The Lady, or the Tiger

Chapter 9: Being CAT-burgled?

There would be fallout, Julia knew it, when they got home, fallout from what had happened at the Ball. William was not only silent, but even more dire, he was stewing and sulking, and he had been doing so from before the time that they had even taken their leave of the big Toff Dance. Julia knew why. She had been quite taken with a handsome new face to appear at the party, an attractive novelty on the Toff scene, a Mr. Neil Catfrey. And, she had responded to the man's flirting. Worse, she had even dared to flirt back, dancing with Neil Catfrey twice, at one point checking to see if William noticed them, seeing that he did, for exquisitely, setting her aflame with butterflies in her core, she could tell that William was watching her out of the corner of his eye, pretending not to be bothered, surrounded by adoring females himself, before Julia agreed to a second dance with the other man.

In silence, they had come in the door, then thanked Claire-Marie for watching over William Jr. so late and said goodnight to her. Without a word or a glance, William went up to their bedroom and began to gather up his pajamas and bedding for the couch. Julia followed him, watched him, her panic rising inside of her.

Blocking their bedroom door, though he had not moved towards it yet, she asked bluntly, "Is it because I danced with Neil Catfrey?"

"You did more than dance, and you know it Julia," he replied without a look, unable to completely mask his anger.

The panic surged, and reason, the ability to think began to swirl away with its pounding and thrashing in her ears and the spinning nausea in her stomach. "I… I um," Barely able to hear it, her inner-voice guided, "Admit to it. Be honest." The words gushed out, "I wanted to make you feel jealous…"

With that, William's busy packing-up halted, his gorgeous eyes flying, bolting to hers. Such emotion there it threw her off balance, sucked and pulled at her with astounding force.

"Why!?" he screamed it, arms wide, then begged, "Why would you do that?" There was a subtle shaking, denying, of his head. Disbelief, pain. He needed to look away, yet stuck, his eyes held, and she soaked it in. Her face changed, registering the hurt, and he could no longer withstand it. William turned back to packing for his night on the couch, and for the next morning outside of their bedroom. His actions less dramatic now, defeated instead.

He would tell her, or tell the room, for he utterly refused to acknowledge her existence, "All I felt was not good enough, utterly inadequate, insecure… and furious, Ju…" He stopped midway through the word, refusing to say her name, and stepped to the doorway, eyes down, waiting, she noticed his strained breathing, waiting for her to move out of his way.

The look on his face had torn her heart open, so desperate and pained, and betrayed. Now, she heard it in his voice, her mind sending up the picture of it happening, and she thought…

He thought, too, for a moment…

He might cry. Unbearable, he ripped away. "Downstairs! Downstairs," William felt her following him, "Get away. Just get away…" He hurried down to his workroom, feeling he would surely vomit. Feeling he was going to explode. Disgusting, so disgusting, to feel this way. His teeth clenched together with a force he was sure they could not withstand without breaking, the sheer tension of it throbbing his head into pounding. There was nothing else, no other way to cope, he needed to move…

Surprised when William did not banish her upon arriving at the couch, instead throwing the bedding down on it and then turning on his heel, almost bumping headfirst into her, Julia stood in the wake of it all and watched him leave the living room all together, then turn and go down the stairs. She hesitated there, helplessness flooding in, her brain hurrying to figure, "He'll go down to work out with his weights…"

So distressed, so very, very distressed, William tore into his workroom, desperate to begin his workout routine, to utterly destroy his workout routine, to burn away the pain and the fury… and the hurt underneath it all. Suddenly noticing that he was still dressed in his tuxedo, the realization only serving to push his anger over the edge. He punched the work table, not even aware of the injury it had caused to his hand. Rapidly, rushed, William ripped off his tuxedo, got down to only his underwear. The pile of expensive clothing left in such a state, a state he would normally find to be abhorrent… for it to be left heaped there as such, lured his stare with its oddness. Half of his discarded clothing huddled on the edge of the worktable, and his black, shiny shoes poking out from under the other half of the pile on the floor, William fought the urge to pummel and kick at the Ball-associated garments.

)

"Whiskey," Julia's brain tempted her. But she had already imbibed in quite enough alcohol as it was, at the Ball, and so she restrained the urge to quell her uneasiness with the elixir. She would give William some time, some time to work-off a hefty dose of his overflowing energy, before she ventured down to try to talk it through with him again. She sat down next to William's pile of blankets and his pillow, and she felt it bubbling up inside of her, hot behind her eyes, swallowing the threatening eruption of it down. She would not cry. She was a grown woman, and she had made a mistake, and she would fix it. The image haunted her once more, of William's wounded face. The only way to stop the tears would be to take action, and with that, Julia bolted up and headed downstairs.

Rhythmical grunts and metallic clunks spilled out through the workroom door as she stepped into the light of his haven. "It was a good sign," she thought, that William had left the door opened. Julia reminded herself that William would want to end this fight as much as she did. Yet, her protective instincts took over as she crossed her arms in front of her chest and leaned against the doorframe at the border of the room, and watched as William struggled mightily with what was clearly much more weight than he usually used. He would be sore, the doctor in her told. And then such pang in her chest, as her subconscious told her that he would be sore emotionally as well, possibly for quite some time, because of what she had done. The guilt of it was agonizing, and Julia steeled against it.

After a time, the workout routine taking him to change positions and stress a different set of muscles, Julia spoke up, forcing the hesitance and worry out of her voice. "William… You must know you are not the only good-looking man in the world," she said, a part of her congratulating herself on her success at sounding nonchalant.

Nothing.

"Obviously, each of us at times, being only human, will find someone else to be attractive," she argued, sounding, she thought, logical and calm.

Steam rose in his head, absolute fury with the foreboding thought, "She had better not bring up the waitress," his teeth grinding down hard, his tightening jaw being the only outward sign that he had reacted to her words at all, the beat of the gravity-defying weights maintained, even the blasting, exhaled sounds of his exertion keeping up the tempo.

Still nothing, Julia's angst goaded her.

Considering running through his list of transgressions, Julia thought the better of it, instead taking a different tack, "William, you can't doubt that I find you extremely attractive. Think about how absurd that would be, I mean considering… considering our sex-life?"

And still, nothing.

Take a deep breath, the advice came from within her. Now, Julia Ogden was a wise woman, and she paused there, recognizing that she had made quite a mess of things, and accepting that mending it was not going to be easy. And she knew that the only way to repair such severe damage was to dig down as deep as she could go and find the truth, and then to be brave enough to speak it. So, she replayed the night… arriving again at that same particular moment, when Neil Catfrey had asked her for a second dance, and she had glanced over at William, and she had turned back to the fetching man, the intriguing stranger, who was trying so very hard to be cavalier and at the same time to charm her, and she had said, with a coy wiggle, "Why, I'd be delighted, Mr. Catfrey." Oh, there was absolutely no doubt…Yes, yes. She had flirted, and she had wanted William to see her doing so.

