Updated 4/24/16
Chapter 8
Darkness cloaked the house of Sir John, muffling the late night gossip of servants and the general creaking of the old house. For Georgia, however, the events of the past few days had nearly been too much for her and so she lay still as death in her bed. The window to her room sat open and the warming spring air wafted into her room. It had been quite an adjustment sleeping in the room once more: she no longer had a piano to occupy her or a patio door that beckoned a stranger.
She waited as long as she could for him, but she was weary and sleep could no longer be avoided. Against the wall near her open window was a small writing desk and on it sat the food she managed to commandeer for her visitor. She left it covered in case he finally came and needed it. He would find her to be a compassionate host.
It wasn't until one in the morning that Georgia's nocturnal quest arrived. There was no moon this night and even if there had been, the collection of clouds above would have kept her secret that night. The creature, however, was not deterred by the absence of natural light, Victor had endowed him with superb sight. He could see Georgia's small frame beneath a collection of blankets ruffled around her. Her beautiful hair fell over her pillow in subtle waves of curls.
The creature felt a powerful longing as he beheld her. Caution and the remembrance of the De Lacey's and the villagers he met at the beginning of his life made him leery of all, but this did not stop the creature. With trembling fingers, he reached out and moved a curl from her face. The feel of her soft cheek pressed against his fingers as he brushed away the lock of her hair nearly brought him to his knees. Georgia murmured as she moved in her sleep. Instinctively, the creature backed from her.
"Don't go," she whispered. He knew then that she was awake and actively seeking him out in the darkness. "Stay with me."
"Go back to sleep, Georgia," he whispered gently. Instead of obeying him, she sat up in bed and peered into the silent void of night.
"You can see me, can't you?" she asked. His voice croaked out a response, causing him to wince. "That isn't fair."
He smiled to himself. "What isn't?"
"You know what."
Her feet slipped from beneath the covers. Hands reached out, searching for him. The creature backed away from her as she drew closer. She stumbled slightly and in an instant, he caught her.
"Georgia, please, sit down. You cannot see. You might fall and someone will come. We'll be found and I—" Will be killed and your screams would fill the air.
The fear in his voice was endearing, but she would not endanger her friend, not when she felt so safe in his arms. "You'll always be here to catch me, though."
Her hands ran up his arms towards his shoulders. He stopped her just before she reached his neck. The evidence of her disappointment was clear, but he noticed her delight when his fingers looped around hers.
"You are very tall, my poet. I don't think I could reach your face if you stood up straight." She paused a moment. "Why are you so afraid of me touching and seeing you?"
He tried to draw away from her, but she held on fast. "Victor made me. . . hideous. You would be so very frightened of me."
"Did you have a duel with him? I cannot imagine how he walked away unscathed. Did he cheat?" But she did not wait for his response. Georgia brought his hands to her face, he obliged reluctantly. She then pressed his palms against her cheeks and felt him shudder. "I need you, my poet. I need you to trust me."
He trembled and fought the urge to kiss her. He could see her quiver, but not in fear. What a curious thing. She flattened his hands against her face and felt his warmth seeping into her. Oh, how he desired her!
"Will you kiss me?" She asked suddenly.
Had she read his mind? He was at a loss for what to do next. Of course, he wanted to kiss her, but what then? "No," he replied sadly.
If she was upset, she didn't show it. "I thought not. Are you hungry? I have left food and tea on the table. I think the tea has cooled too much."
"I have never had tea, so I would not know how it ought to taste. Yes, dear Georgia, I am hungry." As he went to remove his hands from her face she placed a feathered kiss against his flesh. Without thinking, he brought her hand to his lips. The taste of her was indescribable and he felt himself linger over the softness of the top of her hand. Her gasp brought him back to reality. He immediately released her.
"My beloved poet! What a gift you've give me." She was happy, truly happy! "Lead me to my bed and then enjoy your meal. I know you are shocked by your own actions, so I shan't bother you again this night."
His hand reached for hers once more as he guided her back to her bed. "You could never bother me. Rest and I shall answer a few of your questions."
Georgia's own grip on him was firm but gentle. Her heart was elated by the courage he had shown and she knew just how terrified by his actions he was. With hard work and the lessons from a flirtatious former suitor studying to be a doctor, Georgia discerned the rate of his pulse. It was quick, though not as quick as hers. Certainly, though, it was faster than it had been before. She found it slower than it ought to have been, but she knew he was an enigmatic creature; something almost faerie-like.
His careful hands led her to her soft mattress. Her lithe hand felt warm between his large ones. The creature was reluctant to let her go, but when he did she did not protest or cling to him. He left her smiling on the bed as he went to the table to eat.
The lid he lifted from his food was the color of lacquer, but to him, it was as fine as silver or gold. He placed the lid on the other end of the table and sat down. There were several slices of pheasant covered in cranberry jam. a side of what used to be steamed cauliflower, a slice of bread, and a few grapes. He was taken aback by the sight. Her giggle pierced the still air.
"You like it then?"
"This is a feast, generous Georgia!" He wanted everything in that instant. "Before I start, I will answer your original question: Frankenstein and I did not duel. If we had, he would be lucky to be alive and whole."
She said nothing as she contemplated his words.
He chose the cold tea first. The liquid was sweetened with honey, something he had only tried once in his brief life. There was a hint of something he didn't know, but it smelled sweet. The nectar was calming and he enjoyed it. What would it have been like hot? It was a dream likely to never become a reality.
"What is in the tea?"
"Vanilla," she replied, her longing to sleep was becoming evident, but she continued to fight it. "Have you had it before?"
He answered her in turn. "No."
"You are quite strong but agile," she assessed. "Not buff like a butcher or timberman, but lithe like a swimmer!" She finished in a rushed. "I haven't seen many of them, though."
Her laughter was melodious, but it was deceiving. Though he did not know it then, her laughter was a mask for the grief she had yet to share with him. He was ignorant to that pain and perceived only the mask of it: her laugh was beautiful and strong.
"You are an expert in the forest, but you sound well educated. How did you come to wander the night? Where is your family."
This question was not one he wanted to answer, but he promised. Before he spoke he stuffed the pheasant into his mouth to stall. How could he explain any of this to her? "My family," he answered, attempting to swallow his food. "I was taken in more or less. My father abandoned me. I found a family and from them, I learned how to speak, read, and write. Their patriarch was a musician himself, he played the violin."
Her face fell. "Your father sounds cruel. What of your mother?"
My father is the cruelest. The question about his mother haunted him. Could he consider Elizabeth as his mother? She would reject him undoubtedly after his crimes against her family. It was agonizing for him to tell her he had no mother, but he did.
"My mother," she started suddenly, "died when I was very young. And my father—"
He had no warning and no true understanding of how to help her. Watching her cry was the most terrifying moment of an already terrifying existence. He put his fork down and walked to the foot of her bed. Cautiously, he reached out and grasped her leg.
"— He died about a year ago and my life has been. . . turbulent." Suppressing her tears she smiled in the darkness. "Let us discuss this another night."
A smile was present in her voice, but so was the lump of emotion she was trying to swallow. There was a powerful connection between them and it became evident to both when the creature went to remove his hand from her leg and her hand went to meet him. Their fingers touched for only a second before he pulled his hand away. Her touch sent a jolt of joy through him. Why had this never happened before? He wondered. What was he feeling?
"Goodnight, sweet poet."
"Goodnight, dear Georgia." He answered tenderly. He stayed for several minutes more to finish eating and to listen to her soft snoring. When he finished, he stood, approaching her door, but just before he opened it, he placed a kiss on Georgia's brow. The door swung open and he used his own secret way to pass undetected.