I've waited hours for this
I've made myself so sick
I wish I'd stayed asleep today
I never thought this day would end
I never thought tonight could ever be
this close to me
Just try to see in the dark
Just try to make it work
to feel the fear before you're here
I make the shapes come much too close
I pull my eyes out
Hold my breath
and wait until I shake...
The Cure, "Close to Me"
Chapter 9
"So," Cutler said, as the last of the guests were beginning to leave the wedding celebration. "Ready for our wedding night, are we?"
Evelyn blushed, and silently thanked God that no one was in ear shot of the two of them. It was the first time all evening that she hadn't been bombarded by guests.
"Cutler, please…"
"Not that it should phase you, after all, my dear you—"
"I know," Cutler, she hissed. "I know damn well. Why must you always bring it up?"
"To remind you who you really are, and what I could do to you," he said almost pleasantly.
Evelyn crossed her arms at the false kindness in his voice. "Why?" She asked dejectedly. "Why do you do this to me? Everything that I have ever done has been for you."
"I know, my darling, I know." He waved as another guest passed them in the hall. "But tonight I don't want you getting any ideas about love and romance and whatnot. That didn't turn out so well the last time—"
"I know Cutler!" Evelyn pressed her hand to her mouth, terrified that a guest might have heard her sudden outburst—or worse, James. "I know, Cutler." Memories slashed through her, the blood on the knives not quite dry.
"Norrington is going to be the key to my power." He brushed a lock of her hair back, slightly pleased when his sister flinched. "Any you are my key to Norrington."
"Cutler," she asked, her voice a muted whisper. "What is the nature of your business association with James Norrington?"
She saw her brother's eyes darken. "That's not for you to worry about, Evie."
"Why did you make sure he was created an admiral? Was it just for marrying me?"
"Evie—"
"It wasn't, I know it wasn't. I know you to well. There must have been something else, something bigger. You aren't easily pleased—"
"If I were you, I would be much more worried about all of Port Royal finding out just how much you pleased his majesty and—"
"Enough."
"Then your loyalty?"
"Yours, Cutler." Large grey eyes looked up at him. "It's yours."
He kissed her cheek and walked away, his own smile large and his eyes knowing. Cutler Beckett, her brother—who at every turn threatened to annihilate her new life.
Her life with James.
And that's when it hit Evelyn. For the first time in her life, she was trying to hide her past, because for the first time in her life, she had someone worth hiding it from.
First, she had stood by Cutler because he had been the only person with the power to protect her. Now, she stood by him because he was the only person with the power to destroy her.
And that was how Evelyn Beckett Norrington realized that she was in love.
They sat beside each other, alone at last, in the small confines of their carriage.
In silence. In unending, unnerving, God forsaken silence.
James felt warm against her, his thigh crushed against her own as the sat beside each other. Even through the layers of her dress, she felt the heat of his skin.
Faster and faster, Evelyn felt her heart begin to run away with itself.
James kept his eyes straight in front of him. If he looked at her, at his bride, he would not know what to do. He could feel her beside him, warm and lush and alive and his. Oh God, he had someone, finally to call his own. He had thought that it would be a burden, that after Elizabeth Swann, everything and anything would be repulsive to him.
But not this woman. Not her.
And that was the problem, wasn't it?
This woman had been fostered onto him, the marriage forced, the match ill made. He was supposed to hate her, wanted to hate her, and quite frankly, should have been nothing but put out by her general presence. To acknowledge any other feeling was to acknowledge that Cutler Beckett might not have given him such an unfair hand after all—
--and that was completely unacceptable.
He wanted to love Elizabeth Swann. There, that was it. Elizabeth Swann had been the love of his life, and James Norrington had believed once that he would never want another woman.
James Norrington was not a man who admitted to being wrong.
He wanted Elizabeth, and this annoying little Londoner was completely ruining his battle plan.
Not that he loved Evelyn Beckett.
But what about Evelyn Norrington?
Evelyn Norrington, as it was, would never know that on the way home from their wedding reception, her husband had held his own hands in a vice like grip.
