Spoilers: 2.7, 4.4, 4.5
Warnings: Season 4 Anna/Bates canon fic, thus occasional disturbing references. Also graphic consensual sexual situations.
Summary: When the thing we want the most becomes a curse.
A/N: I know this is a rough ride for some Anna fans. But there's also no shame in skimming to the smut. Not that I've ever done that in a fic. *shifting eyes*
Other women yearned to be called pretty or told they had a fine figure. The most wonderful thing a man had ever said to Anna was that she was brave. First her father had told her when she was still just a tiny thing, "You've got the courage of the Vikings in you, my girl." That was her proudest day until a former warrior, a man so large and powerful as to block the sun when they walked together, said that her courage was his true crutch. Then her soul was rendered complete.
That had all been taken from her with the speed of blows on her skull, torn away like her clothing. She was a trembling coward now. Like how she waited until all the servants were together at supper to tell John she was leaving him.
"If I'm to take care of Lady Grantham as well as Lady Mary, I'll have to move back into the Abbey," she announced loud enough for others to hear. The table instantly fell silent. All eyes were on John. Any other time, her statement would have gone unnoticed. But Mrs Hughes wasn't the only one noting Anna's distant manner and her husband's constantly tormented expression.
He carefully swallowed the bite which he'd been chewing. "Is that necessary?" he asked, his tone mild. "You shouldn't overwork yourself while you're still recovering."
She twitched. He had no way of knowing those were the wrong words. "That's why I'm doing it. I won't have that walk and can rest during the day." She took a sip of tea.
"I'm sure we'll be getting a new maid for her ladyship very soon," said Thomas from across the table, smirking. "I've recommended someone I know from London."
"She'll be a peach then," snapped Mrs. Hughes. "She'll also, of course, be on the approval of myself, Mr. Carson and her ladyship."
"Of course, Mrs. Hughes," replied Thomas, but he was still watching Anna and Bates.
Anna dropped her gaze to her lap where her pale fingers twisted together in her lap. She had no appetite and meals were agony as she pushed the food around, cutting it into smaller and smaller pieces in the hope it would look as though less was on her plate. When she were to feel the least bit nauseous, the terror of pregnancy overwhelmed her. How many years she'd wished for that feeling, only to now see every twist of her gut as a sign of her destruction.
Out of the corner of her eye, she watched John's hands curl in tight fists on his napkin. Ever before, he'd ease a finger over to stroke her thigh, perhaps find her bare wrist under the table, a signal that would have her blood thumping and a flush on her cheeks, knowing what awaited them at home—No, his cottage. No longer her home.
She rose. "So that's that." She could feel his gaze on her stiff shoulders as she left the servants' hall. He did not follow.
"Everything's in the auto, Mrs. Hughes," said Anna, putting her head into the housekeeper's sitting room. "Lady Mary wanted to say goodbye to Master George before we left for the station." She checked the clock and relaxed when she saw they had plenty of time.
Mrs. Hughes was at her desk. "In that case, do come in, Anna," she urged.. "And close the door," she added, ignoring the tension in the younger woman's shoulders. She hoped to give Anna some fruit for thought for while the younger woman was in London even though her first foray on the subject had been met with obstinate resistance.
"Have some tea," she suggested, starting to pour out cups.
"I'm fine." Anna glanced at the clock again and remained standing. "I can't make her ladyship late."
"You won't. They'll come for you when Lady Mary is ready." Mrs Hughes looked at her shrewdly. "Besides, if you're in the corridor, Mr. Bates will want to have a parting and you want to avoid that, right?"
That tight set to Anna's jaw returned.
Mrs. Hughes wasn't going to give an inch either. "Hearing it aloud make it sound even more foolish?"
"Don't-" Anna shook her head violently. "I just have to get away. Last night was awful-" She clutched her hands tightly to keep them from shaking. She'd spent the previous night curled in John's chair after driving him to their bed alone with harsh words.
"You cannot simply avoid your own husband-"
"He'll know if he even stands close to me-I can't get the smell off me-" Anna began to wring her hands in a manner that Mrs. Hughes found deeply disturbing.
"Mr. Bates mustn't see me unclothed. I can't hide from him for the weeks it'll take for these marks to heal. If he sees them-" she said tonelessly. "No stumble on the flagstones would have done that- "
Mrs. Hughes flushed. "Anna, I beg of you, you must go to the doctor. He could tell the police the extent of your injuries-"
"And what? Only to have everything twisted and made more vile?" Anna spat out. "Have some lawyer say that I asked for this? Wanted it?"
"How could anyone look at your face...Your body...and say you wanted this?" insisted Mrs. Hughes. "I'll tell them how I found you here-"
Anna's deep eyes blazed like blue flames. "As you testified at Mr. Bates' first trial?"
The housekeeper flinched.
"What will you say when asked how I was towards that...beast? Will you admit that I laughed at his jokes? That I gave him coy smiles? That I asked him to show us the card game and played it with gusto? Dare you say, passion?"
