"Open your mouth and state your full name, please," said Dr. Pyne.
Harold cleared his throat. Marian barely dared to breathe. She had waited as eagerly for this moment as he had.
"Harold Gregory Hill," the music professor said, slowly and smoothly. He grinned. "Well, what do you know? I'm back!"
Admittedly, his voice was still a touch husky, but that could have been from disuse as much as illness. Thankfully, Dr. Pyne seemed unconcerned by the slight lingering hoarseness. He smiled and instructed, "You may speak again, Professor Hill, but try not to overdo it. No singing or shouting until Sunday. Continue to drink your tea, and get a good night's sleep tonight and tomorrow night. You should be in fine form for the parade."
After Dr. Pyne packed up and left, Marian turned to Harold. He was still reclining idly on the parlor sofa and regarding her with a suggestive gleam in his eye. "It's Good Friday, my dear little librarian. The library is closed and there's no band rehearsal at the emporium, either. We have the whole day to ourselves – a very good Friday, indeed!"
Normally, she would have teased him for thinking she needed the reminder spelled out so brazenly, but it was just so good to hear him talk that she let him have the last word… for now.
Although Harold looked like he had plenty of ideas for how he would have liked the pass the day with her, Marian was already two steps ahead of him. After making sure the front door was locked, she walked over to the sofa. When she reached the music professor, she didn't just sit in his lap, she straddled him. As ever, her dashing husband proved to be the quickest of studies – his mouth immediately met hers for a deep and ravenous kiss, and she felt him grow hard beneath her.
When she moaned at that, Harold broke their kiss to look at her. "I want you, Marian," he said, his voice so low it was practically a growl. "Right here, right now."
Oh, how she had missed that dulcet baritone! Nodding eagerly, Marian stood up to twitch the parlor drapes shut and remove only as much clothing as she required to do the deed. Fortunately, she was wearing a simple lingerie gown. Unlike last night, she did not dawdle – she was shaking too much with desire to draw out the preamble to lovemaking. Her dress, chemise, and drawers came off as fast as she could manage with her trembling fingers, as Harold likewise fumbled to undo his belt, pull down his trousers and drawers, and kick them off along with his shoes.
Marian moaned again when she saw his erection standing gloriously tall and proud for her, and she practically pounced on him. She was so wet that he easily slipped inside of her as she straddled his lap once more. Leaning in and giving her neck a hard kiss that made her cry out, he grabbed her hips and thrust into her, and they writhed together with all the pent-up fervor they'd had to repress last night.
As Harold made her come, again and again, Marian sobbed in relief as well pleasure – she had wanted this so badly ever since Monday morning, when he'd given her those passionate but careful love-bites and promised her that there would be much more to come as soon as they could manage to be alone. Her ecstasy was even more heightened by his delicious voice continuously breathing, sighing, and groaning her name and other heated endearments in her ear – the sweetest song she'd ever heard him sing to her. She would never take this tune for granted again.
Their coupling was wonderful – everything she'd been dreaming of all week, and more – and it was over almost before she knew it. Harold groaned loudly and unabashedly as he finished, and buried his head in the crook of her neck with a happy sigh.
As they continued to cling together, Marian was alarmed to realize she was still shaking with sobs. It wasn't the first time she'd cried – lately, it seemed that emotion often overwhelmed her when they made love. What in heaven's name was the matter with her? She had to get a hold of herself!
When Harold gently nudged her to look at him, his dazed smile turned to a look of dismay. "Marian! I haven't hurt you in any way, have I?"
Now it was Marian who couldn't talk. So she shook her head vigorously, tears continuing to stream down her cheeks.
"Oh, my dear little librarian," he said soothingly, and brought out one of his crisp monogrammed handkerchiefs to wipe her tears away.
"I'm not sure what's come over me," she hiccoughed, when she finally managed to calm down enough to speak. Embarrassed by her stunning lack of control, she buried her head in his shoulder before admitting, "I was so worried about you!"
For a few long moments, Harold simply held her, rubbing her back soothingly with his warm and steady hands as she collected herself. Then, once her trembling subsided, he gently cupped her chin with two fingers and lifted her head to meet his gaze. "Why don't you tell me all about it, darling."
When Harold was diagnosed with laryngitis, Marian had been concerned but not too anxious, especially after Dr. Pyne assured them the music professor would recover in time to lead the Easter Parade if he rested his voice. (A very small part of her was even amused by the irony of his predicament, though of course she did her best to hide this from her ailing husband, whose pride clearly smarted along with his body.) But after how ashen and weak that foolhardy walk in the wind left him on Tuesday, followed by his interminable sleep on Wednesday, she grew steadily more and more terrified that she was at risk of actually losing him.
Marian tried to convince herself that she was being ridiculous. It seemed impossible that a man who possessed such enviable vim and vigor could be extinguished by a silly little cold! But then again, Harold was never the sort of man who slept in like that. As far as she could tell, he never slept more than four to six hours a night, as a rule. For him to sleep seven, eight, nine, ten, twelve, fourteen hours straight was unheard of. Even after Dr. Pyne reassured her that her husband wasn't in any danger, she couldn't completely shake the horrible fear that took hold of her in the long afternoon of vigil that followed the doctor's visit.
