The River of No Return

his. “Of what are we talking?”
    He smiled, almost sadly. “My apologies.” He let go of her hand. “I am out of practice with gently reared young ladies, I’m afraid.” He opened his other hand. In his palm was, of all things, a small, brown acorn. He must have been holding it all along. He bent and placed it carefully on top of the book, next to the gold embossed word on the cover: ELEGIES . He traced that word with one finger. “Of what are we talking?” He repeated her question dreamily. Then he sat up straight, turned, and his eyes were intent upon hers. “Do you protect yourself against knowledge? Against feeling? Do you always do and feel what you are told? Are you always safe? Or do you yearn to know, to feel, more?”
    “I yearn to know more,” she said, and it felt as if the words were bursting from her, so desperately were they true. But then she sat silent, not knowing how to proceed.
    His hand came slowly up, almost as if he feared he might scare her away. “‘License my roving hands,’” he whispered. “‘Let them go . . .’” He stroked her cheek, so softly that it felt like the raindrops that weren’t falling on her skin.
    “Nicholas,” she murmured, hearing the catch in her voice. She was in his arms, and he was kissing her tenderly, his fingers tangling in her hair. He ended the kiss and simply buried his face in her hair, his hands stroking her shoulders. His rough cheek was against hers and she breathed in the scent of him.
    He pulled back and looked again into her eyes, one hand slipping around to rest at her waist, the other cradling the back of her head. “We seem to meet in the rain,” he said.
    “Please . . .” She put her hands on his chest. At the moment, she didn’t care who he was, or whether he was in league with the Russian. “Kiss me again, Nicholas,” she said. “I want you to.”
    Again his eyes were sad. “You sweet, lovely woman,” he said, and then those sad eyes seemed to flash and she was pressed against him roughly.
    His hands slipped down her back, pulling her still closer. They twisted in her hair, turning her head now this way, now that, as he kissed her mouth, her face, her ears. She pressed against him, her own hands pushing inside his jacket and around, feeling the strength of his back through his linen shirt. But she felt he was controlling himself even as he seemed to devour her. What would it be to feel him give in? She wanted him to! She wanted to bring him to that edge and fall off it with him.
    She gripped his shoulders, arching her back as he trailed kisses down her neck, and then his hands were moving firmly, up along her ribs to her breasts, pushing them up until they were tight against the muslin of her dress. His mouth descended, taking her nipple through the muslin and gently biting it. It stiffened deliciously between his teeth and she closed her eyes and cried out.
    Then his mouth was hot, sucking through the muslin, one hand gripping her bottom, the other reaching up and pulling her dress down until her other breast was entirely free. Julia toppled back against the cushions, and his mouth descended on her naked breast; she had never felt anything so entirely real. Her head was thrown back on the cushions, and her hands were lost in his hair, grasping his head as his tongue flicked roughly over her nipple, and then his teeth again, biting gently, pulling away, and his breath strangely cold on her breast as she breathed his name.
    But he was easing his body away from hers, pulling her dress back up, stroking her hair and kissing her face and then kissing her fingers and sitting beside her, calming her.
    She wanted him to continue. Why wouldn’t he? She opened her eyes slowly, knowing that she would feel awkward—even ashamed—the second she saw his face, and indeed, those sad eyes were smiling ruefully down into hers and she felt the heat in her cheeks. “Damn,” she said. She sat up quickly, her hands moving to cover her cheeks. “Damn damn damn.”
    He sat beside her, one arm around her waist, the other taking a hand and bringing it to his mouth. He kissed her fingers, and then her lips. “You are beautiful,” he whispered. “I love the corner of your mouth.” He kissed it. “And this sweet little place where you frown, right between your eyes.” He kissed it. “And your beautiful eyes themselves. Close them. Let me kiss them.”
    She closed her eyelids. His soft mouth pressed gently against one and then