Page 19 of Into the Sky With You (The Ladies Alpine Society #4)

“J ustine!” Ophelia called.

“I believe that is my cue,” Julian murmured, his hand slipping around Ophelia’s waist for a brief moment.

She looked him in the eye, in love with him, the mountain, the world. And his dark eyes mirrored her emotions, understanding what it was for her to stand here, and why she needed Justine at her side, too.

He stepped off the summit, ushering Justine to join her.

Justine immediately turned in a circle, while Ophelia guarded her with her arms, hoping she wouldn’t step off the edge. But then Justine threw her arms around Ophelia. “We did it,” she whispered. “Oh, Fee, this is amazing.”

Ophelia wrapped her arms around her friend in return. “We did it,” she repeated, the years of work and effort, the fundraising, the excursions, the hardship. It culminated here. They were at the top.

“I wish Prudence and Eleanor were here,” Justine sniffed.

“Me too,” Ophelia said, happy to let the sun blind her eyes for longer. It would have been quite a triumph for all four of them to be up here, but she understood. Prudence had never had the bug the way the rest of them did. And Eleanor was starting her family—something she hadn’t believed she would ever do. They had priorities that came before this mountain, while Ophelia didn’t.

After a few more minutes of embracing Justine at the summit of the Matterhorn, wishing for her mother, her brother, her friends, and her father most of all, Ophelia was ready to face the next challenge. Justine wanted a few more moments at the top, so Ophelia stepped away carefully to let Karl join her.

Ophelia stepped down and into Julian’s arms. She felt as if she could die right then and be content with her accomplishments. Not that she wanted to, but her goals had been achieved. She had published an article in a prestigious journal, and she had summited the lethal Matterhorn. To add to the incredibility of it all, she was in love.

Since Justine and Karl’s backs were turned, Ophelia dared to lift her face to Julian’s. She studied his dark eyes, suddenly certain that his love was no false play, no vanity, no push for money or status. “Would you kiss me?” she whispered.

He grinned and leaned down, stopping his mouth mere millimeters from hers. “Are you certain?”

She gave him a look of utter impatience and made up the distance herself. Both of their faces were cold, while the sensation was pleasant, there was not enough feeling in her lips to kiss him properly. “I think we should marry.”

*

Julian coughed in surprise. Right then, Karl and Justine stepped off the summit, cutting short their conversation. But Ophelia didn’t seem to care if they knew, so she looked at Julian expectantly.

“Do we need to, er,” Julian coughed again. “Isn’t there someone we have to talk to?”

She looked around, and seeing only their four-person expedition, she asked, “Who would we talk to?”

Julian’s eyes widened. “Your brother? A lawyer? The Queen? You are a viscount’s daughter. I don’t know what the protocol is.”

Ophelia waved her hand. “I’m sure it’s fine. We’ll figure it out.”

“But—Lord Fairport—” Julian couldn’t believe he was actually saying the man’s name. That awful, money-grubbing liar.

Ophelia made a face that made it clear she felt the same way. “Never liked him very much. Shall we start down?”

Julian blinked. Was the matter settled? His protests were merely ones of protocol. He didn’t want to entangle her in a family squabble that could have been avoided if they’d exercised patience.

The others were already picking their way down as he stood there, thinking.

“Coming?” Justine called back over her shoulder.

Julian obeyed the summons and started down as well. Down climbing was clearly far more difficult and exhausting than the ascent. They made it through the fog of clouds, as if they were descending back down to earth. It was easy to see how deaths occurred as they skidded down the scree fields and bands of snow. Julian held his breath watching Ophelia take the large steps that sunk into the soft scree pebbles. He didn’t understand how she wasn’t terrified.

The ground stretched out below them for miles, and the sense of gravity was far more intense, pulling and gripping them. He’d never had these thoughts before—something about his feelings for Ophelia had awakened him to the dangers of the mountains. But she acquitted herself nimbly.

They came around boulders, the snowy expanse that had taken the lives of the four men on the Whymper expedition. Julian’s left foot slipped.

Perhaps he was too busy looking over the cliff. Perhaps the noon sun had gotten in his eyes. Or melted the snow.

He scrambled to regain balance, leaning back only to land hard on his arse. Before he could even register the pain of the landing, he had already slid past Ophelia, whose eyes widened as she saw him falling.