Regret seized her, tears pooling in her eyes, and she stared over at the man she loved more than life itself… for a moment, watching him shove, and push, and hurt himself with his huge efforts lifting his overloaded weights in the darkest hours of the night, desperately trying to cope with the pain of feeling worthless, and she felt completely awful. She would need to tell him that she regretted it, but she would need to tell him much, much more than that if they were going to truly be alright. She would need to tell him why she had done it, and that would be so much harder, for she in the end that she did not know why she had done such a horrible thing, especially to him.

"True, Neil Catfrey was far beyond handsome, but of course, so was William…" And then she remembered the feeling inside of her at the height of it, Catfrey bringing her a glass of wine, having noticed that hers was empty, while she had stood with William. So bold, brash really, such an act on Catfrey's part. And she had watched William with her subtle side glances, watched him grow jealous, his jaw locking, his fists curling, while she giggled, and tilted her head, and even wiggled seductively at Catfrey's compliments and jokes. The more jealous William became, the more euphoria flooded through her veins…

Unexpectedly the intrusive thought came as she remembered the feelings that had been flowing through her at the time, so public, so public! She had noticed that most every woman in the room had been looking at her… not gawking at William, as they usually did, as was the usual routine at such an affair. Commonly, after ogling her good-looking husband, the other women in the room would turn to consider her with a sort of disparaging, competitive, measuring lens. No, not tonight. These women tonight, these snooty Toff women, they were looking at her in new way, with awe, for she, Julia Ogden, the odd one, the unaccepted one, the one they invariably instinctively rejected, she had won the two most gorgeous men at the Ball!

She swallowed, weakened by the self-discovery, and sat herself down on a stool at his workbench. Gathering her strength, she called his name.

There was a softness, a resolution and a promise, in the sound of her voice.

William's ceaseless, self-battering motions with his weights stopped. Only his chest, rising and falling, with his fast, powerful breaths.

Silence, he came to sit next to her.

Julia started out with her voice low, drawing him nearer, getting him to tilt towards her. "I got swept away by the power I felt, William, having a strikingly good-looking man such as you on my arm, so coveted as that is…" here she paused, watched his eyes to see if he understood… if he accepted what she was saying – accepted that he was a coveted man, a desirable man. And oh, she saw it, although it was ever so slight… William had nodded. A small smile at the corners of her mouth, unlike him to be so immodest in matters of his own sexual attraction, Julia went on, "And also having another man as sought after by those of the female persuasion as is Mr. Catfrey, to have him flirting with me so boldly, right in front of you, and I just… selfishly… I'm so sorry. It was selfish of me, William. But it was just such a rush, being wanted by both of you, and it made me feel so… so powerful, I guess…"

A memory flashed through her mind, of Ruby. Puzzled, for it seemed irrelevant, but then she understood. So many times in her life, men had become enamored with Ruby only to hardly notice her, or even outright reject her because they took her self-assuredness as an insult, as a personal affront to their manhood. And then, a particular memory played in Julia's mind, and with it an unreasonable, shocking sensation of sinking fear, as she remembered Constable Crabtree telling her, so reluctantly telling her, so long ago, for George Crabtree knew it would devastate her – somehow, even then, George knew, that Ruby's, that her little sister's, absconding away with William, that Ruby's wooing him, would collapse her whole world. My God, the strength it had taken her back then to fight back, to go to that restaurant where Ruby had taken him, and to get up the nerve to try to get him back, the whole thing being so absurd, for she had never thought of herself as HAVING William to lose in the first place, at least not at the time.

Julia's eyes, stunning, settled deeply into his…

"William… I, uh. Most of my life I never felt I was particularly appealing… to men, um in a sexual way. I knew I was pretty enough, but I lacked the flirting skills, the seductiveness, needed to be alluring to men… Remember, I even had to take dance lessons, um, before I felt confident with you, that first time, at the Dinosaur Ball. I was just different somehow. I had always been so tall, and… well, there was Ruby…" Julia shook her head and her eyes dropped away, "and men always flocked to her so…"

Interestingly, the same image flickered through William's mind as had just passed through Julia's, him seeing himself and Miss Ruby at the restaurant table, and him telling Julia's little sister, who was clearly flirting with him, that there was someone who he found intriguing in his life, and then Julia, the intriguing one herself, showing up and taking them by surprise, and the two sisters fighting over him. And he realized, that although he had felt terribly uncomfortable about their jealousy of each other over him at the time, remembering being grateful to be rescued by George, he also felt a surge of this strange 'power' Julia seemed to be describing now.

As Julia's eyes lifted and refocused, William realized she had continued, and he worked to catch hold of her words once more.

"I had always figured I'd end up an unmarried professional woman… out on my own in the world, or perhaps that my father would have convinced some man or other from a proper family to marry me, and that I would most likely have given in to my father's wishes… eventually… perhaps…"

To William, it did not make sense that Julia felt this way. It was so obvious that she was incredibly attractive, and not just to him, but to so many other men as well. Abruptly, a deluge of memories flooded in, man after man parading through William's mind as they each made their sexual interests in Julia known to her, right before his very eyes. First was from tonight, that slick Neil Catfrey bringing her a drink, and then, William's skin beginning to crawl, remembering Terrence Meyers tilting his hat at her, and dropping his eyes to travel up and down Julia's body, blatantly, obviously… interested. Then, and this one infuriated him, James Pendrick, supposedly a friend, but when under the influence of his wild drug, dipping his Julia back into a passionate, romantic kiss! My God, it seemed endless. There was that Inspector from France… Marcel Guillaume, the man's eyes twinkling at Julia as he kissed her hand and noted her beauty in combination with her accomplishments and her clear competence as a doctor… And even Sir Arthur Conan Doyle – he had taken quite an interest. Endless, thoroughly endless, the images kept on. There was that slimy H.G. Wells, and his disturbing Eugenics Society – ironic, for Wells had actually seemed to choose Julia OVER Ruby! And then, and the flood of emotions with this one caught him off-guard, William suppressing an urge to gasp, feeling not only jealous, but also furious, and so terrified and helpless and guilty with the memories of it, that deceptive and sneaky and vile Detective Scanlon, at first so rude to Julia, and then suggestive with her, asking her out on a date, and, William's heart raced remembering rushing to save her and finding out what had happened, the depraved man had tried to gut her, my God, he remembered it - he'd almost lost her forever, the villain nearly slaying her if not for Julia's own skills in surviving, surviving without his help…

She had continued, William catching the end of her next sentence, "…awkward, and unwilling to flatter. My father called it stubborn, strong-willed." Swallowing, shaking her head, for she knew her point was unclear, and it was harder than she had thought to say it, and so she pushed, "It was a bit overwhelming, tonight. And I got caught up in it, in having all those people, most of whom have always held such a… well, not necessarily a negative view of me, necessarily, but at least a somewhat dismissive one. True, they may see me as competent, smart even, as a doctor, but along with that I am believed to be a rebel, and a pistol… and just, well, not what they consider to be a very good woman… not a very desirable woman…"

Listening to her William heard the battle raging inside of him, part of him wanting to hold onto the anger and the hurt she had caused him, but another part of him knew, knew down to his very soul, that these very things that she spoke of were not only true, but they were much of the reasons that his heart had fallen so hard for her in the first place. And he could see… Truth be told, he experienced much the same things himself… And he could see how it would hurt to be seen in such a light, even though he, and he believed Julia too, would be embarrassed to admit that they could be hurt by these contemptuous opinions from others. And because he had empathy with all this, he also understood, deeply, the pull she must have felt with being able to prove them all wrong.

