Warning! This chapter is mostly smut. If you want to skip, I recommend only reading the beginning. I was going to edit this out because Robert isn't really the type of character to write smut for, but I figured I'd just go with it as usual/I couldn't help myself
Chapter Fourteen | One More Sin
Abraham's plan to subdue Arnold and bring him to the Continental camp for justice fails, for three nights later, the traitorous general surprises his Legion with news that they are to immediately ship out to Virginia to participate in the Southern Campaign. This news comes as a shock to everyone, but no doubt to Abe most of all, for he has no time to inform Robert of these orders. Robert discovers the news only after Abe has already departed York City the following afternoon, when Rivington approaches him to happily announce that 'that blasted Spyhunter' will not be frequenting the tavern for some months, for he has finally gotten his wish to lead his men to battle. Rivington also hopefully adds that he half expects it to be Arnold's final battle, considering his bad leg and overeager desire for glory, but this is said in a much lower voice and for Robert's ears only. Of course, Robert does not keep this information to himself.
"Oh, I knew this was a bad idea the moment I heard it," Margot bemoans when Robert finds a moment to inform her of the news. She has been preparing to return to Setauket for a time on the basis of visiting old friends, and has already made her traveling arrangements to do so. Her original plan had been to leave the city that very afternoon, but news of this latest development rather sets things back a bit. She hadn't argued when Robert had led her upstairs where she might find some privacy from the clamor of the soldiers in the main room. It gives them more freedom to speak of things better kept between themselves. Rivington had stepped out to perform several errands about town, and Robert had taken advantage of his absence to speak with Margot without it procuring any raised eyebrows or loaded smiles from his business partner, who, in Robert's opinion, is a little too interested in the pair's relationship.
"Yes, but this is now out of our hands," he tells her, taking the liberty of adding another log to the fire and stoking it for her. As he does, he says, "You should return home for now. It will be safer if you take your leave of the city."
But such is not to be, for even though Margot reluctantly agrees that she ought to continue with her original plans, her stay becomes ends up being extended. The reason for this is because, only a short time later, Robert receives a letter from Hercules Mulligan, requesting him to come and see him at his 'earliest convenience, for I have recently acquired the fabrics you have requested, and at a fine bargain as well'. Having never made Mr. Mulligan's acquaintance herself, Robert quietly informs her that the man is in fact a fellow patriot who keeps his eyes and ears open and has many clients within military circles from which he learns all manner of interesting things that could be of use to the cause. Once Robert decides to meet with the man, Margot decides to remain at Rivington's Corner for a while longer. She had already said her goodbyes to Beatrice and her husband. They must think she had already left the city hours previous, and so contriving an alibi for her presence here is not necessary. Should she require one, her alibi shall be Robert himself, and her desire to spend more time with him before her departure. Robert thinks it a feeble one, but she is quick to remind him that most men think female pursuits as such, and therefore won't question her reasoning. As a result, she enjoys watching him attempt to rectify the offense she had spun into his words, which he later huffs at with a sort of fond frustration.
After some plans are laid down for his meeting, Robert takes his leave of the tavern and heads to Queen Street, where Mulligan's shop is located, telling her to take care while he is gone. She wishes he wouldn't worry about her but understands why he does. The tavern is hardly rowdy during the afternoons, but it is still a tavern full of men, and she, a woman. For a time, she considers taking lunch downstairs, but ultimately decides that silence is what she needs to put her thoughts together, and so while she waits for Robert's return, she remains in her room, thinking heavily of the latest events and wondering what the future might hold.
The brunt of these thoughts does indeed focus on the future, for as much as she tries to think on the state of the Continental army and the cause therein, her mind ends up drifting to Robert and the affection expressed between them. Her trips into York City are not so frequent as to give them much time to lay down certain romantic foundations, and what they have laid down thus far are not as solid as she inwardly desires. Robert has made no mention of any further foundations, or to be clearer, marriage, and she has dared not venture to bring up such a topic herself. She does wonder, however, if the thought has crossed his mind, for it certainly has crossed her own.
Marriage is, of course, an institution that women are expected to engage in, and preferably sooner rather than later. Margot has been of the age to marry for some years now, and has even, in the opinion of some, surpassed the respectable age for participating in such a union. She has not given it very much thought – indeed, she is generally not the sort to daydream overmuch of such things – until she had begun to know Robert, and begun to envision him at her side. This unconscious addition has certainly had an impact upon her perspective of her future.
She thankfully does not have too much time to consider these things today, however, for Robert's meeting does not last more than an hour. Her womanly considerations will simply have to wait for another time – sooner than she quite expects, for that matter – when Robert once again comes to find her and regale the information he has been recently acquainted with. In fact, the moment she sees his face, her whimsy is replaced with worry, and she steps away from the window where she had been idly perusing the street to inquire into what the matter is.
