I Promise
What if Karen Dinesen Blixen fell in love with Berkeley Cole instead of Denys Finch Hatton?
The Baroness Blixen sat gazing into the fire. The vast hearth of her home at the foot of the Ngong Hills could blaze with more heat than the Kenyan climate usually required, but she often built just enough of a fire to remind her of evenings in Denmark. She thought with a pang about the deep love she had felt for the irresponsible Hans, and of the spark of caring she had unexpectedly begun to feel for his twin brother, also a baron, after their marriage of convenience.
But now it did not even seem to her that she was married, given Bror's careful lack of devotion, and as often and as long as he was away and out of touch. So it was always with great anticipation that she looked forward to the occasional visits of Denys Finch Hatton and his friend Berkeley Cole.
They would listen rapt to her stories; enjoy the luxury of her china and crystal, drink fine wine; talk for hours; tipsily serenade her.
Tonight they were just a bit late; usually the light had not disappeared from the endless multi-coloured sky by the time they arrived.
She thought about the casual, flippant Denys. Tremendously handsome in that sandy and boyish way. Karen had felt the steady waves of his attraction to her, though always he had been courtly—or was it a bit distant? One imagined it would be a very difficult thing to truly get to know him. Karen also suspected that he was just as much a wandering spirit as Bror.
Berkeley Cole was decidedly harder to read, though she felt buoyed by his kindness and his way of listening carefully to anything she said, a slight smile often crooking at one side of his lips. She loved it when she got out something amusing that caused him to smile more broadly, in a way that made his teeth seem to glow in contrast with his deeply tanned skin. And he had the clearest, warmest blue eyes. He'd greatly widen them suddenly when bantering or impressed (or feigning it), in repose ruffling his own unruly hair and never failing to make her chuckle.
She could not forget his easygoing chivalry toward her the first time they met, when she was snooping in Denys' digs at the hotel on her wedding day. Her perfume had reminded him of a girl he had known at Oxford—but the intimate way he had told her it was not quite the same spoke volumes about his feeling for the one who'd got away.
Karen had fallen in love with him a little even then, though she could not acknowledge that to herself minutes after her wedding. She joked about it soon after to Bror, telling him matter-of-factly that when he left her, she planned to marry the charming Cole.
"Karen?"
She looked up from her meditations to see their object standing at the doorway. As soon as Berkeley caught her eyes he broke into his brilliant smile; he was hoping he did not look too giddily foolish, but he found himself nervously exhilarated to be arriving alone.
"Do forgive me for not contacting you; there was scarcely time. It turns out that Denys left for Mombasa this afternoon, and his decision was so spur-of-the-moment that I was already here before I knew."
Karen had hopped up from the pillows before the fireplace to greet him, and she felt a funny hitch in her chest at the news that Berkeley had come by himself.
What would Farah think? was the first thought that popped into her head, but the quiet manservant would never judge her, nor for that matter even enter her quarters unless summoned at this hour. Juma might shoot her some teasing smiles as he served their dinner, but she knew she could trust him not to spread gossip.
Don't be silly, she admonished herself. They all appreciate that he is a dear friend.
"Well, Denys will only miss the very best of my dinners and of my stories," she said airily, and Berkeley was absurdly delighted by her obvious lack of disappointment.
He came forward and clasped her hands, giving her downy cheek the merest kiss of hello. No different from any other fond greeting he had given her, Karen mused. So just why was her heart pounding at his touch? He looked so comfortably elegant in his dinner coat and black tie, though she thought back with amusement that he had looked wonderful even donning "Blix's" dinner jacket over hunting clothes.
Her scent tonight was different from the one that resembled Cecelia's, he thought with a jolt as he stepped back from her, struggling to hide a momentary loss of balance. Less floral, more spicy. He blinked, slowly, and kept his sigh as quiet as he could. Karen was wearing a silk and lace two-piece evening frock of almost golden ivory… or maybe it was the candle- and firelight that cast that warmth upon the pale shining cloth. At any rate, it was a perfect match for the ivory brooch he had brought her this trip, making him even more eager to present it to her.
