Many thanks to Tmyres77 for beta reading this fic!
XXX
Marian Paroo Hill had been married for a little over a month when she came to the startling realization that she still wasn't entirely sure what her husband looked like when he was fully unclothed.
Of course, she'd had revealing glimpses of Harold when they were intimate, but she was so intoxicated by the giddy euphoria of it all that she hadn't really taken the time to stop and observe her husband once he removed his dashing suit. Even if Marian had the presence of mind – which was difficult to maintain once Harold took her in his arms – she would have been too embarrassed to look for long.
And the more Marian thought about it, the more she began to wonder if this phenomenon was partly due to Harold's designs. As passionate and unrestrained as he had become with her, he still retained the veneer of a gentleman. At night, he was careful to turn off the lights before they disrobed completely, and during the day, he drew the heavy drapes closed. When Marian later retired to the washroom to restore her appearance to its usual tidy and orderly state, Harold was always clothed when she returned to lie quietly in his arms.
At first, Marian had preferred things this way; it made acclimating to physical intimacy much less awkward. She had spent a lifetime concealing herself beneath the corsets, petticoats and high-necked collars that society deemed proper; even for a woman who was as much in love as she was, standing bare before another human being – and a man! – was no simple matter. So Marian might have gone on preferring things this way for quite awhile longer – had it not been for certain events that occurred shortly after she and Harold were married.
A week after Christmas, Marian's mother received word that a dear friend had passed away. Marian and Harold had accompanied Mrs. Paroo to Des Moines for the funeral, and the three of them had spent two weeks in the city. During that fortnight, Marian was a bit discomfited to discover just how acclimated she had become to her newfound relationship. Lacking sufficiently private sleeping quarters, she and Harold exchanged nothing but chaste goodnight kisses when they retired for the evening. Though Mrs. Paroo and the others pretended not to notice when the two of them slipped away for the occasional stroll – they were newlyweds, after all – these brief trysts only exacerbated Marian's longing for her husband.
Harold, of course, experienced the same difficulties. It was therefore no surprise to Marian that the moment they walked in the front door of their home, he took her in his arms. Normally, she would have counseled him to be a little more patient – they were both exhausted from traveling and in need of a good meal and a hot bath – but on this occasion, she wholeheartedly welcomed his embrace.
In their haste to make up for lost time, neither of them observed the usual niceties. Harold's suit and her dress ended up on the floor in a crumpled heap instead of being draped neatly over a chair, and the bedroom lights burned brightly as they made love. Afterward, Marian just barely managed to muster up the energy to attend to her usual evening toilette. But when she returned to their bedroom, the lights were still on, and she found Harold lying fast asleep on their bed – exactly as she had left him.
It was a startling sight. He hadn't even bothered to pull the blanket over himself; it looked as if he had simply passed out. A furious blush warmed Marian's cheeks as she gazed at her husband and fully realized what she had always suspected was true: Harold Hill was just as handsome out of his clothes as he was in them.
Quietly, so as not to wake him, Marian moved closer. When she eased herself onto the bed, Harold didn't even stir. She really ought to cover him – the evening air was chilly – but she was too captivated to move. For the first time, she could see all his scars. Though Harold had showed her the tar burn on his arm, he had been rather reticent to display his other injuries so openly. As he had already revealed a lot about his past, Marian had been content not to pry. But as the librarian gazed at the marks marring his otherwise pristine skin, she found herself recalling all the things Harold had told her, and matching his stories to his scars.
It was easy to determine the origin of most of her husband's marks: the crescent-shaped burn on his shoulder was from when he was branded in Tennessee, the abrasion on his elbow resulted from a rope burn he received while wriggling out of his binds in Illinois, the pale white blemishes on his thighs were from scaling a barbed-wire fence to escape an angry mob in Nevada. But there was one mark Marian couldn't place. On Harold's side was a scar about two inches long. The wound was obviously a serious one; she could see from the telltale marks that it had been stitched shut.
As Marian gazed curiously at this scar, she tried to recall if Harold had told her its origin. She was certain he hadn't; such a distinctive mark would have an equally distinctive story behind it. So why hadn't he ever mentioned this scar?
He wouldn't have told you anything if it involved a woman, a sly voice in her mind answered.