"Mulligan's father-in-law is an admiral in the Royal Navy, and he has hired the Gazette to publish a signal book, which gives fighting instructions to British squadron commanders," he hastily says the moment he shuts and bolts the door. Then, beginning to pace, Robert loosens his kerchief and explains, "I offered to change the typeset so as to send different copies to different commanders and disrupt their communication with each other."
Upon hearing this, Margot turns to face him fully, and worriedly says, "But Robert – "
"I know," he interrupts, already anticipating her words. He stops pacing and turns to her as well, catching her eye with a furrowed brow. "The likelihood that I'll be caught is…well, high."
She bustles towards him to take his hands and retorts, "It isn't high, it's definite."
He purses his mouth in contemplation and sighs, "I told Hercules that I would do this. For the cause. Margot," he quickly adds, seeing her open her mouth to argue, "I have a plan. I will work through the night to reprint the signal books and leave the city before dawn. Rivington won't notice the changes, I'm sure – he's already printed several copies and won't be expecting the typesets to be altered. I doubt he'll even bother looking through the rest of the books since he's already edited the first copy."
"But if you're caught – " she tries to say, but Robert isn't finished, and continues talking, pressing her hands in his as he does.
"You must leave tomorrow, in the morning. Return to Setauket and don't come back to the city. I will go to Oyster Bay for a time, unless it becomes clear that my father's house is not safe," he says, then brings her hands to his lips and presses a firm kiss to her fingers. "We will see each other again, after all of this has blown over."
"No, Robert," Margot says, her voice firm. It seems to surprise him, for Robert raises his eyebrows at her and quiets. "This is too dangerous," she says. "I admire you for your determination, but if you do this then there's a high chance that we won't see each other again, and I – I couldn't bear that," she breathes.
His eyes soften, and for several long and tempestuous seconds, he says not a word, but merely looks at her. There is something in his eyes that seems almost reverential, as if he is in the midst of a prayer that had no beginning and no end; a world forever circling in anticipation of its Savior, quietly marveling at the mysteries therein. He seems almost taken aback in this feeling, so quickly it overcomes him, with a fervor that he cannot grasp at first. No, it is only when Margot's own tempest overcomes her that the momentary stillness drops away. Like a wave, she moves into him, and pulls him to her, and kisses him – and a cord between them snaps, somehow, inexplicably, as Robert forsakes the stillness in favor of sweeping his arms around her and bringing her closer. Some part of him must bear some wariness to the passion that drives her to him – a Quaker sensibility, of a sort – but he seems to ignore it for now, too great is his desire to hold more of her, as much as he can until he is forced to let her go.
There is a certain desperation to this thought. After all, when their next meeting will be, he cannot say. He prays that God will direct him and bring him safely from York City once his task is complete, but the Lord works in mysterious ways. Will he ever see Margot Risdon again? He does not know, and this is precisely what has him pulling her closer and bringing her against him.
The moment he reciprocates her affection, it seems to grow with undeniable force, fueled by the way his lips sear over hers and his hands rest warmly upon her waist. As before, and all other times they have been in a similar state, his touch is perfectly respectable, and though in the past it had been enough, Margot now finds herself wanting more. Such thoughts form a path that is dangerous to venture down, wanton in its sinfulness and in its destruction of the good and virtuous reputation that Robert so staunchly defends, both in himself as well as in her. Still, even despite her knowledge that she ought to restrain her own desires, the desperation that forms the backbone of them is not so easily overlooked. She cannot help but wonder if this will be the last kiss they share, and the last time they find themselves together. The fate of a spy caught in an act of defiance against the institution that birthed him is almost too perilous to consider, yet even as Robert's kiss seeks to distract her from such thoughts, her mind continuously returns to them in a vicious cycle that cannot be broken. If he is caught, he will be hung. If he is rooted out for the rebel that he is and captured by their British handlers, his life will surely be forfeited, and her own by extension – for, and it is only here and now that she truly understands it, she abruptly realizes the shades of her heart that had before remained unfathomable to her. Before, her appreciation of Robert had been a mystery to her, but she no longer bears the same confusion that she had in months past. Now, she knows, strongly, that she is in love with him.
It is this understanding which flickers to life within her with growing solidity that has her reaching up and untying his neckerchief. At first, he seems not to notice. His kiss doesn't slow or lessen in passion. This happens only when Margot has loosened the knot and is pulling the kerchief from where it sits around his neck. Only then does reality return to him, and his hands reach up to capture hers before she can achieve her goal.
