There were many young ladies among the River City-ziens alone who were just as pretty, just as charming, just as well-dressed as Miss Marian – even if the librarian did possess an undeniable air of sophistication and erudition the other female townspeople lacked. But just like the librarian, they all stared at Professor Hill with rapt, dreamy-eyed bliss. As besotted as the charming showman might be with Miss Marian at present, he had dozens of pretty lasses making cow's eyes at him and perhaps even waiting patiently in the wings; one of them would surely catch his fancy once the novelty of marriage wore off!
~Triumph of the Early Bird, chapter 1: Oh, I Could Write a Sonnet

But I say unto you, that whosoever looketh on a woman to lust after her hath committed adultery with her already in his heart.
~Matthew 5:28, King James Bible

XXX

When Harold Hill's eyes met Lisette Latimer's for the first time, he knew he was in trouble.

It wasn't the first time a woman in River City had looked at him that way, and it most likely wouldn't be the last. And though Mrs. Latimer was pretty, with her soft brown eyes and pleasant smile, she wasn't so stunningly gorgeous as to make a fellow's pulse race as soon as he laid eyes on her. Overall, her looks tended more toward the commonplace and unremarkable, much like her personality – she was a quiet, unassuming woman who easily faded into the background. The only reason Harold knew her name or even registered her presence was because her son Billy was a member of his boys' band. What's more, he had a soft spot for Billy, whose father had died only a year ago – the lad was yet another fatherless boy who loved and looked up to the music professor.

But it wasn't the widow's prettiness that captivated Harold, it was the way she was looking at him that made his heart beat faster. He was standing in the center of Madison Park pavilion, basking in the applause following yet another successful summer's-end parade. As the music professor gloried in the adoration of the crowd, he happened to spot Mrs. Latimer on the fringes of the throng, peering out at him from the alcove where Marian had once been ensconced with Fred Gallup during the Easter parade all those years ago. And the widow was staring at him with such a naked, unconcealed look of longing that his breath caught in his throat and beads of sweat broke out over his forehead as he felt that familiar jolt of desire in the pit of his stomach. The phenomenon of women gazing starry-eyed in his direction after the conclusion of a concert was nothing new to Harold, though up until today, such gazes had only ever inspired indifference or amusement. While the music professor was too canny a showman to let his cheerful demeanor flag even when he was so unexpectedly knocked off balance, he was in imminent danger of losing his composure if he continued to gaze in that particular direction. Quickly turning his eyes elsewhere, Harold stuffed his hands in his pockets in a desperate search for his handkerchief. What the hell was the matter with him, that he was all of a sudden feeling this way?

After having lain happily dormant for the past decade, that insidious voice of wanderlust immediately piped up with the disquieting but inexorable truth he'd been trying so valiantly to ignore for some time now: In Lisette Latimer's look of longing was every single thing that had been missing from Marian's embrace since their return from Paris – the promise of novelty, excitement, and a little bit of danger.

It had been over two months since the music professor and librarian had come back from their second honeymoon. Paris was an expensive jaunt, but worth every penny; this trip proved to be a delightful and much-needed rekindling of their passion after twelve years of a loving but increasingly staid marriage. But while Harold had come home even more in love with Marian than he was before, he was gradually finding that his wife did not quite share his enthusiasm for their renewed ardor. While she was not so hardhearted as to rebuff his advances in the library stacks or reject his invitations to take strolls to the footbridge, there was something intangible but distinctly lacking in her demeanor whenever he attempted to steal a moment or two for romance in the midst of their busy lives as parents and pillars of the community.

While the music professor was just as careful to exercise restraint in public as he'd always been, it irked him that his wife would not welcome even the chastest of kisses or caresses if their daughters were in the vicinity – even when they were in the privacy of their own home! And while Marian seemed to take just as much pleasure as she ever had in their lovemaking, she no longer initiated any of their trysts. Almost immediately upon their return home, she had reverted to the reticent Victorian wife, locking away all of her Paris outfits and lingerie in a trunk and once again becoming a model of immaculate propriety that he had to coax into letting her hair down. Although Harold always enjoyed a good chase and had previously reveled in teaching the librarian all the exhilarating ways it was possible to make love, he found himself dearly missing the Marian who brazenly seduced him on trains and avidly demonstrated just how inventive she could be in the bedroom…

Where was that damn handkerchief? Harold had completely turned out his pockets, which contained every useful item he might need in a pinch – except that scrap of cloth. While he wasn't a superstitious man, it only compounded the ominous twinge in his gut that he'd somehow misplaced the monogrammed handkerchief his wife had lovingly embroidered for him. Just as he was about to abandon decorum and use his sleeve, there was a tap on his shoulder.

The music professor turned. Marian was regarding him with an indulgent smile and holding just the item he'd been looking for. "I thought you might forget, so I made sure to carry an extra one, just in case."

