DESIRE & DUTY
by MEL

INTRODUCTION
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6 CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
TBC

DESIRE & DUTY

Chapter Seven

His lips came down upon Clarice's hand, and this time they did not politely peck and leave. He gripped her hand in his, astonishing strength suggested in the iron grip, and he inhaled. He inhaled deeply. The sensuality of the gesture was not lost on Clarice, whose breast rose in tandem with his. He raised his eyes to hers and drew her close, closer. She felt his broad chest brush against her crinolined and corseted front, and rashly wished the intrusive attire gone. Being a dream, being her own dream, this wish was miraculously granted, and half-awake and trying to retain the delicious scenario in her stirring mind, she gloried in his pupils, dilating to replace blood-red with the deepest black. Dr. Lecter reached out one hand and caressed her face, her throat, traced her collarbone and began to meander his attentions downwards. She felt her eyes begin to roll back in her head with the breathtaking arousal he was engendering in her, when his attentions changed abruptly he seized her to him, crushing her in his embrace. One hand reached back to clutch a handful of titian hair and force her head backwards. Those long-considered lips descended on her throat, and she was powerless to do anything but cry out in pleasure as he kissed her roughly, teeth discernible in the attentions.

Clarice awoke with a sheen on her brow and a deep aching in her loins. She lay for a few minutes, listening to her breathing, ragged but slowing. She did not analyse her intentions too closely, merely accepted this new development. Nobody would have reproached her for taking another husband years before now, it was not propriety that need trouble her. She was not sure she wanted another husband, but she terribly missed a man in her life; that was the issue for propriety to bend its wit around. Times were changing, it was true, but she did not imagine for a second that while a woman was grudgingly accepted as head of a company she helped build, she would be permitted to take a lover in the same way as men did every day, unspoken but tacitly accepted. Men had needs after all.

Having successfully defeated her own plan to stay abed a while longer and dwell upon the dream while she still recalled the finer details, she irritably threw her legs over the side of the bed and went to attend to her toilette. The physical remnants of her dream lingered however, and she mellowed somewhat. She would figure something out. She wandered to the window and looked out over her new see. The house was a perfectly average estate for the area, but it glowed with new significance this morning. Although it had been some time since she had been required, or had indeed desired, to woo a man, it was with no small spark of excitement that she dressed for the day. Bella was a wonderful source for inside information on all and sundry, and the news that Dr. Lecter never missed the London scene now seemed like the best news in the world; for this day was the day chosen by Bella and Jack to take their final leave of Lowingham, and Derbyshire in general, as the winter season was upon the fine folk of England and those with the means were excitedly flocking to London to begin the well-orchestrated social networking that occupied the life of the upper echelons of polite society this time of year. Keen to introduce her new American friend to the joys of the London season, Bella had ensured that Clarice agree to spend the winter in the city, and helpfully assisted in securing a town house not far from the Crawfords' own. Clarice had managed to fend off the offer of a joint ride down to London in the Crawfords' coach, insisting that as she would need her own transport in London anyway, she would accompany her own horses and driver to London. A light knock on her bedroom door told Clarice that Annie was up and ready to leave. Suppressing a grin, she answered the young girl with an airy "Enter!" and prepared to take leave of her new home.

***

Having seen only the veritable guts of London at the dockyards, Clarice was avidly awaiting her first views of London in some twenty years. The city was busier and more crowded, buildings jostled for place and primacy in the narrower streets. Passing Temple Bar and Charing Cross, Clarice was not sorry to see the streets begin to widen a little, and the West End - hub of social glamour - begin to reveal itself to her. The house they eventually pulled up to, at a respectable mid-morning hour, was at the very end of Park Lane. The Crawfords, her driver assured her, were already in residence at their London home, a few short miles north in Marylebone. She took the half-flight of steps up to the glossy blue front doors and the door opened before her, giving the lie to the expectant staff within. The building was a typical London townhouse, four stories and narrow. She eschewed a guide and took off to explore the house alone. The ground floor housed a parlour and a library on either side of the tiled hallway, well-appointed yet clinically clean and neat, mainly for waiting guests she supposed. The staircase to the upper floors ran directly through the center of the house on this level, and led to the first floor - a dining room, a smaller library and a sitting room. The second floor was Clarice's favourite. The bedroom was lush and filled with deep-hued silks and swags, the sinfully soft bed a central point in this, the most characterful and homely of rooms in this house that felt like a hotel. The third floor was a great surprise and delight to the new mistress, a glass-ceilinged, tile-floored arboretum, with vast views across London. Clarice relaxed into an easy chair and enjoyed for a while the breeze that came through the open windows, until the biting chill of it announced all too clearly that the English winter was well underway.

