I wanted to send a special word of thanks to all of the guests and readers who reviewed Chapter 17 but to whom I am not able to respond personally through a PM. I so appreciate your words and comments, and I hope you feel the special hugs I am sending your way!
As always, to the incredible women/writers who help me on a weekly basis to make this story better and keep me true to the characters we all have come to cherish in the amazing world of Downton. R. Grace, On either side the river lie, and La Donna Ingenua: I truly cannot ever express just what you three mean to me and to the journey of Strangers. I so wish I could hug you in person!
This chapter is dedicated to one of my dearest friends in the world, one of my bridesmaids and a most treasured confidante: KE-this one's for you! You don't know how much it means to me that you are investing your time and energy in this story!
Ch 18
"Thank God for the Blakes and the Gillinghams."
Mary's attention was drawn quickly back to her grandmother who was standing in close enough proximity to speak freely, her sentence undetected by anyone else as they all waited to go through to dinner. Her granddaughter's queried expression prompted Violet to expound.
"I should have never allowed your mother to get her fingers on the guest list. Americans are simply quite incapable of truly appreciating the nuances necessary to balance such a party."
"I thought the two of you collaborated on the list, Granny," Mary observed, dividing her attention between her grandmother's words and a certain gentleman who stood across from her making conversation with Anthony Gillingham.
A certain gentlemen she wished were standing in closer proximity than would be advisable when they were trapped within the confines of mixed company.
"We did," Violet returned promptly. "I included the Blakes and the Gillinghams."
Mary could not help but quietly smile, scanning the room to see just what unfortunate soul had been left to converse with Edward Roquefort.
Oh, dear…her poor father.
Their final guests' arrival had indeed been a welcome boost to the party, the elder Lord Gillingham's affable nature immediately setting her mother at ease as a subtle modicum of relief washed across the household. Anthony had grown into quite the dashing figure, Mary observed, although he remained resolutely quiet in the midst of his talkative relatives. Emily was as outgoing as her older brother was politely reclusive, her bubbly nature and ready laugh wearing a bit on Violet even as it charmed Isobel who stood conversing with the young woman now.
Mary felt badly for Lady Catherine who had somehow received the unfortunate assignment of speaking with the Duchess of Hartsford. Yet even as the younger woman remained quietly imposing, Charles's aunt appeared to be quite engaged in conversation, the turn of her countenance alerting Mary to the fact that she was observing more of the duchess than Lillian would ever realize.
"So the difficult guests were Mama's doing?" Mary put forth, knowing her grandmother would take no responsibility for their inclusion.
Charles caught her eye just then, the private flash of his dimples warming her cheeks at a most inconvenient moment.
"Most definitely," Violet replied, leaning forward on her stick as she followed the path of Mary's gaze. "Oh, do stop ogling Mr. Blake in such a manner, Mary. You'll give too much away too soon."
She dropped her lashes, her body remembering in vivid detail the interplay of hands and mouths that now teasingly heated her already flushed skin in a rather ill-timed response.
Too much, indeed.
"Please don't tell me that you have kissed him already," her grandmother continued, shocking Mary out of her own thoughts as rounded eyes confessed unwittingly.
"Oh, dear," Violet observed, leaning in closer so she could effectively whisper in Mary's ear. "The two of you haven't taken any further liberties yet, I take it?"
"Granny!" Mary breathed, feeling as if she had entered into a surreal environment. She had never even dreamt of discussing such things with her grandmother, especially as other people continued to converse innocently around them.
"Oh, don't looked so astonished, Mary," the Dowager Countess insisted. "You are a widow now, and we both understand that the rules are somewhat different."
She opened her mouth in an attempt to defend herself, yet no speech seemed capable of emerging as she exhaled rather forcibly.
"For heaven's sake, there's no need to act affronted," Violet instructed quietly. "You are a fully-grown woman and a mother. I see no reason to dance around such issues as if you were still a debutante, do you?"
"Of course not," Mary managed, carefully averting her eyes from the man who had so delicately sampled her neck just moments ago. "But I can assure you that nothing untoward has taken place between us."
"Are you telling me that you have done no more than peck his cheek and he nothing more than kiss your hand?" Violet questioned, the clear disbelief at these assertions glowering at her granddaughter.