"Margot, we can't," he whispers against her mouth, intertwining his fingers with hers. He knows on some instinctual level what she wants, for he can feel her desires filling the spaces between them. In truth, he feels them too, shares them even, and this is exactly why he knows he must withdraw. To allow his own worldly passions to move him would go against the very essence of his faith.
Margot, for her part, does not argue. She merely releases a breath and rests her forehead against his, opening her eyes to capture his. Her fingers tighten around his where he presses them to his chest, and she only sighs, "…I know," for she does.
Only the faintest flicker of embarrassment for her actions fills her. Robert's eyes are soft and quiet, understanding and ardent. There is no judgement therein. Despite her brashness, she knows that his withdrawal is not truly a rejection. She can see this in his eyes, and a great many more things too, which makes her sigh out again and whisper, "Robert, I love you."
Such words take a certain measure of courage to say, and surely a certain amount more to say them back. If Robert is surprised to hear them, he does not make a show of it. Perhaps he already knows, or has at least suspected, and so his response comes with a quiet strength as he whispers back, "I love you too, Margot, which is why we shouldn't. I want…I want such a moment to be unmarred by this war. At least for my part, I have sinned one too many times."
She sends him a shaky smile, filled with both happiness to hear his affection spoken in plain terms, and sadness that he believes himself a sinner. Wrangling one hand from his, she lifts it to his face and brushes her fingertips over his cheekbone with a soft, "You have sacrificed so much for the cause. Surely, God will judge us both with this in mind."
He only smiles quietly back, but it's clear that he does not entirely agree. This smile is too strained, and his eyes too hard, for such agreement to come easily. Still, she has said her piece, and she stands behind it even if he won't.
With another sigh, Margot swallows back the thick tension that has settled between them since he had taken her hands and halted their passion. She hesitates only a moment before leaning up to brush her mouth against his cheek, then whispers, "…Goodnight, Robert."
Then, before her own desire to remain might hold her back, Margot pulls away and turns towards the door. She's slipping out of the room within seconds, leaving Robert to stare at the now-shut door with a sort of reeling turmoil. His heart, alive and robust, beats too quickly in his chest. His lungs seem not to fill completely with air. There is a buzzing in his fingertips – a desire for warm skin, though the moment he conceives of the idea, he rebels against it. Robert swallows tightly and turns on his heel, striding to the fireplace. He reaches up to tug his already loosened neckerchief from around his neck and tosses it carelessly onto the chair beside the hearth. Then, leaning against the mantlepiece, he stares into the flames for some seconds before realizing that the distraction of the fire isn't distracting enough, for his mind continues to drift to her.
He releases an impatient breath and pushes away from the hearth. A moment later, he's settling himself at his desk and pulling the accounting ledger to him. Several receipts and purchases must be added, and the end of the month still needs balancing, but Robert finds it frustratingly difficult to concentrate on the numbers despite this distraction being a far better one. Margot's kiss sears through his mind. Her discomforted desperation stabs at him, but more so, it sets a certain wayward turbulence to blaze through him, which is not so easily cast off. He stares at the numbers but his sharp mind does not begin to add them up. He is unable to do anything but think on her, which is his undoing and his making all in one.
Some minutes pass in this manner, spent grappling at moral respectability and attempting to placate his mind with the numerical drudgery of calculation, until Robert decides it to be an impossible task. Upon this decision, he stands up again, and begins a series of paces that take him from one end of his room to the other. This time, his mind does not spin with the issues of morality, but rather with the thought of her, and the very real possibility that this night might be their last.
Such is his problem:
It is the temptation that presses against his heart, which he has never felt before with such voracious hunger. He wishes to be with her, in whichever way he can, before tomorrow arrives and their fates are unmoored from the other. This uncertainty fuels him as it had fueled her when she had reached for him. It sparks a fire within him that burns him even as it gives him life, and it is this fire that has him turning to the door and disappearing beyond it, not stopping until he has crossed the hallway to where her room is located. He pauses for several seconds before swallowing back his own hesitation and knocking.
The wait is torture, though in truth, it is not long. He hears the faint rustling of fabric beyond the threshold, and then soft footsteps approaching beyond the closed door. His heart beats like a hurricane, stormy, tempestuous, yet it quiets instantly when Margot pulls the door open and their eyes meet. Bewildered confusion clouds her face at first before it melts into a sort of exacting understanding. She is hardly decent now, wearing nothing more than her shift and a thick robe that she had pulled on upon his arrival. It occurs to him that he has never seen her – or any woman, for that matter – in so little, and he keeps his eyes respectfully on hers lest he make her uncomfortable.
