The next morning, Harold happened to wake up right as Marian was bringing up his tea, soup, and toast. To his relief and delight, he felt miles better than he had on Tuesday or Wednesday. While he was still somewhat congested, the swelling in his throat had finally disappeared. He suspected he might actually succeed in emitting more than a discordant squawk if he tried, but as he still wasn't allowed to talk, he didn't press his luck.

He did grin widely at his wife in greeting. As usual, Marian looked absolutely delicious. She was wearing what Harold fondly liked to refer to as her "delectable adversary" ensemble – the striking green-and-gold gown she had on when he loudly sang his love to her in the library last summer. He'd spent many a night afterward dreaming of undoing that gold bowtie at her throat. Of course, they had piled up a whole lot more mutually pleasant yesterdays connecting to that gown during their subsequent courtship – and he had actually gotten to untie that tantalizing bow a time a two after their marriage – but first impressions were awfully enduring.

After placing the breakfast tray next to him, Marian dropped a warm kiss on his forehead, followed by an even warmer one on his lips – which quickly turned heated when he wrapped his arms snugly around her and kissed her back with all the fervor and stamina he'd been lacking the past few days.

"Someone is on the road to recovery," she gasped when they finally parted for air. The joy and relief in her eyes were evident, and there was not the slightest scolding note in her tone. "Dr. Pyne should be pleased by your progress when he comes by tomorrow morning."

Concerned by the level of worry his dear wife had clearly harbored over his convalescence and wanting nothing more than to set her mind at ease, Harold nodded as vigorously as he'd kissed her and guided the librarian's hand beneath the bedcovers to rest on his lap, so she could feel for herself the incontrovertible proof of his renewed vigor.

Marian blushed as deeply and thoroughly as a maid, which he found both endearing and arousing. Especially as her response was anything but maidenly: "It's too bad I have to leave for the library in fifteen minutes – otherwise, I could most certainly do something about this." She hadn't removed her hand from him, and he was twitching like mad beneath her touch. He was so hard it probably would have taken her a whole lot less than fifteen minutes to make him come.

But Marian didn't start stroking. Instead, she bit her lip and looked at him, as if she wasn't certain whether she ought to proceed any further. Harold would have been chagrined, but his hunch was that her hesitation wasn't due to bright-eyed, blushing reticence – of late, she'd grown quite bold in pleasing him below the belt with both her hands and mouth whenever the opportunity and inclination arose. In all likelihood, she was too apprehensive about the state of his health to make such an energetic – and potentially damaging – move.

Normally, Harold's carnal instincts would have urged him onward, consequences be damned. His gorgeous wife was touching him shamelessly and intimately, looking at him with eyes wide with wanting – how could he resist such an alluring siren song? But there was apprehension in her gaze, as well – too much to ignore. The Easter Parade was almost upon them, and he really needed to be in peak physical form for the festivities. As much as he loathed putting off pleasure, he should rest for one more day before attempting to make love. Because he knew he would not be content with Marian doing all the pleasuring. He'd have to reciprocate, and he was only ninety percent sure he had the endurance to see things through – instead of his usual one hundred and ten!

With a sigh, Harold covered Marian's uncertain hand with his and gently eased it out from under the bedcovers. Tonight, he mouthed, before pressing a heated kiss to the center of her palm.

"Tonight," she solemnly echoed, kissing the tips of his fingers in return.

XXX

Once Marian had departed for the library, Harold devoured his toast, soup, and tea. The hot liquids eased his congestion even further, and he suddenly became quite conscious of the rather pungent olfactory reminder that he hadn't bathed since Sunday evening. It was indeed a good thing they hadn't gotten too carried away earlier! Even if he was a man of varied and occasionally disreputable tastes when it came to lovemaking, he had always been scrupulous about personal hygiene, in both himself and his selection of lovers. Although it was not always possible to be so choosy in the course of a con, the former flimflam man did his utmost to avoid rankness and venereal disease whenever he could. While sidestepping the latter was thankfully no longer a concern, escaping the former was something he continued to pride himself on. The lovely librarian also lived by the maxim that cleanliness was next to godliness and, even after several months of marriage, continued to be just as scrupulous about her toilette as she had been when they were courting. Harold was immensely flattered that even though she had seen him at his most naked and vulnerable – as he had likewise seen her – Marian still thought him worthy of such effort.