Mary's eyes dropped to her feet, her hands clasping each other in refusal to fidget under her grandmother's scrutiny.
"I thought not," The Dowager Countess stated, leaning in even closer to Mary. "Once certain delights have been partaken, it is rather difficult to hold back, even for those of us with the strongest of fortitudes. Besides, I have always suspected that you inherited my passionate nature"
Had she understood her grandmother correctly? The smug countenance Violet Crawley wore with aplomb convinced her unwaveringly that she had.
"We haven't progressed that far, Granny," Mary insisted. "Do give me some credit."
"Oh, I do, Mary," Violet put in. "I give you a great deal. But he is a rather fine figure of a man, and you are a most attractive woman who has just come through a rather lonely year. Do not underestimate the temptation that such a heady brew can conjure up between two people, even ones of good breeding."
Dear God—did she know? The suspicion struck Mary with force, making her wonder if either Mr. Roquefort or Isobel had spoken to anyone of their private interludes interrupted. Of course, what Isobel had observed had been far more scandalous that the embrace Edward had witnessed. But Mary could not imagine that Isobel would willingly give them away to anyone—even Violet Crawley. That quite feasibly cast Edward Roquefort in the role of informant, a title Mary deduced he could uphold and relish. Yet he also seemed to be a man who reveled in secrets—who would keep what he knew close to his chest in case he had use of it at a later time.
Had there been a servant who had observed or heard something of which neither Mary nor Charles were aware? The thought left a cold hollow in the pit of her stomach.
"I don't underestimate it, Granny," she sighed, daring a quick look into her grandmother's eyes in order to assure her of this fact. "I am well-aware of just how dangerous an elixir it can be."
Violet stood speechless a moment, sizing up her granddaughter's words and stance before offering her final instructions. "Just watch yourself, my dear. Turning propriety on its ear may seem quite exciting, but it always has its consequences. Make certain you're ready to accept them before you let your sensibilities run away with you."
Charles turned his attention back to her, flashing her an inquiring glance as he continued to converse with Anthony. She attempted to grant him a small nod of reassurance in response, although her thoughts were racing at a rather alarming rate.
"Although, my dear, if I were forty years younger, I might give you a run for your money for that one."
Violet was smiling at her own comment, her eyes twinkling towards Charles in a mischievous manner that suddenly made Mary think of Sybil.
"I daresay you would," Mary returned, tossing her grandmother a glance that sealed matters between them…for the moment, at least.
"This conversation stays between us, you understand," Violet whispered, squeezing Mary's elbow gently before smiling over at Lady Catherine. "If you tell anyone about it, I shall deny it most vehemently."
Dinner was announced before she could formulate a response.
Mary found herself seated between Charles and the duke, warmed decidedly in the proximity of one while the other inexplicably raised her hackles. Violet drew up her brows in her granddaughter's direction from across the table, forcing Mary to examine her napkin in detail as her grandmother's implications continued to swirl in her head.
Had she merely been guessing? Had someone actually informed her of their questionable activities? Or was Mary truly being that obvious when she was around the man?
If the latter were true, she would have to watch herself this evening.
Edward Roquefort then took his seat beside her grandmother, forcing her to stifle a laugh of appreciation. She tossed an inquisitive glance at her mother, Lady Grantham widening her eyes in an effective confirmation of exactly what Mary had deduced: the seating arrangement had been deliberately altered not long after Mr. Roquefort's arrival.
A surge of admiration for her mother raced rapidly through her veins.
"Lord Gillingham," Cora began, I understand that the three of you just returned from an extended holiday in Italy."
"Oh, yes," the gentleman confirmed with a smile. "We had a most diverting time, I assure you. I have been wanting to take Emily for some time, you understand. She has never had the opportunity to travel that far south, and Venice was always one of my wife's favorite destinations."
"I take it that Lady Gillingham liked water," Violet chirped in, the slight movement in Charles's shoulders notifying Mary that he was well-prepared to appreciate her grandmother's acerbic observations.
"She adored looking out upon it and venturing out on a gondola," Lord Gillingham returned, "But she could not swim if her life depended on it."
