CHAPTER FOUR

Margaret revelled being alone in such a treasury. She strolled lovingly along the bookcases, her fingers lightly caressing the leather spines. The titles read as names of old friends, and she took down some familiar ones and leafed through them.

On the wall behind the door was a low free-standing ladder, sturdily built with deep steps and a wide platform at the top to allow access to the higher shelves. Curiosity got the better of Margaret's reserve at using such an item in a strange house and she climbed to the top, finding herself looking at volumes of the plays and poetry. She carefully removed a book of collected works from the shelf. Then, seating herself on the edge of the platform, her feet on the top step she turned the pages, waiting for Mrs Keenan to return.

Voices started sounding in the corridor, echoing against the walls, the men must be returning from the dining room, Margaret was about to stand up and make her way back to the drawing room, when the door opened.

'Here it is,' Margaret could not see the man who spoke, but recognised by his voice that he was Mr Watson. ' Whatever book you require should be in here, Locke.'

Mr Locke stepped through the door and turned back, 'Thank you Mr Watson, this is most generous, I shall only be a moment.'

'My dear boy, take as long as you need, borrow what you will.' With that Mr Watson was gone, closing the door behind him.

'Good evening,' Margaret said from her vantage point. Mr Locke whirled around

'Miss Hale!' He put his hand on his chest. 'Goodness but you scared me! No, don't get up,' Margaret had made as though to move. 'You may be able to assist me from that vantage point, if you wouldn't mind.'

'Which book are you searching for?'

'A particular volume of political history Mr Thornton recommended.' Mr Locke began to scan the shelves. 'He saw I had finished another, and thought I might appreciate the view from the other side.' Then looking up at Margaret again, 'What have you up there?'

'Plays and poetry' Margaret twisted her neck to read the titles, marvelling at the haphazard groupings, 'and books on industrial machinery.' She was about to enquire as to what title he was looking for, when Mr Locke stopped and removed a book from the shelf.

'Here!' He held it up, triumphantly, just as the door opened again.

'Mr Locke,' Margaret closed her eyes as John's gentle low voice flowed over her. 'Have you managed to locate it? Watson's system is deeply idiosyncratic.' Margaret watched as John crossed the room to Mr Locke.

'I have just this moment found it,' Mr Locke replied. 'Although I confess I was aided most admirably.' He looked up, over John's shoulder at Margaret. John frowned, turning in the direction of Locke's gaze and saw Margaret, laughing at Locke's absurd statement. His brow softened, and a half smile played on his lips as he looked up at her, tucked away just above the door.

'Miss Hale,' he bowed his head slightly towards her.

'Mr Thornton,' Margaret also aware of keeping formalities in company. But her eyes glowed softly as they met his. A silence stretched between them for a moment longer than was perhaps decent.

'Mr Locke is too kindly in his remark!' Margaret shifted her attention back to the young man, who was beginning to feel as though it were he, and not Mr Thornton, who had just arrived. 'I have hidden here too long, no help to anyone and becoming a most impolite guest!' Margaret reached up and took hold of the single rail to her left, against the bookcase, steadying herself as she stood up to leave.

But to stay, she so wished to stay. Here, in this beautiful room with the endless rows of books and dark wood panelling. This perfect room with its intoxicating mix of warm candlelight and fresh moonlight, and John. He had moved closer to her now, ready to offer a supportive hand for her descent, his nearness made her nervous, excited.

'I fear we are all guilty of that now, Miss Hale,' Margaret took a moment to recall her last remark. Mr Locke was now also closer to her, but standing by the door. 'Being impolite guests, I mean' he continued, talking quickly again as Margaret placed her book back on the shelf. In truth, Mr Locke was more anxious to return to Miss Latimer than fulfil his role as attentive guest. 'Myself especially,' he added, realising he had just possibly deeply offended Thornton and Miss Hale. 'I should thank Mr Watson for his allowing me to borrow from his library,' and find Miss Latimer he silently added. He appeared to nod as if in justification of what he had said.

'I shall see you in the drawing room, Miss Hale,' he inclined his head towards her. 'Mr Thornton,' another small bow, 'Thank you again for the recommendation.' John returned his gesture, and Locke left to find his dear Miss Latimer.

Alone. Margaret had been thinking of John all evening, and now they were alone. The silence enveloped them as a friend, taking them into its confidence. She began to step slowly down the ladder, wary of keeping her balance and so reaching to take John's hand.

