Chapter 10
They drove back from Lyminster holding hands, only breaking contact when Sam had to change gears.
"We will have to take the car back on Monday, Sam," said Foyle at one point.
"Well, see this as your last duty as a police officer." Sam grinned at him, "Assuring my father of your honourable intentions."
"Really, Sam," Foyle huffed, rolling his eyes.
The afternoon was already drawing in, creating long shadows on the fields. Foyle fingered the new ring on her hand absent-mindedly, tracing the features there.
"I'd like Uncle Aubrey to officiate," said Sam suddenly.
"Of course," said Foyle agreeably.
"Can we go see him tomorrow?"
"Will we be visiting all your uncles, Sam?" asked Foyle, remembering that she had quite a few.
She laughed, "No, indeed not. But he is my favourite uncle and always approved of you."
"Did he now?"
Sam grinned at him, "Oh yes, rather. I suspect if he hadn't pushed gently, and Brookie hadn't pushed a lot, we wouldn't be here now."
"It seems I am indebted to two men, then."
"Well, you were splendid today, Christopher."
Foyle twitched his lips into a soft smile.
"And Mummy thought you were magnificent. You were so witty over lunch and so kind to poor Father."
"Well, I could understand his position. N-not the easiest of days for him."
By this time they were nearing Hastings, the day's light fading low over the old town. With the oncoming darkness, Sam asked if she should stop to put on the blackout covers for the headlights.
"Your billet is nearer — let's go straight there," Foyle suggested.
"Oh," said Sam, her voice suddenly disappointed, "I don't know if my landlady would approve if I asked you in."
"That's all right, I don't need to stay."
"But I want you to," Sam stopped, "unless you want to go home?"
She sounded so unsure of herself, that Foyle quickly patted her hand. "I don't want you getting in to trouble; surely we can ask your landlady if we might have a cup of tea together? We are engaged after all."
"Yes, let's."
Outside Sam's billet, the sun had gone down properly, leaving them fumbling in the dark for keys and hats.
"Watch yourself on the path, Christopher, it's quite uneven." She sounded nervous and Foyle took her hand.
"Why are you anxious, Sam?"
She turned to him on the step. "I want to show you my room."
Foyle stared at her, chewing his lip, wondering what she meant, and thrilled all the same.
"L-let's go in," he said finally.
Inside, Sam called out to her landlady, but there was no answer. She went further into the house, but came back shortly. "No one here," she said.
"You wanted to show me your room?" said Foyle, raising an eyebrow.
He wondered what she had in mind; he would like to see her room because it would be a personal look inside the nature of Sam. He could already guess what it would be like, but wanted to be proved right. Crime novels and powder puffs; tidy and neat.
As it was, he wasn't at all far off. He went into the room, looking around, noting each detail and seeing Sam in them all. A large stack of Agatha Christie novels lay on the small desk, writing paper and pen stored neatly beside it; a wardrobe with door slightly open, revealing soft dresses; an old battered dresser, a low slung chair without arm rests, and a neatly made bed with a yellowish quilt. It was hard to see it all properly in the darkness. He pulled across the blackout curtain, motioning to the lamp. Sam was stood next to the door, unmoving.
"What do you think?"
"I think it is very you, Sam." He gazed at her lovingly across the room and she suddenly laughed.
"Well, it has served it purpose, and at least I haven't been bombed out of this one…yet." She switched on the lamp.
"Have a seat if you like," she said, motioning towards the chair near the window.
Foyle did so, setting his hat on her dresser and saying softly, "I have enjoyed today. I can't wait to start making plans together, Sam."
He looked so at home sitting there, that Sam came towards him, saying softly, "It has been a wonderful day."
Foyle heard the change in her voice, and looked up, biting his lip. She surprised him then by leaning down to kiss him, timidity gone. It was a deep kiss, hungry and eager. Foyle pulled her towards him, finding that her new dress fanned out at the bottom, allowing him to settle her astride his lap. His hands rested on her hips, enjoying the feel of them.
"Is this what you had in mind," he asked softly, "is this why you were anxious?"
"I'm not anxious any more," Sam purred, lips at his ear.
