He woke a few hours later, uncomfortably warm. Having slept in attic rooms for many years, they were both used to nights with the oppressive heat pushing down like a hot, wet blanket. Were he back in his own room at Downton, he would have undressed to his shorts and slept on top of a sheet after shaking it in the air in a vain attempt to cool it. Knowing he'd be unable to sleep under this sheet and with his night clothes on, he gritted his teeth and began unbuttoning his top. Moving smoothly, he didn't wake her. He threw a prayer to the heavens that she wouldn't be shocked or furious if she woke to catch him with his bare chest to the air.
When her eyes fluttered open, the darkness at the window told her that it was the middle of the night. Still half asleep and trying to get comfortable despite the humid heat pressing down on her, she turned in bed. And was confronted with the full, bare back of Charles Carson bathed in moonlight. Her eyes flew open. She tried to slow her suddenly rapid breathing by speaking rationally to herself in her mind. He'd simply taken his shirt off. It was the heat. He didn't want anything from her. He was clearly sleeping. The calm, smooth rhythm of his breathing eventually settled her own.
But then she started to wonder.
How would the skin of his back feel? Was it soft? Smooth? Would she be able to feel the hard muscles that had recently been on her mind? She began to construct convincing arguments. He was her husband, after all. And what would be wrong with simply brushing a hand across his back? She could always claim it was a sleepy accident. Yes, she could even pretend to be asleep, if it came to that.
Her face serious, she tentatively reached a hand toward him. When her fingertips reached his skin, he jerked as though he'd had a knitting needle driven into his spine. She whipped her hand back as he made the distinctive, quickly inhaled sound of a man woken abruptly. He turned quickly, supporting himself on his elbows. With sleep in his voice, he still managed to sound intimidating.
"What is it? What's the matter?"
Servants for most of their lives, they were both light sleepers. He was immediately ready for any emergency. Embarrassment flushed her cheeks scarlet and she squeaked,
"Nothing! I'm sorry!" He took in her alarmed expression. He paid particular notice to her one hand grasping the other as though it had been burned. Her throat locked up and she couldn't produce any of the excuses she'd had planned.
As the sleep left his mind, he began to understand the situation with crystal clarity.
She had reached for him.
Turning fully to face her, he leaned his head into one hand, giving the impression of being relaxed, though he could feel his heart beating all the way to his fingertips. She hadn't moved a muscle. With the hand not supporting him, he reached out to her and took one of her hands in his. Slowly, he brought that hand back toward him and placed it gently on the center of his chest. He left it there and put his arm at his side, making it clear that she could do as she wished.
She felt hot and cold at the same time. Unable to meet his eyes, she stared fixedly at her hand resting on his broad chest. After a few moments, she was able to feel his heart beating rapidly under her palm. He wanted her. Relief made her feel light-headed, but her nerves threatened to get the best of her. She watched her fingers spread open slowly. The hair on his chest looked silvery blue in the moonlight. And it was soft. Knowing that he must have felt the shaking of her hand, she began to move it slowly over his chest. He let out a harsh breath at her movements. She looked up then to see his eyes close. Bolder, she continued to explore his chest, daring to reach for a shoulder now and then. She noticed that he liked it best when she would softly caress his skin with the back of her hand, barely touching him with the tips of her fingers.
When he could no longer bear not touching her, he reached out and laid his hand on her hip. She froze to appreciate the wave of warmth his hand sent through her. Now it was her turn to close her eyes. He couldn't help but notice that the heavy, wet air had made her nightgown cling to her curves. Not able to take his eyes away from the profoundly arousing sight of the dip at her waist, he folded his fingers into his palm, deliberately taking the cloth of her gown with them. Over and over again, he curled and uncurled his fingers, inching up the gown little by little. Her labored breathing was the stuff of his dreams. When her thigh was almost completely exposed to his gaze, he stopped. He wanted to — no, he had to speak to her before they went any further. After months of uncertainty, he had to let her know how he felt.
He took her head in his hands. Waited for her to look at him. When her eyes opened, he smiled, love shining in his eyes.
"Elsie Carson," he rumbled. "My wife," he declared softly. Proudly. Happy disbelief was there in the few words. "Can you possibly know how much I love you?"
Instantly, she understood his meaning.
These were his vows.