Rationally, Marian knew she was likely to outlive her beloved music professor. But there was something in her, something deep down in the very core of her soul, that recoiled at the sheer wrongness of Harold dying before she did. Even as her rational mind tried to point out it was the natural order of things that a man who was sixteen years his wife's senior would, in all likelihood, predecease her – after all, Papa was gone while Mama still endured – her heart just could not fathom living in a world without Harold in it.
While the librarian monitored her deeply slumbering husband closely throughout the day, she tried to remain calm and composed, as his breathing was steady and he never turned feverish. But whenever the image of herself as a widow threatened to intrude upon the lovely dream-bubble she'd constructed of "walk and love him, 'til I die," panic overwhelmed her to such a degree that she almost collapsed into tears. As the afternoon waned into early evening, it became more and more of a herculean task not to give into the temptation to lose her composure. Even if she somehow found the strength to be as resilient and indomitable as her mother was in the face of such devastating heartbreak, Marian was wholly unprepared to lose her husband so soon. She thought they'd have at least two whole decades together – and maybe even longer – before she had to face the harsh reality of life alone.
When Harold finally – finally! – woke up, talked to her (at least, as best as he could through the written word), and then heartily ate a proper dinner, she felt so overjoyed that, once again, she'd had to repress the inclination to weep. It would have been terribly ridiculous of her to fall apart now. Especially since in the end, there had been absolutely nothing to worry about. It was Friday morning and here Harold was, looking as robust and rejuvenated as he ever did after a spirited bout of lovemaking. This helped steady Marian a great deal as she fully confessed the true depths of her dread on Wednesday. "We haven't piled up nearly enough lovely yesterdays for me to accept losing you." She paused and swallowed, as her throat was thickening and her eyes were welling up again. "And it occurred to me that I could do more – so much more – to make today worth remembering."
After she'd told him everything that was in her heart the past week, Harold just looked at her, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down, before he finally responded. "Marian, it occurs to me that I've been very selfish." She was just about to protest that he'd proven to be the dearest and most unselfish of husbands she ever could have wished to Venus for, but he held up his hand to stay her tongue. "I've allowed myself to get too overscheduled with the band, what with Saint Patrick's Day and Easter falling so closely together this year. It's no wonder we got two colds in one month! And then I resisted the rest I needed to recover until my body finally forced me to pause. I'm so used to going, going, going, and not having to consider anyone else's feelings if anything happens to me. But I have to start thinking about more than just the Think System – you're my wife, and I promised to take care of you, 'til death do us part. And I'll be damned if I do anything that hastens my rendezvous with eternity." He took her hands in his and squeezed them. "So you have my solemn promise that from now on, I'm going to take one full day off a week – not just for you, but for us. I know we spent so many long and wonderful Saturdays together this past winter, but we stopped doing that once the snow melted, and we shouldn't let that go. We can't let that go. Because you're not the only one who can no longer face the idea of a life without love." He paused and swallowed, as if he was marshalling his courage for a major confession of his own. When he spoke again, in a low voice, it wasn't his usual velvety purr of seduction, but one of the most fervent and solemn tones she had ever heard from him: "Marian… I need you."
Over the course of their marriage, as well as during their courtship, Harold had told her he loved her countless times. But Marian remembered only one time when he told her he needed her – it was on their wedding night, just before they made love for the first time. (When he was still a conman, he'd loudly and publicly claimed he needed her badly, but that didn't count, even though it had turned out to be true.)
Of course, Marian had said it right back, because it just was as true for her as it was for him. And then, like him, she had not dared to ever say it again. Love was easy – almost too easy – to acknowledge and declare. Love didn't demand anything, it simply felt. Marian well knew how possible it was, if not precisely enjoyable, to love without seeking any promises or even reciprocation. As passionate and intense as her love for Harold was, it had never muddled her sense of practicality – knowing what kind of man he was, she was prepared to let him go that night on the footbridge when she confessed her love, and for quite awhile afterward. After they had both owned up to falling love with each other, they continued to pride themselves on their personal independence, even as they steadily worked to build a life together.
But yesterday, for the first time since the charming and bombastic music professor had marched into town, she realized how not ready she was to let him go. Marian was not exactly sure when she crossed the threshold from self-sacrificing love into abject need – though if she had to guess, it was most likely that afternoon in the cornfield, two weeks before their wedding, when she told Harold things she never, ever thought she would reveal to another living soul. When she saw the love and longing in his eyes deepen, rather than retreat, she knew she had found the man who not only understood her, but accepted her exactly as she was and, what's more, would fiercely protect her from harm to the best of his ability. She hadn't been expecting a white knight, but she'd found one, all the same. In that moment, she couldn't fathom ever going back to the lonely solitude she'd once endured, whether as a spinster or a widow.