This is when Julia decided she would risk it. She needed to know, so she reached out and she touched him, touched his face from across the divide between them, from her stool to his, slipped her fingers along his jaw, his cheek. And he did not reject her, he did not pull away, did not reach up and stop her, and the relief of it forced a heavy exhale from her. Astoundingly grateful, in that moment, for he would let her, let her apologize. He would forgive her. The emotion of it swelled tears in her eyes as she whispered to him, "I'm so sorry, William," and her heart filled with the heat of healing, and she loved him so, for he responded to her gestures, her apology, with a wrinkled corner of his mouth, and she knew, she knew that they were O.K. She leaned in and kissed his lips, then trailed a... few… more… little… kisses along his jawline. The day-long stubble of him stirred her insides with arousal, but it also reminded her how late it was. Fortunately, the welcomed reminder came, they had each taken the next morning off knowing that the Ball would run very late into the night.

"I think you need a shower," she told into his ear, the taste of the salt of him tingling in her mouth.

"Yes," he said, standing.

One more thing to tell him, Julia stood as well and tucked her arm in his. As they walked up the stairs together, Julia accompanying him while he closed up the house for the night, she told him, "I must say, William, I do feel very sexy with you… And I have felt so ever since I met you. It's like knowing you found me intriguing lit a fire in me. It wasn't the first time I'd felt it, um, once I met you, I mean. I had felt like I was sexually attractive once before… with the man with whom I became pregnant…"

Julia joined him in the shower, the steamy heat of it, the soothing touch of the warm water and the soapy caresses, and then the kindling, lust-stirring sensations of his slippery naked hard muscly body sliding along her creamy-soft naked one, repaired their bond more fully. She wanted William to remember, in his bones, how much she loved him, wanted him, finding just the right words before she uttered them to him, her voice mingling into a secret whisper with the spilling over of the rushing water in his ear, "You are the one for me – my match, William Henry Murdoch… You and only you…"

Julia's use of his own words, the same words that he had used so many times to describe how he had felt about her from that very first moment that they had met, and too, the exact same words used by the gypsy fortuneteller as she had read him his fortune as told by her mystical, magical Cards all those many, many years ago, registering deep in his core, for he did know it was true, they were a perfect match for each other in every way, it was written in the stars, as much as were the constellations of Orion and Pleiades and the Big Dipper.

It had been awhile since the Murdoch's had made love in the shower, and their subsequent lovemaking this night more than made up for it, their steamy passions flaring, yet controlled, controlled enough, making it last such a lusciously long, long time. The only hurry came afterwards, cutting short their warm, glowing, luminous recovery, the hot-water heater running out of water abruptly, racing them into rinsing away of the suds in cold, icy, breath-stealing splashes, and then jumping out to snuggle into, and tenderly rub each other dry under, their fluffy, warm, comfy towels.

Battle weary, healed, thoroughly and deeply loved, and freshly clean, sleep was delicious and came quickly.

) (

Odd for a workday, the soft morning light already filled the room when Julia roused. She had been so strongly aware of William's presence next to her as she had slept, powerfully grateful for it in her sleep, and now, before she had even opened her eyes, the light through her eyelids telling of the lateness, the memories of last night, complete with their whole spectrum of ups and downs, ran through her mind. Uncommonly warm for an early winter morning, she could feel the air on her bare flesh, and she remembered the shower, and she imagined William lying next to her naked, he too having had thrown off the covers in the night, and she remembered she had heard Claire-Marie earlier, on the other side of their bedroom door, stopping William Jr. from knocking and waking them, and then hearing the the considerate nanny taking their beautiful son downstairs to play, while Eloise cooked them all a delicious breakfast, and she could smell it – French toast, her favorite, and she felt so very, very happy.

Rare, such an opportunity, to admire, examine, adore her husband in the nude. Julia basked in the chance, rolling herself stealthily onto her side, pressing her elbow down into the mattress and resting her chin in her hand. Oh, she perused. Well-defined muscles, such a chiseled jawline, and those amazing thick, long black eyelashes of his, and it took all she had not to touch. William Murdoch was truly something, plenty of scars though, nearly every one of them having a memory associated with it… the one so close to his heart from an arrow, another on his right forearm, from falling from a building fire escape, at the time of that one William had been with Enid. Her eyes traveled up his arms, biceps, deltoids, over to those delicious pectoral muscles… Then the flash came, so utterly scrumptious, the memory of William using those big strong muscles to hold her in place, to force her back into the cold, hard, shower wall last night, his solid, rippled chest pressing, squashing, mushing, her breasts with a pounding, pounding rhythm, pinning her in place while he robustly, forcefully, thrust into her. Instantly Julia's womb tweaked and twisted and ached, so deeply, with urgent yearning to pull him in with all her might…

LOUD! STARTLING! SCREAMING! The telephone rang from its place on William's nightstand, scaring the bejesus out of both of them. William jumping up, disoriented, from his sleep… Julia flinching, gasping, prompting him to instinctively try to soothe her, to reach for her, to pull her into his arms to calm her.

"It's alright William," she reassured him, she tried to ground him, "It's just the phone."

"Shh," her whisper close to his ear as she pressed her hand against his chest to push him back down onto the mattress again. She reached over him to his nightstand to pick up the phone receiver, crawling over him and draping her midsection over him, to answer it. Julia had, quite intentionally, placed William's secret, and favorite, asset of hers prominently, unavoidably, in his lap, knowing he would find it unbearably enticing. She too was naked, from their romantics after the party last night, and she watched him, felt him, react to her bare body out of the corner of her eye as she spoke to the constable on the other end of the phone line. Oh, William was taken, undoubtedly taken, by her derriere, the noticing bringing a softly devilish smile to her face, the shape of her mouth affecting her speech sufficiently that she was sure that William was aware of her watching of him.

