Rated higher for later in the chapter.

Chapter thirty three:

For three days, time seemed to never move about. But Friday had finally come. Jack glanced at Charlie, who stood with him at the altar. Together, shoulder to shoulder. It seemed fitting his only relation, although distant, to stand beside him at his own wedding. It was the full circle of which they had come and the acceptance of the other; warts and all. After-all, they were the only true family the other had left. Charlie grinned, his brow arching as he stood in his black suit, complete with a neatly done cravat which surprised Jack, perhaps most of all.

''Any doubts about all of this?'

''No.''

''After this, you do know that it will be available for all to know? I don't wish to cloud your wedding day with such misery but...he might not be able to take your wife, or Dawson steel, but he might make your life a hell.''

He was on about Hockley. A reminder he didn't wish for.

Jack opened his mouth to whisper back when the sudden hush in the church drew his attention. Rose entered alone and the sight of her took his breath away. Charlie's low whistle just before the music swelled said his unspoken question had been answered.

Jack had never seen a more beautiful bride. Standing head to toe in white lace with the only colour been her red lips and auburn hair. His bride.

It was painful to breath, past that first vision, which would remain forever hitched and committed to memory, all he could do was clutch at the space in his chest where he heart threatened to give way from the hammering of it.

Muffled weeping moved his attention to a witness they had acquired, an elder lady with such wrinkles it was hard to distinguish actual features but still, she stood on shaky legs and leant against a stick perhaps older than she and nodded to Jack with a knowing smile. One sensed she had witnessed many weddings and had cried at them all; a true believer in love and life. A relative of the pastor she may have been but still, her presence was there as a beacon of faith in matrimony and love.

Faces were missing from the church. His own mother, his own father and his uncle. Those who mattered the most to him, those he had given his own life to get justice for as they had continued to work below decks and now, perhaps, uncle Eric was right. He would get his reward for working hard; it just wouldn't be Dawson steel. The love of a woman; a wonderful life. His heart seemed to stagger as he watched Rose, also, without a father to give her away, or even a mother to watch with sharp and judging eyes from the side line. A mother who would never had approval but perhaps could have tolerated. Now, they were both truly alone in the world, which was maybe the reason they were so utterly drawn to the other. They would become one; a family.

Rose's steady steps faltered. She glanced around the church like a frightened doe. He stepped forward. She would not run. He wouldn't bare it if she did. His heart raced with something akin to panic. Then she met his gaze, lifted her chin, and continued to approach him. She wasn't going to run, she was just as nervous as he was.

The ceremony began. And it was long. Eager to hasten the process, he repeated his vows with strength and conviction, his deep voice carrying across the packed pews. Rose repeated her vows slowly and with great care, as if she were afraid to stumble over the words. He could see her trembling, felt how cold her hand was in his, and knew she was terrified. He squeezed her hand gently, reassuringly, but with unmistakable claim.

And then, it was finally done. Simple. They were man and wife.

Pulling her close, he kissed her, and was surprised at the ardour with which she kissed him back. Her taste flooded his mouth, intoxicated his senses, made him mad with desire. It was horribly scandalous. He didn't care. Jack felt an anxious, unrestrained emotion well up inside of him as he stared at his wife. It was almost too much. So, he crushed it and looked away.

''I love you,'' he whispered so that only she could hear. "I love you so much."

Her cold hand clasped his in an unspoken return of the words. There was a fear still remaining within her but that would go; he would ensure it. They would be all right now.

Rose tried not to think too much to prepare for her wedding night. Taking her time with her bathing routine that morning, she glanced around the room, content to be surrounded by her own things even in a strange place. The room was beautiful and expansive, the walls lined with soft pink damask. Only one door separated her from the room where she slept with Jack each night. The room where he had touched her days before and now, she would finally become a woman in mind and body. The remembrance made her skin hot. The thought of him making love to her made her nervous. Despite the endless desire she'd become accustomed to, it was still terrifying to have married a man whose will was greater than her own. A man so determined to achieve the realisation of freedom that nothing was allowed to stand in his way. Could she influence such a man?

