submissive position that stirred him to the very core of his primal nature. His body responded instinctively to the unconscious offering that pose implied, and he took another deep breath, trying desperately to push those thoughts aside. He wasn’t very successful.

Catherine was very aware of the image she presented as she knelt before him. Her heart was pounding, and her breath came in gasping pants. She actually felt dizzy, and reached out to steady herself by bracing her hands against the pool ledge before her. The sensations she felt were all the more painful in light of the hopelessness of the situation.

Despite what her mind knew to be true, her body responded instinctively. Even in the warmth of the pool, she felt a surge of heat between her thighs. She felt the creamy silk drizzling down and shifted her weight unconsciously in response, unaware of how that slight wriggling movement affected the man behind her.

In some dim and distant past, there was only one way this moment could end, and despite the higher order thought processes she had inherited as a result of millions of years of evolution, beneath that advanced organ lay the primitive hind- and mid-brain. There, atop the medulla oblongata, protected and tucked deep by the larger cerebral hemispheres above, rested intact the pons, thalmus and cerebellum, the basic and most primal brain components that controlled heartbeat, respiration, circulation and sexual stimulation. There lurked the genetic memory and history of ancestors dead for many millennium. That part of her paid no heed to what her rational mind told her. That part of her readied the body it belonged to for sex with its mate.

Vincent’s struggle was worse. Though his forebrain was every bit as advanced, the primal nature at his core was always closer at hand. Long had that side of him lain in wait, hungry for the mate his rational side denied them. That part of him rebelled furiously now, straining within, a mental and emotional corollary that precisely matched the physical straining of his erection, hidden beneath the dim surface of the pool. That part of him wanted nothing more than to push her forward and sink himself into her depths, to hold her still as he pumped his seed deep within the fertile treasure of her body.

Despite the howling protest roiling within, he did none of these things.

It didn’t take very long, mere minutes really, though it felt like an eternity to both as they waited breathless and aching. Finally his rational side had regained sufficient control to exert his will over the other, though he was unable to quell the physical response of his body. He reached for the pale pink bar of soap sitting on the ledge and lathered up his hands, taking that opportunity to try and still the trembling there. When it was almost gone, he set the bar down and tentatively brushed his palms over the sleek-muscled curves of her back.

He’d touched her like this before, that other time, but this time it was different in too many ways for him to fully understand on a conscious level. The trembling that he’d stilled a moment before began again anew, and he resigned himself to ignore it, knowing that he had no energy left to try and contain this small vestige of his considerable hunger for her. Once he began, he lost all will to stop. She was so silky soft, so smooth and firm. His strokes along her back became long, slow caresses, his eyes avidly drinking in the delicate dip along her spine and the twin curves at either side of her torso. His eyes drifted closed as he sank into the sensations surrounding him.

Without conscious thought one hand rose to cup her shoulder while the other curved round her hip, his touch both soothing and possessive. After a momentary pause, the hand at her hip slipped inward and onto her belly, and as it did he leaned forward until his chest rested against her back and the hard, aching length of his erection was pressed to the equally hard stone of the step bench upon which she sat. Under the satiny mix of flesh and soap, his sensitized fingers suddenly encountered a small ridge. He stroked it tenderly, finally moving to trace it upwards, knowing what he would find at the end, wanting that weight, both soft and firm, in his hand.

God, she loved him so much! The feel of his hands upon her was pure heaven. She closed her eyes and sank down deep on her haunches, pushing back against his chest with an unconscious trill of satisfaction. She was unaware that the sound contained a submissive component easily read by his sensitive ears, and that it reinforced the submissive nature of her pose before him. A rumbling purr vibrated in her chest, transmitted there directly from his, and she moaned softly in response, the sound sinking low until it was barely audible.

He heard it, though, she knew he did in some deep, dark part of herself, noting the rapid beat of his heart and the rasping gasps for air that followed. His hands gripped her at both shoulder and hip, stilling her movement with possessive intensity, before sliding further in toward her belly. Without thought she eased her knees apart on the hard stone, opening her thighs to him, anxious to feel him there, at the center of all things, but just then he reversed course, tracing up along her abdomen toward her breast. She ached so for him, her nipples hard and tight. Just a few more inches of scar to trace and he would be there…

Her eyes flew open, filled abruptly with startled dread. The spell surrounding her vanished in an instant and she surged up on her knees and forward, away from his soap-slicked hand. The heat of his body was whisked away with that motion, and she almost cried out at its absence, but cold fear in the pit of her stomach stopped the sound from escaping.

There was only one thought in her mind now; she must not, at any cost, give him reason to leave her for good, and to do that, she knew she had to put some distance between them quickly, or all would be lost. Her forward momentum carried her to her feet in an instant, and then from there up the remaining two steps and out of the pool. She never saw his arms reach out to her blindly, instinctively, as she pulled away, and she never saw the shocked pain in his eyes just after. She was too busy wrapping her trembling body in a large towel and her hair in another, smaller one.