They stare at each other for a long moment, saying and doing nothing. Unspoken words hang heavily between them, but though silent, they can be heard by both ears as clearly as if they were shouted. And then, just as the torture is beginning to begin anew as the seconds stretch on, Margot silently opens the door so as to give him passage, and he feels relief drop over him like a shroud when she doesn't send him away.
He takes one shuffling step forward before closing the door behind him and reaching for her all over again. The insistent way he proceeds to kiss her has her quickly sinking into him. Still, she can't help but ask…
"Are you certain, Robert?" she asks against his lips, tangling her fingers into his vest and dragging him as close to her as she can. Her question is wonderfully muffled. He is not the only insistent one.
Robert raises both hands to her face. His fingers rest against her neck, brush just so beneath her jaw. The light touch has her breath hitching, and he pulls back to look at her and study her reaction to him as it unfurls within her eyes. Then, breathless for want of her, he says, "…What's one more sin?"
For a moment, Margot looks as if she'd like to argue his definition of sinfulness, but before she can form such an argument, Robert shuffles closer to her and drags his mouth over hers once more, slow and steady and perfectly distracting. It has her instantly melting against him. She forgets everything but the feeling of his lips on hers and the way his arms curl around her figure. She fits herself against him with a sigh and reaches up to wrap her arms around his neck, nearly purring at the way his hands shift up her back and clench into the silk luster of her robe. Shivers pull at her. She turns her head in hopes of kissing him more solidly, and parts her mouth beneath his with another quiet breath. Robert gathers her closer and lifts a hand to cup her face, his eyes fluttering closed and his breath quickening. The silk beneath his fingertips is cool and soft, but the heat of her body is fast beginning to warm it, and he delights in the sensation.
Margot's fingers slide down to his vest, where she hesitates only a moment before pushing the buttons through the fabric to remove the garment. This time, Robert doesn't make any attempts to halt her progress, though he does slow his kiss as she pushes the vest off his shoulders. The look he sends her as she does is a loaded thing, full of silent meanings that are not lost on her. It speaks loudly of crossing boundaries that have never been crossed before and requires a certain care to navigate. The kiss dissolves the moment the fabric hits the ground, replaced by a sort of interlude whereby Margot and Robert merely stand there, their hands still holding the other, their eyes still locked…and then Margot's fingers leave his chest, where they had been resting not a moment ago, and she shucks off her robe and lets that fall away, too.
Her cotton shift is just translucent enough to be faintly see-through. The firelight casts her form into stark contrast, revealing the lines of her body in such a way as to make Robert's throat close up. He allows himself the briefest of looks, just barely a moment's perusal of her, but the image that graces his eye is far more lasting. It imprints itself upon his mind. The fine angles of her collarbone that are just barely visible above the neckline of her shift, the unbound hair which hangs down her back like dark silk, the shadowy textures of her form and the curves of her body… But what captures his attention most, what lasts the longest and makes the clearest impression upon him, is the way she watches him in turn and the wide, trusting eyes that follow his reaction through its various stages. So often does he see the press of mischief in her eyes that it seems almost strange to see the absence of it now, but this time, her expression is bereft of such things and speaks only of open vulnerability, the likes of which takes his breath away even more completely than anything else.
Like a crowned king on a draught board which returns to the contesting fray, he reaches for her. His breath shudders from him the moment his hands dip against the sides of the shift to grasp her waist. Now, more than ever, the sheer warmth of her is blindingly intoxicating. He bends his neck to claim her lips again with a vigor that seems to surprise her, for a moment at least, until Margot joins the fray too and reaches up to lock her arms around him. He quickly discovers that he had been wrong, before, for the insistent way she drags him against her is what truly intoxicates him. His breath is utterly lost in the possessive way she curls her form into his and threads her fingers into his hair, loosening the tie to better grasp at the tresses and urge him ever closer.
"You are beautiful," he whispers against her mouth, his words perfectly muffled and timid, almost. He is not accustomed to expressing such thoughts, despite the many times this one in particular has plagued him. The truth of his sentiment fills him solidly, but it seems to amuse her, for he feels her smile against his kiss.
The confusion of her reaction dissipates the moment he sees mischief return to her eyes. In a low voice that sends shivers through him, Margot murmurs, "That is high praise indeed, from a man like you."
He pauses, partially distracted with tracing the curve of her waist with his fingertips, to wonder, "…A man like me?"
The question is bathed with a sort of reticence, as if he is unsure at the true meaning of her statement, or if he has become the end of a joke, whether intentional or not. Margot, however, only raises her mouth to kiss him again, and whispers, "I only meant that you are a man of few words, Mr. Townsend."