"Robbery? I'll tell him…" she said through the Mona-Lisa-smile into the phone, noticing the, oh so buttoned-down William Murdoch leaning over sideways to get a better view of her backside. "Just a second, constable, I'll get a pen," she said, shifting, lifting her hind-end up higher, such a sexy arch in her back as she did so, stretching to reach the drawer and take out the pen. Irresistible, William's hands took what they wanted, sliding down the curve of her back, then up over those gorgeous round…

And Julia heard it, his aroused breathing raging, and so, so tiny, his steamy little moan. It sent thunderbolts to her womb. Her head growing soupy, she forced herself to listen to the constable, to write down the address… with the pen, "Use the pen, Julia… on the paper."

"Isn't that the Banner's address?" she asked the constable on the other end, fortunately sensing some semblance of regaining her composure, all the while William indulging in her 'gift,' and his own arousal becoming quite prominent underneath her.

She hung up the phone and slid herself over him to lie on top of him and kiss him, and kiss him, and kiss him as she said, "There was a robbery…" another kiss, hands exploring lower, "…last night," another juicy kiss, and a nibble to his earlobe, "…after the Ball," she couldn't take it anymore, she covered his soft, soft, moldable, delicious lips, and pushed into him, so slippery, and velvety, and lush… Julia broke off the kiss, that delectable tiny 'click' sound of their lips pulling apart, and then her breath, hot, in his neck. "It was at the Banner's," she said, fairly certain William would not know who the Banner's were. Wanting the taste of him in her mouth, Julia seized his vulnerable flesh and began to suck him in, with a rhythm, a rhythm that called to his most primal instincts to rise up to her. Her breaths surging, flaring, she stopped the torture, "I have the address…" soft, the kiss to his ear, "You are to go at once, detective."

He asked, his voice cracking as he did so, sounding disappointed, with a hint of a pout, Julia finding it endearing, "So, no body then, doctor?"

She shifted again to lay next to him, sliding her long silky thigh up over him, over the bump of him, then back down over it once more, flirting, lips close, "No detective, no body, so no need for a pathologist, I'm afraid."

"A part of me always preferred murders… because of the pathologist," William's fingers were in her hair, "I've always felt a little guilty about that," he admitted with his customary corner-of-the-mouth wrinkle, prompting her to giggle.

Blunt, frank, as Julia could be at times, she suggested, "You are quite ready…" she glanced down at him, low down, to the part of him that was throbbing, and surging with lust, already aware that she would see him aroused, but still caught by the sight of him.

He lifted her chin to bring her eyes back to his. His expression scolded her.

Oh, how she wanted this. "We can be quick. You don't even have to kiss me," she offered.

William's devilish heart jumped. Given the opportunity, he intended to tease her mercilessly about this particular statement, and to resist kissing her at all costs, as well.

Sarcastically, he poked, "Oh, I see. And that will surely save us time, then… my not kissing you?"

He pushed her down into mattress, eyes fixed solidly to hers, and he moved over on top of her.

Julia's womb jerked with want.

"Yes," she answered defiantly, her voice weakening, her whole body weakening. "William Murdoch is known to take his time with his luscious kisses," she explained further.

Time stopped for a moment, with the power of the gaze between them.

Julia waited, waited for HIM to open her legs, for HIM to take what he wanted, wholly unable to stifle her moan once he did so.

Her womb flipped, and squeezed and begged for him.

As he positioned himself and then checked cockily, "No kisses then…"

Their eyes still locked, the softest of nods from her, a swallow, the anticipation of his penetration building so that her insides clenched excruciatingly, desperate, desperate with desire for him, tremoring her into an abrupt, undeniable, arch reaching for him.

His eyes, my God the man's eyes…

"And fast," he reminded, remaining so annoyingly in control.

Her voice came, barely audible, "And hard, William, hard."

Brown eyes, blue eyes – magnetized, forged, fused, the perilous intensity of it something they each remembered from their earliest days together, now realizing how much they had missed it.

Julia's brain warned her, her heart beating so fast, "He would see it…" He would see the pleasure he brought her with his impending touch, such fire it would melt her into a puddily goop. And then, then she remembered as she saw his face change, as she felt the pressure of him pushing in, breaching her, demolishing her… William felt it too. William felt it too.

William stormed with a fury into her, thrusting, pounding, ramming, strained and rugged his grunting with each thunderous pump.

Wham – the sound whipped through the air. The doorbell! It was the doorbell… downstairs!

Julia's breathless voice in his ear, "They must have sent a carriage for you…"

He replied, his thrusting never stopping, "Must be some important toff got robbed…"

She would have told him who the Banner's were if she could have, but right now she needed to make sure he didn't stop, for if he did when she was this close, most surely she would die.

She begged, squeezed him closer, increased the power, the cadenced swing, of her hips harmoniously in time with his, "Oh, hurry William. Eloise will get the door. Hurry."

The front door opened… there were muffled voices… footsteps up the stairs.

Desperate, so desperate, furious with passion and rush, life and death fallen to the wayside in the wake of it all.

He would not wait... not wait for her…

The urgency burst her, forced her to implosion.

And his teeth, his seizing so rough on her shoulder, pinning her down, holding her firmly in place.

The ravenous hunger of him erupting a roaring, rupturous flood of heat, wave after wave of melty, sultry, heat, rolling through her every cell.

William driving forward, closer, deeper, right there, mightily barreling for the lifting crest of it, soaring from such heights…

And then, finally, the gushing, the steamy plume of him geysering into her, so far, so deep, that she was certain he touched her soul. No man, no man but this one, could love her so deeply, the molten, fusing caress of which would last her beyond a lifetime. My God she loved this man so much, so much it would surely destroy her, destroy her atom by atom, with the tumultuous force of its warm ripples.

Their synchronous moans fierce, sounding with such melodious volume that William had to take the forbidden kiss to muffle them, pure euphoria poured out and poured in, boundaries gone, there was no in, no out, no up, no down…

Knock, knock, at the bedroom door…

Just barely done, barely. William swallowing to moisten his throat, strained from such robust effort, hearts pounding so that the thumps of them could undoubtedly be heard out in the hall, so breathless, dizzy with the heaven of it…

Eloise's voice, cautious…

And they were both certain of the meaning behind her cautiousness, back somewhere inside their brains, but for now they were still so absorbed by the slowing of their scrumptious waves of pleasure…

Eloise's voice through the door said, "Detective Murdoch, sir, Inspector Brackenreid is here for you."

"The Inspector!?" Julia whispered.

Although he remained inside her, he pressed up off of the mattress to see her face, lifted his big brown eyes wide, impressed, then fell back down heavy, exhausted, thoroughly spent, to huddle his face in her neck. It would need to be her, her that spoke.

Julia answered Eloise from underneath him, "He will need ten minutes… we were, um, we were sound asleep when the phone call came in."

There was a moment, a pause. "Yes, doctor. I'll tell him," came Eloise's knowing reply.

