A/N – This chapter is heavily entwined with the events of Opening Pandora's Box and Setting a Good Example in Remembering Paris; you may wish to read/reread those chapters for a refresher.

XXX

While Harold might have been a wiser, better man than he was twelve years ago, he had also gotten a lot worse at hiding things from the woman he loved. The moment he stepped into the kitchen the next morning and Marian looked up from her everlasting dishes to greet him, her welcoming smile quickly dissolved into an expression of tender concern.

"Is everything all right, darling?"

Harold almost crumbled – almost, but not quite. "I didn't sleep well," he admitted. "Tossed and turned, then went down to the music room."

While it wasn't a lie, it certainly wasn't the whole truth, either. Right after he finished speaking, the music professor ran his hand wearily over his forehead so it wouldn't seem too suspicious that he didn't quite meet his wife's affectionate but inquisitive gaze.

Marian came over and wrapped her arms around him. "I wondered where you disappeared to last night," she said wistfully. "I didn't sleep very well, either – I missed you."

A lump came into Harold's throat at that – of all the mornings for his wife to be so uncommonly effusive, why did she have to pick this one? If she had known what was truly weighing on his mind, she would have recoiled from him in disgust. Although he wasn't a religious man, he couldn't help wondering if maybe this was Providence's sly and subtle way of punishing him for his wayward heart – especially as what his wife said next made him feel even worse.

"I considered coming downstairs to surprise you, and at one point I thought I had gotten up to do just that," she laughed. "But I was so fogged with sleep that I merely dreamed I did!"

The music professor swallowed. "Was it a good dream?"

The wistful note crept back into the librarian's voice, and her arms tightened around him. "I dreamed I was coming downstairs, but somehow, I never quite managed to reach the music room." She sighed. "This dream happened over and over again, until my alarm finally went off this morning."

If Marian hadn't let go of him right then to return to her dishes, Harold really would have crumbled – this morning was shaping up to be one of the rare occasions he felt dangerously close to losing his composure. Although his wife had seen him at his most vulnerable and unvarnished more than a few occasions over the course of their marriage, he could count on one hand the times he had actually broken down in front of her: when he feared for Winthrop's fate in the war, when his boys returned from the front, and when he spilled the beans about how he'd gotten the scar on his side. If he crumbled now, the librarian would know something was truly, deeply amiss, and there was no telling what might come out of his mouth!

But what really frustrated Harold was before he had that disconcerting dream, he had been planning to talk to Marian – really talk to her. It would have been a great morning for a long conversation, too, as she was home from the library and he didn't have rehearsal. But it was too dangerous to broach such dicey subjects now, because not only were his nerves raw from lack of sleep, he had something to hide and couldn't risk his wife probing too deeply into his soul as he attempted to get to the bottom of what was nagging at her. So as soon as their bright-eyed daughters gobbled down their breakfast – like him, Marian only picked at her food – Harold followed them out the door.

If Marian was miffed that her husband didn't linger a little while with her after the girls left for school, she didn't show it – though her smile didn't quite reach her eyes when he kissed her goodbye. And to Harold's dismay, he found that he also had a ridiculously difficult time maintaining some semblance of his usual grin as he greeted his friends and neighbors on the way to the emporium. Apparently, he couldn't fake unruffled cheer around anyone, these days!

But one of the good things about the River City-ziens was that, despite their propensity for gossip and speculation, none of the acquaintances he met would have been so bold as to inquire directly if something was the matter. Even Marcellus would not have pried into his affairs, though he would have known right away something was up. Fortunately, Harold did not meet his closest comrade on the way to work. But he couldn't avoid Tommy Djilas, who would also suspect that all wasn't well – and was still young enough that he might actually ask a few well-meaning but blunt questions!

However, while Tommy did raise an eyebrow at the music professor as soon as he walked through the doors, all he expressed was a few polite pleasantries – even when Harold suddenly and uncharacteristically displayed a keen interest in diving into all the paperwork he always tried to put off until the last possible moment. Bookkeeping was by far his least favorite chore of managing a business; he much preferred to be on the front lines interacting with the customers. Today, he felt it too dangerous to his tenuous sense of equanimity to deal with the public.

