Thread: Southern Girl [ Ariamella & Reydan ]

RE Southern Girl Ariamella Reydan She shimmered a little. Soft in the candle light. Angelic and delicate. But also sensual and promising, he thought, eyes following the long tresses of golden hair that hung down from her head over her bare shoulders to caress her midriff. He wanted to speak but his mouth hung open a little, words unable to utter forth, and he simply nodded, slightly, and stepped into the guest room at her invitation. There was a soft whiff of...something in the air. Something floral and delicate that spoke of long hot summers and the wind rustling in fields of crops. Something of their home. She was a few paces away from him, eyeing him warily in the mirror, and he knew if he wanted to he could reach out and take her in his arms. Hold her as he had, so many times before, yet never truly appreciated it till she was gone. A sudden gust of cold winter wind rattled the thin panes of glass in the window. His heart beat fast. Lucy... he began, croaking a little, his voice cracked and low. The fuzz of the drink and the opiate had subsided now, a dull background hum in his consciousness, and now his senses seemed sharpened. He was aware of everything around them. The tiny droplets of water in her hair and on her peach-tinted skin. The slight hint of a tease in her eyes and her voice. The thudding of his own heart. Lucy...I'm sorry he murmured, inadequate but also necessary. I humiliated you at dinner tonight. It was cruel and horrid and utterly unworthy of you. He paused, feeling leaden in both gesture and tongue. He passed a hand over his forehead. Anxious. We've all suffered he said in a low voice. No-one here knows how hard the South have suffered. Our families... he paused, images of their combined relations flashing before his eyes, our families have been torn asunder. Brother against brother, father against son, hus.... He stopped, cheeks reddening, but unable to pull his eyes from her own. Finish the sentence he urged himself as her eyes drew him on. Husband against wife he said, placing a gentle yet firm emphasis on the significance of that phrase. It was wrong of me to speak of you so cruelly. Of your family so cruelly. William. Heath. They were my friends. Close friends. I suppose you know my little brother Thomas died at...at Gettysburg. Wearing the Virginia Grey with pride. He spread his hands in supplication, begging her forgiveness without words. We've all been torn apart he concluded, sadly, And you will find that life in the Yankee North is less...delicate to us Virginians than we might wish. I am only sorry that your first taste of it came from me. Truly sorry. He turned towards the door but paused, back to her, unable to meet her eyes if they were full of hatred. But I promise, Lucy Rayne, from this night on that you will have a friend in me. I will always be here to talk to you, whatever comes, and I will never again speak so poorly to you as I did this night. You have my word. He paused, a tiny regret-tinged smile pulling at the corner of his lips. Besides, he added softly, I still harbour great affection for you deep in my heart! It had been after that October night in 1860, spread out on the blanket beneath the stars, when he had gently turned down her affection. Three days and nights she had cut him socially, snubbing his attention, unused to not getting her own way. Until he could stand it no longer. He'd called, early one evening, and her mother had practically had to thrust her out onto the veranda. The air had been full of the smell of blossoms falling from the trees, warm with a tinge of the chill of winter to come, and he had stood at the bottom of those white-washed steps, looking up at the diminutive frame above him. Arms folded tightly in anger, hair whipping in the breeze, she had frowned down at him. The step had creaked beneath his foot as he rose, retrieving from behind his back a bunch of Dogwood flowers. The state flower. Picked from the trees that ran between their estates. She had frowned deeper, he suddenly uncertain of the gift, and her little nose had wrinkled like a folding button. Dogwood, Mr Abernathy? she had teased, haughty and proud, Is that it? He had stammered, off guard, until she had peeled with laughter. It is good that I still harbour great affection for you deep in my heart!she had giggled and then, snatching up a blanket from the porch she had led him by the hand into the quiet peace of the peach orchard and there they had... He gulped, trying to dispel the memory of soft, yielding flesh and breathless moans from his mind. The taste of a small, sassy, sweet little mouth...