"I never want you to be afraid, Sam. Always know you can talk to me about everything and anything. We will go as slow as you like. There is no pressure."
"I don't want to go slow." She commandeered his lips, taking pleasure from his surprise. "You make me feel…" she paused for a moment against his lips, "…like a woman."
He lost himself in her kisses, allowing himself to forget everything but the young woman he held in his arms. Her tongue sought his and he gasped with pleasure. His hands came up from her hips, finding her breasts. Feeling the small buttons of the dress there, he began to undo them slowly. Sam's breath came more shallowly at this, so he hurried his pace. The front of the pale green dress lay open, revealing silk and soft skin. The dress she had worn for him.
"I've wanted to do that all day, my dear Sam."
"And I wanted you to do it; I could hardly drive us home, the way you looked at me." She captured his lips again, smiling against them.
He left her lips to make a trail along her cheek, finding her neck. She leaned back slightly, holding on to his shoulders. He traced a line down to her breasts, kissing softly. Burying his face there with a sigh, he pushed aside the silk and latched on to a taught nipple with his teeth. Sam breathed in sharply, settling herself further in his lap. Foyle hoped she wouldn't be alarmed by his growing desire. He tried to control himself, but her noises of pleasure in his ear only spurred him on.
"Oh, Christopher," Sam murmured, fingers in his hair. "It feels lovely."
"As are you, Sam. Lovely, delightful, tempting…" he bit tenderly again, feeling her back arch against his splayed hands. She began to tremble, and he knew he should stop. He left her breast to find her lips again, whispering, "We should take it easy…"
"The girls in the MTC said there were ways of doing things without…you know…"
"The girls in the MTC said that?"
"I know, my father would have been horrified. Joining the Police was probably safer after all."
Foyle chuckled, "Oh, I don't know about that." He kissed her again, pulling her closer. "The girls were right; I will show you whatever you like…um…we can stop before…well, it's just I want to save that for our wedding night. I promised your father I'd look after you and be a gentleman."
Foyle looked rather red in the face, and Sam grinned at him. "And I seem to remember you saying we'd look after each other?"
"Yes, well." He twitched his lips, "I did give him my word."
"I want to look after you, give you everything, share everything…But I don't know…how…" She looked at him seriously then.
He reminded her of Brookie's advice when he replied, "Don't think, just do what feels natural. We will learn about each other together."
"All right."
She made him forget how to speak just then, as she spread her legs further around him, pressing herself into him. He groaned, hands suddenly in her hair, pulling her against him and bringing her lips to his.
"I love you, Christopher," she said softly against his lips.
Foyle thought he could never tire of hearing her say it. "And I love you, Sam." His hands found her breasts again, delighting in their soft feel. He slid his right hand further down, over her stomach and fumbling with the hem of her dress.
"Do you trust me, Sam?" he asked, voice husky.
She nodded against him, unable to speak. She was no longer trembling, and Foyle felt slightly more in control of himself. At least enough to continue; this was for her.
His hands slid under the hem of her dress, along her thighs, soft and warm. He continued upwards, breath catching as he felt her wetness. Slipping his fingers past the sodden silk, he found the warmth of her, causing her to strain against him with a terrific gasp.
She buried her face in his neck, catching hold of the lobe his ear with her lips. He moved his hand inquisitively, deeper, faster at first, then slipping to find the nub that awaited him. She cried out in his ear, and he gave a soft moan, unable to help himself.
He repeated the motions, pulling her ever closer to him. He could feel her breasts against his chest, her breath at his ear, the straining muscles beneath his ministrations. A low growl rumbled in his throat, and he felt close to the edge. All at once he felt her stiffen and cry out before shaking in his arms uncontrollably.
Foyle smiled, feeling her sink heavily into his arms. "You are beautiful, Sam," he murmured.
She could only nod against his shoulder, breathing rapidly to try and catch her breath. He eased her off his lap, before settling her on his knee. He held her closely, breathing her in; the smell of Sam only quickened his heartbeat, and he tried to think of all sorts of other things to combat his desire.
Just then a noise from downstairs made them jump.
"My landlady," Sam hissed, looking at the door wildly.
But Foyle only grinned and chuckled silently, leaving Sam gaping at him in astonishment.