“Hold on!” Ophelia screamed.

But soon he was past her, and then past Justine, who exclaimed, “Scheisse!” And while he didn’t have time to ponder what language to swear in, it struck him as oddly funny.

Oddly funny for a man who was about to fly off a cliff onto a glacier far below. He tried to sink his feet into the snow, but it was crusted over with ice. He couldn’t get purchase. He flipped onto his stomach, digging the spikes they’d nailed onto the front of their boots into the ice. A mitten slid off and he sank his nails into the ice, feeling them give way against the superior force of Mother Nature.

Ice shards cut across his face, stinging his skin. What a terrible waste , he thought. I just fell in love.

And then the rope around his waist yanked him hard to a stop. His intestines squeezed like they were being pressed into jelly, but he was grateful. The coolness of his emotions evaporated. His heart pounded hard as nausea flooded him. He laid his cheek on the freezing icy crust of the ground.

“Julian!” Ophelia shouted.

He steadied his breath and got to his hands and knees, testing the traction of his location. “I’m all right,” he called back.

The rest of them let out a collective sigh. He looked up to see them all sitting on the side of the mountain. Ophelia had run uphill to the nearest boulder, effectively looping the rope that connected them all around the rock, which was then used to anchor him.

His hands shook. Not far away was his mitten. His fingers throbbed, and when he inspected his bright pink hand, he saw blood from where his nails had almost been torn off. Slowly, he inched over to his mitten. And then back to the trail where his friends waited for him. Time, for once, was on his side, and they could take longer here if they needed.

Ophelia unwrapped her rope and joined him, touching his cheek, her finger coming away with a sliver of blood painted across her pad.

“Let’s get off this fucking mountain,” Justine said, breaking their trance.

“Ready?” Ophelia asked him in a whisper.

Julian nodded and straightened. More than she knew. He was ready for all of it. Marriage, London, writing, perhaps taking up teaching, or if Ophelia wanted to keep exploring, he would do that. He didn’t care anymore. His life was meaningless without her. Had it ended there, and he was merely another life claimed by the Matterhorn, every breath he’d ever taken would have been wasted.

His triumphs had been empty. Another man would have come along and made the same measurements, the same survey, done the same calculations to discover the topography. But going forward, he would be a man who loved Ophelia Bridewell, a man who would be the companion of a fearless lady explorer. A woman who blazed trails and uplifted other women. He could help her credibility in the wider world. He could help her publish. And that would be how his legacy could be remembered. A man who did not take, but rather a man who gave.

And if she would let him, he would give it all to her.

The rest of the mountain passed in a daze for him. At one point, Justine slipped and twisted her ankle—surprisingly difficult to do in the hobnailed boots. Karl fussed at her, and she fussed back until Ophelia prodded them on.

As Justine claimed, her limp evened out as they continued. The wind chilled them as they passed back over the long, thin Hornli Ridge, until they dipped low enough to escape it. By late afternoon, they arrived back at their camp.

Julian stared at the tent poles and blanket bags they left there. They were all exhausted and hungry and cold. Even the exultation of summiting had faded. They all wanted to be back at the inn, tucking into a large, hot dinner.

Without much conversation, they packed up their remaining items and trudged on. Another few hours to the inn. They walked quickly now that they were on a relatively flat trail. No more ice or scree or lethal cliffs. The dirt on the trail made him feel almost weightless, considering the difficulty he’d already subjected himself to. He glanced over at Ophelia, who seemed tired, but happy.

She flashed him a smile that energized him. Her lifelong goal was accomplished. A sense of pride bubbled up inside of him as well. This was not the most elevation he’d ever scaled, but it had been technically more challenging.

They passed the white-walled church, knowing there were only a few more miles left until dinner. The timing would be perfect, though Julian wished they weren’t conforming to European standards of being dressed for the evening meal. He wanted to drop into his seat as he was, needing the energy to bathe.

As they passed through the trees, still not talking, Julian had to marvel. The difference a year had made for him. A confirmed bachelor, dead set on returning to South America. Now, a man who intended to marry the woman marching next to him, ready to take his next cues from her.

There was clamor in the back of his head about money and work and setting up a life for them. But his heart was clear and true. He would make this work in whatever way he could. They would, as Ophelia said, figure it out.