John took her hand, feeling each of her finger tips come to rest on his palm as though it were a kiss. His eyes swept lovingly up her slim bare arm, flowing over the bend of her elbow to her shoulder, remembering that briefest of touches earlier in the evening. He followed the curve of her neck, tracing the shadows cast by her earrings on her beautiful throat, and finally came to rest meeting her eyes.

John felt he could look at her all night as he had been thinking of her all evening, but he wanted to hold her, kiss her. Gently, he laid Margaret's hand on his shoulder, moving up against the ladder as he did so. Then, quickly, strongly before he lost his nerve, John placed one arm around Margaret's back and other behind her thighs and lifted her off the steps, pulling her into him. The silk of her dress rustled and whispered as Margaret's body softened into him and she placed her other arm around his neck, clasping her fingers against his collar.

To have her so close to him. John turned his head, closing his eyes as he rested his head lightly on Margaret's. Absorbing her warmth, drawing her in to his heart, fighting the desire to push the door shut and turn the key in lock. He turned slightly then slowly put her feet on the floor, placing his hands on her beautiful face as she twisted her body towards him. His skin shivered as Margaret's fingers trickled from behind his neck and traced his jawline.

A moment of sweet anticipation. Then a kiss. Sweet and tender, like the first time, but stronger with an edge of passion that reached out and eased that dull aching need deep within Margaret. But it wasn't enough, she wanted more. She felt John's lips part gently, and she responded, deeper, longer, fiercer. Her body trembled and her heart pounded, but her head felt so light.

John's hand began to slide, so deliciously, down her neck leaving a trail of singing nerves and senses. On to her shoulders, exploring, flowing, coming to a teasing halt on her breastbone. He fought harder against the longing need to shut the world away, to take Margaret to one of the couches bathed in moonlit shadows, to begin to unfasten the row of buttons on her dress he could feel under his hand, to pull the pins from her hair and feel her body move underneath him. He kissed her lips again and again and then whispered along her cheek to her ear. Margaret's heart silently cried out, willing him to continue, existing only to feel his kiss. She closed her eyes again as his lips, warm against her neck, found the place where her pulse thundered and hummed.

Each kiss bought more pleasure than the one before, new sensations awakened new desires within Margaret, wanting still more, needing to be closer. She slipped her hand under his jacket and found the edge of his waistcoat, following it around to his back, stretching her hand over the buckle that held it taught to his body. Her head twisted towards his, searching for his mouth, kissing him. The desire running through her gave Margaret a confidence she didn't know she had and her lips parted on his, encouraging him, shivering with pleasure as John's hand began to move to the curve of her breast.

John's arm tightened around Margaret's waist, and he stepped forward, moving her backwards against the wood panelling between the bookcases behind her. The wall pressed against Margaret's back, and she used the support to pull John to her. He could feel Margaret's fingers pushing against his back, the pressure increasing as his hand flowed along the neckline of her dress, tracing the contours of her breasts. Her breath was coming in short gasps, her heart thudding against the constraints of her corset, forcing Margaret to pull away from John's kisses. She drew the outline of his lips, not wanting to be parted from them and he kissed her finger tips. Then bent and kissed her neck again, her shoulder, her collarbone. Margaret tilted her head back against the wall, turning her cheek towards the wood as John's lips pressed into her breast. His fingers played along the top of her dress, slipping under the silk. Margaret felt him kiss the heartbeat on her neck again, and he began to turn his body to her side, moving his arms ready to lift her again.

Somewhere, far away from both their senses, a door opened. Footsteps. A voice.

'. . . no she must still be in the library.'

Another lingering kiss on Margaret's neck, John's arms reaching across her back and slipping past her waist.

Footsteps, coming down the corridor.

Their silent world was fading.

'Yes, if you could find them, I shall fetch Miss Hale,' the voice again, female, much closer. At the sound of her name Margaret jolted away from John, suddenly woken.

'I must . . . ' she stumbled over the words that seemed to crash clumsily from her. ' We cannot . . . I . . .' Dizzy, disorientated. They must not be found here. They must not be discovered like this. Margaret could only think to leave, to preserve these secret moments, but could not explain as the words would not come. She sought reassurance in John's eyes, catching his fingers in hers as his hands fell away from her body. But John looked away from her, only able to briefly meet her searching gaze. He too felt suddenly awoken, but to a reality where he had given in to a deep desire. He was reeling away from the edge he had been so close to only moments before, and it scared him.

Margaret's fingers trailed out of John's hand and she went to the door, quickly glancing back to him. But John had turned away, racked with conflicting emotion.