The Knowledge of Beauty

The heat of her breath, the soft, warm touch of her lips on his, sent a frisson of sensation through Ross.  Though they had been lovers for two months and knew every inch of each other’s body, this was something different.  She tasted of the sea and summer, and the fresh, night air.  He groaned and tightened his hold on her as he kissed her back, captivated by her, by the new-found feeling in his heart. 

‘New-found’ maybe, but not ‘new’, he realised with a burst of insight.  It had been growing in him for some time now, only he hadn’t had the sense to recognise it until tonight.  Other disappointments had worked on his inborn cynicism, priming him for disappointment in this, and so instead he had tried to – what?  Sabotage emotion with reason?  Consign it to the realm of the Commonplace with a neat, tidy – and utterly facile – explanation? 

He lifted his head and stared down at his wife.  “Two Demelzas indeed.”  The softly-spoken words contained more than a hint of self-deprecation.

“W – What?” she asked, in some confusion.

He gave her a wry smile.  “You would not hold me in such high esteem if you knew how lacking in perception I’ve been.”

Her face cleared and she bit back a smile of her own.  “I d’know already, Ross, an’ it makes no difference t’ my esteem for ‘ee.”

“Oh?”  Something in her tone put him on his guard.

Her dark eyes danced with mischief as she enlightened him.  “‘Tes a common failing in men and any woman with half an ounce of common sense will know t’ make allowance for it.”

Arching a cool brow, he attempted a retreat into superiority but rather ruined the effect by sliding his hand down her back and pinching her on the bottom.  She buried her head in his chest with a muffled squeal, and his admonition became a caress as he spread his palm over the curve of her backside and kneaded away the pain.

Demelza’s breath hitched in her throat; she instinctively arched her back and pressed into his touch. 

With his other hand, he tugged at the scarlet kerchief about her hair and sent her dark curls tumbling over her shoulders but when he reached for the ties on the old shirt she had borrowed for their night-time expedition, she put her hand over his and stopped him.

“Ye did say you was my servant, Ross,” she reminded him, her tone too innocent by far.

“Y-es,” he said cautiously.    

“Well then!  It do seem t’ me that I should have the orderin’ of things t’night!”

“Does it, by God!” was all he could think to say to that. 

“It does, by God!” she replied, laughing.

He could only stare at her now.  He knew enough to recognise when she was in one of her whimsical, wayward moods but he was surprised by it all the same.  Apart from that first, inexplicable night, when she had set this whole thing in motion, she had never before claimed the ordering of anything intimate between them, being happy instead to follow his lead. Though not quite entirely, he corrected as he recalled a particularly pleasant midday encounter with her down on Hendrawna Beach a couple of weeks earlier.  But did she mean now what he thought she meant?  Had his declaration of love made such a difference to her confidence?

A flicker of uncertainty crossed her face at his silence, and he was reminded of her youth and relative inexperience.  He was quick to banish this new doubt.  “Well then, Mistress Poldark!  I am at your disposal and stand ready to take your orders.” 

His reward was a dazzling smile and so far from awaiting her instruction, he was impelled to take hold of her hips and pull her flush against the hard length of him.

“Ah-ah!” she said, stopping him once more as she laid a hand on his chest and leaned back a little.  “I am right glad t’ find ‘ee standing almost ready as promised, Ross,” – she paused and looked down meaningfully to where their hips were still joined, and almost earned herself another pinch in the process – “but ’tis not what I’ve a mind for quite yet.”

“Then just what do you have a mind for, my love?”

The way the endearment slipped from his lips, so naturally and with such warmth, drove every other thought out of her head.  Her eyes fixed on his mouth and she was the one who was silent now.

“Demelza?” he said, giving her a little shake.  Not the wisest course of action: he was still pressing into her softness.  The movement sent a delicious jolt of sensation through his groin and started a slow burn in his belly.  “Demelza?” he repeated, his voice hoarse all of a sudden.

She heard his need, felt him stirring against her, and almost gave in then and there.  But this was something she had thought about a lot over the last two months and he might never offer himself up like this again.  For all that she felt them to be equal tonight it had not yet occurred to her that the bonds of marriage – and now love – might make him hers for the asking.

She raised her eyes to his and answered him.  “Amends, Ross.  Amends.”

He looked puzzled.

“Ye asked my leave t’ make amends,” she explained, “an' amends is what I have a mind for.”