I'm sorry for not posting earlier, but I go my Covid booster shot and it kind of kicked my butt. Please note that the rating goes a little up for this chapter.
Chapter 5
Vampires were children of the night. They feared sunlight, garlic, and crucifixes. They drank blood to survive and when they arose at night they rose from a box containing their own soil. Creatures of the night.
Isobel wondered about all these insignificant details, about a novel she had come to detest; she thought of the fate of poor Lucy Westenra who didn't end up just dead, but was also beheaded and stabbed by a group of men. She did her very best to focus on anything but Dickie Merton, but he stood closely to successfully divert her attention to something as ghastly as the famous vampire novel. It was all her fault though. She had invited him into her house in the middle of the night. She had offered him a drink, because she couldn't stand the thought of him going to the hospital to take care of Prudence Shackleton. She acted like a possessive, jealous woman who was afraid to lose her man to another woman - but he wasn't hers. She had rejected him time and time again. And now her reasons, her resistance to him was melting like ice in the bright sunshine of a warm spring day.
The door fell shut and in the corner of her eye she saw his shadow in the soft light of the wall lamp.
His hand lay on her shoulder and turned her to him. Forbidding him to speak the words he so desperately wanted to say, she placed her index finger on his lips. The top hat he had been holding ever since he had stepped over her doorstep fell to the floor when he wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her against him. They kissed as if they had done so a thousand times before and yet it was the first time they forgot all etiquette, all hesitation. There was no gauging, no cautious approach, just the unleashed passion of two people who had waited for each other for too long. Her back connected with the wood-panelled wall as he trapped her with his body. Her hair pins trickled down and ended up on the floor. Her gloved hands clung in alternation to his shoulders, face, and arms. The tingling she had felt in her core all evening was now spreading through her entire body. She craved him like someone drowning craved air… like a vampire craved blood.
His mouth travelled down her chin and neck. The words he mumbled against her skin never reached her ear, but she felt them against her skin where his lips left their invisible mark on her. They were words of desire and love, such deep love. Tears welled in her eyes when she thought of everything she had denied them, because of her fear and cowardice. She felt his hands all over her body, greedy, but not as bold as she wanted them to be. She wished to get rid of her gloves, her coat, her dress. Every layer of fabric that separated her from him, everything that stood between them. She wanted to feel his skin under her hands, under her fingernails, wanted to touch every inch of him and claim it as hers.
"Come with me," she whispered into his ear and took his hand into hers.
He followed her upstairs like a sleepwalker, like someone who was driven by an unknown force. And unknown it was, because he had never desired a woman like he desired her. The hallway upstairs lay in darkness and he had no idea if she was guiding him to perdition or into an alien country. He hadn't been raised to believe in purgatory, but tomorrow he would gladly pay for any sin was committing tonight. Her wandering hands and her demanding mouth were everything that counted to him. He had never been undressed by a woman before, but the sensation of her tearing at his clothes fueled his excitement like nothing else he had ever experienced. The soft light of the street lamp fell through the window of her bedroom and allowed him to have a look at her radiant face. Her eyes sparkled with something he called delightful mischief. Did she know what power she held over him? He couldn't say and he didn't want to think about it. He grabbed her by the back of her neck and stole another breathtaking kiss from her. There was a boldness in the way, she returned his passion that made him forget all restraint. She guided his searching hand to her zipper on her back. Once he felt her naked skin under his finger tips, he groaned with delight, which made her chuckle. She playfully bit his lip and the small stint of unexpected pain, sent a new wave of desire through his veins. He pressed his hips against hers, made her feel how much he wanted her. She broke the kiss and let her hand slip between their bodies.
"It's been so long," she whispered when she touched him. "I forgot how it felt." They kissed once more and then she took his hand into hers and led him to her bed.
"You're not ill," Clarkson informed Prudence Shackleton crisply. "Not in the least."
"Well, Doctor, I've told you so," Prudence returned. She was sitting in a chair in front of Clarkson's desk and looked every inch as emperious as the Dowager.
"The question is why you pretended to be ill," Clarkson returned.
She gave him a look that could freeze lava. "Are you seriously asking me that question?"
He cleared his throat, "I admit, I do have my suspicion."
"Then you can keep it to yourself. All I wanted was to get out of that ghastly dining room. You may enjoy an evening of self-toture, I foreone do not" She rose and Clarkson pushed himself upwards as well.
