Chapter Nineteen
Margaret had known he would not answer her. She knew from the moment she first thought of questioning him. He did not like to speak about the time that Margaret was ill. It hadn't taken her very long to figure that out. She understood completely when she asked him why he hadn't told her she was unconscious for six days. There was a look in his eyes, an unusual expression on his face, not to mention the barely concealed outrage in his voice, that spoke more to Margaret than John ever would. She realized that she had come to understand John quite well over the two years she had known him. Well, it was more his expressions, his tone of voice she could understand. Not necessarily him. Him she did not really understand at all. Everything he did contradicted itself. The man himself was a walking contradiction. Everything she had ever thought she knew about him seemed to be incorrect. He was not what he appeared, he never had been, and Margaret began to wonder if he ever would be. Perhaps she would never fully understand him. She could accept that with ease, but there were some things she just wanted to know. She wanted to understand why he had done what he had for her. Why had he married her? What drove him to take back his initial rejection of marrying her. She had several guesses, even some hopeful fantasies, but she needed to know for certain. A part of Margaret truly believed that if she knew why he changed his mind, then they could continue to build a relationship to whatever end based around it. If the answer was that he felt it was his duty, then she would spend eternity showing him her gratitude. If it was out of respect for her father, then she would make certain their relationship would not suffer for any reason because of her, while spending eternity showing him her gratitude.
She was startled from her thoughts when John removed the shall from her shoulders and handed it to the butler, whose name she had yet to learn. Margaret had not even realized that they were home, letting John lead her the entire way. The unusual anxious feeling in the pit of her stomach sparked to life as his fingers brushed her shoulder, and she tried to see his face. But it seemed as though he were trying to keep her from looking at it, and she was left following him into the sitting room. Once he had closed the door, he walked over to the fireplace and lay his arm on it. He looked tired; very tired. But Margaret assumed it was a combination of the lack of sleep, and the exhaustion of being out all day…not to mention whatever it was that had happened between John and her father.
Once she heard John's voice breaking, as he tried to convince her father that he had done nothing for her, she knew she should leave. She and Dixon had gone to make some tea, both silently hoping (for the men's sake more than their own) that everything would be settled. When the tea was ready, Margaret carried it up, leaving only a few minutes before Dixon. It was exactly enough time for her to hear her father speak:
"Nonsense! It wasn't Dr. Donaldson who spent six sleepless nights by her side, offering her words of comfort." Her body had froze, hand still poised to knock, as her mind processed this information. But Dixon arrived before she heard anything else that was spoken. Her eyes immediately sought John's as she entered the room, and she felt as though her heart had stopped. His eyes held a desperation she had never seen before, his face soaked with tears. She'd never seen him cry before. The only time she had come close to it was when she vehemently rejected his proposal, and even then she couldn't be sure that's what it was. But he had looked away and said nothing else for the duration of their stay. Even when she spoke to him directly.
Even now he was silent, and she could not understand why. It was driving her insane. She had to know, she needed to know what he was thinking, how he was feeling. She could have waited for a better time to bring such difficult subjects up between them, but she didn't want to. She was tired of not knowing. She wanted to move forward, in whatever way was possible. So she would bring them forward, even if he didn't want to.
"Is it true?" Margaret asked him, her tone surprisingly confident though it was nothing of how she truly felt.
"No." he replied, his tone uncharacteristically cold and harsh. Perhaps he suspected what she was doing, or perhaps the subject was more painful to him than she originally thought. But she couldn't stop now, she had just started. She was determined to see it through completely.
"But my father-" she didn't get a chance to finish however, because he cut her off rather abruptly.
"It was five days, not six." Although his tone belied a force that was not to be tempted, his response encouraged her. It gave her the courage to continue. And as the nervous anxiety that always accompanied close company with John grew within her, burning a path of raging nerves throughout her body, she felt she might need all the courage she could get.
"You did not sleep for five days?" She asked him, entirely baffled. Margaret could not imagine going without sleep for five days. Everything suddenly clicked into place for her. His unusual appearance when she first woke up, the way he clung to her as though he would never see her again, the clutter about the bedroom, the servants' reaction to seeing her awake, his behavior the day before, the…wedding clothes! He had forbidden anyone from touching them, and had not left her side since their vows. That was why he kept staring at them when he thought she wouldn't notice. Why he was always nervous when they were brought up.
He had undressed her.
He had undressed her, and was afraid that she would find out.