As Harold gratefully took the handkerchief from her outstretched hand, he felt that familiar and comforting rush of love for his sweet and thoughtful wife. But while she looked lovely in her coral silk crepe chiffon dress with matching cloche hat – not one of the dazzling ensembles she'd purchased in Paris, but stylish and elegant nevertheless – he did not feel that intense jolt of desire in his stomach as he gazed at the librarian. If truth be told, he hadn't been deeply arrested by the sight of Marian since… well, Paris.

As the music professor wiped the perspiration from his brow, he chanced a furtive look around Madison Park. The crowd had thinned out considerably, and Mrs. Latimer was gone from the alcove. But as Harold's eyes swept the spot where she'd sat and he recalled her come-hither glance, a pleasant shiver ran through him… followed by a fresh wave of perspiration and burst of annoyance. Was his wanderlust really starting to resurface now, so deep into his marriage? Ever since he'd fallen in love with Marian, no other woman had ever turned his head to this degree. However, although it had been exceedingly easy to remain wholly faithful to Marian over the past twelve years, he was a fool to believe he'd never again encounter the temptation to explore greener pastures. Especially when those pastures so blatantly beckoned him onward…

Enough, his conscience chided. It would do no good to continue contemplating Mrs. Latimer's heated glance – that would only lead to his undoing. And Harold would not be undone by a pretty face, no matter how enticing its gaze. While he could not escape the baseness of his nature, he was no longer such a slave to it as he had been in his youth. The allure of a pretty stranger paled in the face of losing everything that truly mattered to him. His family, reputation and livelihood would all be in jeopardy if he gave these capricious – and most likely fleeting – fancies any further credence.

As Penny and Elly finished saying farewell to their friends and tromped over to join their parents on the pavilion, Harold turned to Marian and was heartened to see her regarding him with that fiercely loyal, affectionate beam that never failed to boost his confidence and make him think he could overcome anything. For the first time since his eyes had the misfortune to wander over to that hidden alcove, his grin was genuine. Finding the librarian's hand for a surreptitious squeeze that she eagerly returned, he said with real warmth, "Let's go home."

XXX

The only thing more exhilarating than a successful boys' band concert was the heated night that followed after the festivities concluded. In his exuberance, Harold was usually all over Marian the moment they walked into their front hall and closed the front door on the world, and she embraced him just as avidly; sometimes they didn't even make it to the parlor sofa before thoroughly ravishing each other, let alone all the way upstairs to their bedroom!

But even if they'd been so inclined, the music professor and librarian couldn't do any of that tonight. While Harold had always made arrangements for their daughters to stay elsewhere during these occasions, Marian had roundly vetoed the idea of sending Penny and Elly to a sleepover or even to a movie – last week, the girls were caught passing notes to each other in Miss Meadows' math class. While the music professor agreed that it wasn't the best of ideas to award their misbehavior, he was rather annoyed when his wife wouldn't even consider his suggestion of sending them to their grandmother's. But Marian insisted that her mother would violate the terms of their punishment by feeding the girls sweets and allowing them to stay up past their bedtime. Even if it put a crimp into their own plans, it was far more important for them to demonstrate to their daughters that waywardness had serious consequences; the girls would never learn self-control if they were given so much leeway.

So even though it was a lovely Saturday night after yet another successful concert, no one was happy in the Hill house. Penny and Elly were not only home and underfoot, they glowered all throughout dinner. The girls enjoyed their post-parade celebrations as much as their parents did, and they were not pleased to have to miss out on all the fun their friends were surely having. Although they knew better than to protest their mother's stern decree and made sure to reply in a scrupulously polite manner when spoken to, they didn't bother hiding their scowls. Normally, Marian would have scolded them for pouting so blatantly at the table, but her demeanor was oddly subdued, and she let their thundercloud expressions endure without comment. Maybe she was missing Harold just as much as he was missing her? Yet that didn't seem to be the case; even after she allowed the girls to excuse themselves – they were to go right upstairs for a bath – she cleared the table and did the washing up without even tossing so much as a small smile in Harold's direction, let alone that encouraging beam she graced him with earlier.

While the music professor had gotten used to playing second fiddle to the numerous and constant tasks required to keep their household shipshape in the months since their return from Paris, for his wife to display such indifference to him on the night after a concert was galling. But he did note that Marian's complexion was unusually wan this evening and that she had only picked at her food during the meal, so even as it rankled him to see her bustling around as briskly as she ever did, he couldn't fault her for being a bit too under the weather to welcome any ardent advances.

Lest he nettle his harried wife even further, Harold retreated to the music room. But in the immediate aftermath of a performance, there wasn't much for him to do there except twiddle his thumbs or plink out a tune on the piano, two occupations which he had absolutely no patience for at the moment. Playing the trumpet – his preferred instrument – was out of the question, as it was nearly Penny and Elly's bedtime, and he didn't wish to disturb them or the neighbors.