But to the music professor's chagrin, he found there happened to be very little in the way of paperwork to take care of this morning, as Tommy had completed it the afternoon before. And there was no rehearsal to prepare for, either, so Harold had no good excuse to linger in his office for the entire day. Not that he would have wanted to, anyway – it was too unsettling to sit in his desk chair for long, because choice bits of what his fevered fancies had imagined him doing in that chair kept flashing through his mind.

So it was barely ten o'clock when he finally rejoined Tommy at the shop counter. As it was a slow day with no customers on the horizon, the music professor's normal tack would have been to stand outside and drum up business by engaging in friendly conversation with passerby, but the idea of engaging in such a foolhardy venture made him break out in a cold sweat. So he pretended to be unduly interested in the state of his shop, shifting displays and wiping dust off the glass cases and positioning instruments just so, until the emporium was as pristine as a museum exhibit and he could do nothing more without looking utterly daft. But at least he had eaten up a little more time – it was now almost eleven, and Harold planned to take an early lunch at half-past the hour. If he played his cards right, he could stretch it out all the way until at least two o'clock.

And then, at eleven fifteen, who should come strolling down the street directly toward the emporium but the very person the music professor had been dreading the idea of encountering: Lisette Latimer. While the retiring widow didn't come into his shop daily, she was not an infrequent customer, as Billy was a bit clumsy with the materials needed to maintain his trumpet despite his best intentions, and often misplaced his slide grease and valve oil. Mrs. Latimer made a purchase roughly once every two weeks, and as it had been several days since Harold had last seen her in his shop, the unpleasant inkling that he was going to cross paths with her had been gnawing at the pit of his stomach all morning. Although he was greatly relieved to see that that the widow was walking her usual diffident – almost timid – stride, as well as wearing her usual modest and unremarkable attire, there was no way he could face her right now.

So Harold resorted to a ploy he hadn't used since he was a conman: the quick but decorous exit to avoid a person who could unmask him. "Tommy, there's something I need to take care of right away," he said in the brisk, authoritative tone that no one ever dared question. "I'll be in my office if you need me – but only if there's an emergency."

With that, he skedaddled down the corridor, leaving his dumbfounded second-in-command to handle the pending transaction.

XXX

Once Harold had closed his office door behind him (he was tempted to lock it for good measure, but refrained), he sank down into his desk chair… and then leaped up when he remembered that this was exactly where he was sitting when Mrs. Latimer came waltzing into the room during his dream. So he tried pacing back and forth for a few minutes, but that only succeeded in making him even more agitated. Brushing aside the scores, instrument parts and other bric-a-brac littering his sofa, the music professor lay down and took several deep, calming breaths as he stared up at the ceiling. He really needed to get a hold of himself – on the off-chance that the widow had an issue Tommy couldn't handle on his own, his demeanor must be perfectly composed and above reproach, should he be called back into the shop. As one minute after another uneventfully ticked by, Harold's racing heart gradually slowed back to its normal pace, and he began to feel terribly ridiculous and craven for allowing a silly dream-chimera to dictate his behavior. Indignantly getting to his feet, the music professor took his rightful place in the desk chair.

As if the Fates had been waiting for this precise moment, there was a knock at the door. Harold nearly jumped out of his skin at that, but staunchly refused to rise from his seat. This was his office; no matter who came walking through his door, he refused to cower any longer.

"Who is it?" the music professor asked in a voice that was surprisingly level, given that his heart was frantically pounding again.

"It's Tommy," came a hesitant voice in return.

Of course it's only Tommy, his rational mind chided. "Come in," Harold said pleasantly.

The door swung open. "Sorry to disturb you, Professor," his second-in-command said sheepishly. "Billy Latimer's mouthpiece needs repairing – there's an eraser stub jammed in the stem of it."

Harold's eyes widened – this seemed like too clumsy a mishap even for Billy. "How on earth did that happen?"