"But Anna-"
After her day trapped in silence, Anna couldn't stop the words from flooding out: "No woman is above this sort of defamation. I've known Lady Mary since we were girls. Do I believe for one moment that she would invite some foreign man into her bedroom, a man she's known for one day, and toss away her virtue for a night with him? And yet everyone from London to our own downstairs has called her slut. If Mr. Crawley hadn't married her, she would still be under the infamy. So what chance does her maid have?"
"But that was different." Mrs. Hughes was truly distressed. "She's always said—"
"She put on a brave face. Which is worse? To be a silly fool who led on a man and got what she deserved or to be a whore? It's the same to the world," Anna insisted.
"Do not paint yourself, or Lady Mary, with such a dark brush!" demanded Mrs. Hughes, rising with her spine rigid.
Anna went on unheeded. "Mr. Bates spent years under the shame of marriage to a slut. Everyone pointed and laughed at this cripple cuckolded by his wife. I will not do that to him again."
"He would never see you as that—"
"No." Anna took a deep breath. "We believed that we live in our own precious bubble…but we can't. The whispers will kill us. Even if I can keep him away from prison, I cannot protect him from the shame."
Helpless, the housekeeper dropped into her chair, her tea now cold and forgotten. "My poor child-"
Clamping her teeth to bite off everything that she'd said, Anna stared at the clock again. Time was moving so slowly since her attack.
As though reading her thoughts, Mrs. Hughes asked, "How long until you know...About a pregnancy?"
"Two weeks." The minute hand jerked forward. "I must go," Anna said, able to leave the room at last.
The Abbey had always felt like a fortress to Anna, a place of safety and comfort. Now it was where this thing had happened, and yet it was where she sought refuge. For the cottage was a much more terrifying place. There, she might cry and if she cried, she would be lost. She must hold herself as solid as this great house's fortifications.
In the familiar surroundings of the basement warren, she moved with studied steps, keeping that hard veneer intact, even if it was as delicate as the glossy shellac on Lady Mary's Chinoise jewelry box, prone to scratches at the slightest touch. It was important to keep her mind occupied, or else it would see the same thing over and over again, darkness with only one glaring orb-a face. A terrible, terrible grinning visage.
When she was overcome by this paralysis, she sat alone at the servants' hall table, clutched her hands together and forced herself to focus on another time. On that confident, determined young woman who'd decided that John Bates was for her, had ordered him to get a marriage license and had stood with squared shoulders to marry him. That Anna was as exciting to watch as Lillian Gish dashing across ice floes in Way Down East.
Once, Anna had been a bold lass like a film heroine. Not a wayward girl like Ethel, who foolishly believed that a giving herself to a man would gain her all that she wanted in the world. No, Anna had met a stranger and in the first touch of his hand, knew he was the very best man for her. For the first and only time in her life, she overcame all objections and obstacles to happiness as confidently as Lady Mary's Diamond took the high brush fence. She'd even faced her wedding night with thrilled determination and no maidenish fluttering of her heart. It could make her laugh now if her throat could make that sound again.
There was a rasping gasp, and she realized it was a sort of a laugh. Because perhaps she really had rushed her fence a bit with that wedding night. A full-on leap, and only once she was in the air, she'd no idea wheresoever she would land.
Now she couldn't trust herself to even put one foot in front of the other without stumbling. She had behaved as she always did, forward and friendly with a new face in the servants' hall, ignoring her husband's reticent manner when she wanted to have a few minutes of fun. But her judgment had been terribly wrong and she'd paid a horrendous price. From that day forward, she couldn't seem to make any decisions. She couldn't even select the right thread to repair Lady Mary's gowns or choose the correct solvent to clean some tar from the toe of her favorite pair of walking shoes.
Blinking hard, she picked up her sewing. Ivory thread. She must use that shade of white. The twisting strands, the fine silk...She would go to another picture show, and fill her thoughts with that girl with the golden hair and the ready laugh. Her hero was tall, dark, and despite his objections, handsome.
They were on the bus back from Ripon and she was still clutching her bouquet in one hand and holding the hand of John-her husband-with the other.
"I suppose we should tell Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes; not bother the family quite yet," he suggested.
"I don't know about that," she said, squeezing his fingers. "Let's just have it be our secret until after the funeral. They have enough to deal with right now, without this shock." A slightly hysterical giggle escaped—terrible of her to be laughing at a time like this but it was impossible to control the quick mental picture of Mr. Carson's face once he heard the news. No one did thunderstruck indignation quick like him. Less humorous would be the disappointment on the housekeeper's, however.
"You're right," John said with a chuckle in his words. "My dear," he added as an afterthought and they grinned at each other.
The 'bus passed the Downton Village sign. "No more of this then," Anna said severely, tugging her hand loose from his.
"Our secret," he whispered in her ear before drawing back.
They barely made it back to the Abbey in time to change their charges for bed and parted in the corridor as the rest of the staff swirled around them. With the house under mourning, the family did not dress for dinner, but ate in the small dining room and retired early. It would have all seemed like yet another daydream to Anna if Lady Mary hadn't immediately asked for the details, and then offered the newlyweds the most precious gift possible for servants; privacy.
