Hi everyone, I'm back from another hibernation period and I concocted this little chapter which I hope you will enjoy. I actually put a lot of raw feelings into it. Anyway, I'd like to thank the anonymous reviewers for their kind words.

ixi-shaj: thanks a lot! I'm glad you liked the ending and my style.

queen: so happy you like my story and are interested in it:)

free thinker: really flattered that my story is among your favourites and really glad it keeps your interest up. James has many issues indeed but he's kind of like Mary, in some aspects, so they will both solve their issues together. He sees in her something that is in himself as well but for the moment he is in denial about it, somewhat. Since Mary brings out the worst and best in him he is sometimes brutally honest to her, which isn't always charming.

That being said, please tell me what you think, good or bad, I always appreciate it.

P.S. If you want to see a pic of Mary and James (the way I see them) just click on my profile and you'll find the link there.

Chapter 31: Wicked Minds Embrace

Young ladies in general are very fond of kissing when no one is apt to see them. If these pleasant occurrences should be displayed in public they will immediately profess innocence and utter perversity on the part of the young man.

Young ladies bred in the society of old matrons find it difficult to adjust to the simple kiss after marriage and ladies of fortune do not even dream of romances that involve touching.

But in the unkempt garden, devoid of any audience to see them, Mary and James were not uneasy and continued their kiss.

They did not suspect who was watching them carefully from a secret, little window.

It did not last too long, however, because the young lady opened her eyes and became aware of the crass incivility at hand and pulled away from the young man that had earlier insulted her better feelings.

'How shameful! You take advantage of me,' she whispered hoarsely. 'I ought to banish you from my sight.'

'I am profusely apologetic, Miss Bennet. I do not understand what current of feelings took over me…' he replied, half-ashamed, half-satisfied in his freakish being that he had implanted such a proof of power over her. He knew he had come to take her back to Rosings, but his heart dictated that he had come back for this one moment of selfish fulfilment as well.

He shouldn't have let his fiery feelings get the better of him, but now…it was too late. He had wanted to make her cower, but he hadn't wanted to exact so much…

'This is a disgrace for me. I cannot begin to describe the impertinence of your act,' Mary cried defensively, drawing her shawl over her shoulders, though her words sounded anything but firm and convincing.

'I am very much sorry, Miss Bennet.'

'You are sorry…what shall I do with your excuses?' she countered, but she felt weaker and weaker, their kiss having put a mark on her, a very strong one.

'Perhaps accept them. I do care for your welfare, Mary…'

She raised her eyes startled, for he had called her Mary.

Mary did not wait for her cheeks to burn but walked towards the terrace and into the room, dreading the danger of bursting into tears in front of him.

He followed her promptly and at length were both seated by the fire.

'Miss Bennet…'

'I am in no want of conversation,' she replied sternly as she stared into the fire morosely.

'My behaviour towards you was undeserving. My anger blinded me and made me err, but I have not come to torment you with my old proposal and I do not wish to renew it. I am here for your mother,' he said trying to masque his feelings.

'How very kind of you! I suppose your passion stemmed out of the concern for my family's wellbeing.'

'No. I was only trying to make you cower. My pride was hurt. Yours I believe is intact. It is a shame you have no way of shrinking it; it will cause you a great deal of trouble in the future.'

'You need not worry on my case,' Mary mumbled sadly. 'How did my poor mother perish?'

James recounted all the events that led to the tragedy and by the end of his story Mary was almost in tears again, but kept her steadiness all throughout their discourse, sighing with pain at the events that unfolded in front of her eyes.

What macabre games life played sometimes! First her poor father was on death's bed, but now, in order for him to be kept alive, her own mother was taken to the sky. Was it fair? What was God's rule? What was His logic?

She had always thought she saw a bit of His designs in the scriptures, she had always felt she could understand faith, but now she was at a loss.

After so much sorrow, could she trust Him anymore? After so much injustice, could she believe…He ruled over the world in justice and in love?

Dreadful weather in spring…her mother had last said before kissing her forehead.

And now she was in pain, pain for her mother and for her stormy heart. She had loved her mother and she loved Mr. Prowler. He was standing in front of her, all mockery having left his face, yet in her twisted thoughts she liked him better when he jested. At least his mirth would make her smile. It was a ray of light and warmth in the cold rain. Even if it pricked her own core and made her furious with herself.