"I can empathize," Lady Catherine noted before sipping her wine. "There is nothing I find more peaceful that gazing out upon a lake or the sea, but I don't dare set a foot in it. I would sink like the proverbial rock."
"And she nearly did, once," Charles added, "on a trip to Loch Ness many years ago."
"Oh dear, what happened?" Isobel inquired, eyeing Lady Catherine in interest.
"Well, Charles and I ventured up there for a holiday," the older woman began. "Another visitor was standing beside us on shore. He swore that he saw the infamous monster lurking nearby, so Charles immediately jumped into the water to try and catch it."
"I was eleven years old at the time," Charles intervened, smiling at his aunt good-naturedly.
"Of course, I went in after him, but he could swim, and I could not. So Charles and the man who started the whole mess ended up saving me from the murky depths rather than the other way around."
Lady Catherine's eyes glimmered in remembrance, allowing Mary to envision the scene she had just described. She wondered just how tall Charles had been at that age, if he had been gangly or of a stockier build. She could easily imagine that he would have been just brazen enough to believe that he could actually swim out to the legendary creature, probably without any idea of what he would do if he actually found the beast. The young knight had been a hunter of sea-monsters at an early age, it would seem.
Her eyes fluttered shut, her heart burning in remembrance of a conversation that had taken place at this very table a lifetime ago. How they had danced around each other, evading what was right before them for longer than either of them would stubbornly admit as they bantered about heroes and damsels in distress? How much more time would she have enjoyed with Matthew if she had been daring enough to jump in head-first with him instead of remaining upon the shore continually testing the waters?
"The Loch Ness Monster-how very thrilling!" Emily exclaimed, pulling Mary back into the present as her young face beamed in anticipation. "Did you actually see the beast?"
"Alas, no," Charles returned. "The creature submerged just in time to avoid our detection, I'm afraid."
"Be glad of it," Tom injected with a grin. "If that monster had actually been a kelpie, you wouldn't be sitting here today."
"I would wager that you are rather well-versed in the folk-tales of the kelpie, being an Irishman, Mr. Branson," Lord Gillingham observed. "I grew up with an Irish nanny who would tell us such stories of that creature that I was afraid to go near the water as a young boy."
"I'm still a bit wary of it, to tell the truth," Tom grinned. "A cousin of mine swore he saw one disappear into the river near his house one evening. I refused to venture too near its banks again until I was a grown man."
"I don't blame you, Mr. Branson," Lady Catherine chimed in. "Legends have a way of capturing our imaginations and fancies so that it is difficult to discern the truth from a well-crafted myth. Humans have always held a rather deep-rooted respect of rivers and oceans as their power is so far beyond our own. These fears are so often expressed in stories crafted to explain what we do not understand."
"Wouldst thou,—so the helmsman answered, learn the secret of the sea? Only those who brave its dangers comprehend its mystery," Charles quoted, capturing Emily's attention immediately.
"Is that Tennyson?" the young woman inquired eagerly, reminding Mary acutely of the book of poetry sitting expectantly on her bedside table.
"Longfellow," Charles corrected. "The Secret of the Sea. A rather lovely verse in my opinion."
"If you like that sort of thing," Edward cut in. "I personally cannot abide the water. It is so uncomfortably wet. Pity it takes up so much of the planet."
"Yes, it is a rather depressing thought seeing that it sustains all forms of life, isn't it?" Charles retorted, receiving a soft kick from under the table.
"I suppose there is no getting around that, is there?" Edward crooned dramatically. "It just always seems so inconveniently placed to me."
"So you prefer the desert, then, Mr. Roquefort?" Violet inquired. "I understand the Sahara can be quite a lovely destination this time of year. Perhaps you should plan a visit."
Mary's brow silently saluted her grandmother as the first course was served.
"Do you swim, Mary?" Charles whispered, leaning over subtly as to not interrupt the flow of conversation around them.
"Yes, but not very often, I'm afraid," Mary admitted, taking a sip of her wine.
"There is a most lovely lake just bordering my estate," Charles offered, the implication of his statement quite clear. "I believe you might find it quite to your liking."
She tossed him a glance from underneath her lashes. "Is that an invitation?"
"What do you think?" he queried with a grin.