“Almost there,” Karl called over his shoulder.

Ophelia glanced at him, this time a mischievous grin replacing her wide smile. Her pace quickened. He grinned back; food, clean clothing, a warm bath, those were all waiting for them. He matched her pace. When he caught up, she quickened more, and he matched. Soon, they were all-out running, leaving Karl and Justine behind them. Their packs shook awkwardly on their backs, but it didn’t matter. He carried more weight, and Ophelia was quick. They matched pace until they collapsed in front of the inn, gasping for breath.

“I’m telling your mother how uncouth you are,” Justine called to Ophelia as she and Karl made their way to the inn at a regular pace.

Ophelia let out a peal of laughter that Julian had never heard before. It sounded like bells. He wanted to hear that sound every day for the rest of his life.

*

They all dropped their packs in Justine and Karl’s larger double room. One by one, they all surreptitiously rolled their shoulders, the ache of heavy packs finally easing. She caught Justine’s eye. “We did it,” Ophelia whispered.

“I knew we would,” Justine whispered back, and then threw herself into Ophelia’s embrace. Over Ophelia’s shoulder, Justine added, “Your father would be so proud of you.”

Which of course, made Ophelia cry. Tears that had been pent up and waiting for over a year spilled over out of her control. A tension that she had been holding shuddered and released and she sagged against Justine.

Justine shushed and rocked her from side to side. Ophelia wept with relief, with pride, with grief. Finally, she pulled away, wiping her eyes as she did. Justine was prepared, already handing her a handkerchief. Obediently, Ophelia wiped her nose and straightened, realizing suddenly that the men were no longer in the room.

“They went down to see if dinner could be extended for us.”

“Oh. That’s—” Ophelia had no more energy left to converse or move or anything. “—that’s a really good idea.”

“Here,” Justine guided her over to the dressing table and poured some water in the bowl. “Splash some water on your face. Freshen things up.”

Ophelia obeyed, and as she was wiping the grit of her sweat from her hairline, the door opened.

“Come down, no need to change clothes,” Karl said, beckoning. “The dining room is cleared out, so it will just be us. My Tante will serve us herself.”

Karl held out his arm, dusty and dirty as it was. But none of them were any better. Julian appeared behind him and waited for the other couple to pass before he lifted his arm to her. Ophelia could have fallen into him just as easily as taking his arm.

“Are you well?” he asked, his dark eyebrows knitting together in concern. “Your lips are blue.”

Ophelia glanced down at her fingernails, which showed them to be purple. She shivered, unable to tell how she was feeling. Lightheaded from exhaustion, fatigue, and hunger. “I need food.”

“Frau Brunner is serving up the soup course as we speak.”

They descended down to the dining room, and Ophelia was so grateful to sit. Frau Brunner set the bowls of dumpling soup with large slabs of dark bread slathered thick with fresh butter on the side in front of each of them.

There was no time to stand on ceremony when one was this hungry. Ophelia could feel each mouthful of broth slide down her throat, warming her from the inside out. The dumpling was delicious and salty and soft, and the bread and butter tasted of anise and nuts. As they were finishing, Frau Brunner brought them four aperitif glasses, filled with an amber-colored liqueur.

Ophelia didn’t want to pause her eating but was disappointed to see she’d finished her soup. Herr Brunner came out of the kitchen, holding two more of the amber-filled glasses. He handed one to his wife and raised his to give a toast.

He spoke in German, but even through her haze, Ophelia understood the overall message of celebration and accomplishment. They toasted and Ophelia watched as they all tipped back their glasses. So she did the same, and the sweet amber liquid burned all the way down. Her head swam as her body warmed.

Soon, Frau Brunner returned with more plates, this time of meat and carrots and parsnips and yams and potatoes. Ophelia devoured it all, wishing there was more bread to clean the plate of its sauces.

Herr Brunner brought out a bottle of port and filled their small glasses again. Then he disappeared with the four empty plates, and Frau Brunner returned with thick slabs of apfelkuchen, cheese, and walnuts.

This time, Herr Brunner left them after pouring the libation. Ophelia sat back, enjoying the fullness of her belly and the fuzzy warmth of her feet.

Julian raised his glass of port as Justine folded a slice of hard cheese into her mouth.

