Chapter eighteen:

Jack's hands met something hard in the bottom of the drawer. He pulled out the object-but it was not a ring.

In his palm, he held a perfect glass vial.

Morphine.

Wide-eyed, he sat at it atop the chest of drawers. The precious liquid practically glimmered in the light. He pushed it from his mind and kept digging. A moment later, his hands found two more objects: one, a ring box, and the other, a syringe.

Someone-God, the Devil, or otherwise-was testing him.

He sat the syringe next to the morphine. He stared at them, unblinking. They were pristine. Beautiful. His veins itched beneath his skin. His mouth went dry, begging for just a taste. Just a taste, nothing more. Jack trembled at the thought of the needle.

Lady Morphine had always been his first love. Or at least this side of the war anyway.

Sweat pooled beneath his collar. He was overheated, and shrugged out of his jacket. Before he knew what he was doing, Jack had his cufflinks off, and his shirt sleeve rolled to his elbow. Yes, quickly. Quickly! The ring box fell back into the drawer, landing atop a pair of underdrawers, forgotten in his haste. His lust for dope far outweighed his devotion to Rose Dawson. The girl meant nothing to him now

No. The girl meant everything to him. Rose was everything to him. Jack staggered backward. He'd almost succumbed to his addiction. He had almost ruined his life, when happiness was just within reach. His veins screamed. His head pounded. The Devil was back to ride him with a vengeance. He sank to the floor, head in hands. How odd that morphine could be both a blessing and a curse. For someone with say an amputated leg, it would drown away the pain. For others, it turned a torturous battlefield death sweet and peaceful. Even for Jack, the morphine had saved him from himself-until it turned him into a man he no longer recognised.

He was shamefully familiar with that fellow now

Lurching to his feet, Jack grabbed for the ring box. His shaking hands fumbled through his drawer until they found the tiny, velvet cube. He kissed it. He was stronger than his past. He was better for his future. Despite his struggles, he deserved happiness, and-by God!

-he was going to seize it while he had the chance. Fiona, his best friends' widow, had made him promise one thing only – that if he was going to leave town, he would at least propose to the girl using the ring Arthur had given her—and that she would meet the woman destined to be with Jack for the rest of his life.

Rose had told him he only needed to ask himself each day: Would he have his morphine today? No. Not this day.

He would worry about tomorrow when it came. Jack stuffed the ring in his trouser pocket. He grabbed the vial of morphine, and then crossed the carpet. He crossed the town.

He had wound up at the green door.

''J-Jack?''

Her voice. That voice pierced his heart. He was suddenly back where he needed to be. That was his source of everything. It was his central station. His grounding. His light in the dark. She had loved him back to life.

''Tell me what you want.'' Jack needed to hear her say it. The reassurance was what would pull him through to her side of the thread fully. He needed those words to be said.

''I want to see everything with you." Rose's voice was hushed in the corridor of her boarding house.

''What else?''

''I-I want you, for the rest of my life.''

His returning look was fierce and heated. She moved toward the door, fiddling with the keys as well as several bags of shopping.

"This is what has been occupying you during the day?"

Jack had come to her at night with small cuts on his hands and the occasional darkening of a faint bruise on his forearms.

''What has happened?'' Her eyes glowed in the dim light, but nothing else mattered but how close he had to be.

His throat worked on a hard swallow. ''I helped Stuart out in a brawl down at the club. There-there was someone, an Earl of some sort, he was starting with Stuart over your leaving town.''

Rose's heartbeat quickened. ''The Earl of Wheldon? He's nothing more than a bastard's son who reckons he is more to tend to than not. He will run away and then come back later with his tail between his legs-'' Her eyes ran down the length of Jack; his red eyes, his torn garments. The fact that there had even been a scuffle of any kind over her seemed ludicrous. ''Did they come off worse?''

Jack held out his hand. She placed hers within his and allowed him to lead her to the nearby dais. He urged her to sit and she did. Then, he sank to one knee in front of her. Understanding dawned.

Dropping her hand, Jack reached into his jacket pocket, and pulled out the vial of morphine. Unconventional, yes but he knew this would mean so much more to them both.

"Rose..." He exhaled. ''Close your eyes.''

Her arms fell to her side.

"What is it?"

Jack squeezed the glass bottle in his hand. Not so long ago, it would have been the most important thing in the world to him. Now, he hated the drug, and the power it once held over him.

"The night I first met I you again, I wanted to find this. The night of my crash I was on my way here. I'd set out in the middle of a storm like a fool...for this." Jack reached for her hand, opened her pale fingers, and placed the vial in the centre of her palm.

Rose seemed to instinctually know what it was. She gasped-in shock or horror, he wasn't certain.

"Small, isn't it? Nothing much to it, really. A bit of glass, a dash of liquid. For the last four years, that tiny bottle had been life to me. I would have killed for it. I would have died for it," he explained. "There were nights when I prayed that it would kill me, so I wouldn't have to suffer for it any longer." His voice broke, and it took him a moment to collect himself. "I...I want you to know that I don't suffer now, Rose. Today—just now-I made a choice.'