To stop them from shaking.
Marie ran her fingers through Evelyn's hair one more time, pleased the way that it fell in riotous curls over the mistresses pale shoulders. The lingerie that had been ordered for her was exceptionally beautiful, a pale crème lace that fell all the way to the floor, scooping deeply at the neck and embellished all around the neck line and bust.
"Madame you look—"
"Enough Marie," Evelyn snapped. "Enough."
Her hands were shaking.
He was dressed in a night robe, and Evelyn couldn't decide whether James looked ridiculous or devastating.
Was he naked beneath that?
Oh God…
She blinked her eyes several times as her subconscious died a few times over. He was staring at her, his eyes cold and fathomless, his body rigid with tension and his lips curled in a sneer.
James had been holding his breath for what felt like a good decade. She looked beautiful. Of course she looked beautiful. Why wouldn't she look beautiful? And she was his, legally, religiously, in every way possible. And he had every right, every expectation to…to…
Do what he didn't want to admit he wanted to do. Badly.
"Well," she said.
"Well what?"
"Well," she gestured with her hands.
So much for romance.
"Lady Beck—Mrs. Nor—" His own formality sounded ridiculous to his ears. "Evelyn. What are you talking about?"
"Well we aren't just going to stand here staring at each other?"
"Oh. Oh."
For several hellish moments they just stood there—staring at each other.
Evelyn sighed, frustrated. "You know—" she stopped, alarmed and angered by the lump growing in her throat. "You know, it's your eyes."
"What?"
"And that tone of voice. I've never seen such cold eyes, nor heard such a cold voice. No," she corrected herself. "No, perhaps cold isn't the correct word." She shook her head. "Quite frankly, I don't know what to call it. It's the look that a good man has when he is trying to be cruel."
"Spare me your philosophy—"
"I don't want to feel this anymore than you do!" She cried angrily. "I've had enough feeling for one lifetime! You idiot man! Standing there looking angry and dejected and put out, hanging me for the sins of another woman!" Evelyn's voice was raised, her anger beyond her control, the flood gates of her emotion completely run through. "I'm done feeling things I don't want to feel! I'm done! Nothing can be worth this! I just want to be numb!" Her voice cracked and she spun away from James, hiding her face in her hands. Evelyn had made it a point long ago to never let men see her cry. Never, never…he would not see her cry. He would not.
One breath, then another, deep, calming breaths. She turned toward him once more.
"What happened to you?" James whispered.
Was that concern in his voice? She longed desperately for that to be the case, and yet the longing only made her angrier. She was already reliant upon Cutler; she didn't need to add another man to that list.
"None of you God damned business."
James went still, and Evelyn was sure that she couldn't even see him breathing. If his voice had been cold, then hers had just been positively frigid. She was angry, and alone, and quite frankly terrified.
Not that she had any reason to be…
The silence that hung between them was a hellish sea of questions they would never be able to ask and answers they would never be able to face.
When James moved toward her, Evelyn stood still.
He said nothing and neither did she, and when his arms came around her small frame she did not protest.
It wasn't that they came together passionately, or violently, but there was a hint of desperation to the way they grabbed on to each other, the way that they kissed each other as if it were a salve that could soothe the others past.
They did not speak, did not have to, did not want to. James's robe was on the ground and Evelyn was against him, the heat of his flesh burning through the thin lace of her gown. She ran her hands through his hair, hair that was now cut sort to accommodate his wigs, and his mouth opened wider against her own. He rucked up her nightgown and pulled her onto his lap on the edge of their bed, his fingers tracing small circles on the insides of her thighs.
She wanted to touch him everywhere, wanted to make him want her so badly that the image of Elizabeth Swann never entered his mind again.
Evelyn was not by nature a jealous woman, never had been, but as she ran her hands up her husbands chest as he impaled her, slowly, achingly slowly, she knew that this was it.
This was the end.
She would kill any woman who ever went near him.
James pulled her against him harder, wanting to be deeper. He took her mouth once more and kissed her as they both shifted against each other, the kiss broken every time one or the other gasped.