Anna had dashed down to the servants hall, sure her expression gave her away to every curious maid and footman that she passed.
John was at the servants hall table, trying to look nonchalant, but his head shot up as soon as she appeared in the doorway and she feared his beaming face would reveal their secret as well.
Thomas was pontificating to O'Brien about how he was taking up the slack for Mr. Carson. They both looked at Anna as though she was mad. How could she possibly signal Mr. Bates? She took the chair beside him, her legs too weak to continue standing.
Mrs. Hughes came bustling in, obviously preoccupied by her thoughts.
"How is Mr. Carson?" Anna quickly asked.
"He's wandering the corridors," interjected Thomas before the housekeeper could answer.
"What?" Mrs. Hughes said, exasperated.
"He was in his pantry giving me guff as I was locking up the silver."
"That man!" Mrs. Hughes spun on her heel and was gone.
Thomas smirked at O'Brien.
"I suppose I should be getting to bed," the lady's maid said, standing. "Coming, Anna?"
Bates shifted so that his leg pressed against hers. She briefly closed her eyes. He was trying to convey his own message-she had to give him very specific directions, but those two-
Then Thomas said the most wonderful thing ever: "Care for a last smoke, Miss O'Brien?"
Anna's shoulders sagged with relief as they left she and John alone.
"Damn," he grumbled. "I'd hoped that we could slip out for a kiss or two-"
She pinned him with an indignant glare. "On my wedding night, Mr. Bates? Nothing but a few kisses in the cold and dark?"
His face went blank as though not sure what was the right answer. She could see that she was going to enjoy being married, if it meant striking him dumb on a frequent basis.
She leaned close. "Lady Mary has arranged for us to have the Lord Byron room at the end of the women's wing. Get there after everyone's in bed," she ordered.
His reply was thick with need. "If I have to crawl there on my hands and knees."
"I'd rather you not," she said smartly.
"What are you two whispering about?" Mrs Patimore asked good-naturedly from the doorway and they shifted their chairs apart guiltily. "Get on to bed. I'm waiting for the last two cakes to come out of the oven and need Daisy to clean up this crockery-"
"I'll do it, Mrs. Patimore," said Anna, leaping up. "Anything to help you all get to bed. We have the funeral tomorrow, after all."
"Thank you," the cook said, surprised. After giving John a significant glance over her shoulder, Anna carried the teacups into the kitchen and began to ruthlessly clean anything which lay between her and paradise.
She'd not dared to dream that she and her new husband could have any sort of honeymoon and now that it was mere minutes away, she was frantic. Her palms were sweating even under the cold water and her limbs shaking. She practically screamed when Mrs. Hughes came up behind her and lay a hand on her shoulder.
"Anna, dear, are you well? You look flushed," the housekeeper said. Anna could hear the concern in her voice. Sickness was still in the village.
Wild-eyed, she looked at Mrs. Hughes. "I do feel a bit under the weather," she said breathlessly. "I should go up." She wiped her wet hands off with a tea towel.
Then Mrs. Hughes said the fateful words: "I'll look in on you in a bit-"
"No!" Anna clung to the doorjamb and tried to calm down. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw John easing down the corridor ahead of her to the staircase.
She started again. "I mean, I just need some sleep, I'm sure. I'll drop right off as soon as my head hits the pillow. Thank you ever so much for thinking of me though," she babbled, backing away.
Her opportunity to bring Mrs. Hughes into her confidence had passed. No one in the house but Lady Mary and Jane knew they were married. It was a precious secret that she was wanted to hold within the silver locket of her heart just for tonight.
At the landing where the two stairs diverted between the two sides of the servants' wing, she looked to the top of the men's stair. John stood at the open door, her Black Knight, his pale cheek caught in a shaft of lamplight. His dark eyes glowed down at her, the desire in his gaze making her sway. Whirling, she dashed up the stairs to the women's corridor. The sooner that she could get into her nightgown and robe, the sooner she could get to the waiting guest room and the sooner...
She didn't know what was next and this excited her nearly to swooning.
As she frantically struggled out of her evening uniform and hung it with shaking hands in her cupboard, she wondered if perhaps she should said something romantic in her command. Or even thrown in a naughty suggestion. When she replayed it, she'd sounded nagging, as if she were reminding him to empty the chamber pots in the morning.
She washed up, taking care with her most intimate areas. Tonight, someone would be seeing them, touching them, breathing on her skin...She gripped the edge of the water basin's stand to keep from falling. Perhaps she should have talked to Jane, learned some more specific details of what she was to expect beyond the salacious tidbits dropped by the likes of Ethel and other housemaids who'd shared their wanton adventures.
She understood the mechanics...She thought. But she somehow had to connect the feelings she experienced when Mr. Bates—no, John—touched her. For years now, they'd tortured themselves with kisses and caresses, too infrequent and rushed, always with one ear turned for the sounds of approaching footfall, Thomas' scornful voice, perhaps Mrs. Hughes' disapproving tone. But she knew this much; his big hand smoothing along her back, pressing her hip into the cradle of his thick thighs as they nestled together, all while his mouth eased hers open for his tongue's caress, promised just a beginning. This undefined desire would take some shape tonight.
