A/N:

I hope you enjoy this chapter. Finally a new chapter, I know! :) I'm sorry for the delay. As always, life takes unexpected turns, and I didn't write for a while because of that. I hope you understand.

I also have another Bronte story in the works, which is like a shortened version of this one. I uploaded it separately under the name "Lost in Bronte - A Jane Eyre Story."

I'd be grateful if you could check it out and tell me what you think of it. I know this story has been years in the making and since I started, my writing style has somewhat evolved, which is why I will rewrite it in time, but for now I am adding a new chapter to keep the plot moving, as I did have the odd twist in mind. ;)

I'm always grateful for your feedback and your reviews help me so much. Constructive criticism is much appreciated!

Thank you so much! :)

Love,

Dreamatorium

Chapter XIII - Dangerous Games

"Enough chatter of the past," Mr. Rochester waved his hand in mid-air, as if to brush aside our previous conversation.

Bored already? I wondered. This man had an air of mystery about him, but also an ominous presence. I mused whether this flesh-and-blood version of Mr. Rochester was, in fact, an over-the-top rendition of the man I felt I knew from the original novel - or was this even the true Mr. Rochester? If I was in the story of "Jane Eyre," had my presence led to some unexpected changes, somehow twisting the characters into something they were not?

Silly, me! I thought to myself. Why do I always have to be so overly dramatic! I straightened the creases in my gown with the palm of my hands nervously, noticing they were still sweating slightly. It was one thing being caught in the plot of a Victorian novel, but another thing entirely to scare myself unnecessarily. So, I decided, once again, to go with the flow.

"What's for supper?" I asked, a little cheekily. Mr. Rochester smirked at my noticeable signs of neurosis and worry, now made obvious by my furrowed brow. "Well," he replied politely, suppressing his glee at my obvious discomfort, "I believe we are having pheasant this evening." "Oh - very nice," I answered blandly, wishing I had thought of a more interesting question to ask the "master of the house."

We sat there for a moment in silence, smiling politely. Then Mr. Rochester said, "But we do have some time left over before we eat." He directed his gaze directly at me, staring at me unwaveringly, "and you, Miss Jane, don't start teaching Adèle until tomorrow. I believe that leaves us an entire afternoon of pleasure - just the two of us."

Pleasure! I thought, aghast, almost jumping out of my seat. Whatever could he mean! It sounded as if Mr. Rochester was not simply flirting with me, but making a move, attempting to seduce me. This was awfully strange. I stared at Mr. Rochester in bewilderment. "Exc-c-cuse me?" I stuttered, feeling my lips tremble. "Oh, I am sorry, Miss Eyre," the roguish man replied without the slightest hint of embarrassment, "what I mean to say is, we have more time to get to know one another today. Would you fancy a stroll in the gardens, perhaps?" He smiled innocently, then winked at me in an ever-so-subtle manner, which could have easily been mistaken for a mere flutter of his eyelids.

What was wrong with Mr. Rochester? Why was he hinting at sleeping together and spending a "pleasurable time" together? Ugh - disgusting! I felt nauseous. Was this really Victorian England, or was this a twisted set-up for pornography? I almost chuckled at the idea that I had landed in some alternative version of Jane Eyre, where every character somehow behaved in outlandish ways unfitting to their nature, a place where it seemed that up was down, and down was up, like the novel "Jane Eyre" meets "Alice in Wonderland." Perhaps I needed to be more on guard, and not trust all the characters I met along the way. I was only just beginning to discover this world, and before I knew what kind of place I was in, I would need to remain cautious.

"Shall we?" Mr. Rochester got up from his seat by the fireplace and held out his arm invitingly. I followed suit, linking my arm with his. I wondered what other surprises awaited me, and whether they would be to my benefit or my peril.

XXX

After a brief stroll on Thornfield grounds (brief, due to the dismal weather outside, no surprise there!), I headed to the drawing room where Mr. Rochester had ordered me to wait for him, perhaps for further questioning.