The use of his surname, delivered with such familiar demure, makes the edge of his mouth swing up into a smile. His hands slip around her back to pull her closer. His lips move with more earnest. The efforts are rewarded with the slightest scrape of a gasp that edges from her throat, hardly audible at all, especially since he is quick to muffle its appearance entirely with the fervor in which he worships her lips. Still, he hears it and something within him shifts out of place at its coming; a certain tie which had, before, held him back just so, almost so gently that he hadn't even realized it was there at all. The release of it is like a wave that floods him, and the result is an even brighter fervor and an even more intense desire, which sets the final vestiges of virtue to the side.
What religious morality has shaped him and honed the Quaker roots of his character cannot now remain on the pillar in which it has sat, in this moment at least, in the face of the desperate flame that drives him. Perhaps he will berate himself for the actions he takes now, when the sun has risen to cast these deeds in a starker light, but even as he quietly considers it, he is unsure whether he will truly regret being with Margot Risdon. After all, though he is optimistic that his coming task will be successful and that he will see her again in a future too perilous to contemplate quite yet, a part of him is yet unsure, as even the most courageous hearts still have doubts. Doubts are, after all, the essence of courage. They are what truly drive a person towards success, creating the underlying urge to see something through to its end and to prove yourself capable of securing victory even when all seems lost. He has them now as well, and they are the force that has him leaning back to untuck the shirt from his breeches and pull it off his body, for if he does not have her now, will he ever have her at all? That he would regret, which is the reason he drops the shirt to the floor and reaches for her again, intent on making this a night that he will look back upon without grievance, in whatever future awaits them.
She tugs him backwards towards the bed and he allows it, yearns for it even. The sight of sheets and pillows shrouded with the soft shadows of firelight bolsters something within him and sets a piece of his soul equally aflame. Her fingertips alight upon his bare shoulders, then dart over the hair of his chest as she steps back. Her eyes capture him. The look within them entices his soul like it has never before been enticed, and Robert can neither deny nor refuse her as he follows her onto the mattress, shifting forward and seeking her lips again. When he finds them, he sighs out, overcome. But the feeling is nothing compared to the one that blisters through him when, after a lingering kiss, Margot draws back to slowly ease her cotton shift up her frame, revealing first the soft flesh of her thighs and then the entirety of her. No, the feeling that then envelopes him is somewhat more difficult to explain, for it is made up of venerated awe and the subtle pang of accompanied nerves that blossom into an almost anxious disquiet, the combination of which nearly staggers him.
Before this moment, he has never seen a naked woman before. Even now, when one is sitting before him, he finds it almost unbearable to view her properly. Through the long-tempered and lasting respect which has been instilled upon him and humbled him since his beginnings, at first he dares not lower his eyes to her at all, and merely holds her gaze instead as Margot drops the shift over the side of the mattress. If she sees the hint of his anxiety coloring the awe on his face, she says nothing of it. Instead, Margot releases a shallow breath that gives away her own anxiety and reaches forward to touch the side of his face. And, silly perhaps though it is, the sound of her mirrored apprehension puts him at ease somehow. This novel discovery of flesh that they are now embarking upon is clearly new to her as well. He is not alone in this.
He holds himself very still as he hovers over her sitting form, still unable to look at her properly, though now for a different reason. The short, shallow breath that she releases gives way to yet another kiss, and Robert accommodates her desire happily even though he knows well enough that it is only an effort to prolong the inevitable; that is, to delay the moment in which they well and truly dive into this love that they can feel even now, bridging the spaces between them. They are momentarily teetering upon the edges of a cliff face, the bottom of which is cast in shadow and invisible to the eye, and the moment they tumble over it they will remain there. It is, in essence, a point in which return is impossible, and therefore requires a readiness of action and a cultivation of purpose. One does not make such a move lightly. And so he welcomes her brief delay, allowing it to distract him from the intensity of his emotions, from the staccato heartbeat that burns through his chest and the jittery suspense that threatens to sweep over him. He reaches up, too, to thread his fingers into her hair and return her kiss, bolstering it until the tentative hesitance is transformed to earnest hunger and erases some of the harsher edges of their combined nervousness. Only when those harsh edges have been dulled does their kiss slow, transforming yet again into something entirely new, full of loaded silence and careful invention, which Margot puts into action when she draws away from him and slowly, methodically, lowers herself to the mattress.
Upon this unfolding of limb and nerves alike, Robert can no longer delay his perusal of her, and neither does he wish to. His breath leaves him as he turns his eyes to her form. He feels desire, warm and earnest, instill life within him. The very blood in his veins seems to rush with it as a reverential emotion sweeps through him. She truly is beautiful, perhaps the most beautiful creature he has ever seen. Her fine lines and angles enrapture him. It must show in his face, for Margot smiles slightly. The smile draws his gaze to her expression, where he studies the soft blush upon her cheeks before turning a questioning glance to the mischievous curve of her mouth.