He had expected that she perhaps might cry out some misguided declaration of love, or perhaps make some statement of sentiment as they came together, but as his wife climaxed around him, she only cried out one thing.
"Please don't leave me James."
There was something so tragic about her voice, something that called so deeply to him. He rolled her quickly onto her back, thrusting deeply into her until he too found his release.
"James…"
He was still inside of her, his face only inches from her own.
"Evie…"
Silently, through the night, a black figure moved. Small and lithe, the shadow had an easy time sneaking onto the grounds of James Norrington's home. Not that it wanted to disturb the man's wedding night, but the shadow had no choice.
Curiosity also had something to do with it. Throughout the whole night, the bride's face had not come into the shadow's view, nor had her name come by the shadow's ears.
Nor had the reason for the wedding taking place at Cutler Beckett's estate been made clear.
The shadow seethed with rage.
With a few curses and a piece of metal that had been found on the ground, the shadow popped part of a window out of its frame and crawled through into James Norrington's study.
James awoke the moment he heard it.
A military man, he did not sleep deeply. No one who had been trained to kill in battle did.
Someone had just forced their way through a door—or a window.
His heart started to race. The servants were all asleep for the night. In their wing of the house they would have heard nothing.
Against his chest, Evelyn's head rested, the welcome weight now causing his stomach to turn.
He no longer had his own life to protect.
Rising gingerly, as to not wake Evelyn, James quickly jumped into a pair of breeches and threw a shirt over his shoulder. Taking his sword, he made his way silently into the hallway, knowing exactly which boards would squeak, and which would remain silent. He had never been nervous before going into battle, never thought twice about living or dying. Perhaps it had been a reckless devotion to duty, but he had always been blind to it. Battle was a job to be done, nothing more.
But now, something, someone was in his home—near his Evelyn.
He could hear him, this intruder, walking about, quietly and yet not quietly, secretively and yet opening, as if they wanted to be found, but not just by anyone.
James crept silently down the large staircase into the dark foyer before, his eyes open wide, as if absorbing the darkness around him to see everything that he could.
The shadow found him first.
"James Norrington."
With a shocked swear, James dropped his sword to the ground.
It was James's startled exclamation that woke Evelyn from a fitful sleep. Well, that and the absence of his warmth beside her, but that was something she did not really want to address at the moment.
Not did she want to think about how he had felt with his arms holding her, his mouth open on her neck—
How he had felt inside of her.
"Christ," she mumbled, stepping gingerly out of bed. Sentimentality and sex were two things that did not mix.
You did not spend six years in his majesty's court without learning that lesson.
I'm done feeling things I don't want to feel! I'm done! Nothing can be worth this! I just want to be numb!
Evelyn reached over toward the night table and lit a candle, placing it in a large, silver candle stick. Had she really heard James cry out? A nervous bead of sweat began to crawl its way down her spine. Perhaps he hadn't. Perhaps she had only dreamt it, brought on by the lack of his presence in bed. Surely if something had happened she would have heard something else by—
Voices.
Two of them.
Downstairs.
Rearranging her nightgown so that it was once more somewhat decent looking, Evelyn quietly made her way into the hallway. One voice was louder—James. One of the voices belonged to James, and Evelyn breathed a silent sigh of relief. But the other?
She moved quietly along the wall, the candlelight creating a small golden glow in front of her. The voices were discussing something in rapid fire speech. She came to the stairs, and saw them in the dark corner of the foyer below.
Evelyn dropped the candle, and the scene about froze itself, forever to burned upon her memory. As the heavy silver hit the floor, rolling away and down the stairs, the two figures looked up towards her. The second, smaller person stepped into the moonlight, her mouth and eyes wide as she took in the vision of James Norrington's bride, the woman he had actually married. James just stood there, dressed in a pair of hastily done up breeches and an open shirt, his eyes wide and his mouth hung open, as if he were waiting for her react.
But Evelyn didn't react.
Neither did Elizabeth Swann.