Why would he leave them in plain sight then? It was their unusual presence on the chaise lounge that made her suspicious in the first place. She did not understand. He undressed her, set their clothes on the chaise lounge, and then what? Sat in a chair at her bedside for six days? He glanced very quickly in her direction, though not long enough for her to see his face, and she knew that he was extremely uncomfortable. "You nursed me back to health?" This time he did not look at her, but began wringing his hands, something Margaret had never seen him do before. It didn't settle well in her stomach. He turned away from her suddenly, and began walking very quickly in small circles, something else she had never witness him do either. He seemed so agitated over this topic and she briefly considered stopping and letting him calm down. It was unnerving how…ill at ease he was. She had never seen him with so little confidence. But even though part of her wanted to stop, she knew she could not. She was too far in already, and she desperately needed to know why. "You stayed by my side for six days?" She asked.
He stopped, and looked at her directly for the first time since she'd interrupted the talk he was having with her father. Her breath caught at the sight of him. His gaze was so penetrating, so piercing, more than it ever had been, and she found herself wanting to step back and away from the searing intensity of his eyes. There was a thousand different thoughts in those eyes, simmering lowly, but not lacking passion. She took another step towards him. He turned from her again, taking several steps away, but continuing his agitated pacing. "You found me unconscious in my fathers home," she continued, her voice growing in strength as she neared him. "And carried me to my room." Margaret continued towards him, but he was taking identical steps backwards and away from her. Refusing to let herself be hurt over this she continued:
"You brought me away from the rioters, carried me to safety." He stopped walking, and Margaret realized that he was trapped by the wall behind him. He must have noticed this as well, if the rigidity of his posture was anything to judge by. "You married me, saved me from destitution." In every sense of propriety, she should not have been so close to him. She could feel the tension radiating off him in waved, but it mirrored her own, and she would not stop now. "You undressed me on our wedding night." He was burning her with his look alone, and she stared, completely transfixed by the sight of him. Her heart pounded in her chest. "And you told my father that you did not want to marry me." Anxiety running full force through her body, she asked him the one question she desperately needed answered. The only missing piece of the puzzle. The question that she prayed held the answers to every mystery in their life. "Why?"
Several minutes passed where there was no communication between them. Nothing but his searing gaze and unreadable expression that made her feel a million emotions at once. "I do not understand you." She said after nearly five minutes of silence lapsed between them. Her voice had become seemed to have lost its confidence, and came out exactly as breathless as she currently felt. "I do not believe I ever will. But I would like to know why." His gaze, eternally unwavering, never shifted in its penetrating intensity as he finally replied:
"Why what?" Even his voice held more intensity than usual. It was deeper, heavier somehow. As though his very tone tried to tell her the secrets he kept buried within.
"Why am I here?" She hated how desperate, how pleading it sounded on her ears, but there was nothing to be done about it now. She had spoken the words and could only wait for his reply.
"Why did you marry me?" Margaret could see the wisdom in his reply, even while it frustrated her. Why did he have to be so cryptic? Could he not just tell her, would he make her guess it? Or was he simply not wishing to be the one who put his emotions on the line, and was forcing her to do it first? Her reply, when it came, was just as cryptic as his. Answering the question entirely while giving nothing away.
"Because you asked me to." Something changed in his expression then, first in his eyes, then in his face. Something that Margaret could not identify. Something that thrilled her while it frightened her. But she could not look away, not now. She was afraid this chance might never come again. She was thinking of a way to ask him again when he moved. It was so completely sudden, so entirely unexpected, that she gasped, sucking in as much air as possible in a feeble attempt to calm her riotous heart. In one swift movement he had put one hand on her waist, the other on her neck, pulled her body as close as humanly possible with his own, before crashing his lips to hers.
Margaret had know, oh yes she had known, that John was a passionate person. This was setting new boundary levels though, even for him. She could feel him against her, his chest expanding as rapidly as his current occupation would allow, his hands at both her waist and neck, gripping her so tightly, as though she might vanish if he let go. She could feel his heartbeat under her fingers, as sporadic and nonsensical as her own. But there was more than just that. She could still feel the tension coming off him in waves, feel it beneath her hands from where they rested on his chest. She could feel the desperation with his hands, and the despondency with his mouth, and she did not understand. In fact, she was more confused than ever before. But suddenly his hands were on her face, forcing her away from him. She opened her eyes (unaware that they had closed), wanting to see into his own. Wanting to see the joy, the euphoria, and rapture that she felt reflected back at her. But John's eyes were closed, brow furrowed, looking very much hurt and betrayed, and her own heart sank more than she was willing to admit.
"John?" She found herself asking, although her voice was quiet. But he would not respond, and it wasn't much longer afterwards that he shook his head, and walked straight out of the room without looking back once, leaving Margaret more alone than she ever had been before.
A.N: Holy inspiration, two chapters in one day! I probably could have just made this and the last one an average sized chapter rather than two unusually short ones, but oh well, too late now. So….tell me what you think, yeah?
Also, I would love to hear both your speculations on whats going to happen next, and what you want to happen next =D I can't wait.
And Tiffany! You're my 300th reviewer! Weren't you also my 200th? Lol
I love you guys! =D