"Don't you think it is a bit cold this time of year for swimming?" she put forth, careful to keep her gaze circulating around the table so as to not draw attention to their private discourse.
"That is strictly a matter of opinion," he replied, the subtle challenge in his answer not lost upon her. "I find the water quite invigorating."
"And free of kelpies, I should hope," she mused, enjoying the grin he granted her in response.
"I have yet to encounter one," he returned, "and I have ventured out rather far."
Images of him swimming in the lake ran rampant through her mind, making her wonder momentarily what exactly he wore when swimming on the privacy of his estate.
If he wore anything at all…
"Wouldn't you agree, Mary?"
Her mother was looking at her in anticipation as delayed embarrassment washed through her. Her expression must have given her away, Robert coming quickly to her rescue.
"I do seem to remember you telling me once that you found exploring Rome rather interesting."
"Yes," she returned quickly, jumping with alacrity on to this lifeline tossed to her by her father. "Rome is a most fascinating city to explore, although I must admit to a personal preference for Florence."
"I am distraught over the fact that we were unable to visit Florence on this excursion," Emily replied, her green eyes bouncing in perfect time with her ebony curls. "But Papa has promised that he will take me there one day soon. I so adored Italy!"
"My sister was rather taken by the Trevi Fountain," Anthony spoke, drawing everyone's full attention. "She managed to accost me of the vast majority of my coins to ensure that she would return one day."
"Oh, it is the most exciting legend," Emily interjected, leaning forward in her excitement. "Are you familiar with it, Lady Mary?"
"I believe so," Mary replied, searching her memory. "If you toss a coin into the fountain over your shoulder, it will ensure that you shall return to Rome one day. Is that the one to which you are referring?"
"The precise one," Emily gushed. "Only it must be your left shoulder—the details are quite important. It is rather amazing to see all of the coinage laying in the bottom of the pool. Just think of how many dreams they represent?"
"Or how many fools are parted from their money," the duke stated cooly, the utter lack if inflection in his tone chilling Mary's arms instantly.
"Have you visited Rome, your grace," Robert asked politely.
"On several occasions, I'm afraid," the duke replied. "It was not to my taste at all. The people were loud, the food was rather messy, and there was music wherever you ventured…no peace and quiet to be had anywhere."
"Music wherever you venture," Charles uttered with a purposefully straight face. "How utterly ghastly."
"You must always be on your guard, you know, what with all of the street urchins and gypsies roaming about freely," the duke continued, the slight sneer curling his upper lip making Mary inch her chair slightly in Charles's direction. "They will rob you blind in a moment."
"Yes, it is quite lovely to not have to worry about thievery of any sort in England, isn't it?" Anthony verbalized, the quietness of his tone almost masking his sarcasm. "We are quite blessed to live in a country with a perfect populace."
Charles offered Anthony a quiet toast, Mary grinning slightly at the exchange.
"A perfect populace?" Violet restated, drawing up her eyebrows dramatically. "Well, I daresay it's a rather good thing that you never met a particular aunt of mine. She would change your tune on that matter rather decidedly, I think."
"And how did you find Rome, your grace?" Lady Catherine inquired quietly, forcing the woman seated across from her to actually meet her eyes.
"Hot," the duchess replied, immediately returning her full attention to her plate.
"Well, I am certain it could not hold a candle to the Sahara in that area," Violet interjected, giving the duchess a pointed smile that could not be missed.
"I am not at all certain that Sahara would be preferable to Italy," Edward preened lazily. "All of that sand could bring about chaffing in rather unfortunate places, I daresay."
"Edward, please," his sister implored, her teeth clenching the words tightly.
"Oh, it's alright, dear," Violet returned with a smile. "I am certain your brother can wax most eloquently on rather uncomfortable topics for hours upon end. He seems rather gifted in that area."
Mary had to cover her mouth with her napkin in order to stifle her smile.
"Is it true that you lived in India, Mr. Blake?" Emily asked, clearly dismissing Edward for the time being. "I would guess that it is a most fascinating land."
"It is true, Lady Emily," Charles replied, "I lived there for several years. And it is a most interesting country, if I do say so myself."