A timid knock at the door revealed Annie, who entered carrying a small brass tray.
"Your calling cards ma'am," Annie announced. "You've certainly had a lot of callers already!"
"Really?" Clarice began to rifle through the cards, recognizing almost none of the names. The ones she did recall included Mr Krendler (she tried not to grimace too plainly) and one Rachel DuBerry. Most others were gentleman callers she was as yet unacquainted with. She looked through the short stack a second time, but she did not find the one card she had been hoping to.
"Did anybody see Ms. DuBerry when she came to visit, Annie?"
"Mrs. Brown says she answered the door to her yesterday, and that she was surprised not to find you here yet, and that she will await your call. Mrs. Brown is the housekeeper." Annie added at Clarice's blank look.
"Tell me, Annie, just how many staff does this house retain?"
"The landlord retains twelve full time staff, but Bella Crawford reduced the number to four when she arranged the place for you. She said she knows you like it quiet."
"Four eh? Well tell all four that they are dismissed until tomorrow morning."
"Ma'am?" Annie questioned, "Everyone?"
"I believe I can fend for myself for one evening."
Annie blushed,
"That's not what I meant. So.. till the morning?" She appeared to brighten as the idea sunk in. "I'll be delighted to tell them!" She bowed excitedly and ducked out to bring the good tidings to the household.

An hour later Clarice was relaxing in a deep bath. After lugging one very heavy bucket of water up the four flights of stairs from basement to bathroom, she had discovered the dumb waiter. While not afraid of the exercise, it was a much more agreeable task to make several runs with the small lift, than spend all day trailing up and down until she was fit to drop. The fact that she could have had one of the housemaids draw her bath was exactly the reason she chose to do it herself this time. This lavish dwelling had made Clarice feel a little guilty, a little cosseted and a little silly. The time on her own was partly for privacy and solitude, and partly just so she could ground herself a little, take care of herself for a while. She mused absently on the fact of her being in London now, and how out of time and place she was feeling with all the upheavals in her life the past several years. She refused to feel glum about her circumstances, rejected any notion that she was badly done to or unfortunate in any fashion. She achieved a small nirvana in her little bathtub, worrying of nothing and thinking of everything.

Having made such a drama out of filling the tub in the first place, Clarice stayed until the water was barely tepid and her fingers and toes were ridged and wrinkled. Pulling on an old muslin frock, soft and worn, she ventured out downstairs, barefoot, intending to head towards the library and perhaps find a volume to immerse herself in for a few hours. As she set foot on the ground floor, there was a loud knock at the door. Peeking through the window Clarice saw a young boy, standing next to a huge basket of flowers that reached almost beyond his own height.
"Delivery!" he yelled, to nobody in particular, in the general direction of the house. She cracked the door and peered out at him.
"Delivery for Ms. Starling, from Mrs. Crawford," he said, picking up the basket and handing it through the door to her. "Beautiful flowers missus," he said, a cheeky grin on his face. She thanked him profusely and he touched his cap in a mock-salute and turned to leave. It was then that Clarice realized a visitor had mounted the steps behind him, and she silently, inwardly, cursed that she had not retained one person that day to answer the door and declare Ms. Starling 'not at home to visitors.'

Paul Krendler fixed a leery smile on his face as he took in her attire.
"Good afternoon, Mrs. Starling, I see you are at home after all. I did call earlier but nobody cared to answer the door to me."
"Er, yes, my staff are all out today."
"Off and left you all alone?" he affected a polite horror at this inconvenience. "Why you must allow me to assist you in that case." And with that he occasioned his entry into her home.
"You must allow me a few moments to take care of something upstairs," she said quickly, wishing she could fold in on herself and hide her disarray from him. "Please take a seat in the library and I will be with you directly." Without waiting for an answer she took off up the stairs as quickly as she could manage without bounding up them two at a time.