He had spent days drawing and drawing. The one thing which he brought from his childhood in to the present day. He was talented, with gorgeous hands...she watched him for hours as he created the pictures, of her; for her. It was another snippet of what was to come of their lives now that everything was normal...rational... free to live how they pleased.

Upon arrival back to the house, night had fallen. After taking dinner and what felt a regular evening, Jack then took her hand in his after dark and she was surprised by his whispers.

"Come with me."

They went out the back of the house to the great stone terrace, its wide curving steps leading down to the gardens. The moonlight was crossed with shredded clouds that glowed against a sky the colour of black plums. Puzzled but willing, Rose went with Jack to the bottom of the steps. He stopped and gave a short whistle into the darkness.

"What-" Rose gasped as she heard the pounding of heavy hooves and saw a huge black form rushing toward them like something from a nightmare. Alarm darted through her, and she burrowed against Jack, her face hidden against his chest. His arm went around her, tucking her close.

When the thundering stopped, Rose risked a glance at the apparition. It was a horse. A huge black horse, with puffing breaths that rose like wraiths in the raw air.

"Is this really happening?" she asked, in what felt like a complete and utter dazed dream. Jack reached in his pocket and fed the horse a sugar lump, and ran his hand over the sleek midnight neck.

"Have you ever had a dream like this?"

"Never."

"Then it must be happening."

"You actually have a horse who comes when you whistle?" Rose blinked into the starry night. How had she never visited the stables before during the week in which they had spent in Boston.

"Yes, I trained him." Jack watched as her mouth turned upwards into a smile.

"What is his name?"

His smile gleamed white in the darkness. "Can't you guess?"

Rose thought for a moment what would be the most fitting.

"Lucky?" The horse turned his head to look at her as if he understood. "Lucky," she repeated with a faint smile. "Do you have wings, by any chance?"

At Jack's subtle gesture, the horse shook his head in an emphatic no, and Rose laughed shakily.

"She came from back home. She was a baby then, bringing her here was hard but it was the only thing I brought from Wisconsin." He stroked across her great mane. ''She loves everybody out here now. The stables are a great place for her but she remembers me, always.''

Walking to Lucky's side, Jack swung up onto the packsaddle in a graceful movement. He sidled close to the step on which Jack was standing and reached down to her. She took his hand, managing to gain a foothold on the stirrup. She was lifted easily onto the saddle in front of him. Momentum carried her a little too far, but Jack's arm locked around her, keeping her in place.

"She's beautiful." Rose whispered into the dreamy night, thrust back into that beautiful world in which it seemed just her and Jack existed.

"Yes and she knows it. Missed me haven't you, girl?"

Lucky responded to Jack's gentle pats and Rose was suddenly picturing Jack in a small winter's town, training the horses. Living on a farm. Hard but rewarding work. Sometimes she was there, too, and the children she seemed to long for so badly. So much that she had started to ache within her tummy, as though it was crying out to be carrying a child there within her womb. Jack's child. The time would come, she always reasoned with herself, but it was still weighty and caused her to tremble. Maternal instincts had never kicked her chest before meeting Jack and even now she knew that she was such a tender age to be thinking such things. Perhaps, she was built for the family life and matrimony after all.

Rose leaned back into the hard cradle of his chest and arm. Her nostrils were filled with the scents of spring, damp earth, horse and man and midnight.

"You knew I'd come with you, didn't you?" she asked. ''Out here into the never-land.''

Jack leaned over her, kissing her temple. "I only hoped." His thighs tightened, setting the horse to a gallop, and then a smooth canter. And when Rose closed her eyes, she could have sworn they were flying. She wanted to scream aloud, but it was too late. She wanted to spread her arms just the way they had aboard Titanic, but she would fall off. Instead, she relished the feel of him against her. The wind in her hair, whipping it about. The coldness of the night and the warmth of him all in one. The thought of riding off into the never-land with just Jack. Her stomach sparked with excitement.