“We sit with two of the four women to have ever summited the Matterhorn,” he said. “Impressive company indeed.”

Karl raised his glass. “The most fearless of climbers, and women without peer.”

Ophelia allowed the laughter to bubble out of her, but the two men kept their glasses raised until she and Justine scrambled to meet their gesture. “And to the men who help.”

They clinked their glasses together and she sipped at the port. It was a flavor full of dark cherries and molasses and tobacco. Quite a difference from the bright sweetness of the first drink. She dug into the apfelkuchen as Justine set herself to the cheese.

Frau Brunner brought out small cups of coffee. “For digestion,” she said as she rubbed her stomach.

Considering how much Ophelia had already eaten, the coffee was probably a good idea. It wasn’t as if it would keep her up. The early morning and the unconquerable fatigue of climbing almost 15,000 feet into the sky would see to that.

The coffee enlivened all of them, and they recounted the day to each other, comparing perceptions. Karl confessed to having nerves at the chimneys, even though he climbed without hesitation. They compared and measured the small scratches on their faces from the scree and ice sprays, discussed bruises that might appear overnight, and laughed at the hilarity of success. She didn’t want the night to be over, but they were all exhausted, and didn’t want to make more work for Frau and Herr Brunner, who had been so solicitous.

When Ophelia finally stood up, her feet felt twice the size of the boots they were squeezed into. “I don’t think I can bathe tonight,” she said. “I’m too tired.”

“Tomorrow,” Justine agreed. “Tomorrow, I will be very clean. Tonight, I just want my bed. Karl, can you carry me?”

Ophelia knew that Justine had said the last part as a joke, but Karl swooped in and hoisted her across his shoulders like some kind of livestock.

“I didn’t mean like this,” Justine wailed, but she didn’t fight it. Ophelia laughed at her friends, her heart full. At the first floor, Julian peeled off from their troupe.

“Goodnight all. Thank you for this incredible journey.” He bowed slightly at the waist, and Ophelia felt a pang of longing for him. She wished he were joining her.

“Goodnight,” they all said in their own time without pausing their upward trajectory. To stop might mean to never start again. On the next floor, Ophelia went to her room, and the Vogels went to theirs.

In her room, Ophelia looked longingly at the bed, but then collapsed onto her chair to dislodge her boots. She had to pick the stitches from the gaiters and her stockings before she could untie the bootlaces. Once those were off, she felt almost energized, as if that was the refresh she needed to keep undressing. The thick woolen stockings were next, and it felt somewhat strange to not have anything between her outer dress and her legs. They’d not worn chemises because of the need for free movement of their legs.

After disrobing completely, she poured water into the bowl on her dressing table and used the rag to clean herself. Dirt and salt had mixed at her elbows and neckline. Once she’d scrubbed as well as she was going to without having a proper bath, she stepped into a fresh chemise, and it was like stepping into a brand-new life. Her bed was going to feel so good.

But there was a scratching at her door. Was it Justine, coming to check on her? She pulled on her robe but didn’t bother belting it as she opened the door.

It wasn’t Justine.

Julian stood there in his shirt sleeves. His dark hair was rumpled as if he’d been running his hands through it. He looked almost wild but for the singular focus as he gazed at her.

“Is everything all right?” Ophelia asked, drawing her robed closed.

“We should get married.”

It took her a moment to sort what he had said. “What about your concerns? My brother and Lord Fairport?”

“I don’t want to marry them.” He shook his head, looking very firm about that.

Ophelia laughed. “I don’t want to, either.”

“Good. So we are agreed?”

“Agreed.” She stuck her hand out, and they shook hands like the Americans. But Julian didn’t let her hand go.

“I need you, Ophelia. Today proved it to me.”

His broad palm was calloused and firm, and she remembered how it had felt all over her body back in Paris. How she wanted to arch into him. “I was terrified that I was going to lose you when you slipped.”

He nodded. “You caught me. And I’ll catch you. We can keep each other safe better than anyone else.”

She knew he meant more than just the mountain. He meant the whole world. There were people who could be shelters in the storm of humanity, and as Justine had always been one, Julian could be another. And she could be one for him. “What about—”

“I don’t care, Ophelia. Whatever it is, we can figure it out.”

