Chapter 3: Forbidden Touch

A/N: Don't let the title mislead you; this is still a K+ story. :) I'm not sure if this is the last of the 'forbidden' chapters, but I'm leaving my options open in case Georg speaks to me again. Hope you enjoy!

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Georg was exhausted. He lay in bed with his eyes wide open, feeling worn out after hours of tossing and turning. A third consecutive sleepless night was starting to take its toll.

He threw an arm over his eyes and groaned. This was getting ridiculous.

Ever since the incident with Maria in the kitchen and the meal later that same evening, Georg had been wrestling with himself incessantly. He had kept his distance from Maria whenever possible. When contact was unavoidable, he was careful to speak and behave formally, more formally even than when she had first arrived. He restricted his conversation to what was necessary, nothing more.

It seemed to make no difference. The air between them was so charged that even the children had begun to notice. No one said anything to him directly, but several of them, Liesl and Brigitta in particular, had begun to give him questioning looks with increasing frequency. And Maria…he could tell that she was uncomfortable in his presence. It was nothing so obvious; she did not shy away from him, but she was restrained, more cautious, not as free in her manner as she had been. He found that he missed the sparkle in her eyes.

More than once Georg had considered leaving. He could go to Vienna, visit Elsa. He should go to Vienna to see her. But every time he thought about it, he could not bring himself to do it. The memory of Maria staring at his mouth and looking at him with feverish eyes was paralyzing him.

And now, just as every night since then, he could not shut off his mind. Every time he closed his eyes, she was there waiting for him. It was worse when he would finally slip into a fitful sleep, usually in the early hours of the morning. Then he found her in his dreams, dreams that were becoming more intensely vivid with each passing night. Every day it was getting harder to look Maria in the eye. She was too observant, saw too much. He could not afford to have her suspect how much he was trying so hard to suppress.

Georg flung the covers off and got up. Perhaps some warm milk might help. Or some scotch. He slipped his feet into a pair of slippers, put on his robe, and left the bedroom.

He walked down the hallway, still brooding and lost in his thoughts. Before he reached the stairs, however, he heard the sound of hushed voices. A nearby table lamp illuminated the hallway enough for him to see that two bedroom doors were ajar – Marta's and Maria's. Had something happened?

As he stepped closer, he could hear that the voices were coming from Marta's bedroom. He approached the room silently, not wanting to disturb or startle Marta or Maria, whom he presumed to be with the girl. That was the last thing he wanted or needed.

He reached Marta's room and looked inside, careful not to make any noise. Marta was sitting up in bed, the marks of recently shed tears on her cheeks. Marta clung to Maria, who sat next to her, with her arms wrapped loosely around Maria's waist. Maria had one arm around Marta's shoulder, her hand stroking Marta's hair soothingly. Georg strained to hear what they were saying, but they were speaking too softly for him to understand any of the words. He could only guess that Marta had had a nightmare, and that Maria was comforting her.

Georg watched as Marta responded to Maria's gentle hands and voice. After several minutes, he saw the girl nod and lie back down, shifting to find a comfortable position. Maria smoothed the covers over her, kissed Marta's forehead, and moved to stand. Marta reached a hand out to Maria, clearly not wanting her to leave. Maria smiled softly at her and sat down again, going back to stroking the girl's hair. It was only moments before Marta was fast asleep.

Georg found the sight breathtakingly beautiful. It seemed so right, somehow. Maria belonged here, in this house, with them. With him.

It was torture. Why did he want what he could not have?

After planting one last kiss on Marta's forehead, Maria stood and turned to leave. It was only then that Georg realized he should have retreated from the doorway, but it was too late. Maria's long hesitation before she began walking toward the door could only mean that she had already seen him.

He stood back stiffly from the doorway as she approached, giving her enough room to pass through without having to touch him. She closed the door gently and turned to face him.

One look at her face and instantly he was filled with concern, wanting to reach out to her. She looked as tired as he felt. But at the same time, almost against his will, his mind seemed to want to jump to conclusions. Had she been having trouble sleeping as well? Was she being kept awake with thoughts of him, while he thought of her? The possibility was as tantalizing as it was disconcerting.

He noticed that she was wearing the same voluminous white nightgown she had worn the night he had walked in on her and the children in her bedroom. He wondered if she wore it every night. He wondered how she would look if…

"Marta had a nightmare. I happened to be awake and heard her. She's fine now and has gone back to sleep."

Maria spoke softly, just above a whisper. She was looking somewhere in the vicinity of his shoulder. Georg closed his eyes and cursed himself; he had been staring at her again, letting his thoughts run wild, forgetting to make an effort to conceal his longing for her. She must have noticed something in the way he had looked at her. He commanded himself to focus and opened his eyes.

"Marta used to have a lot of nightmares after her mother passed away," he said, keeping his voice as low as she had, so as not to wake the children. "They slowly faded, but occasionally they return. It's fortunate that you heard her and were able to go to her."