Marian frowned. Before her wedding night, it had been easy to ignore that nagging little voice. Though Charlie Cowell's statement about Professor Hill's past dalliances had rattled her, Marian soon forgot his words. During her courting days, she was more than reassured of Harold's devotion by the way he looked at her, the intensity of his kisses and the ardor of his wooing. And after they had consummated their union, Harold's feelings for her had only increased. In fact, he seemed to take special pride in gently and gradually introducing her to the pleasures of intimacy. But Marian still couldn't help wondering if her inexperience would eventually prove off-putting; despite the fervency of his embrace, she remained uncomfortably aware that in the past, Harold had always preferred the sadder-but-wiser girl.
As Marian continued to gaze at Harold's scar, she realized his breathing had grown too quiet. Glancing up, she saw he was now awake, and watching her with an introspective expression.
Harold grinned when their eyes met. "Enjoying the view, Madam Librarian?"
Marian's first impulse was to stammer a mortified apology and turn away, but her husband's teasing, self-assured tone irked her. She was tired of playing the blushing maid, tired of tiptoeing around the fact that, in terms of adult experience, they were starkly imbalanced. She refused to be cowed any longer; it was time they started talking about these things.
So despite her crimson cheeks, Marian told her husband exactly what was on her mind: "I was just wondering about the scar on your side. How did you get it, Harold?"
His smile faded. "That's a story best left for another time."
Marian raised an eyebrow at him; she knew as well as he did that if he had his way, "another time" would never come. "Indulge me, Harold."
"Marian! It's been a long day – a long two weeks," he said, exasperated. Getting out of bed, he retrieved his robe and slid into it. "We're both exhausted; we need a good night's sleep – "
"You're right," she replied, turning away from him. "Though I can't help but notice that in certain circumstances, you're always more than willing to forgo sleep!"
No sooner than she had finished speaking these words, Harold switched off the bedroom lights. As Marian's eyes struggled to adjust to the darkness, she felt her husband sit on the bed next to her. "Oh darling," he whispered, his lips brushing her ear, "you have your own irresistibility to blame for that. Sleep pales in comparison to your intoxicating charms." He wrapped his arms around her and drew her close. "There isn't a man in the world who could pass up the opportunity to make love to you."
Marian was well aware of what Harold was up to, but when he unbuttoned the collar of her nightgown and began to softly kiss his way down her neck, she felt herself lose the will to argue. Still, as addled as she was becoming, she couldn't let such outrageous flattery pass without response.
"Well, that's a rather grand compliment, Professor Hill," Marian archly retorted. "Who do you think I am – Helen of Troy?"
He chuckled softly and dropped a kiss on her now-bare shoulder. "No… you are infinitely more bewitching."
She let out a low laugh. "Harold Hill – forever the consummate salesman."
Harold's hands, which were in the process of unfastening the rest of her nightgown, froze. Before Marian could inquire what the matter was, the lamp on her bedside table blinked on, and Harold gently turned her face to his. She expected another pretty speech, but there was no trace of guile in his eyes. "Marian, I don't want it to be like this. Not with you."
She gave him a sad smile. "Sometimes, Harold, I can't help remembering how much of a stranger you still are."
XXX
Harold sighed. He had come so close to making Marian forget about the scar on his side – at least for the time being. But at the moment of his triumph, he had lost his nerve. Certainly, Harold could have made love to her, but it wouldn't have been as satisfying – although she was gradually surrendering to his seduction, there was an all-too-familiar guardedness in her demeanor that even the most passionate kiss wouldn't be able to overcome. One of the things he loved about making love to Marian was that she bestowed her affections more warmly and generously than any woman he had ever known; as much as Harold delighted in taking the lead, he was also discovering the joy of losing himself in her tender embrace.
But as always, there was a price for this pleasure. And once again, as Harold gazed into his wife's earnest, beseeching eyes, he discovered he was willing to pay it.
"I got that scar on my side during one of the first cons Marcellus and I ever ran together. I was in my mid-twenties, and Marce was just a teenager. For about a week, he scouted out a small town in Pennsylvania that was so rustic it was practically Amish. When Marcellus sent me his report, I figured it would be easy money, and showed up the very next day. The town did have a piano teacher, but she was the sweetest, most unsuspecting little old lady you could ever meet – I had her sewn up with a few sweet words on the first day. By end of the second day, I was her surrogate son." Harold paused. "But on the third day, I met Eileen."