And that was all she needed. She yanked on his hand, pulling him inside her room. She pushed the door closed, and him up against it. Pressed against the expanse of his chest, she looked into his coal-dark eyes. “This is forever.”

“At the minimum,” he said, his hands coming to cradle her jaw.

His mouth was at hers, and the communion she’d longed for was finally here. After so many months aching for him, he was hers.

“How do you smell of lavender?” He panted as he kissed along her cheek and neck.

“I washed—I didn’t want to go to bed feeling all that grit on my skin.” She managed to get the sentence out, even as her senses were filled with Julian’s smell and touch and feel.

He half-groaned, half-growled. “I shouldn’t be the one to bring dirt into your bed.”

Her vision swam more than it had after the port at dinner. “Then let me wash you,” she gasped as one of his hands palmed her arse, pulling her against him, the length of his manhood evident.

He released her, and she backed up to the dressing table. Indicating the chair, she said, “Sit.”

It took him a moment of looking at her, so long that she became self-conscious at how the dressing gown must be gaping open, letting him see her through the flimsy material of her clean chemise.

But then he sauntered over and sat, looking at her, never breaking the singular eye contact that connected them. She knelt and picked the stitches of the gaiters against his trouser legs. He toyed with her hair, and she couldn’t help but notice the shallow breaths he took as he wove the strands around his fingers. She helped remove his boots, as dirty and mud-encrusted as hers had been. Then she stood between his legs and unbuttoned his shirt until it was loose enough to pull over his head. She pushed the braces off one shoulder, then the other, enjoying brushing her hands over his capable arms.

He pulled the shirt off himself, and she dipped and rung out the rag from her washbasin. She ran it over his face first, cleaning his hairline and then around his ears. He closed his eyes as she cleaned his neck and shoulders. She rewet and rung out the rag again, sweeping over his pectoral muscles, and under his arms. Attending to each arm with care, after his right arm was done, he began caressing her in turn.

She turned her attention to his fingernails, where dried blood outlined the nail beds. His fall on the mountain had clearly hurt him worse than he’d wanted to mention. “Does this hurt?” she asked, running the rag gently into the crevices. Julian shook his head. After she finished one hand, she laid it against her cheek, reveling in the wide palms and calloused fingers.

He stroked her face with his thumb, and when she turned to his other hand, he let that one fall, tracing along her neck, her clavicle, her shoulder. His palm grazed her breast, and they both sucked in air at the contact, but he skimmed his hand back up to her hair, as if he wasn’t ready to go further.

But she was ready to go further. After she cleaned the other hand, she kissed the nail of his middle finger. His dark eyebrow went up, a spark evident in his eye. Slowly, experimentally, he pressed the finger on her bottom lip. She didn’t know how she knew what to do, only that he was asking for something, and she wanted to give it. She opened her mouth, and he slid his finger inside. The rough callous of his finger was a harsh texture against her tongue, and Julian exhaled sharply as she licked.

He withdrew his finger, and she rewet and rung the rag again, now with both of his hands roaming. Between her legs, her own pulse had quickened, and she felt a longing for what she had felt before. Starting at his neck, she drew lower, descending down towards his waistline. He groaned and one hand palmed her arse, while the other reached up to cup her breast.

Her eyes fluttered shut at his touch. So welcome. So wanted. “I’m never going to finish washing you at this rate.”

He chuckled and reached up to slip her dressing gown off her shoulders. It fell to the floor in a heap. Ophelia kicked it away. Julian pulled her down to take her nipple into his mouth through the sheer chemise fabric. After the physical abuse of the day, the sensation felt decadent. He kneaded her arse as he sucked, only making her feel drowsy with desire.

“I will have to clean you before you get into my bed,” she whispered, barely able to form words.

He grunted. “But you taste so good.” He took her other nipple into his mouth.

She let him go longer until she could barely stand it, wanting his fingers between her legs, wanting to have a turn enjoying his body as he enjoyed hers. “You must stand.”

With a frustrated groan, he pulled away, leaving two wet spots on her chemise and her nipples hard and aching. He stood, and there was a moment of delight for her to see how much taller he was. Broader. Different. She unbuttoned his trousers and let them fall.

She picked up the rag absently, staring at his cock jutting up out of the thick thatch of dark hair.