"She knows," Julia whispered to William, "I'm sure she knows." And with that she felt William's smile in her neck, his nod, and she hugged him tighter, wrapping her legs higher up around him and she rocked them both, such heat of love in her chest for him. She loved him so.

Julia hugged him there, held him there in her arms, in her deep embrace, held him tighter, sensing he would feel the pressure to hurry to leave, to go. "Just one minute more, William," her lips, a nip, at his ear, her fingers in his hair, the dampness a testament to the effort he had expended. "Love me one minute more."

"Perhaps," mischief in his tone, "If I don't have to kiss you." But then he did kiss her, so lovely, so very, very lovely.

When she gave him the signal she was ready to give him up, a soft push at his chest, he rolled bringing her up on top of him, and then she lifted away, letting him slip out of her, and she got out of the bed and offered him her hand. "Come," she said, "I will help… I'll pick out your suit."

William went into the bathroom, his mind racing ahead to the new case, Julia moved to his side of the closet. She heard the toilet flush, imagined William, beautiful, beautiful William, naked, looking himself in the eye in the mirror, encouraging himself for the day ahead.

His complaint came, "Not the blue one…"

Oh, her smile was wicked. "Yes, the blue one," her voice playful and cocky.

She imagined she heard a huff, "Julia, it's too tight… And I get… hot…"

Bringing the blue suit out to lay it on the bed, she straightened out its wrinkles admiringly and teased him, "And that, detective, is exactly why I like it… both tight and hot." She shook her head and giggled to herself as she pictured his scowl from under the fluffy white shaving cream.

He heard her voice at the door, a quick, so gorgeous she noted, glance with his eyes. Quieter now, closer, she said, "I'm having trouble finding blue socks though. But you'll be wearing black shoes anyway."

Oh, how he loved when she did this, out right stared at him, soaked him in with every molecule of her body. He feigned ignoring her, continued his shaving.

Julia Ogden was thoroughly, whole-heartedly, caught. Teasing herself, admitting to her state, she said, voice deliciously misty, "This is a view I quite like..." hot, hot breath exhaled, "Not usually this exquisite… as you are usually in your pajama bottoms. It is quite the treat." Revealing where her eyes were most drawn, she asked him, "Do you work on those lovely hunky haunches of yours too, um," he felt her eyes leave his body, meet his in the mirror, loving that her voice had suddenly become dry, watching her swallow before she continued, "when you use your weights?"

Oh, his smile was so delightfully cocky, before he replied, pretending to be very interested, again, in shaving, forcing his tone to be nonchalant, "No. No, I believe it is the bicycle."

"Well husband, however it is that you obtain it, you do have a magnificent physique," she said, her eyes lowering, ravishing his flesh once more.

"Well, Mrs. Murdoch," he answered her, "It is necessary… If I am to be able to stand next to a woman who is so beautiful." His smile was sincere as she returned to gaze into his reflected face. Soft, a giggle from her, but warm, very, very warm, her smile, before she bowed slightly to him in the mirror.

Then she noticed her husband's eyes stray downward, and she remembered that she was naked too. A rush hit, first embarrassed, but then immediately overwrought with an odd pride, almost joy, that he responded to her body that way. "I, um… I…"

Julia's mind ran wildly, so many times she had seen that expression, been thrilled to the bone by that expression. It floored her, weakened her knees, swirled her brain. Then, all of a sudden, she was there again, the first time, the first time William had seen her naked body… George, the shovel, her heart pounding so. Absolute, blackeningly dizzy terror, as George's eyes had drifted to a spot behind her, and she knew, just knew, William Murdoch was there. He looked! She saw him look! And he forced his eyes up, and he pulled off his jacket to offer her cover, but she had seen it… William Murdoch liked what he had seen. Ah, but then the Inspector, he could not control his desires as well as that adorable buttoned-down detective she so loved. No, the Inspector was outright gawking, the Inspector of all people… WHAM, a panic hit…

Julia's eyes bolted to William's in the mirror, alerting, "William! The Inspector!"

And he remembered that the Inspector was waiting for him downstairs, and the wild rush to hurry his shaving and dressing began anew.

)

The Inspector looked on as Julia gave William a sweet peck of a kiss good-bye, and she told him she would bring him some lunch in his office later.

Brackenreid popped his hat back on his head and twirled his cane suavely as he stepped out ahead of Murdoch, and then turned back to say, "The reporters are back, I see."

A frown from William as he complained, "Our respite from Madge Merton's story in the Daily Star is over, I suppose." Unsure why, he stepped back to his wife, and kissed her once more. "Later," he said.

She bowed to him, flirting a little, giving him a twinkle and subtle wiggle, "Later detective," she promised.

) (

After the Inspector and Murdoch had called all the constables together in the bullpen to inform them about the new robbery case, the men dispersed to begin their various assignments, and the Inspector and the detective headed back into their offices. William's first step would be setting-up his famous blackboard to help him visualize and track the clues in the case.

William suspected there had actually been at least TWO robberies thus far, the one from last night after the same Ball he and Julia had attended, William writing "Banner" on the board for this victim. And the other was from over a month ago… if he was right, anyway. With a frown, he followed this victim's name with a question mark – "Hubbard?" James Hubbard, a man of color, had died after he and his wife had been attacked at knifepoint upon arriving home after a Ball, caught just inside their front door by the robber. This scenario was similar to what had happened to the Banner's last night. In both of these cases, the robber had gotten away with much of the wife's jewels, those that were on her person as well as those in the house safes. The thief was never caught in the Hubbard case, though the detective from Stationhouse 1, Detective Watts, had intended on charging the culprit, not only with the robbery, but also with murder, but to a lesser degree, Mr. Hubbard dying from a heart attack that the coroner argued had been a direct result of the attack. The Hubbard's were also quite wealthy and powerful toffs in Toronto, much the same as the Banner's in this regard, despite Hubbard's being a colored man. The dead man's brother, William Hubbard, was a prominent politician. In the Hubbard case, the jewels were never recovered. Needless to say, William intended to do better with his case than Watts had done. The similarities between the two cases intrigued William. It would be the first thing he looked into.