The scolding yet indulgent smirk Marian always wore when he talked about his past disappeared. Seeing the apprehension in his wife's eyes, Harold hesitated. "Marian, if you don't wish to hear any more – "
That firm determination he knew so well took hold of her features. "Go on, Harold."
He nodded. "Eileen was the piano teacher's granddaughter; a high-spirited gal with light-brown hair, a million freckles, and the hint of an Irish lilt. She wasn't from around there. She lived in Philadelphia with her parents, and was in town for a visit. Her arrival caused quite a stir; made all the men realize just how plain Jane their farm girls really were. Eileen was witty, well-read and charming, but she wasn't a dainty woman – she could haul water and down tankards of beer with the best of them. That town had never seen a woman like her, and probably never will again."
"Was she musical, as well?" Marian asked.
Harold had to repress a smile at the jealous note in his wife's voice. "No – she was completely tone-deaf. But even though she didn't question my credentials, that didn't mean I had an easy time pulling the wool over her eyes. She wasn't the kind of woman you could get too comfortable around, or even pass a quiet evening with. Eileen had a mercurial nature; her moods were unpredictable, fickle and volatile. She was always going, going, going, and you never quite knew what she would do next."
Marian smiled slightly. "She sounds a bit like you, Harold."
He chuckled. "And so she was, a little. But unlike me, she was honest to a fault. The slightest whiff of wrongdoing, and she'd sound the alarm. Eileen was a dangerous liability; as well as being difficult to predict, she couldn't be manipulated. But," he said awkwardly, "she could be distracted. Half the men in town were in love with her, but I made sure she only had eyes for me. By the time the band instruments arrived, Eileen was dreamily humming wedding marches in her off-key voice, and her grandmother was planning her trousseau.
"But Eileen already had a fiancé back in Philadelphia. Well, perhaps I should say former fiancé. She had broken off their engagement, which is why she came to visit her grandmother – to get away from things for a little while. I didn't know about him, but he knew about me. Word had traveled, you see. So, just as I was preparing to leave town, Eileen's fiancé arrived." Harold sighed. "I never would have known any of this, if I had listened to Marcellus' advice and left when I should have."
"What happened, Harold?" Marian asked gently.
He swallowed. "I took Eileen for one last stroll, down some lonely country road. Her fiancé followed us. When the moment was right, he pounced. But Eileen saw him just in time, and pushed me out of harm's way. After a brief shouting match between the two of them – during which I learned the details I just related to you – she tried to take the knife from him. One minute, she was screaming and clawing at him, the next, she went pale and staggered backward. Her fiancé froze, and our eyes met for the briefest of moments; he looked absolutely horrified.
"But when Eileen started to fall, I forgot all about him, and ran to catch her. As I was frantically looking her over, trying to figure out where she was wounded and how badly, her fiancé seized his opportunity, and plunged the knife into my side.
"If it weren't for Marcellus, I probably wouldn't have made it. He saw what happened and knocked the man out before he could do any more damage. As I was slumping to the ground along with Eileen, he caught us. We made it about a mile before I passed out. To this day, I still don't know how Marcellus managed to do it, but when I woke up, I was in an inn somewhere far away from that town, and my wound had been neatly stitched shut."
And Harold left things at that. Please, Marian, he silently pleaded, don't ask me any more questions…
But she did. "And Eileen?"
Harold shrugged.
Realization dawned in Marian's eyes. "You mean – you just left her there?"
When he didn't reply, she goggled at him. "Harold," she said wonderingly.
The anger simmering below the surface erupted. "Marian, I did a lot of terrible things!" he exclaimed. "Why does this one act surprise you?"
She looked crestfallen. "Because you loved her."
Harold abruptly got out of bed.
Marian followed him to the door. "Please don't go, Harold," she entreated.
"I think I should," he said curtly.
She laid her hand on his arm. "I don't want you to go."
He whirled around to face her. "Marian, I left a woman in the middle of nowhere to die! And not just any woman – a woman I actually cared about. Why on earth would you want me to stay?"
"Harold," she said, looking steadily into his eyes, "when are you going to realize that I love you? All of you."
As much as Harold wanted to hear Marian tell him such things, it wasn't fitting that she should look at him with such sympathy and compassion. So he opened his mouth to assure her, in his usual smooth, confident manner, that he was well aware of her feelings for him. But all he could manage was a soft, strangled whisper: "Marian… "
She gently rested her fingers on his lips. Not that it mattered; even if Harold could find the right words, he was in no fit state to speak. At present, all his energy was concentrated on getting a handle on his churning emotions; he had never broken down in front of anyone, and he wasn't about to start.