Dinner was squab in a sauce that had come out wonderfully, much to Kamante's pride. Agreeing to avoid war talk, Karen and Berkeley discussed work on the farm, on the hunts, and in trade; the growth of coffee beans at altitude, the majesty of elephants. They talked of the people assisting them and the workings of coffee mills and of rifles. For all the seriousness or even some-time mundanity of these subjects, the friends shared plenty of laughter, and each thought how appreciative he/she always was of the other's advice and encouragement.
Berkeley took the liberty of moving his dining chair closer to Karen's end of table, and she found the proximity of those eyes rather stomach-fluttering; she ate her trifle (she always planned the desserts to honor her English guests) slowly and in tiny bites.
He noticed her paleness, the slight weariness of her eyes. "It sounds as if you've become like me—spending every moment of your day wrapped up in your work."
She reflected on that.
"Oh, I have been in town a few times, for parties, dinners. I visited a friend of my mother's from Copenhagen at the hotel, but steered clear of your exclusive club this time." She raised her eyebrows in a piquant way and tried to look disapproving.
He took a bit more wine, his eyes twinkling at the memory of her infamous "gaffe" of bursting into the Muthaiga Club.
It fascinated Berkeley that he could appreciate both the beauty of some of the Somali women of his village and also Karen's Nordic fairness and aquiline features. But his depth of feeling for her of late had made her lovelier to him still. Her eyes were like quick silver reflecting the sky and her hair a mass of soft tendrils that he yearned to feel between his fingers.
She went on, "I have thought of visiting Bror at Lake Natron (oh, my, I wasn't supposed to mention that, was I?)—what an adventure it would have been to deliver the rations and supplies they sent for—but he'd only think me a fool." She thought to herself, 'and I may well find him in the arms of some camp follower.' She looked perplexed, and suddenly so melancholy, that Berkeley sought to cheer her.
"My dear girl." He said it almost under his breath. Then he remembered his gift. "I say, I almost forgot! I've something for you…"
From his breast pocket he fished out a small thin packet of red and gold Indian rice paper tied with a narrow silken ribbon, opened her bent fingers, and placed it in her hand.
He was touched at her joy, even before she opened it, in receiving a gift. She tried to hide it with a jest: "Oh, Berkeley; as I told Denys, you don't have to pay for my stories!"
His eyebrow arched. "Open it," he urged, his voice happy and impatient.
Once Karen balanced the brooch on her palm, her expressive face managed surprised, flattered, intrigued and delighted all at once.
"Berkeley, this is so thoughtful of you; so…"
Karen fell silent, mesmerised by the delicate ivory piece—it portrayed a long-stemmed iris with accompanying sprays. She couldn't imagine how something so intricate could be carved by human hands.
"It's exquisite," she breathed, and her appreciation of the present was palpable. Impulsively she held the cool ivory to her lips, and he had to close his eyes to calm his heartbeat.
"I thought of you the moment I glimpsed it," he said wistfully, recalling the shop and the artisan, who'd smilingly speculated aloud that the jewel must be meant for someone he treasured.
Karen shivered, and seized the chance to pretend she was chilled. "Shall we have our brandy before the fire?" she asked him. He nodded and rose to pull out her chair for her.
On the way to the drawing room she paused at a corridor mirror to hold her pin at her shoulder. Though a lovely effect, its shade was so like that of what she wore that she shook her head.
"I'll wear it with something darker," she told him decisively, her eyes meeting his in the mirror. "It must stand out."
They took their ease by the fire, swirling brandy and discussing the Club, the social scene, and matters trivial and not so. They expanded upon their mutual belief that the nobility of the native peoples should be observed by the European settlers, and that their treatment of them should be the same as they would wish for themselves.
Presently Berkeley was ensconced in the corner of the sofa, so relaxed that he was approaching sleepiness, though he was far from bored. One hand hung carelessly off the armrest as he absently scratched his temple with the other. He had beautiful hands, she thought to herself; the long fingers of a pianist. He always unconsciously moved them so gracefully. She caught the lazy look of contentment in his hooded eyes and felt almost alarmed at how strong a surge of attraction she suddenly felt. Perhaps, she thought, it was because she wanted both independence and protection, both excitement and safety, both gentleness and ardour, and aside from her uncertainty about that last, she already knew how smoothly he melded all these things…
Berkeley hoped he was not imagining that play of emotions on her face as she nestled in her chair nearer the fire; she first looked startled and then seemed almost to be looking at him with longing. Self-protectively tamping down his hopes he leaned forward with his impish smile. "Am I to have a story, then?"
