Here's another serious smut warning for all your dirty minds ;)

I actually did some extensive research for this chapter on Victorian sex practices, and quite frankly, I feel like I know way too many disturbing details now, lol.

By the way, I don't think aunt Shaw was quite as annoying in the book as I tend to paint her in this fic. I might have exaggerated some of her character traits for dramatic effect ;) Sorry, aunt Shaw.

Chapter 5

However much her talk with Edith had raised Margaret's spirits, they threatened to dwindle at dinner once more. The meal was delicious and beautifully garnished, and the staff had outdone themselves with the table decorations. While they ate, the talk was pleasant. Captain Lennox inquired about the mill and the industry in Milton once more, and John readily explained everything the other man wished to know. Sometimes Margaret would chime in, much to her aunt's surprise.

Having spent so much time in Milton and around John, Margaret had learned quite a bit about the industry, and especially over the past to months of living right next to the mill and observing her husband's work, her understanding of it had deepened.

She was not sure if her aunt approved of her being so familiar with any form of trade. It was likely not something she considered fitting for anyone with a gentile background.

After the meal, the men retreated into the smaller sitting room, while the three women sat down in the larger one, and finally aunt Shaw had Margaret all to herself. "Margaret, I must say, I am very surprised you would want to live in such a place", she began almost immediately. "The air in this city is terrible, and the people who work over at that mill are…of the very lowest social standing. I could not imagine having them so close to my home."

Margaret had expected such comments, but that did not diminish her anger. "I have good friends amongst the workers", she shot back. "They may be a bit down on their luck, but the circumstances they were born into are not their fault. Once I got to know them better, I found that they are honest, kind, and hard-working. They have made me very welcome in this town."

The frown upon her aunt's face only deepened at her words. "I do blame your father for this", she snapped. "Had you stayed in Helstone, none of this would have happened." "I am glad we came here", Margaret answered, bravely holding her aunt's gaze. "I would not wish it any other way. I love my husband more than anything in this world, and I am glad I found him here."

"Oh, but he is a very agreeable man, do you not think, mother?", Edith decided to join in on the conversation. "He seems an eloquent man, and not as unrefined as I had feared", aunt Shaw admitted. "And did you see the way he looked at dear Margaret?", her cousin exclaimed with a beam. "He does hold her in high regard, I am sure."

"Let us hope it is so", the older woman stated. "For it will take a great effort to convince the world of his affections, after your inheritance so conveniently saved his enterprise."

It was the last straw. She had known that this was how her aunt really felt about their marriage, but hearing her utter it out loud was too much to bear.

Margaret shot up from her seat and was right in front of the older woman in a few quick strides, staring down at her with a fire in her eyes that threatened to burn her aunt alive.

"You will not speak about my husband in such a way!" Her voice was low, but there was a tone in it that would have had the strongest man tremble with fear.

"I will have you know that he proposed to me over a year ago, when my mother was still alive. I did not have an inheritance then, and marrying him would have greatly enhanced my financial prospects. I refused him, not knowing my own feelings. Yet, he never stopped caring for me. He saved all of us when Frederick was here to say goodbye to my mother. Fred was seen at the station by someone who recognized him, and John, being a magistrate, covered for him, at his own peril. He did not ask anything in return."

Margaret's breathing had become heavy with passion as she tried to force down tears of anger, which threatened to spill out of her.

"As for my inheritance, he did not need to marry me for it. I made a business proposition to him before he even proposed, for I had planned to invest my money in the mill in any case. John has not touched a penny that I did not give willingly. He lets me have full charge of the properties I inherited, and I may decide freely on what to do with them. He even opened a bank account for my life insurance and he transfers the exact amount of money there every month, which he would have paid me in interest rates, had we not married..."

"He is the most honourable man I have known. And the most kind. And I will not have you look down upon him for the circumstances of his birth, which are not his fault. They are irrelevant to me. He can provide me with financial security, I live very comfortably and we could not be happier. Is that not all that really matters?"

Her words were followed by silence. Edith's mouth hung open after her cousin's speech and even aunt Shaw seemed at loss for words, which was a rare occurrence. It seemed that her niece's words had indeed made some kind of impression on her.

Eventually, she dropped her gaze. "I do apologize", she murmured rather quietly. "I did not mean to cause offense. I was only worried about you, my dear child. I still feel a sense of responsibility for you."

She reached out her hand to grasp Margaret's and gave it a soft squeeze. "I am glad you are happy, and I will speak no more of these things."

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Later that night, Margaret sat on the bed in her nightgown, brushing her hair, when the bathroom door opened and John stepped out, his hair still slightly wet from his bath.

He dropped down on the bed beside her with a heavy sigh. "That Captain Lennox is no bad company. He is not the brightest fellow I have encountered, but he is good-natured", he commented.

Margaret dropped her hairbrush and leaned into him. "I had a dreadful conversation with my aunt", she moaned. "As much as I enjoy seeing Edith and little Sholto, I can barely wait for them to leave again."

He put a finger under her chin to gently lift her face and find her lips with his. "Come now, dearest, I remember a time when you were not as fond of Milton, or of me for that matter, as you are now." "Do not remind me!", she huffed. He smiled and started kissing her neck, letting his warm breath caress her skin.