Moving from shadow to shadow along the upper gallery, her ears pricked like a house mouse, she made her way to the guest room that Mary had set aside. When she slipped around the door, the room stood empty, but the candles still flickered and the fire burned cheerfully. Unsure, she perched on the edge of the bed, twisting her robe's cord in her twitching fingers.
There was a knock and she hurried to the door. When she cracked it, his well-known and yet suddenly unknown face was there. Her husband, come to lie with her. Clinging to the door, she could barely hold it open for him.
"Hello," he whispered and she was lost. Snaking her arm around his neck, she pulled his face down to hers, even before she brought him into the room.
He walked her backward as they kissed, desperate and heated. Fumbling, he closed the door. Yes, they must have privacy. She was yanking at his robe and nightshirt, her years of experience on undressing others gone with her frantic mood.
"Love," he cajoled, holding her hands away and she realized that he was much stronger than her. His large fingers spanned her fine wrists and as he loomed over her, his bulk blocked light.
"We should talk about this," he said sternly.
Tipping her head like an inquisitive bird, she gazed up at him. "Talk? About what?" Wrestling loose, she tugged at his robe's cord and he covered the knot to keep it from coming loose.
"I don't want you to think that you must do anything that you're not ready for," he explained, "if this were a true honeymoon, we would go away and I would have days to…" He blushed; he actually blushed. With a gulp, he stumbled on. "To introduce you to the ways of—" Waving his hand aimlessly toward the bed, his words petered out.
Her eyes narrowed. "We don't have days. We have tonight."
Taking a deep breath, he raised his chin, resolute. "Exactly—"
Before he could continue to embarrass himself, she stepped closer, forcing him to take her in his arms. "So we'll just have to muddle along, shall we? I'm a quick learner; just ask Mrs. Hughes," she said.
"I'd rather not," he said, strangled sounding.
"Take my word for it then." She wrapped her arms around his waist and holding him much tighter than he was holding her.
He cupped her cheek, tears glistening on his dark eyelashes. "I don't want to hurt you," he murmured.
Now she was getting angry. Didn't he believe that she was brave enough to handle whatever was coming her way? But something told her that scolding or berating him wouldn't be the right course at this time. As much as she loathed to use feminine wiles…She forced a few tears into her own eyes, let them be from frustration, and made the words catch in her throat: "You…You don't want me?"
As she was lifted off the ground in his strong arms, his mouth onto herself again, she allowed herself a moment of satisfaction; that was easier than she expected.
And then he gasped against her lips: "I need to slow down-"
"Why?" Even she could hear the whine in her voice.
He blinked at her and she smiled at the sight of his brain trying to find an answer.
Bringing her hand to his mouth to kiss the knuckles, he asked: "How much...It doesn't matter to me, my love, but I don't want to frighten you-"
She was not frightened; she was suddenly indignant.
"You, only you. Surely you can tell."
He focused on their twined hands even as she tried to tug her fingers free. "I'm not accustomed to this sort of eagerness," he said quietly. "At least not in many years."
"You," she repeated. She was back in his arms, drawing his mouth back down to hers, giving his lips and tongue the familiar caresses that he had taught her. When they finally gasped for air, she told him, "I know you will keep me safe-never hurt me."
He cradled her face as he kissed her. She loved when he did this, his huge hands could nearly envelop her entire head, and the sense of possession by this man made her feel light as a soap bubble and nearly as fragile. Her breath caught and her vision shimmered behind her fluttering eyelids. But it was he who fell to the bed first, catching himself to sit on the edge and gaze up at her.
This was good; they were on the same level and it made his tall form easier for her to manage. "Let's have a look then," she said briskly, tugging at his robe and nightshirt. Giving her a slow grin, he shed the robe, then after a moment of hesitation, pulled the shirt off, but bunched it in his lap.
Frustration was quickly replaced by curiosity. She laid her hands on his chest, threading through the thick hair revealed. "Oh my," she said, not quite sure what she thought of this. It was so different from her own smooth body and certainly unexpected. He was always so neat and tidy without a hair on his head out of place, and this gave him a wild element—and it made her weak in the knees.
He chuckled, uncertain. "Not scaring you?"
She raised her chin. "No."
His smile was back, twitching on his lips. His hands were loosely resting on her hips. He plucked at her own night clothes with just his fingertips; an unspoken request.
Suddenly shy and inquisitive at the same second, she dropped to her knees. "May I see first?" she asked breathlessly, stalling.
He clutched at his nightshirt on his lap like a schoolgirl. "What?" he husked.
"Your leg," she said and his laugh was ragged and relieved.
He stroked her bowed head, working free the ribbon at the bottom of her braid so that her hair came loose. "Silly girl," he said affectionately.
All the while, she traced the scars along his knee and thigh. Dark hair covered his leg as well and the sudden image of how that would feel, entwined with her own smooth limbs, washed over her. All the different emotions—compassion, desire, uncertainty, frustration—made her head swim. She propped her cheek on his good leg and continued to caress his knee, feeling the looseness of the joint, the tightness of the tendons holding it askew. "My dear, strong man," she murmured.