Instead of asking her guest for a lead-in as she usually did, Karen thought for a moment or two and then began to spin him a tale about a beautiful young girl who attended Oxford dances—always in lovely silk dresses—to meet with a student. They joined a nighttime boating party whence they stole away for privacy, only to find that a lantern punt pageant was taking place in the usually deserted cove they had sought.
He stood and slipped his hands in his pockets as he moved to warm his back nearer the fire, laughing lightly. "Yes, Cecie was enchanting, and my memories of her are very fond… but I wonder at times if the meeting of our minds would have had the import of our one-time meeting of hearts."
Berkeley's face showed a kind of wry regret. "In the end she proved much more interested in my roommate, Philip, and the two are married to this day." He turned away from her to look into the fire, took a musing sip of his brandy.
Karen gazed at his slightly elfin ears and his nape. She had noticed during his past visits that by evening his hair pomade was no longer able to hold the curls there in check. She wanted so much to know what it was like to touch them.
He added quietly, "At any rate, it was not the last time a handsome friend has also had his eye on a woman I've not got up the courage to tell how much I love her."
Karen laughed merrily, but realised suddenly that Berkeley had not joined in. He bent his head in profile and she could see that his expression was solemn. In her dawning surprise her eyes widened, her mouth silently forming O. He turned to her gradually, and in the firelight she examined the blue depths of his eyes for some answer to the hopeful question that had leapt into her mind. Very slowly, he nodded.
The young baroness rose to stand before him and furrowed her brow in such a way that he mentally prepared himself for a kindly rejection, but then she said softly, "Denys is a very good-looking man, it is true. A charming and dashing one. But those attributes also belong to the man whose kind and fair and brave mind has stolen my heart."
Berkeley stared wonderingly at her, and she raised a trembling hand to his face. He caught the hand and pressed his lips to her palm, his eyes tightly shut with the painful beauty of this long-dreamed-of moment. When he looked at her again he had tears in his eyes, and she leaned forward to gently kiss his cheek.
"Karen," he whispered, and as her lips remained lightly poised there, he turned his chin slightly and slid into a kiss of her mouth. He felt the slightest intake of breath before he covered her lips, the little gasp she was expressing at the pleasure of it; but not being certain of its meaning, he was cautious. Was he shocking her by being too forward? But she smiled lovingly at him and he could see the welcome in her expression. Berkeley grasped her arms and kissed her again, still chastely but more deliberately.
"I couldn't let myself dream very far," he told her as they pulled back and smiled at each other. He shut his eyes and sighed deeply. "In love with a married woman." He shook his head ruefully. "There had to be some obstacle." They laughed nervously together before Berkeley led her where he'd been sitting before. He tugged her into his lap so that he could cradle her in his arms.
Beside her thigh she could feel that he had been very aroused by the first contact of their lips, and it gave her a sudden image of just how far these sweet kisses could carry them. Even more thrilling was the additional spring of his excitement as he took her lips again, this time more firmly and with his mouth open.
Each of his kisses felt like a promise. Karen had experienced the thrall of strong passion and tempestuous lovemaking, but never had she felt anything quite like this; the man holding her was no less urgent or passionate—and yet he was more tender than any she had ever known. It was an intoxicating mix.
After only a few more long kisses she decidedly was already his for the taking, but when he finally lifted his head, his face looked slightly troubled. He murmured, "Karen, I don't know if this is ri—" but her lips quieted his. She couldn't help smiling as she kissed him because she had glimpsed the familiar slant of his left brow, the crinkling amusement of his eyes the moment she interrupted him. She realised that she had never before been this happy.
Unfettered he returned her kiss with even greater heat, though somehow retaining gentleness. He removed his right arm from behind her knees to free that hand to stroke one of her breasts. Karen pulled out his tie and weakly tried to unfasten his collar, but he was pleasantly distracting her from her efforts. With a few gathers of fabric upward he loosened her shirtwaist enough to reach beneath it and touch her skin, and a deep moan escaped her throat just as Berkeley moved his lips to her neck and then her shoulders. He was brushing his mouth so softly over her tingling skin that she could not decide whether to concentrate on that sensation or the one of his fingers teasing her taut nipple. The blend of them made her so faint that she could not hang on to his shoulders any longer; she bent back in his embrace and surrendered to his heavenly ministrations.