Stepping back from the board, William sighed. There was something about the robber's timing in both cases, somehow the perpetrator knowing exactly when the victims would be walking into their homes, late, staff asleep, in both cases. Perhaps, his mind tossed up the image, the jobs required two men – one at the Ball observing the victims, somehow notifying his partner when the intended targets were leaving the affair – perhaps with a phone call, thus, the partner who would have been watching the victim's home, and therefore able to ascertain if the home was void of any servants that could disrupt the robbery, then this partner, somehow getting inside to be ready right inside the door for the attack? In neither the Hubbard case nor the Banner case was there any evidence of the robber breaking into the home. Done this way, the robbers could be sure that their attack would be uninterrupted by a housekeeper, or a butler, or whatever…

)

Julia was in good spirits, greeting and chatting with the constables on her way through Stationhouse #4 as she headed for her husband's office. Much of the talk was about the delicious smells coming from her picnic basket, Julia explaining that she had stopped by the Windsor House Hotel to get William his favorite meal for their lunch. She knocked on William's office door, catching his eye through the glass before she let herself in. Her husband was talking on the phone. After placing the basket down on his worktable, she headed over to his desk and leaned down to give him a kiss on the cheek. She pulled off her gloves, hung her coat on the rack with his, reaching out to touch, to fondle, his maroon-colored scarf, her eyes stalling on William's homburg hanging from one of the hooks on the coat stand. His conversation seemed to be about an older case… one that had not been solved. Eavesdropping further, Julia figured out much. She remembered the Hubbard case. Sad, to lose such an important man. Heart attack she remembered. And then it hit her – the connection. The Hubbard's had come home after a big dance too, to be robbed… the robber was waiting for them in their house, she remembered. He took jewels. Of course! William was truly brilliant! Of course! It was very likely the same perpetrator!

The lunch already spread out, waiting, Julia sat and entertained herself by examining his blackboard. "Mm," memory after memory rolled by in her mind's eye, of so many times when she had secretly watched her gorgeous husband over the years working at his drawing board… such wonderful memories…

Her eye caught Neil Catfrey's name… the words, "accomplice?" and "possible alias?" written next to it.

"Catfrey! William suspects Catfrey!" her brain screamed.

"Unbelievable! Men! Really, the man takes an interest in me, and so, of course, he must be some sort of low-life criminal. Really! I've half a mind to march out of here right now!" she sat there steaming. Attempting to glare at William, her anger seeming to go unnoticed, thus flaring it even more, she ascertained that William was about to hang up the phone and forced herself to wait.

Reaching the point of the pleasantries of good-byes with the Stationhouse 1 detective, William said into the receiver, "Thanks for getting back to me Detective Watts… Yes. Yes, you too, detective… Good day," then hanging up the phone. So quickly he caught wind of Julia's fury, his face changing before her very eyes to one of worry.

"What is it?" he asked, approaching.

It was happening again, a part of William splitting off and becoming enthralled by the beauty of Julia when she was angry. His focus became a dazed stare, half of him suffering from ardor, the other half from panic.

Julia huffed, and shoved her chin high. "So, you suspect Neil Catfrey. You think Catfrey committed this robbery –and the Hubbard robbery too, I see… That he just used me… to what? What, William? To get closer to you?"

"Julia," William's tone one that surged her rage, infuriatingly trying, so hard, to be the calm one, the reasonable one, "I'm sure Mr. Catfrey did not have to feign his… his romantic interests in you, Julia… The fact that you look as you do, that you are as attractive as you are, as intriguing as you are… was… um, well was…" William suddenly worried that he was digging himself further into a deep, deep hole. If only he could back pedal… somehow turn this around, but the words, the words, they were right there, and before he could stop them, they came out. "It was fortunate for him, I suspect, that you are as beautiful as you are. I'm merely suggesting that perhaps you were not his intended target…"

Flames, terrifying daggers of flames, flew across the room…

"Because YOU were! Because you think Neil Catfrey wasn't interested in me at all – simply using me to get closer to YOU!"

William wrinkled the corner of his mouth.

Oh my God, she was so mad! "Everything isn't always about you, William!" she yelled it loud, slammed his helping, her helping, of the delicious warm lunch, and the scrumptious pieces of warm bread, into the picnic basket, all the while huffing and puffing. She grabbed her purse and her hat and her coat, and marched to the door. It took everything she had not to slam it.

Her head screamed at her to tell the little weasel constables off too, as they all scurried about trying to appear to have not noticed that she and William had been fighting. A deep breath first, "Constables," she greeted, her lips tightly forced into a pinched smile, before she made herself walk slower than felt comfortable across the bullpen to take her exit.

From the other side of their face-to-face desks, George and Henry shared a wide-eyed glance. Henry warned, "He'll be in a foul mood now," right before…

"George!" the bellow came from Detective Murdoch's office.

Another shared look between the constables, George stood to go face the barrage. However, the detective already had advanced, his office door swinging opened with a rush, banging into the door stop with a thud.

George cringed slightly, half expecting the glass with Detective Murdoch's name painted on it to shatter with the force.

Henry ducked his head, not to avoid or cower, but to hide his laughing.

The detective's tone was stern, "Constable Crabtree, I have been waiting for your report on the public responses to our call for items matching our Body-Dumper victim's bruise. I hope you are not thinking that just because the press has let up on the story, that that's grounds to…."

"No sir," George began to search through a pile of files on his desk. Finding the one he wanted, an immensely thick file at that, he handed the file to the detective and said, hurrying, worried, "I… er, I was remiss in getting it to you, sir… But only because it ended up yielding nothing pertinent to the case… er, I believe, sir."

"Not one of these citizens came up with an object that had the right size and shape?" Murdoch challenged, his voice between a rebuke and disbelief and pain.

George shook his head, spreading his arms out, pleading for patience, "Not a…"

A snicker from Henry drew their eyes, and William's blood boiled in his veins, steamed up into his head, which suddenly hurt with a vehemence that made him reach for his brow before he barked, "Constable Higgins! It's been an entire morning and you have nothing to report on Mr. Catfrey!" Murdoch's eyes found the suspect's sketch – made by the artist from a description William had given him, himself, under a pile of random papers on Higgins' desk. It was a sketch of Neil Catfrey. He reached over and fished up the sketch. "Nothing as to his whereabouts, as to who he is, what it is this man does to make a living!?" The detective's big dark eyes honed and narrowed and scolded into the wide blue realm of Henry Higgins' eyes.

"Only, as you suspected," Henry suddenly needed to clear his throat, the pressure getting to him, "Nearly everyone from the Ball last night remembered Mr. Catfrey, sir, but no one seems to know much more about him than that his name is Neil Catfrey, and that he claimed to be involved in some sort of technology manufacturing… um, thing, sir."

"I want his picture shown all around Toronto – not just to people who were at the Ball," he corrected, ordering, hoping that this time his instructions were clear. Dissatisfied with the constable's speed in taking up the charge, he added with a deep yell, "Now!"

"Yes sir," Henry jumped up, tentatively taking the sketch from Murdoch's hand. "I'll get the lads right on it, sir," he said, taking his leave.

"Oh," the detective called him back, sounding much more in control, "Constable Higgins…" he paused, leaned closer, "make sure to tell the lads to show Mr. Catfrey's picture to women… wives, maids, etc.," there was a pained scowl on Detective Murdoch's face as he added, "Women tend to notice the man much more so than do men."

