The night was slipping away. Lord John Roxton leaned against the wall and
glowered at his friends who seemed to have endless energy tonight. He
could understand their reluctance to part company while at the same time,
he raged internally at the delay.
After the day they'd experienced: being sundered from each other, then thrown hither and yon not only across the plateau, but across time as well and into mortal danger. None of them wanted to risk that isolation again. In addition, Ned Malone had only today returned from his self-imposed exile and he seemed determined to recount each and every one of his adventures tonight.
The handsome hunter was glad everyone was home; now if they would just retire! Roxton's fervent green eyes constantly strayed back to the dark beauty lounging on the settee. True to her word, Marguerite Krux was striving to outlast the others so that she could join Lord Roxton for a private coffee clatch. The yawn she was unsuccessfully trying to stifle signalled that she was losing. Roxton tried hard to not let his disappointment show. He had been trying for weeks to convince her to stay up and share a late night pot of coffee, but she had always declined. She always had an excuse -- some of them not altogether convincing. Tonight though, it was she who had suggested their rendezvous.
His waning hopes were dashed when the raven haired heiress stood, and with and exaggerated stretch, announced that she was headed for bed. She bade a general "good-night", and without so much as a glance at Roxton, she fairly glided down the stairs. Roxton fought the urge to go after her. He wasn't ready for her to be out of his sight. Even though Challenger had assured them that the time storms were over, the tall hunter couldn't stop the cold fear that threatened to crush his chest. After all, the professor was not infallible.
Roxton knew that Marguerite was only a level below him, but he couldn't quell the apprehension in his mind. He kept remembering how the time ripples had ripped her from his side. She'd nearly been killed. In fact, for a horrible instant, he'd thought her dead. He wasn't sure he could survive losing her again, however briefly.
Once the two of them had been reunited, he had kept hold of her hand even after reaching their tree top home. Because of their housemates return, they were unable to continue direct contact, but he had never allowed her out of his sight ... until now. Panic threatened to overwhelm him. He tried desperately to convince himself to calm. Marguerite was in her room, dressing for bed. In his mind's eye he saw her unbuttoning her blouse, throwing it casually over the back of a chair; her tiny, nimble fingers setting to work on the fastenings of the white lace camisole.... Those images quickly changed his fear to an emotion quite different, but did nothing to calm him.
Challenger frowned at Marguerite's departure. He hooked a finger around his fob and pulled the gold watch from his pocket. The red-haired scientist shook his head in amazement. "It is nearly 2 am," he exclaimed. He returned the watch to it's pouch and strode quickly across the room. "I've experiments to check," he muttered. Turning back to his friends, he explained, "Science doesn't wait." Then he vanished to his laboratory.
Veronica responded, "I almost fell asleep during dinner! I can't believe we've been talking so long." She stood and blinked her eyes violently. "Suddenly, I'm exhausted." Quietly, she muttered, "I'll sleep as late as Marguerite, and not get up 'till noon." Turning to Ned, she shyly murmured, "I am glad you're back." Then, with a blush creeping into her cheeks, she beat a hasty retreat to the stairs.
With a slightly peeved tone, Finn sighed, "As long as everyone else is turning in . . ." Even the usually energetic future girl showed the strain of the long day. Her familiar bouncy steps were heavy and slow.
Malone paused at the head of the stairs, noticing that Roxton made no move toward his own room. "Roxton?" he queried the hunter.
"I think I'll sit up a bit longer, maybe have a cup of coffee," was the quiet answer. As if to give credence to his words, he put a fresh pot on to brew as he continued, "With everything on my mind, I don't think I could sleep quite yet."
Taking one step back into the room, the reporter offered, "If you'd like some company...?
Smiling, Roxton shook his head, "I'm fine," then he added, "Ned? It is good to have you home."
Malone nodded, and with an answering smile replied, "No place I'd rather be." Then, with a yawn, he was gone.