Jack rode to the abandoned river encampment where the Gypsy tribes used to stay. The remains of the camp were still there; the ruts left by the wheels of the vardos, circles of grass eaten where the cobs had been tethered, the shallow fire pit filled with ash. And everywhere there was the sound of the sloshing, rushing river, pushing at the banks, soaking the yielding earth. It was another world altogether, like the ghostly left overs of another life. He dismounted and helped Rose to the ground. At his direction, she sat on a fallen birch log while he set up a makeshift camp. She waited with her hands folded neatly in her lap, watching his every movement as he pulled a bundle of blankets from the packsaddle. In a few minutes he had made a fire in the stone-circled pit and laid out a pallet beside it. Rose hurried to the pile of blankets and burrowed beneath the layers of wool and quilted cotton.

"Is it safe out here?" Rose asked, her voice muffled and recalling how she had told her after lunch aboard Titanic, when she had fainted that she couldn't lay with everything which crawled, yet, here she was.

"You're safe from everything but me." Smiling, Jack lowered himself beside her. After removing his boots, he joined her beneath the blankets and pulled her against him. Reminding himself of the rewards to be gained by patience, he cuddled her close and waited.

As one second melted into the next, Rose's body nestled more tightly against his. It felt so extraordinary just to hold her that he did nothing for a long time. He listened to the flow of her breathing, and felt the cold night air move over them, while the warmth of their bodies collected beneath the blankets. They descended into the heart of a still, quiet pleasure Jack had never known before. His pulse began a hard, rolling drum, the heat thickening between every beat. He felt her hips pressing tentatively against his, cradling the rigid shape of his arousal, bundling closer. But still he didn't move, only let her cuddle and brush against him until he was tense and fiercely aroused.

The fire flicked and snapped its yellow ribbons, lapping at broken birch and oak. Hot... he had never been so hot in his life. As he considered removing his shirt, he felt Rose's hands creeping under the loose hem. The small, cool fingers roamed over his steaming skin. Wherever she touched, the muscles rippled and tightened, and it felt so good that Jack let out a faint groan against her hair. She grasped loose handfuls of his shirt and tugged upward. Without hesitation he sat up, stripped the garment off and tossed it aside without a second thought for it. She crawled into his lap, her long hair streaming over his naked chest and shoulders in a silken net. Entranced, Jack held still as she pressed her mouth to his chest, his shoulders, the base of his throat, in a delicate frolic of kisses.

"Rose... His hands came to her head, stilling her. The warm ripples of her hair slid over his arms, raising gooseflesh. "Rose," he whispered again, "I won't do anything you don't want to or feel ready to do.''

Her face was glowing in the firelight, her lips the colour of red currants. "Are you going to make love to me now?"

He could hardly think straight. "I want to."

Her hands came to his, fingers slipping into the spaces between his fingers. They held each other, their lips forming soundless words, mouths grazing and catching with damp heat.

Jack lowered her to the blankets, in the pool of dancing firelight. And he whispered in the way that he did, telling her that he wanted to hold her as the sun chased the moon across the sky, he wanted to be with her, until they were, one being, joined. He was only half aware of what he was saying, drunk on the scent of her and the heat rising from her body. He opened her robe and gown, dreamily pulling the soft fabric away from the deep curves of her breasts and waist. She was so beautifully made, lush and firm, the pale skin burnished with light. Voluptuous shadows dipped into places he yearned to touch and taste. He followed her spreading blush with his mouth, pursuing the wash of colour. She shivered beneath him, her hands gripping the muscles of his upper arms. He cupped her breasts and teased the peaks with his breath and tongue until they were hard and silken. Softly he drew one between his teeth, held it there until she whimpered and lifted upward.

Jack tugged at the tangled layer of her gown between them. The cove of her navel rose and fell with her breathing. Easing his mouth over it, he sank the tip of his tongue into the tight circle, filling the hollow.

"Jack, wait-" She was squirming, pushing at him in earnest. He caught her hands and gripped them close against her body, and breathed hard against her stomach.

Fighting for self-control, Jack laid his cheek against her skin with all the gentleness he was capable of. "I won't hurt you," he whispered. "I'm only going to kiss you.''