"…You look as though you have never seen a woman's form before, Robert," she whispers, reinforced by the expression of silent veneration on his face. Being so bare before him is a peculiar feeling, but the more the seconds pass, the more she decides that she rather enjoys it. After all, though they have skirted around their attraction for many months now, Robert has never looked at her with the intensity in which he bestows her now. She can see his desire for her as clear as day in the press of his eyes, and the sight of his appreciative perusal of her figure fills her with a sort of womanly pride, which makes her more courageous the more seconds tick by.
He swallows, and then tentatively reaches out to lower his hand to her bare hip, where his touch idles for some moments before he moves closer to her. Her skin sears at his touch, shivers sweeping through her where his fingertips linger until he distracts her by settling onto the bed beside her. The sensation of his fingers upon her is thoroughly swept away by the proximity of him despite the fact that he is still half-clothed.
His elbow dips into the pillow by her head, his eyes capturing hers, and in a low, quiet voice, he responds, "The only female form I shall ever see is that of my wife, Margot."
His words make her pause as warm surprise fills her. Knowing Robert Townsend's character, the sentiment itself isn't what takes her aback, but rather the fact that he says it at all. He truly is a man of few words, and she had not been anticipating these particular ones. He must take a different meaning in her surprise, though, because as her pause lengthens without reply, he shifts and drops his eyes from hers, sounding endearingly awkward when he mutters, "…If she would have me, of course."
Margot can't stop her smile from overcoming her upon hearing this. She gives a breathless laugh and murmurs, "She would have you," in a voice so warm and soft that he can't stop his own smile from overtaking him, either.
Robert releases a breath and leans down to kiss her, threading his fingers back into her hair and tracing the flow of it as it splays over the pillow in which she lays. At first, the kiss is hardly a brush of his mouth against hers, but upon the way Margot insistently pulls him closer, he soon sinks into her and deepens it. The manner in which he does so, as if in complete surrender, has shivers erupting through her body even as a thought causes her to smile.
Robert feels the smile against his lips and opens his eyes to send her a questioning look, but Margot only lets out a light laugh. She studies the familiar tones of his brown eyes for several moments before murmuring, "I was just reminded of something Beatrice told me."
Robert is obviously caught off guard by this seemingly random statement. He pushes himself up a bit, though he remains close to her as his eyebrow lifts. In a dry voice, he wonders, "…Your cousin?" A small shred of incredulity is pressed to his words, as if he can't quite believe that she would wish to speak about Beatrice at a time like this.
Margot sends him a purring sort of smile that sends a bolt of heat through him, for it captures her eyes and turns them to mischief. He finds himself holding his breath when she lowly hums, "I'm sure you know the saying, 'Quiet as a Quaker'. I'm curious to see whether it holds any weight."
He is not expecting to hear these words, and so the surprised amusement that takes hold of him then is not something easily swept aside. Huffing out a laugh, Robert groans, "That saying again? I swear it has become the bane of my existence since moving to York City…" Then, shaking his head, he catches her eye and drawls, "Miss Risdon…"
Margot pauses to raise her eyebrows at him. The tone of his voice hints at oncoming sarcasm, of which Robert happens to be very adept at dispensing. She isn't disappointed with said sarcasm when he murmurs, "…I will be very happy to show you how utterly ridiculous those words are…though perhaps we should be careful tonight, or else Mr. Rivington will never let me hear the end of it."
A slow smile curves over her mouth, which, after a moment, Robert leans down to kiss. The brief distraction of her curious musing fades as her lips part and a quiet sigh escapes her. Her heart, which beats fast and quick, jumps in surprise when she feels Robert lay his hand upon her waist as he had before. His thumb strays over her hipbone and sends a bolt of searing shivers through her, which alight beneath her skin as if they are made from tendrils of pure energy.
"…Are you certain you wish to bind yourself to me?" he whispers against her mouth, his voice so soft and quiet that it is barely audible at all.
Margot's response is silent but resounding. She reaches for his hand and draws it from her waist to instead guide it up her form. Her eyes flutter open, only to see that he is already watching her, his eyes darting from her hand to her eyes. Her soft skin is warm, overheated even, in the intensity of the moment. His knuckles brush against the inner curve of her breast, and then she presses his palm against the whole of it and shivers at the feeling of his intimate touch.
Robert swallows thickly, his breath heavy as he presses his forehead to hers and gingerly drags his fingers over her. A sharp shiver captures him as his thumb brushes against her taut nipple, hardened from passion. The desire to lean down and press his lips to it is nearly overpowering, but first…
"Margot…" he whispers, his voice edged with a sort of desperation that she has never heard before, from him.