Roxton was sorely tempted to rush down and check on Marguerite immediately, but he forced himself to be patient.... wait for the others to get settled into their respective rooms first. He paced the room, becoming more anxious by the minute. Finally, the hunter decided he'd waited long enough. The coffee was ready, so he poured a cup, intending to take the steaming brew down to Marguerite.
There was a rustling behind him on the stairs. His mind worked furiously, trying to frame an excuse for a hasty retreat. When he turned, he saw that there was no need. At the top of the stairs stood Marguerite. She smiled as she sauntered toward him. Her raven hair hung loose, framing her lovely, porcelain face. She'd changed and was wearing her lavender, silk- velvet robe. His hands itched to remove the tie-belt holding it closed, but he stood quietly and delighted in watching her approach.
"Is that for me?" she asked, her voice low and inviting. Without waiting for an answer, she took the cup from his hands. The beautiful heiress held the cup close to her lips and inhaled deeply of the intoxicating aroma. Then, taking a slow sip, she sighed, "You do make the best coffee."
"You deserve the best," Roxton replied huskily.
She smiled ruefully saying, "I doubt that," as she brushed past him and continued onto the balcony.
The stars shone brightly. Having outlasted the now vanished moon, there was nothing to dim their light. Marguerite turned to face her handsome hunter who stood close behind her. Leaning against the railing, she took another swallow of the rich, dark beverage. Looking straight into his deep green eyes so that he could not mistake her meaning, she continued, "But I have found, 'the best'."
Roxton could contain himself no longer. He took the nearly full cup from her and put it aside. Then, pulling her into his arms, he replied, "So have I..." he nuzzled her neck, promising, "... and I'll never let you go."
"Never is a long time," she gasped.
"Not nearly long enough."
She began to protest, but he stopped her with a kiss. He could taste the coffee on her lips; it was so much sweeter than from the cup. Her mouth parted beneath his, and his tongue was quick to dart in and thrill to the feel and taste of her. He crushed her tightly and winced involuntarily at the abuse to his injured arm. Marguerite pulled back and ran her fingers lightly across the plaster covering his stitches. "Maybe we should stick to coffee tonight," she suggested.
"Not bloody likely," he growled and pulled her close ignoring the stab of pain. He was not going to let a little cut on his arm interfere with his plans for tonight.
One hand strayed to her belt and deftly pulled it free. Then, with a little encouragement from his eager hands, the soft robe slid noiselessly to the floor. Marguerite was left in only a flimsy white gown. He held her at arms length for a moment to drink in her beauty. She took the opportunity to reach up, and with a shy, but seductive smile, lower his braces. She slowly undid his buttons, her smoky, green eyes never leaving his. When she reached his waist-band, she loosed his shirt-tail from it's confines and slipped her hands beneath it, running her hands slowly, possessively, over the hard muscles of his chest. Roxton moaned and clutched her close, pressing her hips tight against his, letting her fell his need. She wiggled against him slightly, teasing him.
He reclaimed her lips. No matter how many times he kissed her, he still marvelled at how soft her lips were. His tongue began a leisurely path along her jaw. He dallied at her ear and lightly nipped the dainty lobe. Then he continued down the side of her graceful neck, across her white shoulder .... where he was stopped by the night-gown's strap. Quickly, he pushed aside the offending material and continued on his trail, heading for the soft mounds barely contained by the silken bodice.
"Roxton?"
At the sound of Malone's voice, the hunter's head jerked up. Silently, he drew Marguerite further into the shadows hoping that the reporter would give up quickly.
No such luck. They could hear the younger man's footsteps approaching the balcony. Roxton was measuring their chances of being over-looked in the darkness when he noticed Marguerite's robe: a velvet puddle which could not be missed. If the reporter continued on his present course, he would trip over it. The hunter hastily refastened his buttons, but left his shirt-tail hanging to hide the residual tell-tale bulge. With a quick peck on her forehead and a finger to her lips signalling for her silence, He left Marguerite in the darkness and stepped into the light.
With a feined yawn, Roxton said, "Neddy-boy, I expected you to be asleep long ago."
"Couldn't sleep," was his answer. "Thought I'd come up and help you polish off that big pot of coffee.