For Berkeley's part he could scarcely believe this was happening; he had never let himself entertain the possibility even of a kiss beyond the affectionate one he always gave her when he said goodbye. Oh, he had fantasised about it—but he had concluded that Denys was the one more likely to capture the baroness' fancy. He had seen the gaze Denys bent upon her the first night they had invited themselves, when she told them the first story, of Cheng Huan who lived above the Blue Lantern. So immediate had been Berkeley's attraction to her that he'd had to hide his dismay at Denys' attentions, despite the fact that she wasn't three months married at the time. The looks Denys gave her seemed to intensify with each successive evening the men had an opportunity to visit her together. Both listened eagerly to her stories and theories and both felt their hearts stirred as she laughed gaily in that birdsong way of hers. Berkeley thought Karen looked at both him and Denys with fondness, and had not dared allow himself any other interpretation of the way she sometimes looked deep into his own eyes.
Now he found himself lying her down on the couch and parting the blouse she wore to bend over and kiss her sweet breasts; it was such a homecoming to feel with his tongue each soft aureole tighten. He longed to feel every part of her with his tongue and his hands and his body, inflamed by her hands in his hair, and by the uncontrollable sounds of pleasure she was making.
He took her hand and guided her to the soft rug and pillows just before the fireplace.
Berkeley slipped off his coat and tie and then murmured her name twice as he covered her body with his again, his kisses becoming even more intense. As Karen unbuttoned his shirt he helped her out of her shirtwaist and began to unfasten her waistband. Now freed of her clothing she endeavored to wrap her legs around him. Oh, the feel of her arching upward against him… he gasped audibly. He was so hard and volatile that he feared he'd lose control there and then.
"Dearest Love…" he whispered. Then his tongue explored her mouth as he intertwined his fingers with hers and held her hands down, but she was much too deliciously weak and willing to be capable of any sort of struggle against him.
Just as Karen was thinking that she could not remember ever feeling anything as pleasurable as this, his fingers left hers and slid from her wrist to her elbow to her waist. She moaned at his caress of her hipbone and then the inside of her thigh, and she jerked with a cry when he began to softly stroke her aching opening and the most sensitive part of her until she thought she might go out of her mind.
Berkeley could feel how hot and slick she had become in anticipation of his body, and he watched Karen's face as he teased her, smiling at how beautiful she looked with her parted lips and brow strained with passion; at how much ecstasy he could bring her.
She opened her eyes and he could see a plea in them. He felt both protectiveness and lust as she begged him, "Oh, dear God, Berkeley—please..."
With a deep, ragged breath he shifted above her to guide himself gently into her hot wet passage. The two of them cried out together as he moved slowly in and then with excruciating pleasure, back outward.
Karen was almost delirious, so awash with sensations that he feared she might lose consciousness and miss them. She grasped the soft hair at the base of his neck and ran her other hand along his shoulder and down his back, pressing him to as if it were even possible to get him any closer.
His long strangled groan made her proud and stimulated her even further. Berkeley thought to himself that he had never known anything as transporting as her tight grasp of him, the delectable warmth of being inside her.
He stilled long enough to look into her eyes again, and she trembled with anticipation. With infinite care and tenderness Berkeley held her shoulders and caressed her lips with his as he inched slowly deeper; the sweet pleasure of it was almost too intense for her to bear.
She loved his gentleness and yet at the same time she wanted more than anything to make him wilder. After they had shared a few minutes of quiet enjoyment of each other, she looked into his eyes and with all her might she suddenly squeezed her muscles around him, making him hiss his breath inward. It worked: His eyes darkened and then flashed; a fervent look of determination shaded his expression in an instant and he made the next thrust more powerful.
The tone of the long throaty sound Karen made in response assured him he could abandon some of the control with her definite approval, and he increased his pace almost roughly, his arms tightening beneath her shoulders, his hands clutching her hair as he buried his face in her neck.
"Oh, yes…" she whispered, incredibly stimulated by his forcefulness, and he turned his head to demand her lips again, miraculously managing to bestow a loving quality to the deep, unbridled way he was kissing her.
