A/N: Thank you once more for the reviews. I have the feeling that some people will enjoy this chapter, some will be indifferent, and some will hate it. I hope you enjoy it but I can't please everybody, and this is the way I want it. Thus works my devious mind.

Chapter 5

When Elizabeth awoke in the night, it was raining.

She lay for a long time, her eyes open and unseeing in the dark room, listening to the dull patter of rain on the roof and the rushing of water down the gutters. Outside the window a palm tree rattled in the wind, raindrops pelting the fronds like tiny bullets.

Elizabeth wept.

All the turmoil of the past three days came tumbling out of her in the form of silent but countless tears, as if in imitation of the rain pouring savagely from the sky. Confusion, anger, fear, desperation, guilt and, in the end, even pleasure went running away down her cheeks to stain the fine sheets.

She had been an innocent in the ways of men and women - an innocent, but not a fool. Ever a curious child, her ears pricked up when she overheard two maids enthusiastically discussing a tumble in the hay with the stablehand. She understood the logistics of the act, and she knew what common people said about it, and she knew the fluttering of excitement she got in her stomach when she flirted with a handsome man at one of her father's parties... but somehow, she had always imagined it as a rough, slipshod thing, a hazy experience that was pleasant but soon finished. She could not have guessed the exquisite arousal of desires simmering just below the surface, the breathtaking ecstasy of bodily sensation, the tantalizing agony of pleasure given, then withheld, again and again until she almost screamed for it, her face flushed with both shame and overwhelming passion.

He had had her. He had possessed her, in the very way he set out to possess her - not just her body, but even her mind, settling for nothing short of utter surrender. He had bewitched her with sensations that make her gasp and writhe and disregard animosity, forgetting hostility and turning over her free will to him. Control. He had always had control.

Elizabeth turned her face into the pillow.

After a time, she pushed herself upright, swinging her legs over the side and setting her bare feet on the floor. Her chemise lay there, discarded, and at the sight of it her cheeks burned crimson. She bent down and snatched it up, pulling it over her head. The boards creaked beneath her as she went to the window - she wondered if somewhere, in the house, he could hear her moving about. She didn't care.

The rain had tapered away to the lightest drizzle and the clouds had begun to dissipate, skittering away across the dark sky to reveal a sliver of gray moon. The light shone faintly through the window, the panes casting a criss-cross pattern on the floor. The only remnants of the stormy downpour were the steady drip of water from the eaves and the rivulets trickling down the outside of the glass.

She traced a droplet with her finger for a moment, the moonlight illuminating her disheveled hair and the bracelet of bruises on her wrists. She could hear music in the distance - despite the weather and extremely late hour, the taverns were still open and booming with business, no doubt bursting at the seams with people merry-making and seeking shelter from the rain.

But after a moment, she realized the music was too distinct to come from an outside source. It was in the house.

Her brow furrowed, and she crossed the room, pressing her ear to the door. Who would be playing music in the house? The servants, below stairs? The music was faint, dulled by the walls, but it was not one of the lively jigs played in the alehouses. Elizabeth reached for the handle without thinking, suddenly recalling that it was surely locked - but as she twisted it the door opened. She pushed it open warily, the darkness enveloping her like a tangible thing. She allowed her eyes to adjust before moving tentatively out onto the landing.

The music was clearer, the rippling notes of what she recognized as a pianoforte floating up the stairs. Her better judgement told her to return to the room, but, as so often before in her life, curiosity won over and she stepped down the wide staircase, the hem of her chemise whispering against the wood, moving carefully lest they creak and alert the player to her presence.

As a child, she hadn't studied music as much as her father had hoped. But even she, with her lack of knowledge and poor musical skills, found beauty in the fluid notes that echoed off the polished wooden floors and high ceilings. She moved cautiously through the great entry hall, the paintings dark and obscured and elegant objets d'art cloaked in shadows. She remembered coming through here yesterday; angry, wary and unkempt and clutching her meager possessions like they were a lifeline. Somehow, that seemed years ago.

The music grew louder as she approached the drawing room. The door was open, and as she drew closer she could see the wood paneling on the walls, seeming almost black in the darkness, despite the pale moonlight emanating from the windows. Several graceful couches, colors muted by the moonlight, were arranged a good distance from the glossy black piano that dominated the room. She put her hand on the doorframe and stopped moving.

He sat in three-quarters profile to her, his posture upright, the back of his dressing gown trailing behind him and draping the seat. His hands seemed to dance over the keys, striking each one precisely as the notes reverberated in the silence. The tune was one Elizabeth had not heard before, an intense, dark, passionate piece that seemed to flow through the room and elicit strange emotions in her. The music swelled, each chord perfect and haunting and powerful, his hands both caressing and uncompromising on the keys as he deftly mastered the instrument. Such cruel hands, such merciless, dominating hands...

When their eyes met, she stiffened. His playing never faltered as he watched her watch him, his hands moving as if with a mind of their own, the music seeming to pour from his fingertips.

She refused to break the contact first. He refused to let her, his eyes compelling her to stay and match that piercing stare with her own. She flushed as their gazes remained locked, feeling defenseless and stripped naked by his eyes. Images seemed to flash before her - tangled sheets, strong grip, brutal kisses, moans escaping her lips even as she tried to hold them back, to deny him the satisfaction of seeing her give in...

Not this time. She wouldn't allow him the victory of defeating her once again. She tightened her jaw and angled her chin up, knowing that at some point, he would have to stop playing. She could stand here all night, but eventually his hands would tire and he would look away.

The carriage clock on the mantlepiece struck two.

The cadence of the music changed, the notes dying away as the song ended. Elizabeth waited for him to break the eye contact but instead he shifted smoothly into the next piece. She briefly wondered that he had the notes stored away in his mind, and had no need of sheet music.

"Are you planning on standing like a statue until dawn?"

His voice was unexpected and it made her start. "Does my presence bother you?" she snapped back, failing in her efforts to match his cool tone.

"If it did, I would send you away."

"I might not choose to obey you," she replied.

His expression suddenly became both knowing and mildly amused, and she flushed, perfectly understanding his train of thought. He didn't respond - there was no need.

She couldn't stand it. She looked down and fled back up the stairs, the music following her.