This is an abridged version of an M rated chapter previously uploaded to A03. This version discusses sex and is probably a mild T rating due to innuendo but does not contain explicit sexual content. I've decided to upload it here even though it is a shorter chapter as it bridges a gap between the previous chapter and the next.
Seven months.
Two hundred and fifteen days actually, if Margaret was being precise. And twelve hours.
That was how long it had been since John had last taken her to bed.
It had not been so terrible at first; at first she thought he was just tired after his journey and many months away. Then, she had started to think her changing body was unattractive. That was when the jealousy had set in. If he looked at any woman who was not related to him for longer than a few moments, Margaret was convinced he would be stolen away from her.
It was only on their visit to London, Margaret had realised why he would not lie with her. Not because, as he had reassured her over and over, he did not want her. He was worried about hurting her, about being too rough.
"Edith." Margaret asked her cousin the next day. "I have a rather personal question to ask you."
"Ooh, you have me intrigued!" Edith squealed, leaning forward and almost knocking the tea off the table. "I am so glad Mr Thornton had that last meeting to attend before you return to Milton, I thought I would not get any scandalous conversation from you at all!"
Margaret laughed, straightening Edith's teacup on the saucer. Her cousin had changed little from their childhood; she had always been far too easily excited.
"Please, I think I am the least scandalous person who has ever lived! No, I need your advice about something. It is delicate."
Edith's eyes flashed.
"Go on."
"When you - when you are expecting, do you and Maxwell -" Margaret felt her cheeks flame red. "Oh, forget it."
"Migs!"
"I am sorry, it was inappropriate of me to even try to discuss this. It is a private matter, between husband and wife."
Edith smiled knowingly, reaching across the small table and patting Margaret's hand.
"Army wives are rather less - secretive about these matters. Some of the things I heard in Corfu would make even the hardiest dock worker blush! Are you alright, darling girl?"
"He will not touch me." Margaret bit out, her eyes filling with humiliated tears. "He hasn't touched me since he returned from Spain. Not like that, anyway. He sleeps in another room, he avoids me like I am diseased!"
Margaret hated the fact that John slept apart from her. He blamed his coughing or not wishing to disturb her, but the empty space in their bed that had taunted her the entire time he was in Spain continued to do so. Here in London, they shared a bed - yet this morning she had woken to find him curled up in a chair!
"Have you spoken to him about it? Perhaps he is trying to be helpful in that utterly infuriating way only a man can manage."
"He does not want to hurt me, or the baby. I do understand but surely it is not so dangerous? If one were gentle, it would be safe, yes?"
Edith took a sip of tea, looked around the room and leaned forward. Margaret did the same, hoping she would get an honest answer to her question.
"I must confess that I cannot keep my hands to myself when it comes to Maxwell. I quite lose all decorum when I am expecting a baby. Why, when I was expecting Sholto I made him take me while we were at the theat-"
"Edith!" Margaret was sure the heated blush she felt burn her cheeks extended to the very tips of her toes. "That is certainly not what I have in mind!"
"You asked!" Edith batted back. "I would go mad without it, I am just being truthful!"
"I am going mad!" Margaret hissed, eyes darting to make sure this most inappropriate conversation was not overheard. "I am certain I cannot stand it a moment more."
"Talk to him. He does seem a little - I cannot quite put my finger on it. A little tightly wound, perhaps? He is probably nervous. Men hide their emotions so deeply, it is rather tiresome trying to understand what they are thinking."
"John does not hide his feelings." Margaret said. "In fact, he is often so blunt if I did not love him so much I might be offended."
"Then talk to him!"
"He will think me immoral."
Edith smiled wickedly, lifting her cup to her lips and pausing dramatically.
"I think he will feel like the luckiest man on Earth."
A week later, Margaret had still not summoned enough courage to ask John for what she needed. He steadfastly avoided her at night, sleeping in either Fanny's old room or - as Margaret had discovered the previous night when she had gone looking for him - face down on his desk.
As a result of his poor sleeping habits, he was almost unbearable to be around. He snapped at everyone, save Margaret and his mother, barely ate meals and prowled around the mill like an angry cat. The workers scattered when they saw him coming - Margaret had overheard mutterings that the Master was just like he used to be.
It had gone on long enough. It was most ridiculous indeed, and more than that she missed him. She missed him so much she ached with it.