Tommy shrugged. "Mrs. Latimer said her nephew Sam did it. He's only five, and too curious for his own good. He was over for dinner last night, and Billy left his trumpet out where Sam could get it." He held out the mouthpiece. "I tried working it out myself, but it's lodged in there pretty tight. I couldn't even budge it, and I didn't want to risk doing any more damage. So I told Mrs. Latimer that if anyone could unclog a mouthpiece, it was you, but that you were busy right now, and she should come back tomorrow." He regarded the music professor with a nervous expression. "I hope that was all right?"

Harold gritted his teeth. The last thing he needed right now was the tedious and excruciating task of fiddling with a jammed mouthpiece! And not only that, Mrs. Latimer would be stopping by the shop again tomorrow; so he wouldn't be able to dodge her a second time. But there was nothing for it – he could not in good conscience persuade a struggling widow to replace a mouthpiece when he could most likely restore the one her son already had.

"I'll see what I can do," the music professor said with a sigh. Taking the mouthpiece from Tommy's outstretched hand, he placed it gingerly on his desk. As he stared at it, he almost fancied he could hear Mrs. Latimer's silky voice whispering in his ear how good his mouthpiece tasted, which sent a not-entirely-unpleasant shudder rippling through his body.

"Are you all right, Professor?" Tommy asked, giving him a worried look.

Harold decided right then and there that he was going to have to make love to Marian as soon as he could manage it. Forget about waiting until tonight – he was going to go home right now and scratch that itch. Making love to Marian had driven Mrs. Latimer right out of his head before, so he didn't see why it wouldn't work a second time. The librarian wasn't slated to work today and the girls were at school, so he could look forward to enjoying his wife's company as soon as he walked through their front door. As he contemplated a long and glorious afternoon of being completely alone with Marian, and all the delectable and decadent ways they could make love in whatever room they wanted while moaning as loudly as they pleased, another shiver ran through him – this time entirely pleasant. With any luck, by the time tomorrow morning rolled around, he'd be sated enough to face anything.

"You don't look so hot," Tommy sympathetically observed. "I can take care of the shop. Why don't you go home and get some rest?"

"Thank you, Tommy," Harold said appreciatively, even as guilt prickled at his insides. He deserved no sympathy or kindness from anyone. "I think I'll do just that."

XXX

Harold –

Mama had an emergency this morning – a pipe burst in her lavatory. It will take several hours to clean everything up, so I won't be home to provide you lunch. But there are leftovers from last night in the ice box that you and Penny and Elly can have. If all goes smoothly, I should be home to make dinner at the usual time.

– M .

Harold let out a bitter, barking laugh once he finished reading the note waiting for him on the kitchen counter. Of course something like this had to happen to throw a wrench into his plans! Though he couldn't blame his wife for rushing to her mother's aid, the terseness of her note irritated him. Or perhaps it was the slight defensiveness he detected in her tone that rubbed him the wrong way – her choice of phrases like "provide you lunch" and "make dinner at the usual time" seemed to indicate she expected him to resent her inability to get him his meals on schedule. And while he was not at all surprised that the prim librarian failed to close with "love" or "fondly" or any other endearment lest their daughters find this missive first, she could have at least taken a few extra seconds to spell out her full name!

Or maybe, said his rational side, she phrased things that way because she was justifiably distracted and in a hurry, and you're reading feelings into her words that she never meant to imply. Still, Harold couldn't help reflecting that even if that was the case, her handwriting remained as careful and meticulous as it ever was.

With a sigh, he laid the note back down on the counter – and then jumped when the phone rang. But it wasn't Marian's voice that greeted him when he hastened into the parlor to answer the call – it was Amaryllis informing him that the librarian had made arrangements for Penny and Elly to come to her and Winthrop's house for lunch, and that she would be keeping them over there after school until things had been set to rights at Mama Paroo's.

Gritting his teeth – did his wife really think he was such an inept parent that he couldn't look after the girls for a single afternoon? – Harold nevertheless thanked her in a pleasant voice before hanging up the phone.