So Harold decided to go up to bed. Although he was always loath to admit it, he was tired, and it would behoove him to seize this opportunity to catch up on the sleep he'd missed out on in the previous weeks spent preparing for the parade. After looking in on the girls – whose scowls softened long enough to give their beloved father a goodnight kiss – he adjourned to the washroom for a quick bath, himself. Donning a fresh union suit afterward – the weather was still too humid for proper pajamas, despite it being September – the music professor slid between the sheets of the bed he and the librarian shared. The cool, clean-smelling linens both soothed and saddened him; while he appreciated all the trouble Marian went to in order to provide him with a cozy and immaculate nest in which to lay his head each night, the pristine tidiness of their bedclothes only served as a vexing reminder of how little activity their bed had seen recently.

Not that this unsatisfying state of affairs was entirely Marian's fault. In the days leading up to a concert, Harold was always so busy with rehearsals and all the other details that went into producing a successful performance that he didn't have enough time to catch a decent night's sleep, let alone engage in lovemaking. Of course, he always made sure to atone for this privation the evening after the concert, which made tonight's lack of opportunity to let off any steam whatsoever doubly frustrating. And it certainly didn't help his already-tenuous sense of equanimity when that pretty widow – a true sadder-but-wiser girl – looked at him as if she wanted to eat him up right then and there, duty and propriety be damned!

Thankfully, before Harold's mind could wander too far in that dangerous direction, the bedroom door creaked open and Marian glided into the room. As she wasn't wearing anything terribly exciting – just her everyday gingham dressing gown – he expected her to slip quietly into bed next to him. But instead, she sat down at her vanity and turned on a lamp, and as she brushed out her golden curls, he was relieved to see her complexion had recovered its usual robust color.

Once Marian had finished the last of her evening ablutions, she turned to face Harold with a come-hither glance. "Are you awake, darling?" she whispered in the throaty voice that always drove him wild.

Harold's heart immediately began to beat faster, and he contemplated reaching out and pulling her right into bed with him. But out of curiosity – as well as not wanting to get his hopes up too high lest he was mistaken about the signals she was sending him – he decided to wait and see what the librarian had in mind. "Yes," he whispered back.

Giving him that wonderful beam he'd been missing, Marian climbed into bed next to him. Before he could roll onto his side in order to greet her properly, her small but strong hands were running over his back, kneading the kinks out of his muscles.

"Ohh," Harold groaned happily, glad that he'd had the forbearance to avoid pouncing on her straightaway.

"I thought you might like that," his wife said indulgently. "You've been working too hard – it's bound to catch up to you sooner or later." She planted a soft kiss on his cheek. "Congratulations on another wonderful parade, darling."

Though the music professor was tempted to simply remain still and enjoy Marian's tender ministrations, he feared he would drift off to sleep before he could properly reciprocate, and he wasn't about to let this rare opportunity slip between his fingers. Rolling over to face his wife, Harold pulled her into his arms for a long, deep kiss – which she eagerly returned as her fingers hastily worked him free of his union suit. Likewise, his fingers frantically undid the fastenings of her dressing gown. When he brushed bare skin instead of a camisole, he was surprised enough to end their kiss and gaze quizzically at Marian, even as his hands continued to hungrily roam her curves from her delectable breasts all the way down to her drawer-less thighs. While he'd known better than to hope for one of her Paris specials, he couldn't remember the last time the librarian had come to bed wearing absolutely nothing beneath her dressing gown. Harold was already hard for her, but this realization sent a jolt of pure lust to the pit of his stomach – the very spark he was terrified had died – that only intensified his arousal.

"You planned this all along, you little vixen," he said approvingly.

Letting her robe fall away and rolling the music professor flat on his back, Marian straddled him with a blushing but arch smile. "Even if the girls had to be home tonight, I didn't see why we couldn't have at least a little time to ourselves – "

She was cut off mid-sentence, letting out a sharp moan as Harold grasped her hips and thrust upward. She was so wet he slid into her easily, and this proof that she'd worked herself up into a lather thinking about this all evening sent him into overdrive. Pulling the librarian down to him, he crushed her mouth against his and set a furious pace that she matched effortlessly, further demonstrating that she was just as desperate for him as he was for her. It had been ages since Marian was this bold and wild with him, unabashedly gasping heated encouragements into his ear as she tugged his hands to her breasts and her backside and everywhere else she wanted him to touch her.

Yet for all that, they couldn't lose themselves completely in each other, lest they wake their daughters up. Despite the music professor's disappointment of not being able to hear Marian's ecstasy or express his own to the fullest, there was something excruciatingly erotic about seeing her bite her lip raw and feeling her nails dig into his shoulders in the struggle to stifle her screams of delight as he brought her to climax again and again. So while it wasn't quite Paris, it was pretty damn close.

But more importantly, as they made love, Harold's heart was pounding and his pulse was racing only for Marian, all thoughts of admiring strangers thoroughly knocked out of his head.