He was breathing as though running miles. "Anna...Please…"
She gazed up at him, surprised at the anguish in his voice. His eyes were darker than she'd never seen them. She wasn't sure what she was doing wrong, but she knew it was something. Scrambling to her feet, she stepped back, her hands clasped at her waist. He released a deep breath.
Then she remembered that he'd wanted her to undress. Quickly, she removed her robe and then slipped her nightgown over her head before she lost her nerve. She dared to look at him because it was too embarrassing to look at her own nakedness—just as God had deemed. John was staring, his mouth slightly ajar, his hands bunching the gown still in his lap. She wasn't sure if this was good or not.
"Mr—John…"
Without a word, he opened his legs to make space and gathered her to him. Grateful, she sagged against him, running her hands down his broad back, as smooth as his chest was rough. His lips traversed her neck under the curtain of her hair and she found herself gasping at the sensation. He'd kissed her there before, but perhaps it was everything together which made it more intense—the brush of his hair on her bare breasts, the press his naked thighs against her own quaking legs, and most of all, his wide hands stroking down her back to find her chilled hips and bottom, warming them instantly with his touch.
Then his fingers captured one of her breasts and the uncertainty returned as new sensations flooded her senses. Nestling her head in the crook of his neck, she watched as he palmed the weight and his thumb circled her nipple.
"You are simply the most beautiful creature on earth," he whispered and she couldn't stop the snort of laughter.
"Silly beggar," she murmured back—after all, she was nothing more than a Yorkshire country girl.
As if to counter her derision, his head dipped and his mouth replaced his hand. This feeling was even more overwhelming. She didn't know what she thought—after all, this is what babies did. But the pull of his lips seemed to be thrumming every nerve in her body and starting a pulse between her legs, which made no sense at all. Once again, she wished that she'd spoken to some more experienced woman.
"I want to give you all the pleasure that I can tonight—"
"Of course you will," she insisted.
He only smiled sadly and she knew that she still had a battle ahead.
"What's next?" she asked, trying to regain control of her overwhelmed senses. "We should lie down?" she suggested without giving him a chance to answer.
"That would be nice," he said, awkward. He scooted back on the bed, leaving space for her.
She started to flip back the cover, but noticed he was still on top. Crawling onto the bed, she managed to grab his nightshirt off his hips before he could snatch it back. Tossing it over her shoulder, she finally got a good look at what lay ahead for her.
"Oh," she said. That certainly didn't look like anything she'd seen on the few statutes that did not wear fig leaves! She wasn't sure what that said about the ancient Greeks or about her Gaelic husband.
He fell back on the pillows, covering his embarrassment with a laugh. "Oh?" he challenged her.
"It's just unexpected, that's all," she said stiffly, lying beside him and tucking her hand under her head. She couldn't stop glancing down. "May I touch you?"
"You don't have to ask."
"I think I should. You ask before touching me." She dared him to say something about her lack of experience.
His was the smile of a shy boy, but his eyes twinkled like a rogue. "Touch away." He lolled back, arms outstretched.
She snuggled up to him, still feeling uncomfortable at their naked state. This bedroom was lovely, but hardly the Garden of Eden and its blessed ignorance. He put his arm around her shoulders, but only traced a light line up and down her arm, waiting for her to make the next move.
Tentatively, she lay her palm on the rise of his belly. The dark pelt thinned there, but laid a trail downward to a thicker tangle of hair and this utterly fascinating appendage. It appeared to be taking on a life of its own and a thousand questions leapt to her mind, none of which seemed appropriate for a maiden bride to ask.
His breathing hitched when she finally found the courage to run a fingertip along its length.
He gasped: "I will wait as long as you need—"
"I need to be your wife, in every way." Her palm stroked up the underside and she smiled with delight at his reaction—writhing and clutching at the bedding, his mouth latching onto her shoulder and his hand finding her breast again.
"I need to say that I am truly your wife if questioned," she reminded him, bringing the horrible uncertainty looming over them into this enclave. That wasn't romantic at all; sometimes she just couldn't help her practical nature. She hated to be manipulative, but it appeared that John's resistance was strong. She made her lower lip tremble. "You speak of pain. It hurts me that you don't want me enough…"
He was on her so quickly she gave a squeak before his mouth covered hers, muffling her cries. Hands gripped her body, leaving a trail of gooseflesh, then to have her skin catch fire. His seeking lips on her breasts again, and his fingers slid between her legs. At first she was afraid that she'd done something embarrassing when she could hear the wet sounds to his caresses, but his groan was of pleasure.
She gasped out in surprise when one finger slid inside her. John stilled, his lips lingering her throat's pulse. Turning his head, he rasped in her ear, "Breathe out."
Yes, she must breathe. Exhaling until her head went light, she nodded. His hand began to move again, gentle but persistent.