He had worried about Marta, perhaps the gentlest and most vulnerable of all of the children. He had not been able to comfort her; he'd been too lost in his own grief at the time. Liesl had taken on the role in his absence. He regretted how distant he had been with his own children when they had needed him the most.

"I'm afraid I haven't been a very good father. After Agathe died, I just couldn't…" The words trailed off, his voice filled with guilt and regret.

Maria looked at him, surprise and something else in her eyes; he thought it might be compassion. The warmth in her eyes was almost palpable.

"You did the best you could, Captain. The children know that you love them, and they love you. They don't blame you for anything; they only want you to be with them."

She was a wonder to him, always ready to console another person, always ready to see the best in everyone – even him, despite the fact that he had just made her feel so uncomfortable yet again.

"What did you say to Marta to calm her down enough to fall back asleep?" he asked, wanting to know more about what had happened, but wanting also to continue the conversation. He needed to find a way to talk to her without all of the tension getting in the way.

Maria thought for a moment, apparently searching for the right words.

"Marta's dream made her feel lost, abandoned. I told her that we all lose people we love, people who can never be replaced." A shadow of pain crossed her brow. She paused, then continued. "I told her that God never abandons us. I told her that, even when I leave, I will always find a way to remain a part of her life, even if it can only be through letters. And I told her that there are always people in our lives to love, who love us. All we have to do is open our eyes and our hearts."

She looked down as she finished speaking. He was almost grateful that she did so; her words had stunned him. 'There are always people in our lives to love…all we have to do is open our eyes and our hearts.' The words reverberated in his mind, demanding attention. He fought them back, pushed them away. It was too much to think about right now, especially with her standing in front of him. Not to mention the thought of her leaving…he pushed that thought away as well.

"You must be tired, Fraulein. I'll walk you to your room." The formality in his tone seemed to catch Maria by surprise, but formality was his only defense these days. She glanced at him quickly before turning toward the direction of her bedroom, not saying a word.

As she took her first steps, he noticed that she was barefoot. She must have rushed from her room, not stopping to put on slippers or a robe, wanting to go to Marta as quickly as she could.

He had not seen a woman's bare feet since Agathe. In his mind, bare feet belonged in more intimate settings. He should probably not be looking at Maria's feet now; it was too personal. He forced himself to look away, but not before noticing that her feet looked as soft as the rest of her.

They arrived at Maria's bedroom and he reached out to open the door wider for her. She must not have expected the gesture, perhaps not being used to the common courtesies of a gentleman, because she reached out at the same time, her hand falling on his arm, the movement bringing her closer to him than she had ever been before.

The sudden unexpected touch, the intoxicating scent of her hair, the warmth of her closeness sent a sudden, almost uncontrollable wave of passion through him. He reacted without thinking. He took her hand in his before she'd had time to move. He paused, knowing he should let her go. When she did not pull away, his heart started pounding in his chest, his blood racing through his veins.

He told himself that it was just her hand, that it was nothing inappropriate. But in his heart he knew it was more. The feel of skin on skin for the first time when night after night he dreamed of so much more…he could scarcely believe that he was finally touching her. He had to remind himself to hold back; he could not lose his head. But his fingers were already moving.

He traced the lines in her palm with his thumb, his touch light, just skimming the surface. Her skin was so soft, softer even than he had imagined. He saw Maria's eyes flutter shut, heard the hitch in her breathing. The reality of her responding to his touch, the realization that she wanted it as much as he did...

He let his fingers travel across hers, exploring them to the fingertips, still keeping his touch light as a feather, almost tickling her skin. Neither one of them spoke; the only sound was their breathing, growing heavier and more ragged by the second. He slowly, softly slid his fingers to her wrist, feeling her pulse accelerate as he caressed her. He felt a tremor move through her body. It made him want more.

His eyes drank in the beauty of her face, so close to his. Not letting go of her wrist, he brought his other hand to her chin and trailed his fingers along her jaw before returning to her chin and lifting her delicately flushed face toward him. She looked at him then, and his eyes darkened when he saw the longing in hers.

Only a few inches separated him from the luscious lips he saw and felt every time he closed his eyes. He licked his lips, his mouth hungry and eager for hers. She saw the movement and shuddered, her eyes starting to close again.

The slam of a door downstairs made them jump. It must be closer to morning than he had realized; one of the servants must already be up, beginning the early preparations for breakfast. Georg felt like he was being pulled out from deep water; he felt disoriented.

In that same moment, Maria twisted free from him and stepped back into the bedroom doorway. Her eyes were wide, almost wild, with traces of passion remaining in them, her breathing still ragged. She stared at him for one long electrifying moment before she took another step back and closed the door.

Georg stared at the closed door for a time; he could not have said how long. He felt as though everything in the world he wanted to hold had been wrenched from his hands. He wanted to tear down the door, follow her inside the bedroom. But of course, he could not do that. He would not do that.

Instead, he stepped up to the door and rested his forehead against it, closing his eyes. He reached out a hand, the same hand that had caressed hers, and slid his fingers down the door, his touch as soft as when it had lingered on her skin. Then he curled his hand into a fist.

This had to stop.

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