Chapter 15

John suspected Anna would retaliate for the glove incident. It was only fair. He spent his nights by his window over his book wondering what she might do, how she might do it. John knew it wasn't fair to either of them to get Anna stirred up like that with no promise of resolution, but John was experimenting with being happy. It had been worth it just to hear her quick intake of breath, to see how her chest raised slightly, how her eyelids lowered. After John abandoned reading and lay on his bed, he would shut his eyes and remember the feel of her skin, how warm and how soft it had been against his rough thick finger. He remembered the way she responded, and wondered what it might be like, have been like, if they hadn't been in public, hadn't had so many layers, so many constraints.

Sometimes it was torture. It could never be. On these evenings, John felt almost worse than he did before the night on the steps of the temple. Other nights he remembered to be happy for what he had and to make the most of it. Having before only really experienced the physical manifestation of love, the intensity of the desire that came with shared love surprised him. He realized his marriage to Vera in many ways left him feeling the way he felt in the face of religion: something was missing. With Anna he had what he was missing. Was this was it meant to be in love with?

The night of the winter solstice was appropriately crisp. Snow had not fallen, but it was imminent. The sky had that bright grey look, and the air smelled of it. John loved the cool crispness on the air. He felt awake, alive.

John was waiting for Anna in the courtyard. They had not had any more after-hours meetings at the temple. John didn't want the temptation. If they were always fully clothed, Anna's body pinned and restrained by metal and bone and layers of cloth, if they were reasonably near the house, he was safe. It wasn't that John didn't trust himself to be a gentleman. He did. He just didn't need the frustration.

John was looking at the stars as Anna approached. She had a sweater and her shawl over her black dress. John didn't like her in black. It made her look sallow. Anna looked best in white and blue. At least she'd removed that maddening ruffle from her head. The whole evening black and white ensemble made her look small and sickly. She didn't walk so much as float. Did he detect a gleam in her eyes?

"Fancy a stroll, Mr. Bates?" A lilt to her voice?

"I'd never refuse a lady who has an unfathomable fondness for my company. Where to?"

Anna rolled her eyes and smiled. They walked slowly side by side, hands brushing, out of the courtyard and around a corner into a garden where the arched hedges were frosty. Anna led John to a bench near a path.

They sat in silence. Anna shivered and drew close, taking John's left hand and preventing him from wrapping his arms about her.

Anna slowly ran her fingers over his, lightly and briefly allowing them to intertwine before lifting his hand to her lips.

"Mr. Bates, I've been thinking."

She caressed his index finger with her lips. John sat up a little taller. How was it that everything about her was so soft and so warm?

"Oh? Dangerous habit, thinking." John inhaled as her teeth grazed his fingertip, her tongue lightly bouncing off the end as Anna moved to his next finger.

"It certainly can be." Their eyes met. John closed his eyes as he felt his middle finger disappear into her mouth. Anna flicked her tongue along the underside before slowly releasing it.

"May I…ask…what you were thinking?"

Anna twirled her tongue along John's third finger before responding.

"I was thinking two things, actually. The first was that if this is all we're likely to ever have, we should really make the most of it."

John exhaled. He was finding focusing rather a challenge.

"That's an intriguing concept, and very hard to argue with."

Anna made a small noise in agreement, as her mouth was engaged with John's pinky. It fit perfectly with plenty of room for her tongue to roam all over it. John swallowed hard. He was glad he wouldn't need to walk anywhere for a bit.

"What else were you thinking?"

"I was thinking that turn about's fair play." She raised her eyebrows and grinned wickedly as John's thumb was slowly engulfed by her warm mouth. She bit slightly before slowly releasing it, and John stifled a groan.

Where had she learned this? How did she know? How much did she know? Had she ever? Would she? Could he dream of suggesting? How curious had she and that farm hand been?

"I can't say I'd argue with that either." John pulled her onto his lap. The force of Anna's kiss sent him backwards nearly in the frozen hedge. John righted them and settled her more solidly across his knees, one hand firmly at her waist, between the sweater and her dress, the other on the ankle that was threatening to pass her leg and join them on the bench. Anna's hands were everywhere at once.

As John felt her breasts press into his chest, it occurred to him that he might undo a button or two. Or three. No, it was too cold for that. But the warmth they were creating and his mouth would prevent the soft tender skin from getting frostbite. If he slid his hand up a few inches he could feel the back of her knee. A few more and he might find the top of her stocking. He wondered if it was held in place by a button or a tie or one of those garter belt contraptions, and if he could find and release it sight unseen. No, he should not fumble with Anna's underthings. Yes, he should. He needed to feel something other than cloth and wool. Warmth and flesh. Her tongue was making the skin along his jaw sticky. His teeth were running along her ear. He needed to….

Stop. He heard a cough followed by steps crossing the crisp ground. A human sound, not the sound of a night creature. John would not be found fumbling with Anna in the gardens, with his hands up her dress. Not being found in that position was how they still had jobs. They were trusted responsible adults. Responsible trusted adults.

Anna had heard it too, slid off John's lap, smoothed her dress, and sat next to him, close but not touching, though she made no effort to restore her hair, and their red, swollen lips betrayed their activities to Mr. Branson. Mr. Branson didn't seem too surprised to see them, as he looked from one to the other. He made a comment about the pleasant night, and raised an eyebrow, saying he hoped he wasn't interrupting anything, and bid them goodnight without waiting for an answer.

John and Anna collapsed against each other in relieved laughter. Mr. Branson knew, but he was perfectly safe. John wasn't so much concerned with getting caught, he was concerned with what it would mean for Anna if they got caught. He knew he wouldn't be lectured like an out of control adolescent groping a maid behind the barn, but then, he shouldn't behave like one. John felt darkness descend. The magical mood was broken.

"Anna, why did you run away that night last spring? The night I first wanted to kiss you?"

Anna looked at the ground, and pressed against John. He wrapped her shawl around her and drew her under his arm.

"I smelled a cigarette right before the crash. It was Thomas or Miss O'Brien. I didn't want our first kiss to be like that, stolen in the yard with one of them prowling about looking for reasons to speak ill of you."

"Thank you." John grinned. "But what if we do get caught? Everyone knows, but no one cares because they have no evidence. What if it hadn't been Mr. Branson? I will not sneak around or hide my love for you, nor will I compromise your reputation and employment."

Anna sighed. "What was that you said about thinking being dangerous? Sometimes, Mr. Bates, I think you think too much." Anna stood up, grinned, and led John back to the house.