Roxton watched helplessly as the writer helped himself to a cup of the hot liquid, then settled himself at the table. Opening the journal he'd brought along, he looked up at the hunter expectantly.
Sparing a quick, longing glance at the balcony's shadows, Roxton moved over to look at the pro-offered page. On it was a very detailed depiction of an unusual obelisk. All around the drawing, Malone had written strange symbols.
"It looks like the stone Veronica found," Roxton said distractedly, "the one that brought back memories of her parents."
Malone looked up at him blankly.
"Show this to Veronica in the morning, she'll explain."
Malone picked up his cup, took a long drink, and smiled reflectively. "Aside from all of you, I missed coffee most," he mused. Noticing the slightly impatient look on his friend's face, the reporter returned his attention to his journal pointing at one of the lines of symbols. "I was able to decipher a few words using some of Marguerite's earlier translations. This one," he tapped the page, "means plateau. And this," his finger slid along a few inches, "means doorway."
"Yes, well," Roxton wasn't really paying attention, even though Malone was obviously excited by his discovery. "Perhaps you could share this with everyone in the morning." While Malone's attention was on the journal, Roxton walked over and picked up the coffee pot. He glanced back at the writer as he poured a partial cup. Then, sure that Malone wasn't looking, he poured the rest of the brew away. With an exaggerated yawn, he added, "It's awfully late now."
"I wanted to go over this once more before I show it to Marguerite and make sure I don't have any incorrect translations." He finished off his coffee and muttered, "she'd never let me forget it."
"Marguerite always sleeps late," Roxton countered. "You can look it over in the morning when your mind is fresh."
"I'm wide awake." He walked over to refill his cup.
Resigned, Roxton threw himself into a chair. By now Marguerite was undoubtedly fuming. Why couldn't this boy take a hint?
"I really think this could be the answer we've been looking for. It just might be our ticket home." He shook the now empty pot, took off the lid and looked inside.
"Sorry," Roxton answered his friend's confused and disappointed look, "guess I finished it off." He quickly downed the small portion he'd poured and set down the empty cup.
Malone replaced the lid and with a dejected gaze, put the pot down. "Well ..." he started, as he returned to the table, "guess I'll settle for company."
Before he could sit down, Roxton stood and said, "Just headed off myself."
With a huge sigh, Malone admitted, "I guess it would make more sense to attack this with a rested mind. I'm more tired than I thought."
Roxton accompanied him to the stairs. Then, pretending he'd forgotten, he said, "I'll just extinguish the lights. See you in the morning."
Malone headed back to his room. The hunter waited long enough to be sure the younger man wasn't returning, then hurried to the balcony.
Marguerite had retrieved her robe and wrapped it tightly around her body. She was curled up on the bench fast asleep. His disappointment quickly ebbed when she murmured "John..." in response to his fleeting touch to her cheek. He bent down and kissed her lightly asking, "Good dreams?"
"Ummm..." she smiled. "Lovely."
With a peck on her forehead, he scooped her up. She roused herself enough to place a whisper-soft kiss at the base of his throat, then settled into his arms. Holding her felt so good, that he barely noticed the throbbing of his injured arm. He carried her through the great-room, down the stairs, and into her room where he gently lowered her onto her bed.
Not wanting to disturb her, he left her robe on and pulled the covers up to her chin. She stirred slightly, and he ran his hand through her dark tresses. Her eyes opened and she looked up sleepily. "Shhhh," he whispered, and brushed her lips with his own.
With a speed that was completely at odds with being half-asleep, her hands flew up and locked behind his head forcing a more impassioned kiss. When she released him and lowered herself back atop the pillows, he was more reluctant than ever to leave. Her hand traced across his cheek as it fell to the coverlet. "'night, John," she purred.
He stood, smiling sardonically. Outside, the sun was just beginning to send it's first tentative rays into the lightening sky. It was nearly morning. It was going to be a long day.
As he turned and headed from her room, Marguerite's eyes fluttered open long enough to watch his departure. She smiled at the sight, then surrendered to Morpheus knowing that, even though their tryst had been delayed, her handsome hunter would find a way for them to be together soon.