Left entirely to his own devices and not at all hungry, the music professor did the only thing he could do when he had nothing else to occupy himself – he retreated to the music room. For a brief moment, he contemplated going back to the emporium, or dropping by his mother-in-law's to see if he could be of any assistance, but he still felt too precariously off balance to be around others. To pass the time, he attempted to play Für Elise on the piano, but after hitting a bunch of wrong notes, he had to get away from the darned instrument, lest he lash out at it and leave a mark that he'd have to explain to Marian later.

Well, look at you, cooed that dangerous voice. "Darned" piano? Can't even muster up the gumption for a real swear, let alone a good, solid kick, lest the librarian squawk! Harold's hands clenched into fists as he paced back and forth. Although he wasn't about to give in to the petulant and disloyal mood that had been plaguing him ever since he'd had that dream, he couldn't deny that it rankled him how thoroughly he'd been tamed by Marian over the past decade. He had now reached the point where he was almost completely neutered; a hen-pecked husband tiptoeing on eggshells laid down by his irascible wife. He used to laugh at men like that, and now he was one. It had taken him a long time, but he'd finally come to the conclusion he'd originally dreaded when he turned over a new leaf and started courting the librarian: marriage was a trap. Though he'd walked into it willingly and his cage had proved a great deal comfier and roomier than most other men's, he had finally reached the limits of it and was pressed against the gilded bars, yearning for his freedom.

But what kind of freedom do you really want? asked a quieter, shrewder voice. The unfettered freedom to seduce Lisette Latimer or any other woman who catches your fleeting fancy? Or the intoxicating freedom of Paris, where you could make love to Marian body, heart and soul, without holding anything back?

Harold's shoulders slumped. While it was a surprisingly easy question for him to answer, he wasn't much comforted by the knowledge that he was still just as utterly, hopelessly and desperately in love with Marian Paroo Hill as ever, because he also knew that she could never be that uninhibited with him again. She'd locked away that part of herself as securely and permanently as she had packed up her elegant lingerie and daring flapper ensembles in her cedar chest of memories, and even the great Professor Hill hadn't been charming or persuasive enough to sell her on the idea of keeping Paris alive in River City.

Oh, come off it! scoffed the petulant voice, on his side for once. That's only because you haven't been trying nearly hard enough. Not as hard as you would have tried, once upon a time…

Harold stopped in his tracks – now there was a course of action he could wholeheartedly get behind. Convincing Marian to let down her hair again would take some doing, but it wasn't insurmountable. Paris wasn't the only time in their marriage his wife had wowed him in the bedroom, though their second honeymoon had greatly ratcheted up his expectations as to the passionate boldness the librarian was capable of displaying on a regular basis. While he was likely to reap more frustration than pleasure from his efforts – at least in the beginning – it was time to stop brooding and start acting. He had to get Marian alone – tonight.

Feeling a reinvigorated sense of anticipation for the first time in several months as a delightful scheme took shape in his head, Harold settled himself in the music room's wingback chair and waited for his wife to return home.

XXX

Once again, Harold dozed a lot longer than he'd meant to, and by the time he awoke, the pleasant aroma of dinner was wafting throughout the house. But the nap had refreshed him greatly, and his resolve to make love to the librarian in something other than the missionary position under the blankets with lights out was further strengthened, now that he had more than enough energy to spare. After rubbing his eyes and stretching the kinks out of his muscles, the music professor got to his feet and walked toward the kitchen, pausing briefly to greet his daughters as they did their homework in the parlor.

As usual, Marian was bustling around looking thoroughly harried, though she lit up when she saw him. Although they were reasonably hidden from their daughters' view, Harold did not attempt to kiss his wife hello… because God forbid Penny and Elly should ever cotton on to the facts of life! Squelching his sense of pique with the reminder that tonight was going to be different, Harold regarded his wife with a grin and inquired about the state of her mother's lavatory. By the time Marian finished regaling him with all the struggles they'd gone through to set things to rights, dinner was ready.