She lightly traces her touch over the hand that she had laid upon her breast, her fingertips drawing mindless patterns over knuckles. She tilts her face toward his, nudging his nose with her own and studying the way he swallows and seems to grapple with himself. Then, her lips just barely brushing his, she breathes, "Touch me, Robert."
The shiver that captures him then is potent enough that, for one perfect moment, she feels him tremble against her. Then that moment passes, and he seems to decide to take her order to heart, and rather eagerly too, for whatever hesitation had guided him in the beginning now seems to vanish entirely as his hand moves to cup her breast fully. Some element of this novelty of flesh fades into a new feeling; a need for further exploration. And so kisses are delivered to her mouth, and her neck, and then her collar, in a manner that is somewhat more assured than Margot quite expects. She certainly doesn't complain though, for the feeling of his lips brushing over her skin is one of such bliss that she cannot readily put it to word. All she can say in description is that beneath this ardent attention, she feels as like a goddess being carefully worshipped.
Indeed, care is certainly being dispatched, especially when Robert at last gives into the desire that had pulled at him the moment Margot had reached for his hand and delivered it to her breast. The first kiss he lays upon it is little more than the lightest of brushes, but the second…
Margot inhales, a short gasping sort of sound that is imbued with the edge of her voice, scraped in a low timbre. She feels his breath, hot and steady, against her, and shivers brilliantly when his tongue draws against her skin in slow experiment. The sound of her inhalation gives him pause for a moment; their eyes meet, clashing headily for one teetering second before Robert lowers his gaze from hers to turn his full attention to her breasts. His brand of exploration is not only limited to the soft skin therein, however.
"Robert," she inhales again, this time harsher, more pronounced, less breathy. His hand skims down her body, dragging over skin to linger upon her thigh. His name escapes her lips the moment she feels his thumb dip against the inner side of it, close to the part of her that outwardly defines womanhood.
Robert lays his forehead against the skin between her breasts and murmurs, "You wished for me to touch you." It sounds almost like a reminder, but Margot knows better. His words contain a question; a desire to obtain permission. She grants it readily, almost brazenly, by allowing her legs to fall open for him to continue his perusal of her.
The action does something to him that is almost overbearing, for it sets his heart to beat so fast that the rest of him can hardly keep up, and douses his thoughts so thoroughly that he can think of nothing but instilling pleasure within her. His own desire, which presses hard and full against his breeches even now, he thinks not upon. This gentle soul that is laid out before him so trustingly requires utmost care, for he wishes this experience to be not only satisfying for her, but to also speak of future times to come, when they might explore this side of human nature further. And to do this he wishes to impart upon her a certain knowing that whenever those future moments might come, they will be marked with the very same care that moves him now.
Still, despite this focus, the sharp inhalation that leaves her throat upon his touch is nearly his undoing, as is the sheer potency of her slick folds as he moves his fingers against her. He had thought her warm, before, but the heat that radiates from her innermost part is overmastering, and for a moment, all he can think of is what it will feel like to join his body with hers and how the heat of her will draw forth his own pleasure.
He shifts his knuckle up her folds and lifts his head to watch her, his eyes dark and impassioned but still bathed in the same gentleness that Margot has come to identify him with. Her eyes meet his, and what she sees therein makes her reach for him and pull him down to capture his mouth with hers. As she does, her legs open even more, and Robert traces her folds with an experimental press, unsure as to what exactly he hopes to achieve but eager to discover what drives forth womanly pleasure. Having never been with a woman before, he feels somewhat lacking in prowess, but thankfully Margot seems willing to become teacher, and he student, for a time.
Against his lips, she murmurs, "Here. Touch me here," and draws his attention to the topmost part of her, which he has not yet discovered. The moment his fingers brush over her, though, he rather wishes he had known sooner, for the expression that captures her face is nothing less than exquisite, and he cannot help but kiss her again as he circles his thumb over her and hears her breath turn ragged. Unraveling the secrets of her pleasure will be an enjoyment that he will most certainly apply himself to. So, it seems, will she.
So swept up in the feel of her and the reactions she bestows upon him, Robert does not see the hand that seeks him out until her fingers are already tracing the waist of his breeches. He inhales slowly when her touch alights upon him, breaking the kiss in favor of looking down upon her. His fingers pause in their movements as their eyes meet, and a thrill like none other goes through him when he sees the telltale sign of impatience edging through her gaze. Brief nervousness tugs at him for a split second, until her fingers fall to the front of his trousers and rub against the hardness that, so far, he has been adamantly ignoring.