After the day they'd experienced: being sundered from each other, then thrown hither and yon not only across the plateau, but across time as well and into mortal danger. None of them wanted to risk that isolation again. In addition, Ned Malone had only today returned from his self-imposed exile and he seemed determined to recount each and every one of his adventures tonight.
The handsome hunter was glad everyone was home; now if they would just retire! Roxton's fervent green eyes constantly strayed back to the dark beauty lounging on the settee. True to her word, Marguerite Krux was striving to outlast the others so that she could join Lord Roxton for a private coffee clatch. The yawn she was unsuccessfully trying to stifle signalled that she was losing. Roxton tried hard to not let his disappointment show. He had been trying for weeks to convince her to stay up and share a late night pot of coffee, but she had always declined. She always had an excuse -- some of them not altogether convincing. Tonight though, it was she who had suggested their rendezvous.
His waning hopes were dashed when the raven haired heiress stood, and with and exaggerated stretch, announced that she was headed for bed. She bade a general "good-night", and without so much as a glance at Roxton, she fairly glided down the stairs. Roxton fought the urge to go after her. He wasn't ready for her to be out of his sight. Even though Challenger had assured them that the time storms were over, the tall hunter couldn't stop the cold fear that threatened to crush his chest. After all, the professor was not infallible.
Roxton knew that Marguerite was only a level below him, but he couldn't quell the apprehension in his mind. He kept remembering how the time ripples had ripped her from his side. She'd nearly been killed. In fact, for a horrible instant, he'd thought her dead. He wasn't sure he could survive losing her again, however briefly.
Once the two of them had been reunited, he had kept hold of her hand even after reaching their tree top home. Because of their housemates return, they were unable to continue direct contact, but he had never allowed her out of his sight ... until now. Panic threatened to overwhelm him. He tried desperately to convince himself to calm. Marguerite was in her room, dressing for bed. In his mind's eye he saw her unbuttoning her blouse, throwing it casually over the back of a chair; her tiny, nimble fingers setting to work on the fastenings of the white lace camisole.... Those images quickly changed his fear to an emotion quite different, but did nothing to calm him.
Challenger frowned at Marguerite's departure. He hooked a finger around his fob and pulled the gold watch from his pocket. The red-haired scientist shook his head in amazement. "It is nearly 2 am," he exclaimed. He returned the watch to it's pouch and strode quickly across the room. "I've experiments to check," he muttered. Turning back to his friends, he explained, "Science doesn't wait." Then he vanished to his laboratory.
Veronica responded, "I almost fell asleep during dinner! I can't believe we've been talking so long." She stood and blinked her eyes violently. "Suddenly, I'm exhausted." Quietly, she muttered, "I'll sleep as late as Marguerite, and not get up 'till noon." Turning to Ned, she shyly murmured, "I am glad you're back." Then, with a blush creeping into her cheeks, she beat a hasty retreat to the stairs.
With a slightly peeved tone, Finn sighed, "As long as everyone else is turning in . . ." Even the usually energetic future girl showed the strain of the long day. Her familiar bouncy steps were heavy and slow.
Malone paused at the head of the stairs, noticing that Roxton made no move toward his own room. "Roxton?" he queried the hunter.
"I think I'll sit up a bit longer, maybe have a cup of coffee," was the quiet answer. As if to give credence to his words, he put a fresh pot on to brew as he continued, "With everything on my mind, I don't think I could sleep quite yet."
Taking one step back into the room, the reporter offered, "If you'd like some company...?
Smiling, Roxton shook his head, "I'm fine," then he added, "Ned? It is good to have you home."
Malone nodded, and with an answering smile replied, "No place I'd rather be." Then, with a yawn, he was gone.
Roxton was sorely tempted to rush down and check on Marguerite immediately, but he forced himself to be patient.... wait for the others to get settled into their respective rooms first. He paced the room, becoming more anxious by the minute. Finally, the hunter decided he'd waited long enough. The coffee was ready, so he poured a cup, intending to take the steaming brew down to Marguerite.