"Thank you Dixon." Margaret yawned as Dixon finished helping her get ready for bed. "You are dismissed. Actually - if you see Mr Thornton and he is still working, might you ask him to come and see me?"
Dixon shook her head, gathering Margaret's discarded clothes as she huffed and puffed. Margaret frowned; was she really refusing to do as asked?! Surely it was not such an enormous task.
"He said not to be disturbed, Mistress. I'll not risk upsetting the beast."
"Dixon!" Margaret gasped. "I'll thank you to remember your manners."
"Just a joke, Mistress. He doesn't like to be disturbed when he has given orders, is all. Goodnight. Sleep well."
"Goodnight."
Margaret picked up the book - one Edith had leant her about childbirth, as though she could think of anything else - she kept beside her bed. Flipping through the pages, she threw it down beside her in frustration. She did not want to read! She certainly did not wish to read of the horrors of birth and all the things that could go wrong.
Climbing out of bed, she took a deep breath. She was not afraid of her husband. She would not sleep alone for another night. Wrapping John's dressing gown around her (her own was rather strained against the swell of her stomach), she opened the door. The floor of the hallway was cold under her bare feet as she crept downstairs. She felt like an intruder in her own home!
The rest of the house had retired for the night, and Magraret heard the sitting room clock strike eleven. Hannah Thornton retired for the night at nine o'clock every evening, Margaret a little later. John would work until his eyelids drooped.
She could see the light seeping underneath his study door. She did not knock, instead pushing the door open without waiting for an invitation. She soon realised such intrusion was not welcomed by her husband in the slightest.
"Leave!"
"Excuse me!" Margaret said, her hands going to her hips. "Do not speak to me like that!"
John's head snapped up. He grimaced.
"Margaret, I'm sorry. I didn't realise it was you. The damned servants won't give me any peace, clattering around like clumsy oafs and barging in here when they think I am out."
She watched him for a moment - he truly did look most irritated indeed. She sighed; he had been such a grump lately.
"Dixon told me you had told them all to leave you alone. I did not think such a rule applied to your wife."
John shook his head. His hair had grown too long, falling over his eyes as he leaned down. It curled around the nape of his neck, disappearing into the back of his shirt. He was too thin, also, his jaw sharp beneath the stubble he had not shaved away that morning. He wore his shirt and waistcoat, the white sleeves splattered with ink stains. He looked utterly dishevelled.
He looked utterly delicious.
Margaret swallowed.
"It doesn't, I'm just busy. I have three meetings next week, six new orders and Senor Barbor has just written-"
"John."
"-to say that one of his business partners-"
"John."
"-fears there will be a delay in supply-"
"John!"
Margaret stood behind him now, her hands at his neck. He groaned as she slipped them beneath the fabric of his shirt, skimming down his chest. She kept her hands there, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath her palm. He kissed her exposed wrist, even the slightest brush of his lips sending sparks through her.
"What?" His voice was hoarse.
"Come to bed."
"I can't." He gestured to the vast stack of papers in front of him.
"You look awful. Have you slept at all these past weeks? I know your neck must be hurting, for I found you twisted up like a discarded ragdoll at your desk in the middle of the night."
"I'm fine. Why were you up in the middle of the night? You need to rest."
"I am finding it hard to rest. There is something wrong."
He looked up again, his pen falling from his hand as he flicked his eyes up and down her. His brow furrowed as he stood, crossing the small room in an instant to examine her.
"You're ill?"
"Not ill." Margaret took a shaking breath. "Wanton."
He closed his eyes as he exhaled shakily.
"You had me worried."
"Darling, please - please just - can we just try?"
"Try what?" He grunted the words as he sat back down in his chair and picked up his pen.
Margaret would not lose this battle to paperwork.
"Lying together. As man and wife. Like we used to."
His hand faltered, the pen pausing over a line. Margaret held her breath, only to exhale in defeat as he resumed his writing a moment later.
"I'm busy."
"You're exhausted!" Margaret countered. "I can see the shadows beneath your eyes. Come to bed, my love. Even just to sleep. Lie beside me, let me hold you. Do not make me beg."
Closing the door behind her, Margaret walked over to his desk. The table was strewn with papers, more stacks of them littering the floor. John rubbed at his forehead, his shoulders tense. She stood beside him, her hand reaching out to stroke the hard line of his jaw. He groaned, capturing her hand and holding it there. He looked up at her with tired eyes. He looked at her carefully, then his mouth turned upwards in a broad smile.
