Well, a story is once again getting away from me, characters acting out their own will rather than following my original outline. I have come to expect this out of Stranger's Mary and CB, but canon Mary and Blake seem to be just as stubborn. Who knows where this will go now? I suppose they do...I'm just along for the ride.
Own nothing. Hugs and chocolates to Cls2011, Miscreant rose and Silvestria for their edits and ideas. And thanks to those of you sending lovely notes and reviews my way!
Bon appetit!
Act III: Strong Brew
She had fled up the steps with as much pride as could be mustered, acting as if her presence in the kitchen at 4:00 am was something to be expected.
Dirty. Hair unbound. And with a man who looked as equally disheveled as she.
If the fact of their late arrival wasn't enough fodder for gossip, their escapades downstairs most certainly would be. Of course, she wasn't actually sure if anything that had transpired between them had been observed by Ivy.
And just what had actually transpired? Nothing of which to be ashamed. A kiss? A touch?
Several of both, actually. In places that would be deemed highly inappropriate.
In places that were still tingling.
Her hand slid behind her, fingers unfurling in an unspoken summons. She needed to know, wondering if he regretted what they had done. Wondering if he wanted to do more.
Uncertain of her own thoughts and feelings that were pressing her from the inside out.
His palm encompassed hers, warmth moving up her arms into her cheeks as they padded quietly through the great hall. Feet followed each other up the stairs, and she led them to the top where they stopped abruptly.
They stared hard in the silence, hands still connected.
"So this is where we part ways," he finally stated, eyes casting themselves to the point where they remained joined.
"I suppose so."
He looked up at her rather quickly. Had her inflection actually bore a question?
"And what will you do without your lady's maid to assist you?"
Her brow twitched.
"I can actually undress myself, Mr. Blake," she tossed back coyly. "And I seem to remember that you did promise not to underestimate my abilities."
He grinned.
"Believe me. I don't underestimate your abilities in the slightest."
Her pulse shot out of her wrist, her tongue uncomfortably thick.
"So we're back to Mr. Blake now, are we?"
His gaze was direct, yet soft. She swallowed deeply.
"I suppose it would be better when we're among the others."
He dared a stroke across her knuckles.
"And when we're alone?"
His question was barely a whisper, a summons of his own, cajoling a soft stroke from unsteady fingers down the side of his face that nearly undid him.
"Charles, then," she breathed. "When we're alone."
When had being alone with him become a desirable situation?
"Well, then," he stumbled, his eyes heavy with something she wanted to know better. "Goodnight, Mary."
The words nearly stuck in his throat.
"Goodnight, Charles."
He finally released her hand, daring a soft kiss upon knuckles he had just touched. They then parted ways.
She yawned heavily, indulging in a stretch even though she was wide awake. A sudden yearning to be out of her dress and clean quite overpowered her need for sleep. Besides, she was far too alert to rest. Neither her mind nor her nerve endings had yet recovered from his fingers, his mouth...from him.
And she was certain this was something water could not wash away.
Still, the cloth on her skin felt luxuriant as filth from the night parted ways from her body. She washed her hair quickly, not caring if she went to bed with it damp. She bundled herself in her robe, finding her way to her bed when she saw it, lying there innocently at the foot of her bed.
His coat. She had forgotten to give him his coat.
It would never do for it to be found here in her room, yet it's smell would not allow her to keep it hidden. Anna would never give her away, but there was already too much circumstantial evidence on hand to convict them. His coat in her bedroom would be a smoking gun.
Very well, it had to be returned, and with as much haste as possible.
She fought down the voice in her head accusing her of searching for any justification she could summon to see him again, sliding out of her room and moving with stealth down darkened halls until she stood before his door.
If she knocked at this hour, she just might be heard. So she did the unthinkable.
She twisted the knob and silently pushed the door open.
Perhaps that had not been the best of ideas.
The eyes that met hers when she stepped inside were obviously shocked, but they weren't what commanded her attention. For he stood but an arm's length from her, clad in a towel cinched around his waist. And not a stich more.
She knew she was gaping, understood she should simply drop the jacket and return to her bedroom without a word. But she somehow closed the door behind her instead.
And then she couldn't move
Water still clung to his chest, beads of it dripping from his hair to his shoulders in a mesmerizing cascade. She managed to remember herself and drop her eyes, but not before she noticed him returning her stare. She was not exactly well-covered in her sheer nightgown and hastily donned robe. An arm crossed about her chest instinctively, her robe still damp against freshly washed skin.
Neither could find anything to say.
"Your coat," she finally managed, holding out the garment to him in way of an explanation. "I forgot to return your coat."
How odd that she couldn't meet his eyes when she spoke.
"Oh," he returned, taking the garment and laying it down, somehow standing even closer to her now than he had been before. "Thank you."
It would be all too easy to touch him. All too easy. She curled up her fingers tightly against her body.
"Is there anything else I can do for you, Mary?"
She was standing so very, very close. His hand itched to caress wet hair dangling freely.
"No, Charles. I cannot think of a thing."
Her heart thudded against her lungs, his smile bearing a tenderness that shook her. Why could she think of nothing else to say?
"Goodnight, then."
His neck over-heated, needing her to either leave or step forward. He refused to take advantage, but she was just there-in a robe and little else. He wasn't certain how much more of this he could endure.
"Goodnight, then."
Her legs shook, uncertain of which direction to turn.
He adjusted the towel discreetly, attempting to conceal his dilemma.
And bound gazes remained locked, bodies immobile as the clock continued to tick.