“Please don’t make me wait, Ophelia.”

She dragged her attention back up to his eyes, where she could see barely restrained desire. It matched hers. And she liked hearing him beg. She took the rag to his hips, and he gasped at the cool water combined with her hot touch. His thighs were corded with muscle, defined from hours spent in the mountains. She cleaned front and back, taking a moment to cup his firm arse as he had hers. The thought of him thrusting into her while she dug her fingers into his firm buttock was intoxicating.

Begrudgingly, she continued down to his shapely calves and then to his foot. And then she rewet the rag and started the process on the other side, lingering again on his thigh and his arse. A drop of liquid formed on his cock, which waved and pulsed of its own accord. “Do you not have control of it?” she asked as it bobbed.

He laughed hoarsely. “Not right now.”

After the other leg was clean, she rinsed the rag and set about cleaning the last spot. Gently, she brought it between his legs, cupping him there, and suddenly his hands gripped her wrist. He sucked in a breath and closed his eyes.

“Careful there. I want to be inside you, and I can’t if I climax too soon.”

“Guide me,” she said. Covering her hand with his, he pulled her slowly over his testicles and along the solid length of his cock. She couldn’t decide where to watch, the fascinating ways his cock changed with her hand, or the expression of pleasure on Julian’s beautiful face.

“I can’t last much longer, Ophelia, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t ever be sorry, Julian,” she said, taking the rag and dropping it back in the washbasin. She pulled him over to the narrow bed, and then took her chemise off. His rough hand skimmed the side of her body, his touch so light that her flesh prickled.

“Do you know how much I love you?” he asked, pulling at her hair, running his fingers down her neck. Every single one of his touches both more than she ever could have asked for, and yet, still not enough.

“You’ve never told me.” Her heart pounded harder, waiting to hear this one confirmation: that he did love her.

“I couldn’t sleep when we were apart. I thought of you constantly. I was so ashamed to think that I had hurt you, or belittled you, or ruined you.”

“The idea that I could be ruined is—”

He captured her mouth, thumbing her nipple and pulling her thigh around his. Her wetness caught the cool air of the room. “No politics. No world. Just us.”

“Just us,” she repeated and laid back onto the bed, pulling him on top of her. She liked the weight of him, the pressure of his body on hers, even though he braced himself on his elbows.

One hand drifted down her body and in between her legs. He stroked there, slow and full. She was exhausted and needy, straining and relaxed, and the opposing feelings quieted all her thoughts and stoked her desire more and more. She forced her eyes open, her muscles tensing.

“Are you almost there?” he asked.

“Yes,” she panted.

He stopped stroking with his hand, and instead gripped himself, using the head of his cock to run the length of her. “I’m glad you’re wet. I want us to be together when we climax.”

“Just... like...” Ophelia gritted her teeth, her desire growing stronger and stronger, threatening to spill over. Then he pushed his cock into her slowly. “The summit.”

She pulled up her legs so he could get closer, go deeper, and gripped his arse to pull him in. He thrust deep and hard, and she came apart, dismantling all sense of self as she cried out.

He thrust twice more, and then pulled out, spilling all over her belly. He groaned and rolled to his side, barely fitting on the bed. She felt the loss of his heat, even as she was barely aware of herself apart from him.

“Don’t go far,” she mumbled.

“Can’t,” he panted.

Ophelia peeled one eye open. His head hung down, eyes closed, features slack. She was about to express concern, when he shook his head.

“I thought I wasn’t going to make it. That I would be like one of those animals that dispensed so much seed that it sapped my life force.”

Ophelia laughed, pleased with herself. She looked down at the sticky pool on her belly, pointing. “Is this not normal?”

“Not for any man over the age of thirty.” Julian hoisted himself to his feet and retrieved the infamous rag. He cleaned her gently and threw it back in the washbasin.

“I don’t want you to leave yet,” she said, hoping he would join her back in the narrow bed.

“Surely you jest. Karl would have to bring in four more built just like him to drag me away from your bed.” He slid back into the bed, one arm under her, embracing her.

She was going to say more. There was supposed to be more conversation. “I love you,” she whispered, settling into his shoulder, and that was the last she remembered. Surrounded by his scent, his solid presence, there was nowhere on the earth she’d rather be. At least, for the foreseeable future.