"But the food," Edward sneered. "I hear it is so spicy that it can literally singe the taste buds off of the tongue any decent Englishman." He then leaned forward, donning a frightfully innocent expression as he inquired, "Tell me, Mr. Blake, is your tongue still in fine working order? I am certain that there would be several people who would be quite disappointed if it weren't."
Charles felt Mary's fingers grasp his leg firmly under the table, instructing him decisively not to turn this comment into an issue.
"I can assure you, Mr. Roquefort, that the rich cuisine in India did nothing but enhance my ability to enjoy a wide array of foods," Charles managed smoothly, hearing the quiet exhale of relief from the woman beside him.
He would deal with the man privately later.
"Well then, here's to the spice of life," Edward replied, earning himself a small eye roll from Mary.
"I for one am always eager to try new things," Isobel interjected, the brightness of her tone a welcome relief to the conversation. "Meeting people from different places and sampling a piece of their lives through food is a most wonderful way to take in our world, wouldn't you agree?"
"Not really," the duchess murmured in response, "I have only eaten curry once, and I found it quite ghastly. I was ill for days."
"Not everyone has the constitution for such things, my dear," Violet responded. "I would stick to the pudding, if I were you."
"Come, my dear," the duke put in. "Surely you must admit that many of the lands to our east have much to recommend them. I am certain that India is a most fascinating place in its own right. Perhaps we should visit one day."
The expression of distaste coupled with disbelief that Lillian fleetingly flew his way led Mary to expect that she would verbally disagree with him. The duchess dropped her head quickly, however, offering no retort or rebuttal to her husband.
"Dear me," Violet offered. "If one finds Rome hot, I daresay India would cook one's goose."
"Of course, there is also China to consider," the duke continued, "or perhaps the exotic wonders of Siam. Or Turkey, for that matter," he interjected quietly, stilling Mary's hand as her breath caught roughly in her throat. "I have heard that it is a land with many charms to offer and filled with rather passionate people. You seemed to have found the Italians rather fascinating, Lady Mary. Do you have any particular thoughts on the Turks?"
She was frozen—suspended in time as the entire room seemed to darken around her. Mary then noticed her mother's ashen pallor, her father unthinkingly loosening his collar as her grandmother sat perfectly still. She drew steady, measured breaths, focusing deliberately on not giving into panic and fleeing from the room as she searched frantically for a suitable response.
"I have been to Turkey, your grace," Charles intervened steadily, "and I found it rather dull, I must say. I would advise that you not give it any further consideration. Take my word for it. Pursuing it would be a waste of your time."
Her eyes fluttered shut momentarily in relief, her hand daring a quick squeeze of his own under the table's secretive confines.
"If you say so, Mr. Blake," the duke replied with aplomb. "I do appreciate such honest advice."
"I assure you, your grace, adhering to it would be most decidedly in your best interest."
The discourse seemed quite unremarkable to a portion of the table's occupants, dismissed as a mere discussion of exotic destinations. But it had been frighteningly monumental to Mary and her family, the aftershocks of the duke's remarks still felt acutely. She shot Charles a look of measured thanks, noting the flint of steel in his eyes as his attention remained fixed on the man seated on her other side. He had drawn his proverbial weapon, and she was fully aware that he was prepared to spring into action on her behalf should the need arise. The thought was empowering, freeing in a remarkable way that warmed her from her toes upward.
And then it hit her, an awareness of some magnitude she could not quite fully absorb.
For the first time in a year, she no longer felt alone.
"Where would you wish to go?"
They sat at last in comfortable solitude in the library, observing patterns dancing contortedly upon the wall from the receding fire. As the quiet of night finally settled upon the estate, she allowed herself the luxury of leaning against his shoulder, his arm coming around her in a calming possessiveness as they stared at the smoldering flames. Both the duchess and Lady Catherine had chosen to retire early after dinner, the younger citing a nasty headache while the elder simply stated that she needed her rest. Lord Gillinghan expressed his desire for a good night's sleep not long after that, the remainder of the guests eventually making their way home or upstairs one by one until Charles and Mary were the only pair remaining.
"Hmmm?" she inquired, too warm and contented to attempt actual speech.
"If you could toss a coin in a fountain and wish to visit anywhere in the world, where would you go?" he expounded, his finger tracing lazy circles upon her shoulder blade.