After a long and luxurious bath, where he meticulously scrubbed away the last lingering vestiges of illness and indolence from his body, Harold dressed himself in a pair of brown silk pajamas he knew Marian found particularly fetching. As an additional invitation, he donned the forest-green velour bathrobe he'd sported the first night she kissed him below the belt. In the course of combing his hair, he purposely left a curl loosely dangling over his forehead, to give himself the tousled flair he knew drove his dear little librarian wild. For a finishing touch, he applied a splash of bay rum to his cheeks after he'd shaved and brushed his teeth. Finding himself hungry after completing these ablutions, he went down to the kitchen to make himself a mid-morning snack.

In the course of his food preparation, he came across a pile of get-well cards from his boys, as well as a sweet little note from Marian that simply read, Until tonight, along with a heart similar to the one he'd drawn for her on Tuesday. Although her message hit just the right note to send his pulse racing, he was, in truth, rather frustrated that he still couldn't talk to her. For all that he wanted and needed the physical connection between them, there was nothing like that wonderful sense of comfort and closeness he got from their deep conversations.

As Harold gazed pensively at the pile of cards, he was suddenly struck by an idea. He may not have been able to talk, but that wasn't the only way he could let Marian know what was on his mind. Racing to the music room and rifling through his desk drawers, he unearthed a blank notebook and brought it upstairs. Ensconcing himself in bed, he spent the rest of the morning writing down every single thing he'd wanted to say to Marian since he was given the decree to remain silent on Monday. His retorts to her banter. How delectable she looked in her St. Patrick's Day gown and her tulip skirt. His bad dreams. How much he was anticipating not just tonight, but also tomorrow and all the tomorrows after that when he could finally talk to her again. Anything and everything he could think of, he included.

It wasn't too bad, resting in bed. A man got used to it, after awhile. His cold was definitely on the mend – the only bothersome symptom remaining, outside of the lack of his voice, was a perpetually runny nose. In the course of the morning, he must have soaked through a dozen of the monogrammed handkerchiefs his wife had so thoughtfully embroidered for him last Christmas.

The purge of so much congestion did have its positive side – Harold almost fully tasted lunch when it was served to him. He certainly tasted the long, soft kisses that Marian brought along with it. She was delicious. Soon, he would eat all of her. Ravenously.

The music professor had furtively secreted the notebook under his pillow as soon as he'd heard the front door open. When the librarian left the house to go to the emporium for the afternoon, he pulled out the impromptu journal to describe all the thoughts that came to his mind when she kissed him at lunch. Once Harold finally ran out of steam, he put the notebook on the bedside table and willed himself to take a nap. He wanted to make extra sure he was in fine form for all the not talking they were going to do tonight.

XXX

When Harold awoke, it was early evening. From the clinking and scraping sounds emanating from the first floor, he surmised that Marian was in the kitchen cooking dinner. After a solid day of anticipation, he was ready to jump out of his skin. So without further preamble, he got out of bed, picked up the notebook, and bounded downstairs.

Marian was indeed at the stove, stirring a pot of potato soup. Harold's stomach rumbled in approval – something a bit more substantial, but not so seasoned that it would aggravate his insides. The librarian turned happily at his approach, but before she could so much as say hello, he presented her with his handiwork.

Her warm beam fading into an expression of curiosity, she opened the journal and began to read. It was better than a show, watching the play of emotions on her face as she realized precisely what he had given her. When she finally looked at him again, her eyes gleaming in that beautiful way they did whenever she was deeply touched by something he had said or done, he simply gazed back at her with unvarnished longing. Wherever they went from here, it was entirely up to her.

Marian caught him in a hug so fierce that it almost sent him into a fit of coughing. Fortunately, he managed to stave it off, as the last thing he wanted right now was for her to treat him with kid gloves.

"I've missed you so much, Harold," she cried. Unable to express a similar sentiment in words, he held her just as tightly in return. "I hardly know if I want to read everything you wrote, or go upstairs with you right away," she said into his shoulder. Such a bald-faced admission sent his already racing pulse into overdrive, but that wasn't the only appetite of his that was clamoring for attention. When Harold's stomach growled, the librarian laughed and ended their embrace. "I suppose we ought to eat dinner, first."