"You're wearing my dressing gown."
Margaret watched him for a moment. In the quiet of the house, away from the mill and the pressures of life, he somehow looked delicate. Strange, she thought, that a man so tall and powerful could be called delicate. Yet, that was the word that came to mind - the crinkle of the skin by his eyes, the bobbing of his Adam's apple as he swallowed, the soft dark hair visible through the open collar of his shirt. She was struck by just how much she loved this man. Loved, desired - craved.
"Mine will not fasten." Margaret said, feeling a blush creep to her cheeks. "I am too big."
"You look lovely. It is strange, but when you wear my clothes - it reminds me that you are mine."
Margaret laughed, looking down at the plain red dressing gown she wore.
"When do I ever wear your clothes?! I think I would look quite ridiculous in a cravat."
"You know what I mean. The odd time you have thrown my shirt over your head just so you are covered and warm. Now. You are mine."
"I am yours. The proof is rather hard to ignore." Margaret said, her hands resting on her rounded stomach, big with the evidence of their love. "Come to bed, darling. Let me show you I am yours."
"Oh God." John groaned, his eyes closing. "Say it again."
"I am yours." She held a hand out to him. He stood as though entranced by her, and took her hand. "I love you, John. You are mine."
"I've always been yours."
He tugged her close to him, his arms circling her until she was so tight against him she had no choice but to rest her face against his chest. She inhaled deeply, his scent filling her nose and calming the rapid beating of her heart. He was hers. Hers.
"I know."
"You're sure it's safe?"
"I asked Edith and-"
John choked, sputtering as he looked at her with wide eyes. Margaret could not help but laugh at his shock, though she reached up and ran a thumb along his jaw to drag him from his stupor.
"You asked Edith?! Is that why she could barely look me in the eyes when I said goodbye?"
"Possibly." Margaret said, her voice wavering as she struggled not to laugh. "I'm sorry darling, I didn't know who else to ask. I could hardly ask Aunt Shaw - or your mother. Maybe I should have asked Fanny.."
She was only teasing, but John made a funny sort of choking noise and buried his face in his hands. When she tried to lower them from his face, she realised he was shaking with laughter. He raised his face to her and reached out, pressing his hand to the rounded bump. John's eyebrows near enough shot into his hair as he was rewarded with a firm kick to the palm of his hand.
Margaret laughed, placing her hands over his.
"He's always more active at night when everything is quiet. Which you would know if you would just return to our bed."
John turned from her to extinguish the lamp at his table. The room was dark, and Margaret fumbled for the door. Before she could open it, she felt his body pressed against her back. She closed her eyes, enjoying the sense of having him close. She could smell him in the darkness, his usual scent of smoke and soap. It filled her, and she revelled in the intimacy of that moment.
"Are you certain?" His voice was hesitant, and she wondered if she should open the door to see his face. "I don't want to hurt you."
"You've never hurt me, darling. You are the most gentle, considerate lover."
"I don't feel it. I feel rough, pent up. There are many reasons I've left you alone these past months, Maggie."
Margaret braced herself for more excuses.
"I know, you do not wish to disturb me-"
"Yes, but there is another. You will think less of me for it."
"Never."
"You are too beautiful. I cannot - keeping my hands off you has been near impossible." His voice was thick, laced with lust.
Oh, she had missed that voice. That quiet, dark voice saved only for her. Hers. He was hers, hers.
"Then why have you avoided me? I - I would have no complaints. I fear this baby has made my blood rather hot, John." She said, feeling embarrassment creep up her spine. "I've thought of little else, especially this past week."
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"I tried to tell you in London. In truth I have barely seen you to try and discuss it. That is why I am here now." Margaret said, trying to make her voice sound firm. "I am here for a reason."
"To seduce me?"
"Is it working?"
He tugged her further back so her back rested flush against his hips.
Oh.
"You tell me."
A/N: You can read the rest on A03 (I know several of my readers don't like smut so I've cut it before things get too rude). A new chapter will be up in the next couple of days - it's over 7000 words and I've not been very well lately so it's been a struggle. Off topic - I saw Uncle Vanya with Richard Armitage in last week and man, what a play! He's a dream.