But he might never know that she loved him. She had refused him. She did what her mind had ordained her, not her heart. And now he would scorn her forever. Yet he had kissed her. Perhaps it was a parting word, perhaps it was his vendetta and perhaps it was the beginning of a new disappointment. How could she know?

'She had a tormented demise…' she spoke sadly. 'She was a kind-hearted woman, she deserved much better.'

A servant girl appeared at the door, concern on her face.

'Master has been a'calling you Missus.'

'Thank you Prudence,' she whispered. 'Do not tell him of this young man's visit, it would only unquiet him.'

James looked at her with considerable resentment but held his tongue.

After Prudence left, she rose.

'I would better put on my black attire,' she said hoarsely.

'When shall you be ready to take your leave with me?' he asked.

'I will have to discuss this with Mr. Fowler as well…'

'What does the gentleman demand? This is your family's call,' he remarked slightly rebuked.

'He has the right to know I am to leave in any case since I have been by his side these days…' Mary replied, flushing.

'I cannot understand how your family left you in the company of such a man. I wonder at them not persuading you to dwell in his own house! But Mrs. Woble is no better as I know her!'

'Do not be ever so heard on Mr. Fowler for you know him not and remember you have your own sins,' Mary chided him, though her voice failed her again.

'I might know him better than you Miss Bennet. And it is not safe for you to stay here.'

'My own dear mother encouraged me so fervently to come…' Mary whispered a ghost of a smile resting on her face. 'If the weather had been fairer I would have probably received the letters and could have joined my mama on her last journey to her grave…'

'If you keep her always in your heart it might do better,' he replied softly. 'We must depart however.'

'When?'

'As soon as tomorrow morning.'

'I shall be ready…'

That evening, Mary sat in bed thinking of her mother and the happy times they had spent together. She had wanted to tell her so much more before she ever saw her again. She hadn't wished to quarrel so many times, she had wanted to know her better perhaps…

Only now did she discover that while her father was not so much of a mystery to her anymore, her mama always has and always will be. She hadn't inquired much of her youth and her upbringing, for Mrs. Bennet always fled from such subjects, but now she wished she had insisted more.

Mrs. Helen Bennet had been a woman known by few. Her husband had not loved her half as he had professed and her daughters had always tried her patience and made her sigh with either joy or pain.

Did Mary have a place in her mother's heart? Maybe she loved all her daughters differently.

She remembered Kitty's wedding and how her fussing had turned them all mad with impatience, but how looking back on it, her general behaviour had been a relief in the midst of all that commotion and seriousness. Her antics never ceased to make her smile or laugh, for she was a presence that lit the room, whether she intended to or not. Mayhaps her light was not the brightest but it was a soft, glimmering light of mirth.

Her mother had always been herself. She had always acted as herself no matter the consequences, even though she was ridiculed or cast down for it. And she realised with stupor that her mother had done this unconsciously.

And she envied her for it.

She had never felt truly at ease with her own mind while her mother had always been nothing more or less than Helen Bennet. And for the first time, Mary Bennet admired her mama for who she had been. What distressed her more is that she only discovered this after her mother's death. Had she understood this better during her life perhaps their living together would have greatly improved.

Children always think they are misjudged or mistreated or wronged. But mothers and fathers, can they protest?

Mary felt ashamed, for she had always blamed her mother and never herself.

Her misguidance in life had been her own making, never her mother's but she had sought comfort in putting the blame on someone else.

The truth was, Mary Bennet had failed without anyone's assistance.

And she had failed to truly live, until now. She had always followed her conventions and principles, but for what reasons? Pride, arrogance, vanity?

Who knew? She barely knew herself. She wanted to believe she followed ethics because she wanted to be a decent, kind woman and not wrong in front of God, but was that truly her design?

Was it that she tried so hard at times simply because she felt inferior in looks, countenance and manners and had to supply other attributes to her being?

Yes. Her gruelling attempts at feeding her mind and spirit, educating herself, studying and playing the piano had been part pleasure, part necessity.

And now she loathed that "necessity" which had made her be who she was for the wrong reasons. She only wanted knowledge because she loved the world around her, because she loved life and all it had to offer, because she wanted to understand herself and others, because she derived joy in it…not because she wanted to make up for some inferiority complex driven by vanity.

