My Oxford Year(39)

“Ella . . .” he says, against my mouth.

“Yeah?” I pant.

He pushes me back slightly. Looks at me. “You don’t have to do this now. We don’t have to do this.”

“This is what we do.” I kiss him again, but he doesn’t join in.

His hands find my hips, gently stilling me. “Ella, excuse me, but . . . well, one ought to use protection for sex. Not the other way round.”

I flush with anger. Instantly. “What’s that supposed to mean?” I climb off Jamie and cross my arms over my chest.

Jamie comes up on his elbows, shaking his head. “You told me you’d never had your heart broken, and clearly—”

“Oh God, this is why I don’t talk about myself! ‘Poor Ella, lost her dad and locked her heart away, never to love again.’ Genius, Jamie. Really, very astute. You’ve got it all figured out. So tell me, why don’t you want a relationship? What’s your excuse, huh?”

Jamie’s eyes drill into mine, hands fanned out in supplication, voice low. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

I don’t know if he’s answering my question or if he’s just trying to stop the argument, but his gentle compassion takes some of the heat out of me. After a quiet moment, we both take a breath. Then we look at each other. He smiles tentatively and says, “Was that our first row?” I chuckle. He takes my hand and murmurs, “I have an idea. Let’s do something a bit daft. I’m going to lie back down and you’re going to lie down next to me. I’ll set the punt adrift. Go where the current takes us.”

“No talking?”

“No talking.”

Jamie pushes us off the shore as I slide back down into the bottom of the punt. After a moment of stargazing, I find my head turning in toward him, resting on his chest. My body turns as well, my front finding his side. Immediately, his arm folds around me like a protective wing. I let my arm cross his body, my hand finding the curve of his shoulder and resting there. “May I say one more thing?” Jamie’s chest rumbles with the richness of his voice. It vibrates through my head, almost making me dizzy.

“As long as I don’t have to say anything.”

“Just say yes, then.”

I pause. “That depends on what—”

“Say it.”

This makes me smile. I’ll bite. “Yes.”

“It’s settled. My house. Tomorrow. Seven.”

I lift my head to look at him. “Your house house?”

“You’re talking.”

“I’ll bring dessert,” I whisper.

His hand finds a perfect spot to rest on the curve of my ass as he murmurs, “You better.” His other hand cups the side of my head, smoothing back my hair. With gentle pressure, he guides my head back down to his chest. I close my eyes.

The sounds of water, wind, trees, and night insects swell around us. Under that, the sound of Jamie’s heartbeat in my ear, his breath lifting my head in an elemental cadence. There’s a fragrance in the air that I didn’t notice before, a constricting. Earth preparing for winter. I open my eyes slightly and can just glimpse the water over the side of the punt, the moonlight on the surface a study in light and dark. I gently rub the wool sweater at Jamie’s shoulder, absently fingering the burls.

It’s amazing how much you notice when you’re not having sex.





Chapter 14


If I or she should chance to be

Involved in this affair,

He trusts to you to set them free,

Exactly as we were.

Charles Lutwidge Dodgson (“Lewis Carroll”), “Untitled,” 1855

This is ridiculous.”

“Yeah.” Jamie scratches his eyebrow.

“No, I mean . . .” I walk into the center of the empty ballroom, throwing my arms out. “This is ridiculous, Jamie.”

“I quite agree.” He nods.

“You have a ballroom.” A Victorian town-house-sized ballroom, but still. I stare at him. “How did this happen?”

Jamie worries his finger over a chip in the carved marble-faced fireplace. “My mother’s aunt, Charlotte. She had no children. When I came up to Oxford for undergraduate I was kind to her. Went marketing, changed lightbulbs, did the washing up, that sort of thing. She died last year. I’d no idea she’d bequeath it to me. I started coming up from Cambridge at the weekends to work on it.”

I take in the large room with its gleaming wood floor, huge windows overlooking the quaint street, and very real crystal chandelier. “It’s beautifully preserved. It’s like a set from a Jane Austen movie.”

“I’m rather proud, really. Charlotte absolutely gutted it after the war. She was a dear woman, but had no sense of history. I’ve endeavored to bring it back to its original state. It’s almost done now. I’ve worked with a conservation specialist who refers me to accredited woodworkers, stonemasons, ironmongers, and the like. I also do a fair bit of the work myself.” He looks up at the ceiling.

“And now you get to enjoy it. Live here. Raise a family here.” He shrugs noncommittally. I blink. “You’re not going to sell it, are you?”

“No.” I relax slightly. “I’m going to donate it. It will make a fine museum once I’m finished. It’s finished.” He looks back to the ceiling for a quiet moment.