"Yes sir," Henry replied, then paused awkwardly…

It seemed the young constable was considering commenting…

The wheels in Henry's brain were turning, "Of course! That's what they fought about. Catfrey was at the same soiree as the detective and the doctor… Dr. Ogden must have 'noticed' Catfrey. That's why the detective's so upset…"

George jumped in to avert the impending disaster. "You heard Detective Murdoch, Higgins. There's much to do, no?"

With that, Higgins nodded to the detective and turned to go spread the word, to make sure all the men knew to be sure to ask women about Catfrey, and that they'd best be quick about it.

Ironically, William and George stood together, collectively sighing, before they each went about their separate ways.

William closed his office door and reached up to rub his forehead. He would need to buy Julia flowers. He felt the wrinkles in his brow crease tight as he thought, as he remembered, "She was so upset… so astoundingly upset." He really had not expected it. A frown took his face, his brain adding, "and now no lunch either." He was coming to realize that he really disliked this Neil Catfrey character, disliked him quite a lot.

) (

Seeing images of Julia's fiery explosion re-playing in his mind, interrupting his thoughts for the umpteenth time, William coped by reminding himself that he would need to buy flowers, the mental reminder prompting a huge sigh to escape his chest. "My God, she was angry," he retold himself once more. "Yellow ones," he changed the subject in his head, "like at our wedding, and then some orange and red, maybe a pink one… for the fireworks, I guess," he planned. He would pick up the roses on his way back to the stationhouse… the thought shoving him back on track, back onto working the robbery case. He would take George, question some of the toffs, find out if Catfrey had been at the same Ball the Hubbard's had attended the night they were robbed and that poor Mr. Hubbard was terrified to death, the knife, the violence, more than his weak heart could take.

) (

"Quiet as a mouse," her inner-voice coached her, Julia having had turned the key and stepped in through the front door in near silence. There were still lights on… William had not yet closed-up the house and gone to sleep… She made herself take a deep breath. It was after midnight, and they both had work tomorrow. Fortunately, Isaac had stayed with her, after she had waited for him to finish with his last patient, and he had then offered her some of his fine whiskey, and they had both drank too much, and she had bellowed away her anger and then cried on his shoulder with her regret, and such a good friend, Isaac made them both some coffee, and then made sure she did not head home to William until she had sobered up.

She placed her purse down on the table in foyer, and a flash flickered quickly through her brain, of her resting down her fancier purse, the one she had used for the Ball, putting it down in exactly the same spot just the night before. Amazing, it seemed like a decade ago, she sighed. Next, she tended to her hatpins, then her coat. Still all the while, the house made not a sound. Conflicted, a part of her wished that he would be asleep – envisioned sliding into bed next to him, maybe they'd make love in the night, everything would be fine… But, another part of her, the wiser, more sagely part of herself, it foresaw dealing with the problem, picturing herself and William sitting together and talking it through, no matter how late in the night it became, no matter the pain they encountered…

She spotted him… spotted him there, lying down on the couch, the sight sending a thunderclap to her heart…

Asleep? Julia wondered, truth be told, she was hoping so. Unaware of it, she was holding her breath, and yet her heartbeats thumped with enough force inside her chest that she feared they might wake him. She approached, rounding the corner of the couch to capture the full picture. My God, how the sight stole her heart, her breath, seemed to suck at her very soul…. There, right there before her very eyes, William lay asleep, obviously waiting up for her before he had drifted off, and huddled in his arms, hugged to his chest, there was his offering, both thorny and astoundingly beautiful, a magnificent bouquet of roses, yellow, and orange, and splashes of white, and pink, and red. And she knew that he had waited up for her… waited so long, so very, very, long, with his flowers, to tell her that he was sorry, to tell that her he loved her, and Julia's heart seemed to rupture, imploding with the force of his love for her, erupting, spilling over, with the force of her love for him… but there too, smoking and twisting around and through the immensely powerful feelings of their shared love and devotion, lingering in the background, was the barbed agony of her regret. There was no doubt about it now, she would have to wake him. She would have to make it right.

Julia sighed, looked around the room. It must have been a long enough time that even the somewhat stuffy William Murdoch had given up on staying dressed properly in his suit, the various pieces of it folded and hung neatly over the back of the other couch. He had fallen asleep in his trousers and his undershirt, and his socks too, she noticed. An instinct to cover him up, worrying that he would be too cold, caused a subtle twitch in her. She wanted to be tender with him, she felt the little nudge behind her eyes, the threat of tears. It happened without her planning it, or thinking about it… she just began, began to take off her clothes, buttons, grommets on her corset, and she draped her clothes next to his, stripping down to only her bloomers and her chemise. The warmth, the softness… the intimacy she felt, she hoped with all her heart that he would feel it too, that he would no longer fret…

"William…"

He heard her voice far-off and close, and the bed… no, no it was the couch, buckled and sunk and tilted, rolling him closer to her. There was her touch, her hand, warm, to his shoulder, and William woke, sat up to face her sitting on the couch in front of him, his legs still extended out straight on the couch behind her seated body. "Julia," his tone more a statement of fact than a question.

She sensed that he had not yet remembered the details… not yet, but he would soon enough.

"You are so sweet, waiting here for me, with these pretty flowers, so late, you waited so long you fell asleep waiting…"

William's eyes…

Julia's eyes…

Dropped down to his somewhat squashed bouquet, to see that one of the rose's thorns had pierced into the fabric of his white, cotton undershirt, and then he remembered, and then he asked her, his eyes just catching hers at the end of his question, his voice scratchy from sleep, "Are you still mad at me?" And then a puzzled look spread over his face as he took in the sight of her, looked down to her breasts, saw what she had on, or rather what she did not.

Julia reached over and lifted his chin, bringing his big, brown eyes up to meet hers again. "No William, no, I'm not mad at you… And I must say, if anybody should be giving flowers to one of us, it should be me giving them to you," she told, then turned her attention to his bouquet, her surgeon-trained hands gently, knowingly, separating the small white fibers of his shirt from the rose thorn. She glanced at him while working on the task, gorgeous, the noticing thrilling her to the core, he was watching her, that sweet sideways dart of his eyes gorgeous big eyes, catching hers, then rushing away. Shirt feed, she took his flowers from him. "They are truly lovely, William," she whispered, placing them down on the coffee table in front of them.

"So, you're not still angry with me then?" he asked again, finding it hard to believe.

She wrinkled a corner of her mouth, his gesture… now also hers through familiarity, "I never was…"

"You could have fooled me," he interjected, his heart on his sleeve, suggesting a sense of comedy that struck home because it rang true.