Jack took her other hand, and put it to his bare forearm. She could feel the half-healed needle marks, the scarred flesh, and the thrums of his pulse through his damaged veins. She felt his rolled-up sleeve, and her unseeing eyes searched the darkness, questioning everything.

"I chose you, Rose," he said. "For today. For always."

A tear rolled down her cheek. "Oh, Jack. I don't know what to say..."

"Tell me you love me, and throw that cursed bottle to the ground."

Rose let the vial slip from her hand and shatter on the marble tiles at their feet. It seemed to take the past with it.

''Now open those eyes.''

As she did, she fell to her knees with him.

"You weren't supposed to beat me to it, Rose," he said with tender gruffness, reaching into the tiny pocket of his waistcoat. This had been the most difficult part of the past week—acting as if they were no more than acquaintances in public when they were searingly intimate in private. It was the worst sort of torture watching the local debutantes, widows, and even some of the married women paying him elaborate, fawning attention. Rose would receive the same, but none of them would ever see past her eyes as they watched Jack.

Jack was proud of her, content to watch her shine in her element, which made all the pain and sorrow she'd experienced to become so consummate seem worthwhile. He withdrew a ring. A thick gold circlet topped with an ostentatious ruby. The brilliant blood-red stone was a pillowed square surrounded by diamonds, boldly proclaiming the finger of any woman wearing it.

''Why red?''

''Because no matter what I saw. I always thought of you as red. In the war, after the sinking. Just tonight. It was always red. The ring belongs to my friend's widow. He died in France.''

''It seems too fatuitous to be true.''

"Yes," he murmured, sliding the ruby onto her finger. "I will marry you. As soon as possible. By the end of the week if we can manage it."

"No." She cupped his face in her hands, her fingers brushing his dark blonde hair back from his forehead. "We'll do this properly. In America. Our home. I want the world—and most especially you—to know that I do this after a great deal of thought and careful consideration. I know what I do, Jack. I know what I want."

"I would prefer to be wed before we return."

"I won't leave you," she vowed, knowing his concern.

"You can't. I won't let you." He caught her wrists with a gentle, yet unyielding grip. Leaning forward, she pressed a kiss to his furrowed brow.

"My darling. You haven't faith that anyone can love you unconditionally, because no one ever has. But I do. How could I help myself? And over time, you'll see that the changes you wrought in me are not reversible. I am who I am at this moment because of you, and without you I would cease to exist.''

''With luck, I can arrange for us to sail home on Friday. From Southampton..."

"Can we? Can we do that.''

"Yes. You. Can. The same reason I came here is the same reason why I want to return. For you.''

Rose's thoughts froze with surprise, remembering the night they'd met again, then at the theatre after the curtain call. Jack had told her that he had known of her existence in London...He must have seen the realisation on her face. His jaw tensed.

''My love for you was never going to keep me away from you. Even if you had met another, married them even, I would have stayed close. I would have watched. Possibly even been completely tortured but I had to be close.'' After a moment's contemplation, Rose decided that whatever his reasoning had been. Whatever had led them to this moment, none of it mattered any longer.

Releasing him, Rose pulled away and reclined. She stretched out on the pillows, reaching her arms above her head and arching her back in blatant invitation. Jack crawled onto the dais. He straddled her, his hands pressing into the pillows on either side of her shoulders. Lowering his head, he took her mouth, his lips sealing to hers. In the distance, she heard the shouts of men and the distant screeching of gulls. She wrapped her arms around his neck and hummed her pleasure into his kiss.

"I thought," he murmured against her parted lips, "that I might have to convince you to wed me. That it might take some time. Weeks. Months. Maybe years. I had planned to take you to Santa Monica first, then to ask you. There could be no refusal then, huh?''

"No, Jack. I have waited ten years to be your wife. I won't wait any longer. I have nothing left here for me. Stuart has Clara and I will miss him so dearly. But, I have you.''

"You have me." Jack repeated, as though under her spell. Her gaze lowered to his throat and the strong pulse beating there.

"Always."

"You asked; I accepted."

''We are engaged to be married.'' He nuzzled the tip of his nose against hers.

"And I cannot tell you what it means to me that you did ask."

''I cannot tell you how much I love you.''

"You can show me." Her fingers stroked his nape in just the way he loved. Jack slid to the side of her.

"Roll over." She did as he bade, her spine tingling as she faced away from him. He released the tie at the small of her back, then deftly unfastened the buttons of her soft emerald dress. "What colour will you wear to marry me?''

''Perhaps a vivid blue. To match those eyes of yours.''

"Yes." Jack's strong hands reached into the parted halves of her gown and gripped her waist. He squeezed her gently, then rolled to his back. ''But I would rather see you undressed now.''

"As you desire." Rose slid off the end of the dais and stood. Tucking a pillow behind his head, Jack settled more comfortably. He bent one knee and set one wrist atop it, presenting a relaxed and somewhat insolent pose. The multitude of colourful pillows behind, with him laid upon them, no matter how scratched and torn his shirt was, it didn't matter. This would be the first and only time they would make love in her bed. In her room. Oh, the nights she had laid amongst those pillows crying for him and now here he was as alive as Rose herself. It was always silly really.