Here. Tonight. This was when they would make their promises to one another. The words they had spoken earlier, words written by others, meant next to nothing.
Her tears fell onto his hand.
"Charles Carson," she could hardly speak past the lump in her throat. "My husband." With mischief in her eyes, she smiled through her tears. "It can't be half as much as I love you."
He moved his hand to the back of her neck. He pulled her gently, the anticipation of her lips on his causing him physical pain. He would kiss her and then lay her back carefully; explore her every curve, unveil her skin.
It was exactly what she wanted. She was more than ready to be delicately attended to by her husband.
Until they kissed.
Gentle thoughts were burned away in a flash.
When their lips touched for the first time, they inhaled sharply through their noses and flung their arms around one another, scrambling for purchase on unknown ground. After only a few moments of bruising kisses, warring tongues, and insistent hands, he pulled her roughly up to her knees. Eager to comply, pulling his bottom lip into her mouth so that she could run her tongue over it, she stumbled over her gown, the cloth tangling between her legs. He jerked impatiently at the gown, ripping it out from under her. He only took his lips away from hers long enough to whip the thin garment over her head. Instantly, he wrapped his arm around her, pulling her to his chest so that he could feel her breasts against him. When he wrapped a hand around one breast and grazed a thumb roughly across her nipple, she had to tear her lips away to let out a strangled, "Oh, God!"
He took advantage of her leaning forward slightly by wrapping one arm around the back of her knees and the other around her shoulders to put her down on the bed. When she lifted her arms up to him, he had to stop a moment to appreciate the sight of the woman he loved, naked, flushed, and reaching for him. Impatient and in no mood for stargazing, she lifted herself up. Wrapping one arm around his neck, she used her weight to pull him down. Kissing her once more, he lifted his body away only as much as was necessary to remove the rest of his clothes. When she felt his hardness against her for the first time, her body spasmed, anticipating him and pushing her hips into his. His inexperience worried him for a moment. He wanted so badly for this to be good for her. But his concerns vanished when she pushed her hips toward him and he felt the tip of him slide inside her warm, moist folds. Her body jerked again and she let out a guttural, short cry. When she'd moved, she'd pulled him in even more. He had nothing to worry about, he thought. Even without experience, their bodies knew what to do.
With his hands on her hips, in one smooth motion, he pushed into her completely. Almost coming right then, he fell forward to support himself with his arms. He needed to hold absolutely still for a moment. She held tight to him with her legs and tried her best to hold still herself, but she whimpered with every involuntary convulsion her body made. Without pulling his upper body away from hers, he began moving inside of her. By his third thrust, she was crying out almost uncontrollably. She put her hand to her mouth, mortified by her lack of control. He firmly took her hand away, trapping it against the bed.
"Don't," he ordered, a frown of concentration on his face. With an air of distraction he muttered, "I want to hear you."
When his words registered in her fevered mind, she thought wildly that she'd never known anything more erotic in her life than the low growl of her husband commanding her to let him hear her cries. She climaxed instantly. Her neck arched violently. One hand dug into his arm while the other clutched the hand that pressed hers into the bed. The low, long moan she was giving cut off abruptly as every muscle in her body contracted from the greatest pleasure she'd ever felt. Coming down, she trembled uncontrollably. His thrusts now were an exquisite torture. She was nearly shrieking in glorious agony when he shouted his own release, filling her. When he began to slow his thrusts, she experienced the previously unimaginable sensation of his seed leaking out of her. She came again, pulsing around him. He pushed himself hard into her, holding her hips tightly against him.
When their breathing had slowed and he was kissing her face gently, she began to weep. He pulled out of her and rolled to gather her up in his arms. He might have been terrified, but some instinct told him what to do. Not only that, he knew exactly how she felt. He'd been fighting tears himself. He gently pulled her hands away from her face to tuck her head against his chest. He murmured sounds of comfort and simply waited, stroking her hair. The experience of being held and cherished by this man made her wonder what she could have possibly done to deserve it.
After a while, she wiped her eyes, and said sheepishly, "I'm sorry. I don't know why —"
He cut her off. "It's all right. I know just how you feel." He gave her a crooked smile.
Her profound gratitude for the love of this man made her start to cry all over again. When her tears had finally stopped, she reached up to caress his cheek.
"I do love you, Charles. So much."
"Not half as much as I love you," he replied, cheeky and sleepy all at once.