As soon as the Hill family sat down to eat, all idle chit-chat ceased. Being growing girls, Penny and Elly had healthy appetites, to the point where Marian fretted she couldn't keep anything in the pantry or icebox for even a day before it disappeared down the girls' bottomless gullets. Having skipped both breakfast and lunch, Harold likewise inhaled his potato soup and a good three slices of bread on top of that. Still, he wasn't so ravenous that food was all he could see – he noticed his wife also tucked into her meal with unusual gusto, as well. As the music professor watched the librarian ladle a second and then third helping of soup into her bowl, he was struck by a sudden suspicion… which he immediately dismissed. Marian was not a blushing bride, so if what he was thinking was indeed the case, not only would she have been well aware of her condition by now, she would have told him. And she would have had a happy glow in the midst of her exhaustion and irritability.

When Marian excused herself from the table to wash the dishes, Harold sprang into action. Before Penny and Elly had even swallowed the final spoonfuls of their dinners, he was giving them a quarter and shooing them off to a movie. Knowing that he would most likely need to put Marian's mind at ease, he dutifully checked that his daughters had completed their homework; while Elly's "yes" was not quite so robust as Penny's, it was enthusiastic enough that he had no qualms about letting them go.

As soon as the girls had skedaddled, Harold stood up and headed into the kitchen, gleefully anticipating just how loud and long he could make his wife moan…

XXX

If Harold had been asked to bet on where he'd end up laying his head that night, the last spot he would have placed his money on was the couch in his office at the emporium. It had been such a promising evening – though it hadn't started out that way. While he had anticipated Marian's initial resistance to his sending the girls to the movies on a school night, her insistence on finishing those damn dishes nettled him to the point where he just gave up. If his wife wouldn't come to him without a fight even after he'd contrived for them to be alone, well, maybe he didn't want to fight for her anymore.

But then Marian came to him, after all. She may have done so as hesitantly and diffidently as a blushing bride, but even in his frustration, Harold couldn't deny the librarian was trying. It was silly of him to expect or even just hope that she would march into the parlor, tear the newspaper from his hands, and cover his mouth with a searing kiss to show him she meant business – especially when she had her own grievances to air. And when she told him what was nagging at her, guilt prickled at him enough that he had to at least attempt to make amends… which eventually led to them picking up right where they left off in the heated interlude they'd begun in the kitchen last Sunday morning. Now that they were in absolutely no danger of being interrupted by their darling daughters, Harold meant to make love to his wife right then and there.

But despite the progress they'd made, a countertop rendezvous was still too much to aim for. When Marian balked at the impropriety of what he intended to do, Harold decided it would only set back his cause if he persisted in trying to persuade her to see things his way this particular evening. However, even after he'd whisked the librarian upstairs to their bedroom, their tryst was once again in danger of being derailed when, just as he was removing the last of her undergarments, the phone rang.

At that, Harold almost gave up again. There was no way his wife was going to let the phone just ring and ring, especially with Penny and Elly being out of the house. He even sighed and stood up from their bed, intending to leave the room entirely. But as he was refastening his trousers, Marian surprised him again. Placing one slim but warm hand over his, she stilled the movements of his fingers. When his eyes met hers, he saw the look of quiet determination that always made his heart beat faster. As the music professor gazed resentfully but entreatingly at the librarian, hardly daring to believe but desperately hoping all the same, her free hand found the scar on his side.

"For the next few hours, I'm just your wife," she said in a low, sultry voice. "I promised – "

Harold would have kissed the daylights out of her for that, but before he could so much as lean in, she had knelt before him and unfastened his trousers again. As he sank back onto the bed, she took him in her mouth, and not only did she make him groan long and loud, she moaned right along with him, as if she'd been just as frustrated and pent-up as he'd felt these past few months. After she brought him to climax, he tenderly reciprocated, rolling the librarian on her back and pleasuring her until he was once again ready to make love. Though he still didn't dare try anything too outlandish – namely, pressing Marian against the wall or entering her through the back door – he did not hesitate to make love to her in as many different positions as their bed could accommodate. And not only did his wife allow him to be as inventive as he pleased, she loudly and shamelessly egged him on – especially when Harold stood at the edge of the bed, grasped her hips and thrust into her. They had left all the lights blazing, so he saw every bit of Marian's writhing and arching her back, her golden curls splayed out on the sheets and her expression a veritable picture of unbridled ecstasy. And he knew that not only was she aware of her display, she was glorying in it – every now and then, she'd open her eyes and gaze up at him with a delightfully wicked gleam. She was wetter for him than she had been even on that almost-Paris Saturday night, and he was so hard for her that he actually had to hold back at times; and for once, it wasn't because he was afraid of overwhelming his wife's Victorian sensibilities! Marian's ecstasy was surprisingly continuous – despite how wound up she'd been about lovemaking lately, Harold had absolutely no difficulty in bringing her to climax again and again – and he was determined to last as long as his stamina allowed.

