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Page 557
her weight hollowed the mattress, Geoffrey's arm slid out to draw her close. His lips found her and he began to fondle her body.
Had Joanna suffered less, she Would have realized this was the proof of his cure. In all the months since the ravaging of the east, he had never once approached her for love. When her craving was too strong, Joanna would make the advances. Then he servedor perhaps serviced her would be the better wordswith a pretense of a pleasure that was more dreadful than refusal. At times, the ultimate horror, he had withdrawn when she was finished without completing the act of love himself.
Geoffrey knew her body well. He knew just what would bring it to fever pitch, even while her heart was breaking. As Joanna's passion rose, so did her fear. Geoffrey's face was blank; those mirrors of his soul, his eyes, were closed.
"Open your eyes," she cried. "I cannot bear itopen your eyes."
They were wide at once, shining in the dim light of the night candle. "My heart," he whispered, "did I hurt you?"
"No," she sighed, "no." He was whole; he saw her. True desire, not merely the fever of the body, flamed up in her.
"What did I do? What is it that you cannot bear?"
"Later. I will tell you later. Love me nowlove me."
He followed Ian's advice and took more than a few minutes over it. He brought her to moaning acquiescence and then eased her back to quivering expectation, each time building her heat until at last she cried as she had that time in France, "Hurry, oh hurry, please hurry." And he brought her with him, both heaving and singing aloud in their joy. They slept at once, still joined, only turning to the side so that Geoffrey's weight would not crush her.
Morning brought conviction to Joanna at last. She woke, still wrapped in her husband's arms. He was already awake, gazing at her seriously but with absorbed, loving attention, his head tilted back to see her face better.
"Poor Geoffrey," she murmured, "you must be so cramped, holding me all night."

 
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