She rushed into her bedroom and tore the old gown off over her head, and threw open the doors of the armoire to select a more appropriate outfit. Selecting her most prudish, plain number she turned to pull out some underwear and swallowed a shriek as she spied Krendler in the doorway to her room, now pretending to avert his eyes.
"Mr Krendler!" she ground out, almost speechless, "What on earth are you-?"
"Please accept my apologies ma'am," he cut her off, still theatrically looking anywhere but at her, "Your appearance in the lobby worried me and I wondered was something wrong and did you perhaps need my assistance!" The phony concern and self-effacement in his tone made her sick to her stomach.
"I am perfectly fine, sir, now please, leave!"
Forgoing further invention, he retreated out onto the landing, and she flew to the door and slammed it.
"I'll just be in the library then, ma'am." She heard his parting words as he began down the stairs.
Clarice censored the outburst that hug on her tongue to a bewildered 'Goodness sake.' just in case he hadn't actually left and mistook her expletives for more requests for 'help.' Quickly pulling on the new dress, she buttoned it to her neck, yanked her hair back into a severe knot and pulled on ankle-jacks. She hastened down the stairs then stopped and took a deep breath, set her face, and entered the library.

Rather than sitting, she chose to stand for this interview, and swept past him to stand by the fireplace.
"Good afternoon Mr. Krendler," she started. Cutting off his attempted 'I'm so sorry please forgive my ignorance' she continued. "I think it best if we both agree to forget this incident, sir, on your understanding that if I am ever in need of assistance, rest assured, I am well within my capabilities to ask for it."
"Of course," he bowed his head in assent. She thought she saw him smirk. Snake.
"Yes, well, in any case, what can I do for you today?"
"It was meant to be a social call, Mrs Starling, I did leave my card for you a number of days ago."
"Well I'm afraid this is a most inconvenient time, given that I cannot offer you the hospitality I could if my full staff were present." Please let him take the hint and leave. As soon as the words were out of her mouth, however, she realized that may have been the worst thing to remind him of. His features took on a feral, guarded look. A beat of silence followed as he seemed to weigh some decision.
"I don't know many ladies who take visitors alone, ma'am."
"Yes well," she retorted irritably, "I'm hardly a defenseless young maiden sir."
"All I'm saying is, even a defenseless young maiden wouldn't be seen to be alone with a gentleman, if she had a mind to her honour." The conversation had turned deathly sour in an instant; Clarice felt a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach.
"Kindly restrain your observations in my presence, I do not care for them," she said, not too weakly she hoped. She was glad she had remained standing, but she had crossed the room so he now sat between herself and the door, she realised belatedly.
"You have no need to keep up this pretense with me," he stood, uncoiling from his seat, serpent-like. She raised her chin as he approached, but stood her ground. She only moved when he raised a hand to caress her face; jerking back she slapped his hand away.
"Whatever pretense you have in mind you are mistaken!" she growled through gritted teeth. In response he gripped her by the wrist and held her tightly.
"I know what you want," he said into her ear as she squirmed to extricate herself from his grasp.
"Unhand me!" she yelled at the top of her lungs, but he merely grabbed her other wrist and held tight, tighter as she began to struggle violently. She fought him hard, pulling back from him with all the strength she could muster. Something tangled in her feet as she wrenched one hand away from him and she felt herself falling back; he reached out and grabbed wildly for her and snagged her arm as she hit the floor. A sickening pain tore through her shoulder and she cried out in pain. Krendler descended on her, the lascivious expression he had worn now replaced with one of real fear. She yelled for him to stay away, but before he could reach for her the library door burst open and he sprang to his feet, startled.