On their way into the hallway, he asked, "I'm sorry to hear you perceived this evening as torture."
"Don't tell me you enjoyed seeing Mrs Crawley with Lord Merton at the same table."
Clarkson preferred not to answer. It was true that nothing he had expected from the dinner party had become reality. He had been foolish to think tonight could be a turning point for his relationship with Isobel, but if anything it had shown him that she truly didn't care for him. After today he wasn't even sure if she liked him. Tonight her eyes had only been fixed on Lord Merton just as Lord Mertons' eyes had been fixed on her. The intensity of the atmosphere between them had given him goosebumps and not the good ones.
"I admit I didn't, but I didn't have to fake a migraine to escape."
"Touché." Prudence smirked.
Clarkson opened the door and the foggy night air creeped up on them. "I'll take you to your motorcar," he said.
"That's very kind of you."
Together they strolled through the archway. Lady Shackleton's chauffeur had parked the car near the war memorial. The man was asleep behind the wheel, a sight that made Clarkson chuckle. As always when he crossed the street he looked at Crawley House. There wasn't much to see through the wall, but in one of the upstairs windows the lights were switched on. Isobel was still awake, but was she alone? Clarkson had never doubted her virtue or her good reputation, but as he looked at the illuminated window he had a certain inkling that made him wonder.
"You are Scottish, aren't you Doctor?" Prudence asked once she had noticed where he was staring at.
"Well spotted, Lady Shackleton."
"I also heard that you like a certain brand of Scottish whiskey. Is that true?"
"It is true…," he answered, uncertain where this was leading.
"Very good. Do you happen to have a bottle in store for special occasions?"
His first reaction was to answer 'always', but he reminded himself quickly not to do so. "Perhaps," he answered vaguely. He always had one bottle available in the cupboard in his office right behind his desk - not even the nurses were allowed to touch it when they cleaned the room.
"Would you mind sharing it with me?"
There was no way to escape and he didn't see why he should. "Why not?" He cleared his throat and offered her his arm.
The room was dark and silent. Isobel's hand rested on Dickie's chest. Her face was turned to his and she didn't know what to say. They had made love with such fury and passion that the intensity had left her speechless. After tonight she could never tell him or anyone else that she wasn't in love with him. She had passed the rubicon, had entered the way of no return.
"The problem with moments like these is that you never know what to say without sounding ridiculous, don't you agree?" He asked.
"There's nothing ridiculous about the way I feel," she admitted and slipped a little closer to him.
"I'm glad to hear it." He looked down to her hand on his chest and caressed her arm. "So, where do we go from here?"
She drew a deep breath and leaned in to give him a soft kiss. "No such discussions before dawn."
"Why not?"
"Can't we just enjoy what we have?" She asked quietly, knowing the sun would rise soon enough, knowing she would probably question her latest actions as soon as he left her house again. Not one of their problems was solved, just more evident.
"What if I want more?"
"I can assure you, there's never been a man who got more from me than you do tonight." She knew it wasn't enough. What he wanted was a true marriage, a life by her side, not just a warm place in her bed. He wanted her for himself and she didn't blame him for his dreams, because hers were the same.
"Does that mean Clarkson…"
"Has never entered this room and he won't."
"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have asked…."
He felt her warm body next to his and cursed himself for his weakness. He was a slave to her. She could do anything to him, even involve him in an affair that offered no perspective for a real marriage. So, tonight was his road to perdition.
As if she felt his rising concern, she sneaked her arm around his neck and moved herself on top of him. Her lips brushed tenderly over his chin and down his neck.
"Has anyone ever told you, you're kind of a dangerous minx?"
"Not in ages," she answered while her mouth travelled over his chest. "But I like to hear it."
Richard Clarkson was leaning back in his chair and wasn't sure if he was dreaming or not. It didn't really matter though, because he had never felt such exquisite pleasure. He moaned and instantly bit his lips, because he knew he shouldn't give them away to the night nurse. Sure, the whiskey had completely gone to his head, he didn't dare to open his eyes and simply enjoyed the sensation the woman who was kneeling in front of his chair awoke in him. His hands had wrapped around the rests of his chair, because he didn't dare to dive his fingers into her long, dark hair. He didn't know how it had come to this and as far as he was concerned it didn't matter. He was just a creature of the night, allowing himself to let go just for once.
-tbc-
Thanks for reading!