Already she was beginning to feel herself respond to his closeness. Her fingers found his wet hair and started playing with it, as he gently nudged her to lie back against the pillows. Once again, she wondered how he was able to set her whole body aflame with the softest touch. "Oh", she breathed, dipping her head back, as he slipped a hand into her nightgown to find her breast.

"John – we need to be quiet. My aunt is sleeping just down the hall", she panted. A mischievous grin appeared on his face as he squeezed her breast gently. "All the more reason to make you scream", he whispered close to her face. "John!" She stared at him wide-eyed. He had never spoken to her in such a way. It shocked her and for some reason, it made the place between her legs pulse with need.

He kissed her then. Over and over, taking her breath away with his rampant passion. His body rubbed against hers, his hands were all over her. "I will make you scream alright, Mrs. Thornton", he murmured breathlessly. "Let's show your aunt exactly who it is you married." "And who is that, John?", she moaned, clinging to him as his hips moved against hers. "A dirty pauper boy from Princeton."

He grasped the hem of her nightshirt and pulled it up, leaving her naked beneath him, as his mouth found her right breast and sucked her nipple into his mouth hungrily, making her writhe against him helplessly. "Your aunt may have married a rich gentleman, but I would bet the mill on the fact that, on her wedding night, she just lay still and rigid and thought of England." "John!", Margaret let out a shaky laugh, which quickly turned into a throaty groan under his touch.

He kissed his way down from her breasts to her abdomen and dipped his tongue into her belly button, as his hands stroked down the sides of her body to her hips. "Let me show you just how sinful this mill boy can get", he whispered against her skin. "And we'll give your aunt the full listening experience."

And with that, he moved lower. Both Margaret's eyes and mouth flew open with shock when his mouth moved against the most private part of her body. "John!" She stared down at him, as his tongue darted across her folds. It was a touch, different from anything she had experienced before, and it threatened to overwhelm her instantly.

"Oooh my!" She felt her eyes roll back into her head, as a violent shudder ran through her body. Her legs fell open of their own accord, her hips bucked to press against his mouth. His tongue circled her entrance, his warm breath teasing her tender skin. And then he sucked her most sensitive nub into his mouth.

"Oh God!", she cried out, her hands fisting his hair. He did it again and again, making her bite her lip to keep quiet, but it was to no avail. She felt him dip a finger inside her, moving in and out of her entrance, his mouth still on her, licking, sucking, teasing her. She felt dizzy, the whole room seemed to spin, as she hopelessly gasped for breath.

A second finger entered her, stretching her, the rhythm increasing steadily and she felt herself be carried higher and higher, as her mind shut off completely.

And then, suddenly, a series of wails and screams erupted from her lips, which were certainly impossible to ignore for anyone trying to sleep on the same floor of the house. It took her minutes to come to her senses, her eyes closed, her mouth hanging open, her entire body jolting with the intensity of her pleasure.

When she finally came to, she was in his arms, his lips against her forehead. "Oh my god, John, what have you done?", she breathed with a mixture of amusement and mortification. "This is what people do in Princeton?" "Sometimes", he smiled against the side of her face, gently kissing her there.

She drew back to look at him, curiously. "Do – do women do this sort of thing too? To men?" She saw a faint blush rise in his cheeks, as he dropped his gaze. "Yes", he whispered eventually. "Did – did any women ever do this to you?" His blush deepened. "Yes."

Margaret swallowed.

"H – how do they do it?" He hesitated for a few seconds. Then he carefully took her hand in his and brought it to his mouth. "Something like this", he murmured and touched her forefinger to his lips, sucking it into his mouth. Margaret's breath caught at the movement. He sucked her finger a couple of times before releasing it, leaving her slightly out of breath.

Struck by inspiration, her hands fisted the hem of his nightshirt and pulled it up. The garment dropped to the floor beside the bed, leaving him bare. She let her eyes roam over his body, now so familiar to her. He was hard and ready for her, and she carefully brought her lips to his chest, kissing him there, gradually moving lower. "M – Margaret", he gasped. "You don't – have to – " "I want to", she whispered, her hands caressing his skin, as she felt his muscles clench under her fingertips.

And then she was there, between his legs. Her hand wrapped around him, moving up and down in a motion he had shown her on their wedding night and which she had repeated countless times since then, enjoying the effect it had on him.

She saw his eyes drift closed, his mouth slightly open, his breath coming in heavy gasps. Carefully she took his tip into her mouth, letting her tongue circle him. "Oh Lord!", he hissed, as his fingers found her hair and held her head carefully. "She started moving her head up and down on him, sucking gently. He whimpered and moaned, his hips moving involuntarily to meet her movements. Her left hand found his scrotum, gently massaging the two little orbs through his tender skin, while her right hand started working the base of his shaft.

She found a rhythm, daring to take more of him inside her mouth, as she gently sucked him and swirled her tongue around him. "Mar – garet!", he whimpered. It was a heady experience, having him at her mercy like this, every sound he made fuelling her own arousal.