Oh, how she had erred in so many things! And she guessed this wouldn't be her last err.

The next morning she was all packed and ready to be off with Mr. Prowler, who was waiting outside the gates of the little parish house.

A certain talk between Mary and Mr. Fowler had taken place before her departure but we shall leave it to be unravelled for a later time, when Mr. Fowler himself decides to think of it.

After so much rain and mud, the moors were dry today and the weather was calm and soothing for a journey. It seemed nature mourned with her for it was neither wild nor cheerful.

She bid farewell to the Wobles who felt quite sad to see her go. The wife expressed her wishes of her paying a visit in much happier circumstances.

'I hope you shall come again, Miss Bennet, for we sorely need company. Do pay my respects to your family and my honest condolences for the soul of your mother. And do kiss your dear sister Lydia for me. Tell her I have not forgotten our little secret,' she said smiling kindly.

Little secret? Mary wondered slightly confused, but she had no time to dwell on such aspects as the carriage was ready for their departure.

After the carriage door was shut and they both found themselves in the comfort of their solitude, Mary turned towards the window and Mr. Prowler started reading some papers.

The journey started slowly but surely.

They exchanged not a word. As night fell they were to stop at an inn close by.

The rain threatened to beat upon them again.

After taking two rooms for themselves and deciding their groom was to sleep in the kitchens each retired to their chamber as no more was heard of them.

Mary lay in front of the shabby brass mirror that night, combing her tangled hair. She knew his room was down the corridor but a few steps away, but she could not believe she wished to see him now, at this woeful time!

He was ever so close but they were very far indeed. Their distance echoed in her heart and she pressed her nails in her palm, bidding her pulse to stop and her breath to end so she could think of him no more.

Why did she think he would comfort her? All he ever did was lie and upset her with his vulgar ways. He could be kind, but he rarely showed it, genuine kindness from him was never certain for it hid behind artifice.

Their times in London had been wistful, but he had always been a silent courtesan, she had never guessed his thoughts, she couldn't depend on him or trust him. As a result, he had almost tried involving her in a dangerous scheme, for the sake of a friend indeed, but caring naught for her wellbeing.

Or was it her own wounded ego that was speaking thus?

Maybe she should knock and bid him goodnight.

No, how foolish indeed! How disgraceful! What would her poor deceased mother think?

Her hair unravelled on her shoulders like cold silk. He had touched her hair when he had kissed her. She pulled it up disgusted, but then let it down again, softened.

After a long diatribe with herself she decided to pray all night long for her poor mother. She knelt by the bed and read in her mind all the prayers she knew.

'Please Merciful Lord spare my mother's soul…'

And spare mine…

Midnight passed in this fashion and she still had no sleep and she was glad for it.

She sat in her bed whispering sacred words, keeping her eyes shut against any temptation. But his eyes came into her mind like two balls of light and she couldn't oppose them.

Mary jumped out of bed, pulled her coat over her night gown and slipped out of her room quietly.

She found her way to the kitchen and searched for some candles. When she found none she climbed up to the withdrawing chamber, hoping to find at least worn out wicks. She desperately needed light.

But in the withdrawing room she found someone smoking by a cold fire, only the beam of some stars throwing light upon the scene.

'Pray excuse me, I am looking for some candles.'

'I have searched myself, they are no good.'

James' eyes glinted in the dark as he stood up.

'Oh…Mr. Prowler,' she swallowed, half-excited, half-scared, since her own wish at seeing him had come true.

'Why are you up at this hour?' he inquired.

'I couldn't sleep.'

'Grieving?' he asked concerned.

She blushed in the dark for it hadn't been only her mother that had not let her have peace and rest.

'Yes…that as well.'

'What else occupies your mind?'

'Why are you here?' she asked ignoring his question.

'I could not sleep either.'

'Thinking of poor Theodore?'

'Yes…that as well,' he replied in the same fashion.

'I…I am so sorry…for him and I do hope with all my heart that justice shall be made…I would like to visit him soon, if I may.'

'He would be glad to see you,' he replied.

'Oh do not lie. I hindered his plans…and his escape. I was the cause of his incarceration.'

'Do not speak so,' he said coming towards her. 'Theodore had not been a very honest man before. Both he and Morel had their share, but while the first has turned a new leaf the latter remains a scoundrel.'