"We should hurry, Vincent," she said, as soon as she could manage to speak. "Mary will have supper waiting for us, and the children’s concert starts soon. I’ll meet you in your chamber in a minute."

The clothes on the shelf were taken up and held close to her chest as she beat a hasty retreat. She couldn’t trust herself to look in his direction at all, but had she done so, she would have seen Vincent bend forward to rest his head in hands that shook, elbows propped upon the stone bench still warm from her presence.

* * *

Catherine found Mary in Vincent’s chamber when she returned, laying their supper on the table, all covered to make sure it stayed warm. She was grateful for her calming presence, listening to her describe the children’s preparatory efforts during the past week for this evening’s concert as she quickly donned her tunnel clothes. Catherine didn’t speak much, but she every time it looked as though Mary were ready to leave, she asked another question, thereby delaying that event, so that when Vincent arrived ten minutes later, Mary was still there.

Though she had always been a stalwart and sympathetic champion in the cause of Vincent and Catherine’s relationship, Mary looked truly shocked at his state of undress as he entered the chamber. His hair was wet and he was clearly naked beneath his cloak. It was all-too-obvious that he had just come from the same bathing pool as Catherine had, and caught off guard, she was flustered and confused. Though Catherine tried to convince her to stay, she made her goodbyes and hastily exited the chamber.

Left alone with him, Catherine suddenly found herself as tongue-tied as the older woman had been a moment ago. She busied herself at the table, preparing the tea and filling their plates with food, careful to keep her back to him while he dressed between the opened doors of his wardrobe. Finally he joined her and after sneaking a sidelong peek and finding him fully clothed, she breathed a sigh of relief and sank into a chair.

As confused as she was, a part of her was also inexplicably angry. Why, after three years of the exact opposite, did he suddenly have to find himself at ease with her viewing his body? Why now, when she had finally accepted the fact that they could never have the sort of intimate relationship she had always dreamed of? It was both ironic and jarring. Did he think that just because she had finally accepted his restrictions he now had nothing to worry about, that he could flaunt himself before her with no fear of pressure or repercussions? My god, did he think she was an emotionless robot? She slammed down her heavy hand-made ceramic mug and it made a satisfying thunk on the hard wood table.

"Catherine…"

His voice was hesitant and soft, disarming her anger in an instant.

She glanced over at him, a sheepish expression replacing the feverish emotions of a moment before.

"I’m sorry," she murmured, looking away again quickly.

He looked surprised and confused, but before he could say another word, Samantha appeared at the chamber entrance, anxious to get their opinion on her outfit for this evening’s concert. Catherine pulled up a chair between she and Vincent and urged her to join them, and the remaining time passed quickly, with no personal conversation at all required between the two adults as they finished their supper and listened to the excited discourse of the budding musician.

* * *

Vincent ushered Catherine into Father’s study, and spotting Kanin and Olivia seated in the back row, holding their son, Luke, he guided her toward an empty chair beside them, his hand resting possessively at the small of her back. Where he touched her, she burned, and she was intensely grateful when his hand slid away as she sank down into the chair. He moved to stand behind her, making sure he obstructed no one’s view, and she jumped when his hand came to rest upon her shoulder.

"Samantha must have practiced this a hundred times in the last week."

Five minutes into the concert his voice appeared directly at her ear, soft and low, and Catherine almost jumped out of the chair. My god, his lips had actually brushed against the sensitive skin there, she thought, her eyes wide.

"She used the side passage near my chamber – it was a long week," he finished wryly, before straightening up again.

It was a good ten minutes before she could get her heartbeat and respiration under control again, and afterwards, she couldn’t for the life of her remember what it was he’d actually said to her. The only think she could recall – and she would be able to recall it in vivid detail for the rest of her life – was the sound of his voice, the heated air rushing over her neck, and the hot touch of his lips against her ear.

About mid-way through the concert, when Luke began to fidget, Kanin and Olivia quietly got up and left the chamber. Seeing that everyone was comfortable where they were, Vincent slid into one of the vacant seats and pulled it over, eliminating the distance between it and Catherine’s chair.

"This part is Mouse’s favorite," he said, leaning over to speak quietly.

This time she was able to control her response to his proximity, instead simply nodding and turning in the direction he indicated with his eyes. She found Mouse’s figure across the room, squirming with barely suppressed excitement. It looked like he was about to bound up on the stage, seize an instrument and join the children at any minute. She couldn’t contain the soft snort of laughter that escaped her then, and covered her mouth with chagrin. Vincent smiled sympathetically, then reached up twine his fingers with hers, pulling her hand from her mouth to press a kiss in the center of her palm before closing his hand tight about it and resting both on his broad thigh.