"You must promise not to laugh if I tell you," Mary breathed, turning her face to look up at him.
"Would I ever laugh at you, Mary Crawley?" he asked disarmingly, chuckling in spite of himself at the look she shot him.
"I believe I just proved my point," she stated, making him grin even broader before kissing the top of her head.
"Please tell me," he implored gently, donning that boyish expression that continually charmed its way under her skin. "I'm sure your answer will be most enlightening."
"Only if you go first," she insisted, watching him concede this small victory to her before ever saying a word.
He inhaled loudly, brown eyes gazing back into the fire for a moment before fixating upon hers. "I should like to see the Himalayan Mountains, I think, to look upon Mount Everest in all its splendor."
"Would you really?" she inquired, rather surprised by his answer.
"Absolutely," he returned. "To see the highest peak in the world would be a privilege one would never forget." He looked at her inquiringly, querying his own brow in her direction. "Would you not like to see it for yourself?"
"I am certain it would be extraordinary," she began, leaning into him even further to ward off a shiver. "But too cold for my taste."
He laughed in earnest, his hand smoothing over her hair. "Now you sound like the duchess."
She delivered a soft swat to his shoulder, becoming even more affronted by the look of hilarity in his eyes.
"That was my bad shoulder," he stated, rubbing in with his free hand to prove his point.
"Don't even attempt to look injured," she demanded. "You deserved that, and you know it."
"Bedside manners, Nurse Crawley," he murmured teasingly.
"Watch it, Charles," she warned. "I can still come up with an excuse to stitch you up, you know."
"Come now, Mary," he drawled, the hint of more lacing his tone. "I can think of many more pleasurable ways to spend our time."
Before she could formulate a response, his lips captured hers softly, sampling them languidly as if he could still taste the wine from dinner lingering upon their surface. Her hand found his cheek in response, her senses quickly intoxicated into concurrence with his statement.
"You see what I mean?" he sighed contentedly. "Highly preferable to stitches in my opinion."
"Possibly," she returned coyly, "but I'm not convinced quite that easily."
"Is that a challenge, Lady Mary?" he inquired, his eyes awaiting her answer eagerly.
"Take it as you will, Mr. Blake," she instructed, one side drawing up in a teasing half smile that offered him no refusal.
"Those words could be rather dangerous," he breathed, leaning in closer as she absorbed the comfort and thrill of his proximity.
"I am a big girl, you know," she hummed, the depth in her voice seducing his reason.
"Yes—I've noticed," he whispered into her mouth before teasing her upper lip shamelessly. She shivered, reveling in this touch of life that tickled deep in her recesses. His ministrations then shifted to her lower lip, drawing it into his mouth at an agonizingly slow pace, each movement prompting her hands further around his neck as she instinctively arched into him.
He took his time forging a trail to her earlobe, the sensations prickling just under her skin nearly making her cry out in spite of herself. He was doing it again, she realized, leading her into this realm where he sheltered her from the stark reality of pain, convincing her mind and body into believing that happiness might again be truly possible if she only had the courage to let him in completely.
If…
"Would you like me to stop," he questioned, the final word nearly choked down his throat in reluctance as he felt her body still beneath him.
"No," she breathed into his hair, touching her own lips to his temple as she added with hesitation, "but we probably should."
"As much as I hate to agree with your logical side, I believe you are right," he admitted, leaning back from her far enough so the air of sanity could be drawn in by them both. "The last thing I would ever want to do would be to expose you to the threat of scandal."
She gave him a wry smile, looking to him from under her lashes as she returned, "You're a bit late for that, I'm afraid. I have lived under the shadow of possible scandal for nearly half of my life."
Charles leaned back, concern overtaking his features as his arm drew her closer protectively.
"I don't want you to go anywhere near that duke," he spoke insistently, the change in his tone capturing her undivided attention. "Promise me that you will stay away from him."
"I can hardly avoid him entirely when he is a guest here," she argued, the thoughts of the man in question leaving her suddenly cold. "But I can assure you that I shall not seek out his company."
"I should have done something more tonight," he ventured, staring back into the fire as Mary realized that he was replaying the dinner conversation in his mind.