There was a rustling behind him on the stairs. His mind worked furiously, trying to frame an excuse for a hasty retreat. When he turned, he saw that there was no need. At the top of the stairs stood Marguerite. She smiled as she sauntered toward him. Her raven hair hung loose, framing her lovely, porcelain face. She'd changed and was wearing her lavender, silk- velvet robe. His hands itched to remove the tie-belt holding it closed, but he stood quietly and delighted in watching her approach.
"Is that for me?" she asked, her voice low and inviting. Without waiting for an answer, she took the cup from his hands. The beautiful heiress held the cup close to her lips and inhaled deeply of the intoxicating aroma. Then, taking a slow sip, she sighed, "You do make the best coffee."
"You deserve the best," Roxton replied huskily.
She smiled ruefully saying, "I doubt that," as she brushed past him and continued onto the balcony.
The stars shone brightly. Having outlasted the now vanished moon, there was nothing to dim their light. Marguerite turned to face her handsome hunter who stood close behind her. Leaning against the railing, she took another swallow of the rich, dark beverage. Looking straight into his deep green eyes so that he could not mistake her meaning, she continued, "But I have found, 'the best'."
Roxton could contain himself no longer. He took the nearly full cup from her and put it aside. Then, pulling her into his arms, he replied, "So have I..." he nuzzled her neck, promising, "... and I'll never let you go."
"Never is a long time," she gasped.
"Not nearly long enough."
She began to protest, but he stopped her with a kiss. He could taste the coffee on her lips; it was so much sweeter than from the cup. Her mouth parted beneath his, and his tongue was quick to dart in and thrill to the feel and taste of her. He crushed her tightly and winced involuntarily at the abuse to his injured arm. Marguerite pulled back and ran her fingers lightly across the plaster covering his stitches. "Maybe we should stick to coffee tonight," she suggested.
"Not bloody likely," he growled and pulled her close ignoring the stab of pain. He was not going to let a little cut on his arm interfere with his plans for tonight.
One hand strayed to her belt and deftly pulled it free. Then, with a little encouragement from his eager hands, the soft robe slid noiselessly to the floor. Marguerite was left in only a flimsy white gown. He held her at arms length for a moment to drink in her beauty. She took the opportunity to reach up, and with a shy, but seductive smile, lower his braces. She slowly undid his buttons, her smoky, green eyes never leaving his. When she reached his waist-band, she loosed his shirt-tail from it's confines and slipped her hands beneath it, running her hands slowly, possessively, over the hard muscles of his chest. Roxton moaned and clutched her close, pressing her hips tight against his, letting her fell his need. She wiggled against him slightly, teasing him.
He reclaimed her lips. No matter how many times he kissed her, he still marvelled at how soft her lips were. His tongue began a leisurely path along her jaw. He dallied at her ear and lightly nipped the dainty lobe. Then he continued down the side of her graceful neck, across her white shoulder .... where he was stopped by the night-gown's strap. Quickly, he pushed aside the offending material and continued on his trail, heading for the soft mounds barely contained by the silken bodice.
"Roxton?"
At the sound of Malone's voice, the hunter's head jerked up. Silently, he drew Marguerite further into the shadows hoping that the reporter would give up quickly.
No such luck. They could hear the younger man's footsteps approaching the balcony. Roxton was measuring their chances of being over-looked in the darkness when he noticed Marguerite's robe: a velvet puddle which could not be missed. If the reporter continued on his present course, he would trip over it. The hunter hastily refastened his buttons, but left his shirt-tail hanging to hide the residual tell-tale bulge. With a quick peck on her forehead and a finger to her lips signalling for her silence, He left Marguerite in the darkness and stepped into the light.
With a feined yawn, Roxton said, "Neddy-boy, I expected you to be asleep long ago."
"Couldn't sleep," was his answer. "Thought I'd come up and help you polish off that big pot of coffee.
Roxton watched helplessly as the writer helped himself to a cup of the hot liquid, then settled himself at the table. Opening the journal he'd brought along, he looked up at the hunter expectantly.