Julia giggled, nervous, and yet it lightened their mood. "Yes, I suppose with the way I acted it would have, but it was much more anger at myself, really…" such a sadness took her face, and then she dropped her magnetic blue eyes away, and mumbled, "so embarrassed that I couldn't yet accept…"

Then, the calm seemed to leave her voice as her mind rushed ahead to what she still had yet to do, to what she would say to him next, William watching as her face reddened and wrinkled and her voice rose into the customary high, breathless pitch it would take on whenever she became upset, "I'm so sorry William," her eyes pink and pooled with shimmering tears. She swallowed back the saltiness, her voice down to a whisper, "I'm sorry for blowing up at you in your office, and storming out…" Julia held his gaze, tight, pleading with her eyes. She repeated, cupping his cheek, whispering her promise, "I'm sorry."

He placed his hand over hers, pulled it down to his lips, placed a soft kiss to the delicate, petal-soft flesh at the inside of her wrist. And then her fingers traced along his face, slid up his jawline, the stubbly little pricks of his unshaven face reminding, ever so slightly, of the thorns of the roses, and she slipped her fingers into his hair. A sniffle, she pushed the tears away, toughened herself. "You were right, William. You were right. Neil Catfrey should be at the top of your suspect list," she nodded, agreeing with herself.

He heard it, and she did too, there was a hint of anger in her tenor… and this time Julia's anger was aimed at the deserving target instead of at William, or at herself, this time her anger was aimed at the man who had tricked her, who had used her, aimed directly at Neil Catfrey. And that anger, it made her stronger.

William wrinkled a corner of his mouth at her, and it made her smile, and finally, finally… she truly breathed. They were alright. She folded forward into his arms and he laid them down together there on the couch. Julia rested her head on his chest, and snuggled in deeper, and began to travel his muscles with her fingers, with her supple, opened palm, soaking in the feel of him through his cottony shirt. The hardness of his flesh under her hand reminded her that he was likely terribly sore from lifting the weights as he had last night. She would care for him, lifting herself to lay a delicate trail of kisses across his chest, the weightlessness of the tender kisses juxtaposed against the heavier massage, and then she nestled back into her spot. His heart beating… steady, strong, slow, and she knew that she was safe, the relief of it allowing her to look inward, allowing her to tell him, allowing her to let him see, for it was William, and she trusted him more than any words could ever say.

She felt his head tuck down as she inhaled beginning to speak, and she knew he was wholly with her, listening. "I'm so ashamed of how I behaved… at the Ball. So, so ashamed. I was… duped, William. I was so completely stupid, believing the man was interested in me…"

He had heard it change as she spoke…

She had felt it changing too

The tears forming in her eyes again, the heat and the swelling, had robbed her of the ability to breathe correctly, and had rendered her victim to the betraying squeakiness.

His warm exhale flowed over her head, fluttering her curls, before he soothed, interrupting her downward spiral, "Catfrey wasn't faking his interest, Julia. Chemistry like that can't be faked – that's the reason it upset me so much, because it was so real. No one but Catfrey himself would know, would have been able to tell that he was being deceitful, no one else would have known what his true intentions had been…"

Julia popped up abruptly, and after a rushed swallow amended, "No one but Catfrey and youyou know what a fool I was, William."

He hugged her closer, leaned down to kiss her hair and encouraged her to lay her head back down on his chest, wished that she would let it go. "Don't forget, Catfrey fooled me too, hmm?" he asked her, giving her a loving squeeze, relieved as her nod came. He waited, waited to hear her breathe, momentarily concerned she might yield to the shame and begin to wholeheartedly cry. He took a deep breath himself and added, hoping it would help, "I was decimated Julia, thoroughly decimated that you might choose him… anyone, over me. Neil Catfrey is a slick character, there's no doubt about that. I'm sure he's tricked many people before us with his cons, and if we can't stop him, I suspect he'll trick many more to come."

She nodded again, resumed her attentive rubbing of his body.

William comforted further, "Besides, it's all just speculation at this point, it's just an idea that Neil Catfrey's could be involved in these robberies. Although…" Unable to see his expression, still Julia knew, he was wrinkling his face with doubt. William went on, "Patrons, and also some of the wait staff, who were at both affairs claim to have seen Catfrey at the same Ball the Hubbard's were robbed after, as well as the one last night. I suppose it could just be coincidence… any of these same witnesses were also at both dances… any one of them could be the culprit too…"

She smiled, knowing his unsure look had only deepened.

"No. No, William. I think you're right. Catfrey is most likely your robber," she concluded, sounding stronger, then adding, admitting, "It's true that everything isn't always about you… but, I think, I think that this time it was."

She cuddled into his squeeze as he acknowledged her agreement with his deductions, "Mm," he gave, then pinched his lips together, gave her a winsome bow.

A moment later, after a sigh, William reached up and rubbed his brow, his unknown tell that he was feeling stressed…

"What is it William?" she asked.

He released another sigh before he explained, "There's no telling if this is related to the Hubbard's being robbed, but since back when Detective Watts was working the Hubbard case over a month ago, we've come to know that a priceless, ancient Egyptian tiger eye necklace was also stolen from the museum where they held that event, possibly that same night. It had been replaced with an incredibly good forgery…"

She propped up to see his face. "If you're right about the connection, then these thefts could be really quite big, hmm?" she asked.

"Mm," his only answer, thoughtful. William's instincts told him he was right.

)

Much as they had done the night before, the couple walked the house together, checking for closed windows, locked doors, properly set scrutiny cameras. And, much like the night before, they were weary, for it was quite late, but they were healed, they were fused, bonded – whole. Too tired to make love tonight, the Murdoch's were still contented, for love had filled them, filled them completely and thoroughly, cell to every last cell. William fell off to sleep the moment his head hit the pillow, his breathing reminding Julia of the beautiful sounds the ocean makes, the slow, regular, rhythm, almost hypnotic, waves lapping the shore in the peaceful darkness.

She remembered sneaking in the front door earlier, how apprehensive she had felt, even remembered thinking to herself to be "quiet as a mouse." So grateful to her wiser self for advising her to overcome her fear, to wake him, to talk with him. Her mind showed her again the lovely sight of William lying there on the couch, having had fallen asleep waiting for her, hugging his golden, thorny, sweet, sweet bouquet of roses… My God, she loved William Henry Murdoch so much it hurt sometimes. Her own breath, a heavy sigh, nearly a swoon, then his, his breath even deeper in tone now, their breaths the only sounds, it seemed, for miles around… the house once again, not making a sound… and then, Julia too, was gone, gone rocking away in the delicious ripples of drifting off to sleep…

So odd though, that now, wellactually ever since they had gotten home from the Ball the night before, their house could be so quiet… and yet… yet… it listened. Such is the consequence if you have been thoroughly CAT-burgled, by an artist, by an expert, so much so that you do not even know that there is something precious, something highly, highly precious, that you have lost, something that has been stolen away from you in the dark of the night, much like the tiger's eye stone within the stolen necklace, the gem a most ancient talisman, mysterious and powerful, revered and feared - an "all- seeing, all-knowing, eye," believed to grant the wearer the ability to observe everything, even through closed doors.