"No," she demanded quietly. "You handled it perfectly. If you had called him out on it, it could have created many more problems than it would have solved." She paused, allowing her own thoughts to return to the episode she had purposely shoved to the recesses of her thoughts.
"Do you think he knows?"
Charles gazed at her intently, the compassion in his eyes answering her question before the words left his mouth.
"I do, unfortunately. Either that or he has suspicions and was fishing for information."
Mary nodded slowly, hating the fact that once again the detestable episode that had occurred so very long ago once again stood upon her very doorstep.
"Then you most decidedly handled it properly," she reasoned, looking up at him in earnest. "If you had challenged him further, he would have known outright."
"Perhaps," he conceded, frustrated at how bound his hands felt by propriety when all he desired to do was defend her honor properly. "How would he have come by that information, Mary? I thought you said that it had been kept quiet, and certainly no one in your family would have given you away."
She sighed heavily, drawing his marked attention immediately.
"My sister Edith actually wrote to the Turkish ambassador not long after it happened," she admitted grudgingly, despising the fact that her sister's attempt at revenge still had the power to hurt her, even though she always buried the sensation as quickly as it emerged. "Rumors circulated around London for a while, but thankfully they disappeared not long afterward."
"Your own sister?" he repeated incredulously, sitting taller at this affront.
"Don't judge her too harshly," Mary instructed, looking down to her hands. "Our relationship has never been easy, you see, and she was a different person then, just as I was."
She gave him a wary smile, fidgeting a bit as she confessed, "I'm quite certain that you would not have liked me all that much had we met then. And the thing is, Charles, that there is still much of the girl I used to be still inside of me now."
"And you think that's a bad thing?" he questioned softly, taking one of her hands into the confines of his own.
"Not necessarily," she reasoned, her brow creasing in thought. "I was sharper then, less forgiving, I think. But I did possess a clarity of mind that I call upon when I am in danger of becoming too muddled in my thoughts these days."
"Such as when we are kissing?" he questioned playfully, sorely tempting her to hit his shoulder again.
"You're not taking me seriously," she insisted, leaning back in a bit of a huff as he chuckled senselessly in response.
"I'm taking you very seriously, Mary," he countered, drawing back so he could face her directly. "I just don't find your sharp edges all that intimidating. I have some myself, if you haven't noticed."
"And I would describe you as being rather smooth," she argued, looking to him for clarification.
"Oh, so I'm a smooth-talker now, am I?" he teased, earning himself the inevitable eye toss that always made him grin.
"Well, that's not exactly how I would describe you," she returned, the air of challenge upon her countenance just too much for him. "But it's close enough."
He kissed her suddenly—his ferocity complete and demanding, soft yet intense until she was clinging to his shoulders, claiming a part of him just as thoroughly as he was doing with her.
Then his mouth left hers suddenly, his lips slightly swollen as he stated, "I think I like those sharp edges of yours very much indeed."
"Be careful," she breathed, her heart still fluttering at an ungodly rate. "You may regret those words one day."
"I doubt it," he returned, the intensity of his stare leaving her feeling nearly drugged.
"Besides, if you think that I was a pillar of virtue all of my life, then think again. If you had known me ten years ago, you would have met a rather brash young man who thought he knew better concerning everything than anybody else."
"Aren't all young men brash to a certain degree?" Mary questioned.
"Perhaps," he conceded. "But not all feel the need to prove themselves as strongly as I did."
She stared at him resolutely, slightly mesmerized by the small lines just around his mouth that tightened with his last declaration.
"Your parents?" she guessed, dropping her head slightly at the nod he offered in confirmation.
"Or lack of thereof," he clarified softly as his gaze returned to the fireplace.
"I'm certain your aunt feels you have nothing to prove," she offered, turning to face him more directly.
Charles gave her a genuine smile at the mention of Lady Catherine, shaking his head slightly as he confirmed her assumption.
"No. She has always been the most fervent of my supporters."
"She is quite a remarkable woman," Mary declared softly, noting the lightening of his countenance at her words.
"Yes. She most certainly is."
"I felt a bit sorry for her at dinner," Mary mused. "She tried so desperately to engage the duchess in conversation, but to no avail whatsoever. She must have felt as if she were speaking to a shrubbery."