John had died, surely, for this could only be heaven. His hands fisted the bed linen tightly as he threw his head back, dizzy from the sensations coursing through him. It seemed as if every single nerve ending of his body was humming with pleasure, as her hot, wet mouth massaged him in such a sinful, sensual way.

She increased the speed, as he struggled for breath, a flood of incoherent words tumbling out of his mouth. And then he grasped her head with shaking hands, gently pulling it away from his body.

For a moment she was irritated by the motion, but a second later he forced out a guttural groan, and his shaft started pulsing in her hand as his seed shot out of his tip, hitting his abdomen. Margaret watched in fascination as he pulsed multiple times, before his body went limp, his arms falling to his sides, as he lay in the aftershocks of what she had done to him.

Shakily she got up and headed to the dressing room, returning with a wet cloth a moment later. She sat on the bed beside him and gently started cleaning him from the evidence of their passion. She felt his eyes on her, as her hands moved across his body. His hand found her cheek and she looked up to meet his gaze, finding nothing but wonder and admiration there.

"God, woman, I love you so much", he breathed. She dropped the cloth and a moment later she was in his arms, her lips on his, his hand in her hair, his other moving up and down her arm in a feather-light caress.

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"So, what other sinful things did you do in Princeton?" she asked a long while later, as her cheek was resting against his bare chest, while his hand was playing with her hair.

"Do you really want to know?" She nodded. He was silent for a moment, thinking.

"There was this man, we all called him "Dirty Jack"", he replied eventually. "He was a funny fellow. I remember him having very few teeth left, and he would always wear an old top hat and gaiters. He would draw pictures – illustrations of couples doing – things. And he'd sell them in the street for a few pence."

"What sort of things?", Margaret asked curiously. "You know – sensual things", he smirked. "Like what we did just now. And other things too. He was rather good at drawing them, and they sold well." "And you bought them?", she grinned. "Not me, I didn't have the money for it, but once in a while one of the lads would get his hands on one, and we'd pass them around."

"So that is where you drew your inspiration from?" "Mainly", he smiled, tilting his head so his cheek came to rest against the top of her head. "Do you know what became of the other boys? The ones you grew up with?"

He released a breath. "Some of them did not make it out of the mill that day." She raised her head to look at him, searching his face, but found that he would not meet her gaze. "Others are probably still there somewhere in that hellhole, I don't know. I think most of them were not as keen on building something substantial for themselves as I was. Some started spending what little money they had on booze early on, and once you start doing that, it's hard to stop, I reckon."

"You never did that?", she asked. "No, I was aware of where that could lead me. My mother had taught me the importance of frugality and making commitments, so I spent what little leisure time I had at the library, reading and making plans on how to get out of there."

"You know, John-", she murmured, wrapping her arms around him, "I truly am in awe of you. Not many people possess such fierce determination and perseverance." He shook his head. "The same can be said for you, dear. Having come here, to this strange place, quickly taking the side of the less fortunate and doing everything in your power to help wherever you could. I always found that quite admirable."

"Even if the baskets of charity I took to Princeton meant that I prolonged the strike?", she asked. "I would be lying if I said I was happy about that. But you acted out of kindness. Who am I to condemn that?"

They were silent for a long time, as the fire slowly burned down and the candles dimmed. "Do you think we gave aunt Shaw a scare?", she chuckled finally. "I do hope so", he grinned cheekily. "I am looking forward to their departure", she mused. "Even if I will miss Edith and little Sholto. He is a sweet child."

"Who knows – maybe we will have a little Sholto of our own sometime in the near future", he pondered. "I don't think that is the first name I would choose for our child", she laughed. Then, turning serious, she lifted her head to look at him.

"Would you like that? Having children?" He gently brushed a strand of hair behind her ear. "I think there is little in this world I would enjoy more", he admitted. "Before I met you, I had never given it much thought, but now I feel that it would be wonderful."

"I feel the same way", she smiled, huddling up against him with a yawn, as they slowly drifted off into sleep.

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He woke with a shuddering breath in the middle of the night. Eyes wide open, his hair clinging to his forehead from perspiration, his hands shaking.

She was there, beside him, unmoving, fast asleep. He tried to focus on her warmth, on the sound of her breathing. It had helped in the past. It helped now, but it was not enough, the nightmare had been too strong. He felt as if his skin was crawling, as if the images had been burned into the insides of his eyelids, for whenever he closed them, they would reappear, haunting him forever - the image of that face, still so vivid in his mind. And the blood.

Carefully, so as not to wake her, he slid out of bed and grabbed his nightshirt, slipping it over his head, as he tiptoed over to the chair by the window and sank down into it. He felt cold, as he sat there and stared off into the distance.

Margaret…his wonderful, beautiful wife. Most days he still could not believe she was really here with him. She gave him so much strength, and at the same time her tenderness threatened to shatter him.

He had managed to keep the nightmares hidden from her, which was a wonder really. But he doubted he could go on like this forever. She was growing to know him too well, she would notice eventually.

He wished he could go to her and seek comfort in her arms, finally open the floodgates to his sorrow. He felt like he had never come this close to letting go. And he had never been more scared. John felt like crying, but no tears would come.