Still, although Harold had indeed proved his devotion to her ten times over since his reformation, and with the same unflagging enthusiasm as he'd once attempted to swindle River City, it unnerved her to need him so much. Need was an entirely different matter than love. Need was dependent. Need was desperate. Need was dangerous. It was no wonder neither of them had been brave enough to say it again.
At least, not until now. Just as Marian had opened a new frontier in their lovemaking last night, Harold had awakened new vistas of possibility in his declarations this morning. It seemed an odd role reversal that she was leading him down wider physical paths while he was leading her down deeper emotional avenues, but he had responded so wonderfully to her overtures that she wanted nothing more than to reciprocate in kind to his advances. She wanted to make him feel as wonderful and needed as he did her.
So Marian told him the raw, vulnerable, aching truth that was deep in her heart ever since Winthrop turned to her with bright, beaming eyes and exclaimed how wonderful his new cornet was. "I've needed you since before you even came to River City," she said softly.
Harold pulled her into a fierce hug. "Marian, never tell me that you haven't done enough to make today worth remembering. This is one of the best 'yesterdays' I've piled up with you yet."
She smiled into the crook of his neck, feeling a heady resurgence of desire as she breathed in the beguiling scent of bay rum and sandalwood that was uniquely him. "So then, darling – what else do you want to do to make today worth remembering?"
His answer was instantaneous. "I want to take you upstairs for the rest of the morning – at least. Show you the sights, ride the rides." He pulled back and gave her the most deliciously wicked grin. "Though I must say, you've already ridden the maypole very thoroughly."
After all the tears she'd cried, it was a downright relief for Marian burst into laughter, even as she blushed to the roots of her hair. Normally, she would have swatted the wickedly charming music professor and deflected his mischief, but she was struck by the perverse desire to see where this kind of conversation would go if she let it. "One does not ride a maypole, Mister Hill," she said mock-primly. "One twirls around it – and I certainly didn't do any twirling!"
Harold looked astounded, but in an elated way. "No, you didn't do any twirling," he agreed, his wit only dulling for a moment. That delicious grin came roaring back. "You did a lot of undulating, bouncing, and writhing." He leaned in close and whispered, "And coming."
It was the dirtiest they had ever talked to each other – and so far, it was absolutely delightful. Marian's rejoinder was just as saucy, but the tenderness of her deep love, want, and need for him greatly softened her tone as she said, "Well, it would have been a terrible shame to waste such a lovely 'maypole' as that."
Almost as if she'd spoken an incantation, she felt him grow hard beneath her. "Oh Marian," he groaned, his hands seizing her hips again. "You really are the most alluring woman I have ever known." His mouth nipped at the side of her neck and he surged forward, his erection pulsing and pressing against her, clearly aching to slip inside of her again.
Relishing the way she could make him so hot, even as she felt herself grow wet with wanting, she responded, "And you are the most cunning linguist."
Marian thought this rejoinder would drive him into a frenzy of lovemaking. Instead, Harold stopped abruptly, his eyes sparkling not only with lust, but also with the same feverish glee as when he was struck by a grand idea. She moaned in disappointment, but he hushed her with a sweet kiss and a smoldering look. Before she could protest any further, he wrapped his arms tightly around her and heaved himself to his feet. After checking that her legs were still securely wound around him, he whisked her upstairs.
"Madam Librarian, I'm going to spend the next hour showing you just how cunning of a linguist I truly am," he promised, his eyes blazing with animated anticipation as he laid her on their bed.
Marian arched an eyebrow at him. "I look forward to it… but it may take some convincing." She had gone so much further than she ever dreamed she was capable of doing, and wondered if she ought to pull back a little, lest she truly cross a line. But she couldn't help egging Harold on. It was intoxicating to see the way her boldness drove him absolutely wild.
"Believe me, Marian," he said as he divested both her and himself of the rest of their clothing as hastily as possible, somehow still debonair in his movements even in his impatience to get down to business, "I intend to be very thorough in my demonstrations."
And then his marvelous mouth was all over her, inflaming and marking her body as heatedly and possessively as he had the night before. But he didn't remain in her lap the whole time. Once she was satisfied he'd made his point by bringing her to ecstasy not once, or twice, but three times, he slid up and covered her body with his.
The triumphant smile Harold had worn as he lifted his head from her lap completely disappeared as his face neared hers and their eyes met. He paused and gazed at her in that wonderful, heated, besotted way he did the evening they first traded rumors on her mother's front porch. He looked at her as if she was the only one in the world who existed to him and, more than that, he was thoroughly staggered by the strength of his own feelings for her. "I need you, Marian," he said solemnly.
"I need you more than anything, Harold," she said fiercely.
His mouth crashed down onto hers and, once again, he was inside her. After the deprivation of the previous week, he held absolutely nothing back, in word or deed. And now that her beloved husband was back, Marian was planning to spend the rest of the day and all the days ever after showing him exactly just how much she loved, wanted, and needed him in return.