"Breathe in," he murmured, his lips taking a meandering path from her sensitive collarbone to her belly. She saw that he was training her body for the final completion, just as he taught her to kiss and enjoy his caresses. Gripping his arm, she ran her own shaking hands up and down it, encouraging him, joining into the rhythm.
"Just like that," he said, his tone clipped with control before he added a second finger. Again the gasp, again she couldn't stop the reflective clamping down, but this time, she found her own breathing pattern, deep from her lungs, rising into his lapping tongue on her nipples. Flinging her leg over his hip, she pulled their bodies flush, finding her body moving instinctively, following the need to push her body into his.
His own breath caught. For what seemed like the hundredth time, he repeated, "I don't want to hurt you."
Her furious gaze was her only reply and at least he had the grace to laugh. "Yes, my love, I will obey," he whispered against her set mouth.
Withdrawing his touch, he lifted her leg higher to tuck behind his flank. His pelvis flexed slowly forward and then she understood his concern in a searing moment. Tears sprung to her eyes and she fought to find her breathing again. But she still clung to his shoulders, daring him to try and retreat.
Instead, he kissed her gently, prodding her lips with his tongue. Yes, kissing she knew. She opened her mouth, welcoming that familiar invasion, trying to ignore the burn. She was filled to the point that blood rushed in her ears. There was a moment of panic as it all felt too much, then she breathed out again and spread her legs wider. She was still not comfortable, but she was rearranging her thoughts—this was marriage—making room in her heart and body. Now the two much fit together as one.
In time with his tongue caressing hers, he began to move his hips again, supporting her leg with his wide hand. That seemed to make the pain lessen and she gave a gasp of encouragement. His palm cradled her bottom, rocking her with his movement—she was reminded just how large he was in comparison to her. She was the kitten, trying to surmount a bear. This thought made her giggle and that gave levity to the situation, for he buried his face in the crook of her neck and gasped, "Yes, this is all rather silly isn't it?"
"Not in the least," she pronounced, splaying her hand across his broad back, pushing him on. He pulsed into her, controlled and gentle and her outrage was back. He thought she was fragile and weak—
Rolling onto her back, she pulled him over and he rose above her on shaking arms.
Stroking his hair off his sweaty brow, she urged him, "Show me, John. Show me—" She didn't even know what she was asking of him, but the relief on his face meant she'd said the right thing.
His gaze locked with hers, his thrusts became deeper and she willed her expression not to show her pain. But then she was captivated in the beauty of his face, how his eyes lit to caramel flames, his mouth quivering with nonsensical words. This blissful expression-no one would ever see it again but her.
"I can't—" he gasped clearly.
"Don't," she urged him. "Do—" again, with no idea what she was asking of him. It was as though she were fumbling in the dark, her outstretched hands seeking familiar surfaces. His love, this she did know. Reaching up, she traced his straining features. It was there—
"My Anna," he gasped. "Mine—" was the sweetest word that he ever spoke to her. One more series of thrusts, deeper still until she had to bite her lip at the agony. "Love, always…" flowed into her hair as he buried his face beside her, his mass settling on her as his limbs when limp. She cooed comfort in his ear although she could barely breath for his weight.
"Let me," he mumbled. He rolled off and gathered her close. Fumbling for the bedside table, he snagged a small towel that was folded there. She blushed; Jane must have known it would be needed. He carefully wiped between her legs and then his own flesh before putting it aside.
"How are you?" was his first question, of course.
"Happy," she promised him, kissing his cheek as though he were her brother. He chuffed, a dissatisfied sound and she started to giggle at his sudden moodiness.
Then his touch was back. Instead of penetration again though, he rolled his fingers between her legs, causing a renewed flood of moisture. His kisses mimicked the pattern, suckling her lips, the point of her shoulder, her breasts. A new sensation began to course through her bloodstream, making her brow furrow with confusion.
"Have you ever—" he rasped.
"What?" she asked even as she clutched at the bedding, her hips rising to his touch.
"I think you can," he said with wonder before plundering her mouth again. Her blood pounding in her head, her limbs, at the center of his touch, she felt swollen to the point of bursting. She had to break the kiss to fight for breath. She no longer could control her writhing limbs, only knew that she had to follow where he was leading her.
"So beautiful," he murmured again, tears in his voice. "I want to give you—"
"No...Yes..." She had to be free from the frenzy of this undefined need and yet she wanted it to continue forever. "John!" she pleaded and he turned his knuckles to her flesh, pushing her to some place that she'd never been. With a half-shout that had made her immediately clasp her hand over her mouth, her vision had gone momentarily black then white before there was the sense of falling, back into the soft bed, into his lessening touch, into her own mortal body.
Anna felt nothing now, even as she twisted the fine thread around her fingers until it bit into her flesh. She put down Lady Mary's gown before her sweaty hands stained the delicate pale silk. She would never feel that way again; she knew that now and bile rose in her throat. She must keep this story close then, for it was all she had.
"That's better," John had said with great satisfaction and Anna suspected he would be insufferable now that he knew he had such a power over her, but truly, if he had that key, she wasn't going to deny him anything. Every nerve still tingled; she wanted to feel that again...And again. But at least she could think once more.