Sparing a quick, longing glance at the balcony's shadows, Roxton moved over to look at the pro-offered page. On it was a very detailed depiction of an unusual obelisk. All around the drawing, Malone had written strange symbols.
"It looks like the stone Veronica found," Roxton said distractedly, "the one that brought back memories of her parents."
Malone looked up at him blankly.
"Show this to Veronica in the morning, she'll explain."
Malone picked up his cup, took a long drink, and smiled reflectively. "Aside from all of you, I missed coffee most," he mused. Noticing the slightly impatient look on his friend's face, the reporter returned his attention to his journal pointing at one of the lines of symbols. "I was able to decipher a few words using some of Marguerite's earlier translations. This one," he tapped the page, "means plateau. And this," his finger slid along a few inches, "means doorway."
"Yes, well," Roxton wasn't really paying attention, even though Malone was obviously excited by his discovery. "Perhaps you could share this with everyone in the morning." While Malone's attention was on the journal, Roxton walked over and picked up the coffee pot. He glanced back at the writer as he poured a partial cup. Then, sure that Malone wasn't looking, he poured the rest of the brew away. With an exaggerated yawn, he added, "It's awfully late now."
"I wanted to go over this once more before I show it to Marguerite and make sure I don't have any incorrect translations." He finished off his coffee and muttered, "she'd never let me forget it."
"Marguerite always sleeps late," Roxton countered. "You can look it over in the morning when your mind is fresh."
"I'm wide awake." He walked over to refill his cup.
Resigned, Roxton threw himself into a chair. By now Marguerite was undoubtedly fuming. Why couldn't this boy take a hint?
"I really think this could be the answer we've been looking for. It just might be our ticket home." He shook the now empty pot, took off the lid and looked inside.
"Sorry," Roxton answered his friend's confused and disappointed look, "guess I finished it off." He quickly downed the small portion he'd poured and set down the empty cup.
Malone replaced the lid and with a dejected gaze, put the pot down. "Well ..." he started, as he returned to the table, "guess I'll settle for company."
Before he could sit down, Roxton stood and said, "Just headed off myself."
With a huge sigh, Malone admitted, "I guess it would make more sense to attack this with a rested mind. I'm more tired than I thought."
Roxton accompanied him to the stairs. Then, pretending he'd forgotten, he said, "I'll just extinguish the lights. See you in the morning."
Malone headed back to his room. The hunter waited long enough to be sure the younger man wasn't returning, then hurried to the balcony.
Marguerite had retrieved her robe and wrapped it tightly around her body. She was curled up on the bench fast asleep. His disappointment quickly ebbed when she murmured "John..." in response to his fleeting touch to her cheek. He bent down and kissed her lightly asking, "Good dreams?"
"Ummm..." she smiled. "Lovely."
With a peck on her forehead, he scooped her up. She roused herself enough to place a whisper-soft kiss at the base of his throat, then settled into his arms. Holding her felt so good, that he barely noticed the throbbing of his injured arm. He carried her through the great-room, down the stairs, and into her room where he gently lowered her onto her bed.
Not wanting to disturb her, he left her robe on and pulled the covers up to her chin. She stirred slightly, and he ran his hand through her dark tresses. Her eyes opened and she looked up sleepily. "Shhhh," he whispered, and brushed her lips with his own.
With a speed that was completely at odds with being half-asleep, her hands flew up and locked behind his head forcing a more impassioned kiss. When she released him and lowered herself back atop the pillows, he was more reluctant than ever to leave. Her hand traced across his cheek as it fell to the coverlet. "'night, John," she purred.
He stood, smiling sardonically. Outside, the sun was just beginning to send it's first tentative rays into the lightening sky. It was nearly morning. It was going to be a long day.
As he turned and headed from her room, Marguerite's eyes fluttered open long enough to watch his departure. She smiled at the sight, then surrendered to Morpheus knowing that, even though their tryst had been delayed, her handsome hunter would find a way for them to be together soon.