He turned his attention back to the concert as though the whole incident was done without notice, but for the remaining half hour left of it, she was completely insensible of anything else but the strong muscular presence of his long thigh beneath her trembling hand, the naked image of it strong and clear from the recent bath they had shared.

When the concert ended, the study went from sedate stillness to a flurry of activity as the children rushed off to ask their friends and family how they’d done. Chairs were pushed back hastily, and a path was cleared to allow the bigger instruments exit room. Vincent pulled Catherine out of the path of an on-coming cello, hooking an arm about her waist and drawing her back just before a collision could occur. The small musician wielding it was almost invisible behind it, and peered around with a smile as he maneuvered it past them.

Now out of the way of the larger instruments, Vincent and Catherine were still a locus of considerable attention from the children. Though he didn’t teach music, he was their primary teacher, and a favorite among them all. Catherine, too, was a favorite, as much for her own sake, as for her being Vincent’s own. They clustered around the couple, eager for their fair share of praise, and it was quickly and liberally distributed.

Catherine, however, found it harder to concentrate than normal; the feel of Vincent’s arm around her waist and the warmth of his palm resting on her hip were distracting in the extreme. As if that weren’t enough to upset her peace of mind, his fingers stroked lightly against her abdomen in a motion she knew was too fine for anyone to see, but which she most definitely felt.

By nine-thirty all the extra chairs had been cleared away, the children were off to bed, and Father’s study was back to normal. Several adults remained, chatting, but Father was only a peripherally participant; most of his attention was focused on setting up his old but classic chess pieces on a battered board now centered neatly on his round table. Catherine glanced over toward it, then back to Peter, who winked and grinned.

Soon the combatants had settled in for their game. Many of the others took that opportunity to say goodnight and drift away, but a few stayed behind, choosing a comfortable chair from which to observe the skirmish. Mary brought in a fragrant pot of tea, the scent of which, combined with the hour, spread a comfortable languor over all the room’s occupants. Vincent took two cups and saucers out of Mary’s hands and set them on a small side table next to an old, velvet loveseat, tucked near a far wall, almost hidden in shadows. He sat down but Catherine remained standing for a moment more, confused by his choice, until he reached up and gave her hand a light but firm tug and she settled down at his side. She glanced over toward Father nervously, but found he was far too involved in the task at hand to take notice of any other goings-on in his chamber this night.

"Peter, you’ll be staying tonight, won’t you?" Mary asked as she poured out his tea.

"Of course he will, Mary," Father replied. "He’ll be too tired to make his way above after the sound thrashing he’s going to get tonight, eh old friend?"

"Whatever you say, Jacob," Peter agreed congenially, sliding a pawn forward.

"Good. I’ll make sure the guest chamber is prepared." She turned to leave then caught sight of Vincent and Catherine in the shadows. "Will you be staying too, dear?" she asked, directing her question to the young woman. "It’s not a problem, we have another chamber just one level down that’s vacant tonight – I can have it ready in two shakes of a lamb’s tail."

"That won’t be necessary, Mary, I won’t be staying tonight, but thank you," Catherine said firmly, not looking at the man beside her.

"Well, I’ll leave your nightclothes in Vincent’s chamber so you can pick them up before you leave."

"Thank you," Catherine repeated, lifting her tea to hide her suddenly flushed cheeks.

Mary left the chamber, and a comfortable low murmur of voices hummed through the chamber as a backdrop to the game at the center of its space. The tea was very good. Catherine recognized the herbal blend as one she’d had several times below – it appeared to be the most common choice for evening consumption, no doubt due it’s relaxing properties, and the lack of caffeine. She finished hers sitting beside Vincent in companionable silence as they both observed the game from their cozy spot in a back corner.

"Would you like another cup, Catherine?" Vincent asked, taking the fine porcelain from her fingers.

She was relaxed and sleepy, and so comfortable resting beside Vincent’s warm and long-limbed expanse. There were definitely advantages to a loveseat, she thought, caught by the vivid blue of his eyes. Finally she shook her head, rousing herself from the lassitude that seemed to have stolen over her in the last few minutes.

"No, thank you."

He set the china down beside his own, on the small table by his elbow, and then, catching her off guard yet again, slipped his hand behind her back until his arm circled her shoulder. Her muscles tensed in confusion, but either he was unaware of that response or he chose to ignore it, tugging her closer until she was nestled closer yet along his side. His free hand caught her own, twining their fingers together and pressing them along his thigh, as he’d done during the concert, then he rested his cheek against the crown of her head. When he pressed a light kiss there, all the tension in her collapsed and she sagged against him, closing her eyes in surrender.

Just this once…

Just this once she would allow herself to dream that there was still a future waiting for them that contained the luxury of this sort of pleasure. The evening would end soon enough, and she would go back above to her own world and hard reality would intrude once more, but just this once, for just this small moment in time, she would let herself live the dream, if only in her own aching heart.