"Berkeley…" Karen murmured when he freed her lips, but whatever she had wanted to say dissolved into a helpless sound of abandonment as he delved deeper, also swaying his hips against hers in a way that only intensified the heat of their excitement. She caught his expression of concentration and gazed full into his eyes. He suddenly smiled at her tenderly, and all she could do was close her eyes and emit another long deep breath. Berkeley sighed too as he felt her tighten her legs about his hips—the sudden resulting tilt of her pelvis let him go yet deeper within her. She suddenly let go of his arms and threw back hers with a long, soft cry, thrashing her upper body wildly and bending back as he clasped her waist. The sight of her orgasm was so stimulating that he lost all control and drove into her passionately until he, too, reached a release that was blinding in its pleasure.
Dim moonlight was visible around the edges of the shuttered picture window as Berkeley half-wakened to find Karen nestled in his arms. He thought how vulnerable she looked as he combed his fingers through her soft gold hair so that he could better see her closed eyes and relaxed face. He lightly kissed her eyelids, then began to doze again.
He awoke on his back to the feel of Karen's soft lips warming his cheek and neck, and he luxuriantly gave himself over to her gentle, teasing kisses and flicks of her tongue. His hand wandered downward to stroke between her legs; Lord, she was so warm and already so wet again. She drew in a quick breath, then smilingly moaned softly. As difficult as it was for her to move away from his attentive stimulation, she lifted herself free of his fingers.
She admiringly scanned his body, which, although not overtly muscular, showed evidence of his active work and a quiet kind of strength. To her he looked godlike as he lay partly entwined in the pale afghan that had covered them.
Holding onto his wrists tightly, she licked his nipples and kissed his taut abdomen and then his hipbone. She glanced at his face, savouring the look of uncertain anticipation in his half-open eyes. Then with a tortured cry Berkeley felt the incredible pleasure of her mouth enveloping him.
With each new caress from Karen's lips and tongue he was helpless to do anything but moan deeply and buck toward her mouth for more of this ecstasy. Her soft muffled sounds and silky tongue made him even harder, which until now he would never have thought possible.
"Gentle God… Karen..." he gasped from a frenzied trance as her lips squeezed his trembling shaft and he could feel the oncoming surge within. Then with a long agonized groan he came in profusion, watching with fervor how she tried to drink him, though she had to let some of his pearly liquid overflow and wet her hand. She looked exquisitely beautiful with her cheek resting against his thigh, her eyes shut in satisfaction and her chin glistening.
He sighed long and deep as he smoothed her hair.
"You are so giving," he whispered, gazing down into her eyes.
"Your pleasure is mine," she said softly, whereupon he pulled at her arm to bring her mouth back to his and kissed her soulfully, moving his hands slowly over her soft, smooth back and up into her hair again.
Karen awoke in the darkest hour of the morning to find herself lying close alongside Berkeley Cole, her head on his shoulder. The embers of the fireplace shed just enough light for her to see his still-damp brow, and she silently giggled with delight as she reached up to fondle one ear.
"Mmmm." He smiled without opening his eyes, but an expression of languid pleasure was rendered by his eyebrows.
"If we don't go to bed, Farah shall be scandalised," Karen reminded him.
"Wouldn't it be, 'If we go to bed, Farah should be scandalised?'" He cracked his eyelids just enough for her to see a mischievous flicker.
Karen touched a finger to his lips. "If we remain here, he will stumble upon us!"
"Yes, well, you are right I suppose, Mrs Cole."
"Berkeley!"
He hid a grin. "You don't imagine that I do this sort of thing with anyone I don't intend to marry, do you?"
"But my dear, there is the small matter of—"
But this time it was he who interrupted her with a kiss. It took flight in such a way that he was only too glad to lead her to a bedchamber and lock the door. Their morning brought them as much bliss as had their night, and as they recovered their breath, she commented, "I never dreamed, as I waited for your visit last night, that it was going to change so many things."
He smiled lazily at her. "Well, I was just thinking. When we break this news to Denys—not to say Bror—we'd best make sure neither is holding a gun."
Despite the levity she could see the intensity that had made her blush the first time he'd spoken to her, leaning against the doorjamb in a pale linen suit, his quinine and rum in hand, and making her feel at home in a place she'd no right to be.
"It would be worth it," she whispered, still holding his now-serious eyes with hers. "Now I know this would be worth anything."