In the doorway, Dr. Hannibal Lecter took in the scene before him and Clarice saw his face blacken and shuddered. She felt a curious mix of wild thankfulness at being rescued and a deep sense of foreboding, his presence elementally heavy. Krendler seemed momentarily at a loss, and when the Doctor cocked his head evidently in request of an explanation he sputtered:
"Mrs. Starling wasn't feeling wellshe er she took a fall, I I think she's hurt."
"I heard Mrs. Starling yell for you to unhand her." Lecter's quiet voice cut through the sudden stillness he had brought with him.
"Yes well - well it's really none of your business now is it?" Krendler dared.
"Mrs. Starling? Would you like Mr. Krendler to leave?" he ignored the man's veiled threat. Clarice wanted to warn the Doctor to be careful, but pain clouded her consciousness and she merely nodded, and remained sitting on the edge of the hearth where she had fallen.
"The lady appears to wish your departure," Lecter said cordially. It all happened so quickly Clarice almost missed it. Lecter moved to take Krendler's elbow, who, thinking to assert dominance in some random male fashion, yanked his arm away and swung for the shorter man. Lecter dodged the bow fluidly and lightning fast, brought up the heel of his hand to impact Krendler's jaw. He folded like a concertina. Lecter then merely picked him up by the scruff of the neck as if he were as light as a feather and escorted him out of the library. Clarice heard the front door close and then the Doctor was back in the library, dropping to a crouch beside her.
"Are you hurt?" he said anxiously, his eyes moving over her face, his own expression grave.
"I think I hurt my shoulder," she managed weakly, wanting for all the world to burst into tears in some kind of belated surprise.
"May I?" Lecter's hands hovered over her shoulder. She nodded mutely and closed her eyes against the pain his manipulation of her shoulder caused. "I think you may have dislocated your shoulder. Here, let me help you up."
He reached around her waist and pulled her to a standing position. She lolled against him, and tried to prop herself up, apologising.
"You are in a little shock, Mrs. Starling," he lowered her onto the chaise, "there is nothing to apologise for."
She muffled a pained laugh as she reclined. "You must call me Clarice, I think we are beyond formalities now."
"Very well Clarice," he sat before her on the short couch. "As a further measure of our acquaintance, I can mend your shoulder but will need to unbutton your dress."
Clarice started, her eyes wide she searched his face for some ill-placed humour or skewed intent and found none. Rather than waiting for her to verbalise her assent, he merely set about his work with all the detachment of a doctor. Clarice chastised herself for doubting him, but then all coherent thought left her head as he deftly unbuttoned the neck of her dress and his hands descended hot upon her skin. Was there something wrong with her? This man was trying to heal her, an honourable man had just ridden to her rescue and all she could think were thoughts that would surely shame him. All imaginings of the sensuality of the situation however, were swiftly driven from her mind as he applied a slight pressure to her injured shoulder. Tears of pain jumped into her eyes and she bit back a pained yelp.
"I'm afraid this is going to hurt, but only for a moment." She nodded in reply and kept his gaze. The pain of the relocation was intense but, as he promised, short-lived. His hands lingered, testing the joint and flesh, and his gaze did not waver from hers, his pupils dilating. Clarice felt light-headed. She swallowed in a suddenly dry mouth and succumbed to the overwhelming urge. She reached up and gripped him around his neck, bringing his mouth down to hers.

Her brain reeled behind her closed lids as his lips moved over hers, warm and unexpectedly soft. His hand on her shoulder caressed her lightly, a feather-light touch that moved suggestively downwards and then was gone. She broke away, breathless, in belated control of herself.
"I I'm so sorry Doctor," she turned away, mortified at her lack of restraint. In response he reached out one hand and gently turned her face back to him. She caught her breath as she imagined sparks in those strange eyes. He leaned in and brushed his lips ever so softly, so slowly across hers, a butterfly kiss, more erotic than the hardest, most determined attentions.
"You have no need of apologies with me." His voice was low and barely audible. "I think perhaps the afternoon's events have excited your composure. Infinitely to my benefit, may I be so bold as to add." His eyes danced and Clarice breathed a puff of a laugh and relaxed.
"Thank you, Doctor."
"I -" he began, and was interrupted by a loud banging from the front door. His face betrayed the barest hint of irritation which he blinked away. He reached out and began to rebutton her dress. She lay back and watched him, wishing they could remain in this tableau indefinitely. To say he intrigued her was a gross understatement, she felt drawn as if by powerful magnetic force.
"I'm afraid the site of Mr. Krendler bleeding on your steps may have aroused some interest in the neighbourhood. That is likely somebody come to check on you." As he finished speaking they heard a lady's voice calling Clarice by name. Understanding she would not soon have such an opportunity alone with Lecter, Clarice fumbled for her voice but was unable to come up with anything to say. Lecter smiled lopsidedly at her and nodded as if in supernatural understanding.
"I fear if I do not open the door soon, Mrs Crawford may have the door broken down."
The voice at the front door, now grown louder, was unmistakeably Bella.
"Please remain where you are. I shall open the door and take my leave. You will be in wonderful hands." He reached out and touched her lips, lingering, his hand drawing away in a grasping motion. Finally, he stood and made his leave. "I will be back."

To Be Continued