Her curiosity was back. "What was that?" she asked.
He chuckled. "That is now my reason for living. To give you pleasure as often as I can." He kissed the corner of her mouth sweetly. "And it will get only better," he promised with that dark smoke voice of his and the blindness returned for a brief moment.
Humming worriedly, she chewed on her lower lip. That feeling had been almost too powerful; she was close to losing control. What would utter loss be like? She shivered. That must be why girls like Ethel threw everything away over a man—
"Of course you're cold. Let's get you under the covers," he said, not noticing her dismay. Struggling with the satin bedding, they finally both got under the sheets, rolling to face each other.
Now they just touched each other lightly, the wonder of this night renewed. They were man and wife. They would share a bed. They had each other's body as their own.
He smiled wickedly. "Well, Mrs Bates. You've had your way with me," he said with grace, giving her credit for a job well done. Good humor back, she could only giggle. Perhaps he hadn't fooled by her earlier manipulations.
His smile faded. "I just hope you don't live to regret it."
"I couldn't regret it, no matter what comes. I know only that I am now who I was meant to be." Indeed, she was a new woman. Not just that she was no longer a virgin, but that this experience had opened a whole other door, to some place that she'd never known was possible within her. John had seen, she supposed. She'd brashly offered to be his mistress, not even really understanding what that meant. Yes, it was this possession, but being his wife did make it mean so much more. He'd known; he'd wanted that woman, not a shameful creature to be mocked in the street.
But it was just for this one night...He kissed her again, his hands slow on her bare back, lightly touching her hair. She knew sleep was near, but still they continued to caress each other before being overcome.
In the dawn, he woke her with kisses along her spine. Movement was painful at first, and then desire—this new, amazing thing—made her limbs loose and twining, wrapping around his neck and waist. His touch was both soothing of her sore muscles, and awoke those new nerve-endings that she'd never realized created such ecstasy. It only took a few strokes of his fingers, sliding deep and purposefully, to ready her.
"My wife," he said with that wonder she was coming to enjoy. "My passionate wife."
When she began to gasp with this newly discovered need, he rolled onto his back, bringing her with him. "My leg can't take the strain," he said, a twinkle in his eyes as he easily lifted her up and onto him. He supported her hips so that she did not seat fully on him quite yet and he could guide her movement. Her hair fell forward as a veil and she swept it back. He gasped at the sight of her rising above him, back arched in the morning light leaking through the curtains.
"You are so beautiful," he said yet again, but this time she smiled. He made her this way.
"And you are so very handsome," she promised him and it was his turn to snort in derision. Above him thusly, she could smooth her hands along his ribs until his breath hitched, circle his own curiously flat nipples, trace his stubbled jaw until his sucked her fingers into his mouth.
"Let me show you—if I'm taken away…" He took her wet fingers and brought their hands together to where their bodies joined. Even as he began to rub her as he had done before, she pulled her hand away.
"No, John, I won't…Not without you—"
"I want to know that you have pleasure—"
"Not without you," she insisted again.
"Silly girl," he said, a catch in his voice. "My joy would be thinking of you like this, my name on your lips—" His delicate touch continued to caress her above his surging hips. "To see your face behind my eyelids, just as you are now—"
"John," she gasped on cue, feeling the shimmer flowing through her limbs again. "John..."
"My love...Our love..." he promised and the morning light broke through curtains, blinding them both in a flash.
Later, when they were finally able to have a proper married life, in the ladies' circle at church, there'd been a very red-faced discussion about the proper manner for marital relations. Anna was shocked to find that the church looked very severely at anything but the husband atop his wife. She somehow felt that Mr. Bates had led her astray, and immediately brought up her concerns when they returned to their cottage for Sunday luncheon.
"We enjoy it; what does it matter?" he pointed out with a shake of his head. "It's not as though you're going to tell Reverend Travis, right?" He raised his eyebrows at her.
"Of course not," she hissed, even though they were alone at their table. "But God can see!"
"He hasn't struck us down with a lightning bolt yet," John said dryly. "Besides, I have a medical dispensation." That intoxicating glint was was back in his gaze and she was certain than that she did not believe him.
Pursing her mouth, she started to protest again.
He dismissed her fretting with an infuriating wave of his hand. "I find no shame in it. If a man needs to rut on a woman like some animal to feel that he's a proper husband, that's his business. I want to give you pleasure—that position gives you greater pleasure, doesn't it?" He cocked his head to meet her downcast eyes.
"You know it does," she grumbled, a bit unfriendly.
He had snared her hand off the table and unfurled her fist to kiss the palm. "That is God's plan. Not domination of a woman."
The fine thread finally snapped in Anna's grasp as she yanked the needle through the gown's hem. Perhaps that had been it. John has his own view of God; what if He had struck them down? She knew that her husband didn't believe in such things, but that left her to safeguard their souls. What if It wasn't not a beast of the devil, but a vengeful angel sent to punish her for her wanton ways? Surely the Lord would not hurt her in such a way—but look how He dealt with other prideful souls…And she had taken such pride in their secret world of love and passion...