This day had not been what I had expected. Mr. Rochester had seemed absolutely charming to begin with, but then had behaved so inappropriately, a faux pas, which he had obviously attempted to cover up with his polite nature and good breeding. However, from now on, I was wary of the handsome man who now stood by the window, pensively staring outside at the gardens.

"I have always loved nature," he mused, still facing the windows. "Wouldn't you agree that the most beautiful flowers are the simple ones? A rose will always be amongst my favourites. It is expected, of course, but its beauty never fades. I prefer roses to an exotic flower any day," he said, smiling broadly. Once again, I had the feeling, he was referring to me when he spoke of roses and the more exotic flower was Bertha Mason? Mr. Rochester didn't know I was able to put two and two together so easily, because he didn't know I wasn't Jane - or at least so I hoped. Again and again, I felt like this middle-aged Victorian man was coming on to me, was flirting with me in some way, but it didn't make sense. What was his intention?

"You know," Mr. Rochester then mused, as if he had just come up with the idea, "what if we took this conversation to a more private setting? What do you think of that, Miss Eyre?"

Really?! I thought, taken aback once more at this man's directness. It was so pervy to say the least, but I wouldn't know how far he would take things until I did as he asked. I may have felt uncomfortable, but I also had a role to play. I started by attempting to decline his offer, but Mr. Rochester insisted we leave the public space of the drawing room and head to another, more private, chamber. I saw no other option, but to obey orders. A governess, after all, was not in the position to disobey them.

"Let's head this way. Come along, Miss Eyre - or may I call you, Jane? I prefer to let go of formalities," he said coquettishly. Well, that explained why he had previously referred to me as "Jane," as well. I agreed to his request, once again remaining polite, but on the inside, my heart was pounding in my chest heavily, as if I were a lamb about to head for slaughter.

I knew I shouldn't be ignoring these alarm bells, but nonetheless, I did. When we headed upstairs past my bedroom, I knew the place Mr. Rochester had had in mind for our more private "encounter" and felt a slight dizziness overcome me, as if a fog had settled over my brain, numbing my experience. We were heading for Mr. Rochester's bedroom.

"Sir?" I interjected then, "I don't think it would be a wise idea to be this private. I feel it is not appropriate, Sir." I said this with a stern expression on my face, but simultaneously did not want to let on that I was afraid.

"What do you mean, Madame? My room is far quieter than the halls of the dining, living or drawing rooms. Don't you think we are indeed obligated to get to know one another better, seeing as we shall be working together so closely in future - my being the master of the house?"

Again, Mr. Rochester had the most innocent expression on his face, but I would not be fooled. It was clear the man could not be trusted. Where was my pepper-spray when I needed it? I would have to find a way out of this precarious situation as fast as I could.

I thought, I'll give him five minutes tops! Then I would make my exit with some excuse of a headache or another ailment I could think of.

We eventually arrived at Mr. Rochester's bedroom door. As we entered, he said to me: "My study is right next to my bedroom in an adjoining room. I hope I did not cause you any discomfort by leading you through my private chambers, Miss Eyre. It is simply the easiest way to head to my study, which is after all, a professional setting, is it not?"

Was he trying to convince me, or himself?, I wondered. This all seemed so obviously planned out. Still, I was not about to turn into a damsel of distress. If he tried anything with me, I knew my self-defense, as I had taken enough classes back home.

The "master" and I sat opposite one another at Mr. Rochester's desk. Now it felt more like an interview again.

"Care for a drink?" Mr. Rochester asked me, smiling angelically. "No, thank you, Sir. I don't drink."

"How sensible of you, my girl - I mean, Miss Eyre," Mr. Rochester said, gazing at me apologetically, then adding, "I do hope you will excuse my manners. I have been alone for so long, I tend to forget how to behave decently."

That was one way to put it! I thought disdainfully. After all the comments Mr. Rochester had been making, it would take some time and a lot of good behaviour for me to really trust him again - if ever!

All the awe I had felt to begin with at meeting my Victorian crush had fallen away now and been replaced by a constant feeling of dread. Who knew what went on behind closed doors between governesses and their masters, I wondered, thinking that perhaps I did not know this world very well at all. The power dynamics were clear. I was to obey orders, even though Mr. Rochester showed an interest in me, perhaps he only saw me as a plaything, and not as his equal. We were constantly verging on inappropriate and ever-so-often Mr. Rochester overstepped the mark.