So they did. Marian perused the notebook as she ate, though she normally eschewed reading at the table. Not only did she consider it rude, heaven forbid she accidentally spill something on one of her precious books! Harold had heard this lecture many times. But he saw the longing way she eyed his journal as she set the table and dished out their soup, so he took it upon himself to insist that she indulge herself by placing the notebook next to her bowl and gesturing vigorously for her to enjoy. This would allow her to sate her curiosity immediately, as the librarian was a fast reader and would no doubt reach the end of his composition by the time she finished her meal. Such expediency was necessary because once dinner was over, he had an idea that they were going to be otherwise occupied for the rest of the evening.

Most unusually, Harold wasn't certain as to how exactly they would be occupied, as not being able to speak robbed him of the ability to direct or greatly influence the festivities. Once upon a time, this lack of control would have terrified him, and he would have fled from such a compromising situation. Now, he found the novelty of not knowing exactly what was going to happen downright thrilling. Because he trusted Marian. He trusted her more than anyone he had ever known, including his steadfastly loyal right-hand man Marcellus Washburn. Whatever she had planned for them, it was sure to be a delectable treat. He had absolutely no doubt that she would seize this opportunity to shine.

Indeed, as soon as they'd eaten enough to quell their hunger for food, Marian closed the notebook, put the leftover soup in the icebox, cleared the table, piled the dishes in the sink, and gave Harold a smoldering come-hither glance that unequivocally spelled out her amorous intentions. Taking the music professor by the hand, she led him right upstairs with the same captivating confidence she'd displayed that snowy night in January. Once they were ensconced in their bedroom, Harold gazed at his wife with just as much awe and adoration as he had then.

Tonight, the librarian worked with even greater efficiency and zeal to divest him of his clothing. Since that heady winter evening, she had added many more delightful maneuvers to her repertoire. Once she stripped Harold and brought him to lie supine on their bed, she backed away and undressed for him. She knew all the little poses and gestures that made his cock twitch in frenetic anticipation – everything from unpinning her hair and letting her golden curls cascade down her back, to slowly untying the gold bow at her throat, to providing an excellent view of her backside as she bent over to undo her garters and roll down her stockings, to saving her drawers for the very last moment before letting them slip to the ground. It was also thoroughly enchanting to see that Marian received a significant amount of pleasure from watching his body's enthusiastic reactions to her peep show, which was far more enticing and erotic than anything he'd ever seen in a machine. He got to watch the most gorgeous woman he'd ever met or would ever meet shiver and smile and gaze at him with heavy-lidded eyes – and this was all just for him.

When Marian finally came to bed and covered his body with hers, Harold just couldn't help himself. After all that visual and now physical stimulation, he let out an involuntary groan. Unsurprisingly, this groan was hoarse, but that could have been from sheer desire as much as from laryngitis.

"Sssh," the librarian remonstrated, silencing him with a kiss. "Before we go any further, I wanted to let you know that I did give the matter of your… expressing appreciation considerable thought. I don't want to risk overtaxing your voice, so I thought you could squeeze my shoulder whenever you want me to continue, and tug my hand when you want me to stop." She bit her lip, looking endearingly uncertain. "What do you think?"

Taking a deep, shaky breath, lest the temptation to moan her name get the better of him, Harold nodded his assent and buried his head in the crook of her neck. As he silently reveled in the warm fullness of her curves against him, she kissed him softly, starting at his jaw and gradually working her way down his body. It was absolutely exquisite – he squeezed her shoulder so tightly at times he feared he'd leave a bruise. Fortunately, this rough handling didn't seem to bother the librarian. Looking both pleased and aroused by her prowess in making him melt beneath her, she continued to kiss him thoroughly and skillfully in all the places that she clearly knew drove him wild.

When Marian finally took him in her mouth after all that maddening teasing, he once again couldn't help letting out an audible groan. At this juncture, the librarian's mouth was far too occupied to scold him, though he heard a muffled giggle and felt her lips quiver briefly against his cock before getting down to business in earnest. As she steadily coaxed him to climax, Harold thought about all the ways he was going to reciprocate when he got the chance. He would have to add yet another passage to the book. Or perhaps he would save up these words and whisper them into her ear when he was able to talk again.