She put aside her sewing. She was trying to find order in the disorder of her life, but the answers that she found gave her no relief.
After their one night and her husband on the dock for his life, when her bleeding had started, Anna could barely make it to Mrs. Hughes' sitting room before she broke down sobbing. "If I've ever prayed for anything…Even more than he be spared…If I only I could have had his child. I would be his for the rest of my life." And every monthly time since that had meant a moment of pain to her throat, the tears close.
Today, at the sight of blood against white cotton, Anna's relief was so great that she nearly lost consciousness right in the dim, fetid privy. She could barely walk back to the Abbey, but sought the housekeeper's company again. This time it was she who supported a crying woman.
She would live.
Mrs. Hughes had had the pleasure of Mr. Bates' company in her sitting room only a few times, but they'd been short encounters and mostly connected to their duties. The most intimate discussion had been when she'd taken him to task for that dangerous limp corrector, but in all other times, he'd been all that correct and polite. She and Mr. Carson had been invited to the Bates' cottage on several occasions, both together and separately, and she'd enjoyed these visits greatly. Anna was a delightful hostess, and away from the Abbey, the company could be comfortable and frank. But John Bates had allowed his wife to take the lead with obvious relief, preferring to sit back and watch her bustle around their home, his proud gaze watching her.
This man seated in her room now was quite different. For some reason, she'd never noticed how large he was before; perhaps years with Mr. Carson looming over her head had made her immune. At this moment however, Mr. Bates was a force, barely controlled energy radiating from him, even as his low voice remained smooth and controlled, explaining that he would have his answers, or else. His massive hands remained lax, but she could see the power in the long flexing fingers. Keeping her feet tucked below her skirts, she held her legs still to stop the shaking.
Now she understood why Anna had felt that she must flee her husband and home. Not out of fear of any violence toward her, but that this will was iron-forged and would not bend until he had what he wanted. When he had heard the word attack and she saw the weight settle on his broad shoulders, first he shuddered, then he straightened, taking the burden. But Mrs. Hughes knew Anna too well. The girl would not want to give up her mantle. She'd carried it for too long, whether it was Mr. Bates' resistance to her love, then his imprisonment—she simply did not know how to lift it from her back and let another take the load. Mrs. Hughes remembered why she'd chosen not to marry; she was not one to share either.
He raised his hand to shield his face, as though blocking a flare of light and Mrs. Hughes caught her breath. Relief sufficed her. It seemed that he accepted her assurances that the attacker had not been Mr. Green.
And then of all things, he laughed but it was a frightening, rattling sound.
"What I'd thought it was—Heard you say baby to Anna-"'
Mrs. Hughes winced. This uncomfortable interview just became more painful.
"She wasn't feeling well…Then she'd fainted—" The rusty laugh was back. "Blood all over her dress—"
"I'm so sorry, Mr. Bates," she said helplessly.
"That's why I gave her time, didn't push." He chewed out, "It killed me that she wouldn't tell me what happened, but I know her. She won't accept any failures, you see, and would see such a loss as her failure—"
Mrs. Hughes furrowed her brow, trying to understand.
"When its my failure. Married for years before. No babies. I…I thought this was the last straw. The one thing she wants, and I cannot give it to her." His words came in gasps now. "Toss me out."
All she could do was repeat, "I'm so sorry—"
"Instead, it's this. Stupid. Blind." He pressed his fist to his forehead. "I just could never imagine here—In the Abbey."
"Mr. Bates, all I can ask is that now you give her what she needs desperately. Your understanding and support."
His gaze shot up. "Of course. It was never a question."
She released a relieved breath. "It's sometimes is a question in these situations."
His eyes became black, frightening her. "She is truth itself. No, there was evil at work here." When he rose from his chair, his black bulk blocked the gaslight, plunging Mrs. Hughes' vision into darkness.
Anna thought she would finally cry when John took her in his arms and swore his fidelity. But she could only gasp at the stale air and feel the ache in her parched throat. Apparently no tears could fall; she'd forgotten how.
She hadn't recognize the beast's name when John said it. Easy to deny that it was him, because her attacker was just It to her now. Her secret was safe and so was John Bates.
"Come home, Anna. Please."
She was home already, back in his arms but she still protested: "It's so late. I cannot." She was exhausted.
"Please, Anna," he moaned like the wind's broken notes.
She knew he was afraid that if she didn't follow him now, she would retreat again. "I will come home, tomorrow," she swore. Her shaking hand to her brow. "Now, I must sleep. I haven't been sleeping—"
He captured her fingers and cradled her quivering jaw. "Of course you haven't."
"But I'm so very tired now."
"Tomorrow?"
"Yes, I'll come home tomorrow."
"Come home, my love. Please come home. Everything will be all right if you're there." The ache in his words gave voice to the pain that pressed tears to her eyelids, threatening to finally spill them over.
She knew it wasn't true, nothing would ever be right again, but she was weak. She had to have him. Once, it meant she was strong when she claimed her man. Now that claim meant she couldn't protect him; couldn't save him, but damn her, she had to have him.
~ end Chapter Two