I had found myself so attracted to this man in the beginning. I had been so drawn to him, but perhaps more drawn to the idea of who I thought Mr. Rochester was. This man opposite me did not quite feel like the Rochester I knew and loved from the novel. He felt like a replacement or an interloper. Something was off, but I couldn't figure out what it was. There was his tendency to be inappropriate, yes, but perhaps this was who Mr. Rochester really was in real life, and the novel had simply portrayed an understated version of him, or not told the whole truth.

Perhaps the whole point of me landing in this world, was to find out that my fantasy was, after all, merely a fantasy, and not reality - and that fantasies should remain in the imagination for a reason. I could feel it in my gut that something was off about this man in front of me, but I couldn't quite put my finger on it.

This entire time, it seemed, I had been blankly staring into space.

I was jolted out of my reverie with a start when Mr. Rochester asked, "Penny for your thoughts, Jane? I would very much like to know which thought could be so puzzling to you that it holds your attention for five whole minutes! It must be an enticing subject," he smirked, raising his eyebrows suggestively.

Had I really been so lost in thought for such a long time, and had this pervy Rochester been eyeing me up the whole time.

Once again - ugh! Didn't this guy have anything better to do than make eyes at his governesses? I thought, feeling disgusted.

It was winter time, which was why it was already getting dark in the afternoon. It was almost 5 pm according to the clock on the mantlepiece, but it had suddenly turned pitch dark outside. In the candlelight, Mr. Rochester looked somehow more villainous and threatening.

"Isn't it romantic, when the light flickers across your face like that," he commented. "You have such an innocent look." Mr. Rochester seemed so eery in that moment. I felt unsafe.

"Don't you feel that the night is full of secrets?" the man continued, seeming to provoke me. "Secrets that stay hidden," he added. "The dark has a way of making me feel more comfortable, more myself."

Mr. Rochester's direct gaze made me desperately want to turn the other way, but I couldn't - caught, like a deer in the headlights. All the while Mr. Rochester's sparkling blue eyes were even more emphasised in the soft candlelight that flickered to and fro on his face, leaving part of it in shadow, as if he were wearing a mask.

I felt myself drop my guard, as the darkness seemed to take hold of me. "As a matter of fact," Mr. Rochester then said, slowly pushing back his chair and taking a step towards me, "I did bring you here into my study to get to know you better, but," he paused taking another step, "there are many ways to do so." Mr. Rochester then leapt forward like a lion about to pounce on his prey, and lifted me out of my seat, sitting me on his desk. He was up close now, and it all happened so fast, that I could hardly come up for air, as Mr. Rochester started kissing me passionately, thrusting his tongue down my throat.

I tried pushing the heavy man back or sliding out of his grasp, but the longer our kiss lasted, the weaker I felt myself become and the more I felt myself enjoying the experience, too, getting sucked in. I was just about to give in, as I felt my body long for this kind of intimacy, but then I struggled out of Mr. Rochester's grasp, panting, "No! What are you d-o-o-ing?" I wanted to sound strong and confident, but I heard my voice stutter. Part of me had enjoyed this brief encounter, but I knew what it would have led to, and I needed to stop it. I didn't want this.

"Excuse me," said Mr. Rochester, straightening his shirt, "I believe I forgot myself..." He hesitated.

I glared at him angrily, turning round to head for the door, but Mr. Rochester grabbed my arm. "Wait!" he cried. "This was all a misunderstanding," he said, still out of breath himself. "I thought you felt as I did. I got carried away. Please forgive me!"

I stood in the middle of the room, motionless, neither willing to forgive, nor forget. "Let go of me!" I shouted and ran for the door, which I slammed shut with a loud thud behind me.

I didn't yet know what to make of what had just happened, but I knew this was not the man I had read about so many times in Bronte's novel. This was not even a shadow of who the real Mr. Rochester was.

My experience at Thornfield had just taken a turn. I felt like I had entered a nightmare.

-To be continued-