It is rather difficult to ignore now. Impossible, even. His lips part as her touch becomes increasingly confident. The initial whimsy of her actions, bathed with the very same tentative apprehension that had taken hold of him, grows slightly less so. She angles her hand to cup him fully, delighting in the novel feel of the hard flesh of masculine arousal, and watches his reaction through half-lidded eyes that are entirely detrimental to his self-control and shatters when she gives him a gentle squeeze. When his breath seems to become trapped in his throat, her eyes alight with dangerous curiosity, the likes of which Robert knows will only serve to weaken said self-control all the more. He has, by now, some experience with this maddening creature before him, and knows the look that blazes through her eyes well. She is industrious in the loveliest way, endeavoring always to understand that which eludes her – in this particular case, his own pleasure.
"…Take them off," she whispers, and reaches up to tug at one of the buttons at the top of his breeches.
The order is administered in a breathless manner that does little to salvage his crumbling willpower. Robert grits his teeth and releases a steady breath, hoping to regain some of it before it is fully lost to him, but Margot does not seem intent on assisting him in this venture. She makes that clear enough when, in lieu of his stagnancy in complying with her request, she reaches for him with both hands to begins to work at the buttons herself.
Robert, still fighting the losing battle of restructuring his self-control, cannot now summon the desire to halt her actions, for indeed, no such desire exists within him. He pushes himself up so as to hover over her form but neither stops nor assists her with her newfound task, much preferring to bask in the sight of her impatience and the feeling of her shifting the fabric of his final vestments from his hips. Were he the same man as existed before this woman wormed her way into his life, as he himself had put it some weeks prior, he would surely balk at the thought of partaking in such sin. However, he has since then resolved himself to the notion of taking her to wife, and indeed, in the events of this night especially, has all but become determined to do so. This resolve and the knowing that Margot is fully reciprocal to it imparts a sensation within him that he cannot fully identify, only that it is soft and ardent and comfortable, and he is in no mood to attempt to go against it.
When his breeches slip to the floor and he is as bare as she, it takes the last of his self-control to remain still while she peruses him. The slight edge of nervousness regains its prior hold of him, but it vanishes when Margot sits up and reaches for him. Her reasons go beyond his breadth of understanding, however, for she does not seek to kiss him as he supposes, but rather to turn him so that she might press him onto his back. He does not deny her this, though it would be a lie to claim that his heart does not nearly jump from his chest when he feels her hands begin to map out the contours of his body with much leisure and convenience therein.
"…Well?" he wonders, wishing to break the silence somehow. He has never been studied so closely before and his veins flood with the novelty of it. He has yet to decide whether he likes it or not, being so vulnerable, but judging from the way Margot's eyes have filled with a reverential desire not so very different from his own, he rather thinks he does like it, and very much at that.
Her eyes dart to his. "Well what?" she asks, though he suspects she knows full well what he is asking. There is an edge of mischief to her words, and if that isn't enough, the corner of her mouth cedes to that tiny smile which always gives her away. Brazen creature. He does love her.
Robert takes her hand and, as she had, places it against his chest, over the fast beat of his heart. In a quiet voice, he murmurs, "Does the sight of me please you?"
Oh, but the way her eyes light up upon hearing his question makes him press back a smile.
"…Very much so," she whispers, and sweeps her eyes over him once more before turning back to his gaze, which remains locked upon her. A brief, loaded silence falls upon them, in which he remains quiet as he stares at her, for something in the air seems to hold sway to the notion that she means to say something more. She does, indeed, but it is not quite what he is expecting.
"I heard once that Quakers need only claim that they are married for it to be true," she says, to his surprise.
He pauses, then slowly sits up, and draws her closer to him. As she settles into his arms, he murmurs, "Yes, that it true. But it is usually done before witnesses, and you are no Quaker."
Margot purses her mouth at him and, drawing her fingers over his stubbled jaw, responds, "God is our witness, and I am to be a Quaker's wife."
Love fills him then. He stares at her for a long moment, before breathing out and, with eyes full of that love, tells her, "Then you are my wife, from this day forward."
When she smiles at him, he suspects his heart skips a beat. However, he swears it skips several beats when Margot presses her forehead to his and says, "And you are my husband, from this day forward."
Robert wraps his arms around her waist and leans in to kiss her with an exuberance that he can no longer hold back, nor can he hope to salvage any of his lost self-control, which has fully and completely crumbled in wake of this marriage before God the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost, who are witnesses enough.
He pulls them down the bed and rolls her over, recapturing her lips with his even as he settles his form against hers.
"…I love you," he whispers to her, and her heart beats loudly upon hearing it.
"I love you too," she whispers back, and pulls him closer.
And though the night is short and their parting imminent, they make good use of the hours between, and remain as quiet as Quakers might be so as to keep the sacrament of marriage to themselves only.