Perhaps he might have been able to recover himself if Marian had let things remain at that. But she didn't – easing his robe open until his shoulder was exposed, she planted a tender kiss on his brand mark. Then she removed his arm from the sleeve and bestowed the same affection on his tar burn. Slowly, deliberately, she continued to work her way down the rest of his body. Each time her lips brushed one of his scars, he felt himself lose a little more control. When Marian reached the wound on his side, Harold could take it no longer; he reached down and gathered his wife into his arms.
"Harold," she started to protest, but fell silent when their eyes met. As she gazed at him, he let her see everything.
After holding him for a few moments, Marian gently backed out of his embrace. Her cheeks crimsoning, she unbuttoned her high-collared nightgown and slipped out of it. Transfixed, Harold watched as the garment fell to the floor; his wife stood bare before him in a way she never had previously. Before he could think of what to say or do in response, she came back over to him; he closed his eyes and sighed as Marian's soothing hands found their way to his flushed cheeks and fevered brow. "I love you, Harold Gregory Hill," she whispered.
Pulling her close, Harold demonstrated just how much he wanted, needed and loved her in return.
XXX
For Marian Paroo Hill, to be naked in the presence of another person was unthinkable. Her clothes were her armor; her badge of modesty and propriety. Although she might occasionally roll up her sleeves (but only if she were engaged in work that demanded such accommodations), she had never dared to leave a single button unnecessarily unfastened – not even on the hottest summer days.
Yet here Marian was late the next morning, cozily entwined in Harold's arms as they lay beneath a goose-down quilt, and unabashedly delighting in the feel of his bare skin against hers. Though the librarian had awakened twenty minutes ago, her husband was still asleep; his steady breathing gently stirred her hair, and she was not at all inclined to disturb his slumber.
It was especially astonishing to think that all of this had happened just after he had told her about a woman in his past – a woman who had meant something to him. Though she disliked ruminating about such subjects, Marian had always instinctively known that not all of Harold's past dalliances were simply cold calculations. But it was still hard for her to fathom that he could have shared something so precious with other women – and then simply walked away afterward.
Harold startled her by breaking the silence. "You're pondering something, aren't you, Marian?"
"What makes you say that?" she asked innocently – though her blushing smile gave her away.
Untangling an arm from their embrace, he put two fingers under her chin and turned her to face him. "Out with it, darling," he said, also smiling.
The crimson in her cheeks deepened. Despite the new plateau they had reached in their relationship, it still wasn't easy for her to discuss such delicate topics. But, given their current condition, she figured the time for being coy was past. Meeting her husband's teasing gaze, Marian spoke in her usual forthright manner. "I know that Eileen couldn't have been the only woman in your past that you developed feelings for. Yet in the end, you left every one of them. Why didn't you leave me?"
At first, she expected Harold to give a flippant reply, but he paused and regarded her with serious eyes. "Marian, I know you think of me as a Casanova who's had several torrid love affairs, but the truth is, a lot of the time, I was wooing women I wasn't attracted to in the least. In fact, some were downright repulsive. The local music teacher, no matter what she looked like, had to be won over somehow – as did any other woman who posed a threat to my operations. Now, I only went as far as I needed to go, to ensure their silence. Sometimes I had to go a bit further than I preferred" – he grimaced – "but that's the price of being a conman."
"And yet, you found it a price worth paying, for nearly two decades," she observed, raising an eyebrow at him.
"Well, now and then, I did come across a pretty gal," Harold admitted with a sheepish grin. "And that was enough for me. But then I arrived in River City and met my match. As I started to fall in love in a way I never had before, I realized such fleeting delights paled in comparison to the joy of being with you." He tightened his embrace. "Every night for the rest of my life, I want to go to sleep with you in my arms, and every morning, I want to wake up and see you beside me."
Marian felt herself welling up; another doubt had been laid to rest. "Oh, Harold… "
She wasn't the only one who was struggling with a sudden onslaught of emotion; Harold blinked a few times, and cleared his throat. When she gazed at him with concern, he chuckled. "Marian, I can't hide anything from you!"
"You don't have to," she assured him.
"Neither do you," he said in his low, velvety voice, his gaze roaming avidly over her unclothed body before he met her mouth with his.