Lifting her hand, she caught the neckline of her dress and tugged it over her shoulder. First one side, then the other.

''You know, this is like the first time that you ever were naked before me. I had never seen anything as stunning in my life and now-'' he blinked through watered eyes, ''now I think you're even so more.''

A rush of heat swept over her skin. He jerked his chin imperiously.

"Take it off. Let me see you."

Rose licked her dry lips and took a heartbeat longer to obey. Catching her skirt in her hands, she tugged downward gently, as if she was shy about revealing the body, he knew better than she did. The dress slipped from her arms and torso, and pooled on the wooden floor.

Rose shifted from foot to foot, glancing at him furtively. He reached between his legs brazenly stroking the thick length of his erection. A voluptuary to his bones. Skilled . . . yet they had barely known more than the other.

"I want to see you," she said softly. Jack rose gracefully to his feet, moving with a sleek and predatory fluidity.

"Yes, you can." He rounded her, as if examining her charms. Then he drew to a halt at her back.

"Before the war, did you imagine having me? Did you dream of how you would have me?"

"Every night," he whispered, his fingers clasping around her taut nipples. Turning her head, she pressed her cheek to his.

"Did it torture you to think of it?''

''I cried for you every night, Rose. Every. Single. Night.'' His voice cracked. ''I looked to the stars. To God. Until I realised that it was the Devil who was chasing me.''

"You no longer believe that?" Rose gasped as his fingers brushed across her. With fingertips roughened by his work, he stroked over her, knowing just how to touch her to make her writhe.

"No. I don't. It is just me and you now."

"No one else."

Jack's teeth nipped at her earlobe. She sucked in a deep breath, intoxicated by his scent. ''This was our freedom.''

There were no cold shivers. His stomach was settled. Easy. The damage was already done and this had been the final battle of victory. Justice was finally served for them all. She would be his wife.

His wife.

Rose Dawson. The one he had been unable to remain away from. The woman who challenged him, changed him and enabled him to feel love and to be loved in return for the first time in a lonely, young man's life.

''Freedom,'' she repeated, clinging to that word.

''Yes.''

Jack grasped onto Rose's hands, stroking her face and he kissed her forehead just once. Her eyes closed, inhaling his scent and she was taking back to the first night aboard a ship crossing the Atlantic on a maiden voyage which would change the course of their lives forever.

In the incandescent glow of the space, Jack watched the curve of her hip, led down to the sprinkling of dark hair beneath her naval and without a second thought, Rose was pinned against the dais his lips in the place where no other person had ever gone nor had one ever thought of allowing there. Gently, he touched her in that place, so that he could taste everything about her. Idly, her hands fell into his hair, twisting it as she guided him to the spot which had spiralled her to orgasm before. It was warm, growing damp and even though the entire sensation was still new to her, she fought the urge to tear his face away from between her legs and close them in the shiest way possible.

When he had made love to her last, Rose had let go. The first time he had reached a place within her that had caused her to slam her palm against the window, she had kissed goodbye to the naïve girl who she had once been and unleashed the inferno which had been stored inside for years. Perhaps Jack had the key to everything which had been locked away with her, and now...

The pace quickened, along with her breathing and a few seconds later, the climbing commenced, with a tingling unlike anything else ever felt, Rose wanted to let go, but she felt rooted to the spot, and when she thought the climax was upon her, she found there was more to climb, more pleasure within her until there it was. Clenching her legs tightly and with both of her fists within his hair, she came apart fully and her orgasm rattled through to her very core, never ending until his tongue finally stopped working its magic. When Jack emerged, his erection seemed to have become cast iron, and there was no time to gather himself, as Rose clenched his shoulders, pulling her atop him on the bench, both of them landing with such a thud that neither cared as he pierced her with a single heavy thrust. He began pressing her into the bench. His mouth captured hers in a devastating kiss, his tongue thrusting in a blatant rhythm that robbed her of her senses. This was no careful, coaxing seduction, as their previous encounters had been. This was a claiming of the basest kind, one that left her momentarily stunned and confused. She knew his touch, her senses recognised his scent and the feel of his body, but the man himself was a stranger to her, almost. So intent and brutally possessive. He was taking her now, as his and the one who would belong to him, forever. Their sweaty bodies writhed together, Jack clasped Rose to his chest with a crushing grip, biting the top of her shoulder.

''Rose,'' he whispered, leaving the indentions left by his teeth.

''Yes.''

He'd wanted to help her to escape the world in which she existed, purely as a helping hand. Never was it meant to last this long, but it would.

Forever.

''This is the end.''

Her eyes remained closed as she repeated his words, remembering them, ''the end.''

And it was.

Thank you - what a journey this story was to write. Literally euphoric to have finished posting. I wrote it all in April/May and just loved doing something completely different for a change. It wasn't going to be such a happy ending, but since I have ugly ideas then get to writing and turn it fluffy, one day I will have to have an unhappy ending!

There is an epilogue left to post, so I will leave you with that soon. X