When they were both finally finished, they continued to hold each other close, lying in a languid tangle of arms and legs. As Harold stroked his wife's delectably disheveled tresses, her expression turned from sated to wistful.

"Do you miss my long hair?"

"Sometimes," he admitted, even as he started to kiss the tips of her curls.

Marian bit her lip. "I could grow it out again… "

Harold immediately shook his head. "I like your bobbed hair even better. You look delicious and stylish – a beautiful reminder of our time together in Paris. And," he added with a grin, "no blasted hairpins to worry about scattering on the carpets!"

"Yes, I do like not having to worry about that anymore," the librarian agreed with a laugh.

"Besides," Harold continued, growing serious, "it's not your long hair I missed." He stroked her lips with his thumb. "It's this, kissing me everywhere and crying out."

Even though they were lying down, Marian still somehow managed to hang her head. "I know I've been neglecting you these past few months, and I'm sorry – "

"Marian," the music professor interrupted, cupping her cheek and bringing her to look at him again. "I didn't tell you that to make you feel guilty." His throat started to tighten, but he forced out the words anyway. "I told you that because I love you – want you – need you – "

She looked entreatingly at him. "Make me scream, Harold."

He kissed her, hard. Though they could manage only the missionary position in their exhaustion, Harold was not at all disappointed with their lovemaking, gazing deeply into Marian's eyes as they moved together and making her scream even louder by giving her neck love-bites each time she came. Though it was still only almost-Paris, it was far more than a nice but lackluster consolation prize mustered up with the last ounce of strength after a long and tiring day. Harold could have lived with this. He should have lived with it, instead of trying to tip the scales by bringing out the Pinot Noir. That blasted – damn – fucking wine had ruined everything.

And now the music professor was lying alone on the narrow and uncomfortable emporium sofa, with only the Pinot Noir to keep him company as he reflected just how stupidly he'd overplayed his hand. He really ought to have known better – if Marian hadn't been willing to allow him to make love to her on the kitchen counter, she certainly wasn't going to countenance indulging in an illegal nightcap, regardless of how bold and adventurous she was with him once their bedroom door was closed. But Harold had been too intoxicated by the librarian's unabashed wildness that he wasn't thinking straight. All he'd been thinking was how wonderful it was to really make love to her, body, heart and soul. He missed that. He wanted that. And he was probably never going to get it again.

The music professor's gaze drifted over to the mouthpiece on his desk, still waiting to be unclogged by his deft fingers. He snorted and turned away – he'd handle that little chore tomorrow. Because despite everything that had happened, he was not going down that road. As disheartened and distraught as he was over his present state of affairs, he knew stepping out on his wife would only compound his problems. Harold remembered his wedding vows: Will you love her, honor and keep her, and forsaking all others, keep yourself only unto her, so long as you both shall live? And on top of all that, he'd promised Marian that their yesterdays would always be full. But there was that mutinous voice again – he'd held up his end of the bargain, while Marian had stymied his attempts to keep Paris alive. Not only stymied; she'd said outright that she wished they'd never even gone there. Even – or perhaps especially – knowing just how much their second honeymoon had meant to him.

So if he happened to have a nice dream or two to ease his frustrations, he was no longer going to beat himself up over it. After all, he wasn't actually committing adultery; he was merely taking meager comfort wherever he could find it. Because what else could a man do if he wasn't able to get satisfaction at home? No longer caring what direction his mind wandered, Harold settled himself even deeper into the couch cushions and drifted off to sleep.