'I would like him to be exposed for the corrupt man he is and pay for all the pain he inflicted,' Mary replied, angrily.

'Someday, Miss Bennet, he shall come to answer for everything…' he said standing quite close to her.

'As we shall all…when our time comes. Are you…are you afraid of it?'

'Of death?' he laughed. 'I would be mad to say no. But I have not a heavy heart.'

'You are very lucky indeed,' Mary replied a bit irritated. 'To have nothing to torment you.'

'And I suppose you are tormented, Miss Bennet?'

She chose not to answer.

'Are you only wearing your coat? It can be awfully cold in these quarters,' he said lingering some moments.

'Yes, I have gathered that.'

'Well then, I bid you good night.'

He turned to leave, but before he could turn the knob she spoke.

'Wait.'

He looked at her dark figure confused.

'Do not go yet.'

'Why not?'

She approached him shyly and before he could say anything she put her arms round his neck and embraced him shortly.

To her slight surprise and pleasure he immediately placed his arms round her waist and held her to him tightly.

They held on to each other for what felt like an eternity. She was not crying or sighing, but she was finally coming to grips with her mother's death. She sorely needed this. Her mother's face flashed before her eyes and she gripped him tighter. He in return pulled her even closer, trying to get at her soul.

She felt relief like never before to see she still loved her mother. And her love for him was there…hidden and aching.

He buried his head in her hair and breathed in, feeling a strange peace come over him, as if he was wrapped in a cocoon.

Nothing and no one could tear them apart, they felt so close in nature and in feeling, as if the strings attached to their hearts were tangled between them in a Gordian knot.

And neither of them had to utter a word for the moment to last forever. It was nothing erotic, nothing that eluded to love of the flesh, but only two haunted spirits melted in one another.

He dreamt of a land she belonged to. She saw her waving to him from afar, beckoning him to a free world he had sometimes envisioned in his dreams, but never before had it been this close.

Yet his reason protested. Did he really love her? This feeling that shook his being, of belonging, was it really love or was it only a fleeting sensation that would pass come morning?

She had humiliated him and hurt him in his very core, for his pride valued a great deal to him. She had refused him, so why then was she accepting him in her embrace now?

He had not asked her to marry her because he loved her. He only wanted to protect her since he had found delicate porcelain to keep from dust.

Yet…she had wanted to marry for love. He knew it now too well. Had he offended her by trying to have her marry for comfort?

All these feelings overwhelmed him until he couldn't think anymore.

He had not loved her when he had asked for her hand.

He had not loved her when he had kissed her, eager to take his revenge. He had only felt his fiery passion overwhelm him in an unorthodox way but he had not felt her close. He had only relished in the bittersweet taste of her chaste lips, his victory over the lamb.

But in just a moment, his entire vengeance collapsed, his entire scheme, his plans, his opinion that she should apologize, that she should be made humble, that she should suffer her ungratefulness, that he should be the one to pity her misfortune, all these vanished when her arms encircled him. For this one embrace made him feel more than a hundred stormy kisses.

He had thought of her tonight, suffering in her small room, hoping she would be tormented by the kiss. In his wild and horrid selfishness he put even death behind and relished only in his immature pain.

He wanted her to cry tears of regret indeed. She had been right to suppose he had come to seek that, to have just that. But his own warnings had been right when he had asked himself why he had come to being with. For he had not come only for revenge and that tormented him more than she would ever be tormented by the kiss.

He wanted her to beg him to accept her and then he would steely refuse.

That is what he had concocted, that is what he had hoped.

But maybe there was something else that he hoped for.

Grief for her mother's death had softened his selfish, cruel heart and this sudden balm of affection, this caress of a sad mind that yearned for his own troubled one, made him relent in his taste for vindication, made him steady the dagger and aim it towards his own heart.

She was almost defeating him, rather than he her.

Her hair so soft and so warm was gliding over his lips and he saw that he wouldn't mind at all if she were his wife.

Mary herself let her mind go blank and felt his warm skin next to hers, feeling the blood course through him.

He slowly parted her hair with one hand and felt the skin of her neck with his lips.

At length he spoke, waking them both.

'Mary…dear Mary, you are but a child…'

She gasped and tried pulling away but he held her tight, not even letting her breathe.

'And perhaps this is what I seek.'