Two:
A Break in the Clouds
As soon as the door shut behind her, Elsie knew that running had been the wrong thing to do. She still felt like that scared maid, taking her things and running at the first chance she'd gotten, giving notice when her Da had died. The fear shook her like a hand round her neck, but something deep inside her whispered that she could trust her Charlie – that he wouldn't hurt her like Laird Grant had done. The juxtaposition of two such opposing views, stark with contrast, made her indecisive and frightened, moreso than just fearing for her life and what was left of her virtue.
She leaned against the door, her hand over her mouth to smother the sob that threatened to break free, but she could not open the door again, could not face him. Not when her shame was on parade for him to see now. Not when she had confessed such a sin, a breakwater tide that threatened to drag her under over and over again until she wished for death.
And now that he knew her secret, how could he possibly love her? How could he possibly want to be with her day in and day out, knowing that she had been ruined by another man? How could he want to touch her, to hold her, to have… relations… with her? What had she done? Why on God's green earth had she confessed to him?
Because it was eating her alive, like a monster gnawing in her belly, threatening to turn her inside out for its amusement. Because she loved him, and she could not hold it back any longer. Because he deserved to know why her melancholy overtook her; why she had nightmares at times that he could hear through the thin wall between their rooms.
Because she was so tired of fighting, of being strong.
Because she needed him.
Of all the reasons she could bind together to justify her actions, the last two were the truth: stark, piercing darkness and light honed on the edge of a knife, threatening to slice her. She could lie to herself no more than she could lie to him, to deny the truth of her life and her pain.
She heard his footsteps, purposeful and heavy too late to react before the door was opened from the inside and she fell forward – straight into him. The man who might be her savior or her accuser, the man she loved more dearly than she loved herself. His arms were warm as they steadied her, gently releasing till the only hold he had on her was a light grasp of her elbows, holding her at arm's length. She looked up at him with fear tearing at her insides, making her heartbeat race; would he break her now or would he wait until the shock had settled in?
He said nothing, just stared at her for the longest time; her heart shattered and she bit her lip to force back a shuddering sob. He took a step back into the room, pulling her with him, then another and another until they were clear of the door. He nudged it shut with the tip of his well-polished shoe, still holding her gently in his grasp. He closed his eyes and exhaled, the rush of air sounding to her ears like defeat. She bowed her head, refusing to look at him again; it was too much, knowing that he was going to leave her now. That he might even go to their employers and report her for the liar she was; the thief of their money that she had become over the years. For what right had she to it, broken and bleeding as she was?
He released his hold on her and she backed away, one shuffling step than another, until she was against the door. She closed her eyes and whispered, "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."
"I am sorry, too," he rumbled, his normally booming voice lowered to a low peal of thunder, creeping across the garden like a wave. "I am sorry that you've suffered with this on your own for so long, Elsie. No one deserves this. No one – especially not you."
"Mr. Carson," she choked out, "I don't want your pity –"
"I do not pity you, Elsie Hughes," he said, his voice dropping to a whisper. "I could never. You are stronger than I've ever known anyone else to be; how could I offer you pity when you deserve so much more?"
"But, Charles –"
He placed his hands on either side of her, bracing himself against the door, leaning toward her until his lips were scarcely more than a breath away from hers. "I love you," he murmured, the lion's roar suddenly less than a fury, little more than a purr. "And I will let no man harm you again. It will not stand, Elsie."
She released her lower lip from the bite of her teeth, letting out an almost hysterical sob as she dissolved into tears. His hands came up, brushing the tears away as he whispered assurances and promises; her heart reformed and began to sing praises – of him, of them, of the love that they surely shared. The tears ceased, and she finally met his gaze, hoping against all hope to find him looking back at her without a trace of pity.
She shivered with the intensity of his gaze, feeling it overcome her; it was not the love or the tender devotion she saw there that unnerved her… nay, it was the desperate fire in his eyes, banked and needy. She could only answer back the siren call with a weak touch of the same need; she was frightened by the sheer strength of the fire between them, such passion that could destroy them both.
But her fear that he would still leave her was so strong it was a tangible thing, waiting for her to reach out and touch it. Touch him, the little voice in her head insisted shrilly. Make him stay. Break that bastard's hold on you – Charles loves you. He would never hurt you. Never ever and a sea of nevers.
Without thinking, letting her heart lead her head round the merry chase for once, she pulled him down for a kiss. It wasn't like their nightly kisses good night, flavored with sherry or port or scotch whiskey, tender and sweet and all the things that sweethearts were meant to share. No, this was something altogether different; something that sparked between them like a flint, igniting, burning out of control in a flash of fire, burning her alive where she stood, her fingers clutching his lapels desperately.
He let her lead the dance, inappropriate as it was; they were not yet wed, the banns only begun to be read the Sunday prior. But in this moment, she wanted him: she needed him. She needed him in a way that could not be improper if you loved one another so much that without one another, the very air seemed to wither away. She fumbled with the door, the lock, securing them away from the outside world; the outside world that was so cruel and judgmental, so full of pain and suffering.
And they felt.
They felt one another, hands and lips and tongues guiding the way. They felt such emotions; hers conflicting and painful in ways that could not be described, and yet… she could not fault herself for feeling such love, such pureness of desire for him. Only him, her Charles; the man who would love her and shelter her from the storm. How could she not show him the depths of her love after all of this? Would she be a hypocrite anymore now than before, when she could speak of such love as a truth?
Elsie wanted so much more than a quick fumble, but she knew that stolen moments were hard to come by, and she was desperate to feel him, to hold him, to banish the memories and hold them at bay for another year. She had never wanted someone nearly as much as she wanted Charles, her Charles. Her sense of shame was overwhelmed, and she felt nothing but love for him.
Their kisses, their caresses, his hand beneath her skirts, gently stroking parts of her that made her blush, all conspired to a breathless whisper of, "Charles. Please."
The dam broke, their emotions bursting forth with force. Suddenly, it didn't matter that they were… fornicating… against the door of his pantry. All that mattered was that he was inside her, and she felt no shame in it. She felt no shame in loving him; after all, she was already fallen. She had already given birth to a child by a man whose seed had been spilled in violence; why could she not take benediction in something so pure and loving as her body joined with her Charlie's?
The heat between them grew ever hotter, scorching in its intensity; he smothered her cries of pleasure with his lips, breathed them back as tiny whimpers as he moved within her. It was fierce, primal, overwhelming. It was beautiful.
There was no shame between them, no remorse.
She floated away on gossamer wings, touching the sky, the moon, the stars…
Even in the dark of night, pretending that his hands were upon her, touching her, bringing her to fulfillment, she had not reached such heights of ecstasy. Nor had she come back to earth to such a gentle kiss, pressing their foreheads together, one unruly curl of his hair between them.
"Oh, Elsie," Charles Carson whispered, "I never want to let you go. Not now."
She whispered back, "Me either, Charles."
No shame, no remorse, just a deep, abiding love.
END PART TWO