Her voice was plaintive. "Again? There?" Jack couldn't suppress a smile. This was new, this mixture of amusement and arousal.

"Yes." He let his fingers drift over her hip and thigh, into the soft curls. "I want to know every part of you. Hold still for me." . He moved downward, shaking with hunger. The scents of intimate salt and female skin had kindled an unbearable craving. His mouth brushed intimately closed lips. He licked them open, delving into the heat, the taste of her pleasure.

Rose was silent except for her broken gasps, her legs clamping hard against his sides. Helplessly she followed the sinuous pattern of his tongue, her entire body arching and yearning. He soothed her, provoked her, his mouth as playful as a swallow in flight. His breath fell rapidly on her wet flesh, her erotic incense. He slid a finger into the silkiness.

She made a sound of distress as she lost all self-control, and he gloried in it, his mouth punishing in its gentleness. He drew out the torment until the soft female moans broke into sobs. She tightened and twisted, her fingers closing in his hair, hips pulsing in helpless movements as he licked away every twitch and throb.

After a while he moved to gather her against him. She reached down to the fastenings of his trousers and worked at them until the garment was loose around his hips. The rigid length of him sprang free. Her hand curled around the burgeoning shape, stroking until Jack jerked back with a gasp.

Her face was flushed, eyes half-closed. She touched him again, urged him forward, instinctively making an open cradle of her hips and legs. He resisted, keeping his weight suspended above her, shielding her from the gaze of moonlight as he spread his fingers and trailed them over the front of her body. She shivered as the tip of his smallest finger brushed the tip of her breast. He traced a circle around it, watching the bud tighten.

"I love you," he whispered, "tell me what to do."

Blindly Rose turned her head and kissed the curve of his biceps. "What should I say?"

He murmured soft lyrical words, waiting patiently as she repeated them, helping her when she faltered. All the while he positioned himself against her, lower, tighter, and just as the last syllable left her lips, he thrust strongly inside her.

Rose flinched and cried out in pain, and Jack was torn between acute regret at having hurt her, and the devastating pleasure of being inside her. Her innocent flesh cinched around the unfamiliar invasion, her hips lifting as if to throw him off, but every movement only drew him deeper. He tried to soothe away the hurt, stroking her, kissing her throat and breasts. Taking a rosy crest into his mouth, he sucked lightly, ran his tongue over it, until she relaxed beneath him and began to moan.

Jack couldn't stop from moving then, forgetting everything but the need to push deeper into the gently gripping flesh, the warm limbs curving around him, the sweet panting mouth beneath his. He whispered compulsively against her lips. . . three words, over and over, the ecstasy crowning higher every time.

Feeling the violent spill of release about to begin, Jack was about to withdraw until she tightened her legs about his back and was pulled back into the deepest depths and shuddered there, spewing everything which he had ever had into her and then more. Convulsing. Moving. Twisting. Strangled sounds left his mouth which sounded painful but it was just the last shudders of the most intense orgasm which had ever taken over him. Jack buried his head in the crook of her neck and shoulder, groaning. No feeling had ever come close to this, he thought dizzily. Nothing could.

The pleasure lasted even after his heartbeat had returned to normal and he had regained his ability to think clearly, more or less. Rose had gone lax beneath him, drowsing and sighing. He had to force himself to withdraw, when all he wanted was to revel in the feel of her.

He used a handkerchief to clean the blood and moisture from her body, dressed her in her nightgown, and went to replenish the fire. When he returned to settle beneath the blankets, Rose snuggled in the crook of his arm.

Watching the crackling fire, relishing the trusting weight of her head on his shoulder, Jack stroked her hair as it streamed over his arm. She slept heavily, while the fire pitched shadows from her long lashes across her cheeks. Jack looked over her with a lover's vigilance, absorbing every detail, the feathery edge of her hairline, the neat slope of her nose, the small ears. He wanted to nibble at her ears, play with her, but he would do nothing to disturb her sleep.

He pulled a quilt higher over her snowy shoulder, stroked back a curl that had looped over her ear. Everything had changed, he thought. And there was no turning back.