Usually, Marian withdrew right before she finished him. In fact, he had encouraged her to do so from the very first time she'd been so bold as to please him this way. It wasn't that he wouldn't have welcomed the eroticism of her mouth remaining on him as he finished, but he didn't wish to overwhelm her sensibilities so soon in their marriage. Tonight, she was clearly itching to try something new and different, and stayed right where she was, avidly swallowing each and every last drop of him as he came. Harold had already been gasping with release, and her boldness took his breath away even more. When she finally looked up at him, looking pleased and stunned by her own audacity, he pulled her down to him for a hard kiss to demonstrate his ringing endorsement of her actions.

Normally, this tryst would have been a mere prelude to a long, heated night of lovemaking – especially after Marian had taken yet another unabashed step from blushing rose to self-assured lover. But for once, Harold did not have the vigor to pursue anything more. So he simply lay there, boneless and sated, and grinned at his deliciously disheveled wife, who beamed warmly at him in return. Tonight couldn't have been more perfect. The only sour note was not being able to sigh, moan, and scream for her. Failing that, he wanted nothing more than to make her sigh, moan, and scream. Finding Marian's hand, he traced her palm with his thumb until she moaned his name and pressed even closer to him.

Remember when I did this that warm summer day and you started to thaw for me? he thought, gazing intently at her.

Although Marian could not read his mind, she correctly surmised that he was up to something. "What would you like me to do now, Harold?" she asked with a knowing smile.

He traced several letters, one by one, on her palm. Scream for me.

The excited shudder that ran through Marian once she comprehended his words made him hard again, so much so that Harold was tempted to make love to her in earnest. Instead, he stuck to his original plan, his hand running provocatively over her curves until it eventually found its way between her legs. He gently traced the warm silk softness of the inside of her thighs until he was up, up, up and inside of her, one and then two fingers deep. Entranced, he watched the librarian's pupils dilate and her kissable crimson lips fall open into that delectable little o he always loved to see. Even better, he heard her sighs, moans, and then screams of heedless abandon as she came beneath the ministrations of his clever fingers. Once he had brought her to ecstasy a time or two, he rolled her onto her back and rapaciously kissed his way down her body. The weather was still cold enough for her to cover up without suspicion, so he had no compunction about leaving several love bites in his wake. As he marked her, he knew beyond a doubt that she was deriving nothing but pleasure from the possessive liberties his mouth was taking – she pleaded, howled, and even commanded him to keep going, until his head was finally in her lap and he was tasting her as deeply and thoroughly as she'd consumed him.

By that point, Harold had gotten so hard that he had to do something to ease his own wanting. Unfortunately, he couldn't risk thrusting into Marian, even as she writhed and arched so gorgeously supine beneath him. He couldn't even chance having her ride astride him – a position he found greatly appealing, as she was never so unabashed in her lovemaking as when she was perched atop him setting the pace of their rhythm. (While he was a man who liked to be on top of any situation, he was discovering with Marian that, on occasion, he actually relished ceding control in the bedroom.) In any case, he was so hot for her that he wouldn't be able to stop himself from groaning and even shouting her name continuously as they moved together in what was sure to be a frantic and ravenous pace. If he did that tonight, he wouldn't be able to talk tomorrow. So he reached down and stroked himself to completion as he finished Marian with gusto.

When she came back to herself and realized what he had done, she leaned down and gently, almost apologetically, kissed the tip of his cock. He shivered and twitched at her caress, but did not rise to the occasion. Apparently, he was done… for the time being, anyway. As was Marian – she was giving him that dreamy, doe-eyed look that indicated she was not too far from slumber, herself.

So they wrapped their arms around each other and clung together in sated silence. Harold felt exhausted, but pleasantly so. One more good night's sleep and he would be as right as rain. And then, once Dr. Pyne gave him the go-ahead, he would hold nothing back. He would give Marian everything of himself, in both word and deed. He would surrender. And he would do it just as freely, joyfully, and shamelessly as she yielded herself to him.