A breath of laughter escaped Charles, and he leaned down to give her a quick kiss on her cheek.
"Do you think that woman spoke ten words tonight at the table?" he put forth, shaking his head slightly.
"I doubt it," Mary conceded. "Of course, if the only adjective one can procure to describe the city of Rome is hot, that person cannot be expected to contribute much to intelligent conversation."
"Did I not just hear you describe one of our world's most spectacular wonders as cold?" Charles teased.
"You are determined to tread upon dangerous ground, aren't you," she quipped pointedly before lapsing into a smile.
"You never did answer my question, you know," he continued, looking to her inquiringly. "Where would you go?"
She exhaled audibly, giving him a sideways glance as she contemplated her answer in silence.
"Siena," she finally admitted, looking to her hands momentarily. "I should like to visit Siena."
"You do like Italy, then," he responded gently. "Why would I laugh at you for such an answer?"
She bit her lower lip unconsciously, drawing a deep breath that was interrupted by his own realization.
"Il Palio," he deduced, staring at her in fascination. "You would like to watch the Palio. Is that it?"
"Yes," she admitted under her breath, finally taking in his face and the large grin that had overtaken it. "Remember—you did promise not to laugh."
"Why would I laugh at such an answer?" he inquired.
"It's not exactly considered a proper destination for ladies of breeding," she responded, teasing a chuckle out of him that she silenced with a glance.
"I think it's rather brilliant, actually," he offered sincerely. "And it suits you."
"How so?" she questioned, turning slightly more in his direction.
"That race is all about tradition and loyalty to ones origins—two things you feel quite passionately about—am I right?"
She offered a small nod of confirmation, watching him intently as she took in his words.
"Go on."
"It involves horses, your favorite animal, I am told," he mused, his voice softening. "This also fits you perfectly in that horses are incredibly beautiful and graceful creatures who are fiercely independent by nature. They are incredibly powerful, as well, yet they hold that power in check when necessary, only unleashing it when it can be appreciated in all its glory."
Warmth crawled with determination from her chest up her neck, the dynamic level of her pulse continually increasing until it beat forcefully within her ears.
"I have never witness the Palio, but I am told that it involves a great amount of passion and daring from the riders, the horses themselves, and even the spectators." His voice was barely above a whisper now, the room continually decreasing in perimeter as flames settled into crackling embers. "And in my opinion, such a spectacle is quite appropriate for a woman of fire."
She sat speechless.
She had heard herself referred to as cold, unfeeling—even hushed whispers of ice queen had filtered into her ears. She had donned such descriptions around herself, a hard protection that proved most useful in a world that could so easily injure.
But…fire? No one had ever before described her in such terms.
"Are you not afraid of playing with fire, Charles?' she finally uttered, working to speak over the unsteadiness rocking within her.
"Half-terrified, actually," he admitted quietly, capturing her eyes instantly by the heavy sincerity they bore. "But I believe it's worth the risk." Those dimples—his weapon of choice upon her defenses—targeted her precisely, tugging shamelessly at her emotions as he added, "Besides, you did toss me some of your armor, didn't you?"
She pulled him down to her, drawing her mouth across his in a small act of desperation as she poured every fear she possessed into him. He opened to her, allowing her to express what she could not speak as she sought him hungrily with trembling fingers. She marked him her own manner, each touch of her lips searing into him a message of need, a plea for patience…
A cry of confusion.
"Don't hurt me," she begged, the breath of a whisper hovering just over his ear even as it branded his soul. "Please."
He clasped her to his chest tightly, suddenly too overcome to do anything but hold her. He drew her even closer, wishing he could absorb her into his very skin and allow her to feel just a measure of the emotion that had overtaken him when it came to her.
"Oh, Mary," he breathed roughly, "I pray with every fiber of my being that I never do."
She clung to him—this unexpected life-line who had changed her in the course of a week. And as she felt the stirring of a freshly lit flame within, she attached herself firmly to his warmth, terrified of fanning this spark any further yet resolutely determined not to let it burn out.
A quick note concerning next week's installment: After writing Ch. 19, I believe it would be prudent of me to bump the rating up to M. (Please do not make any assumptions about the content of Ch. 19 because of this!) As the story progresses, I shall tackling some more mature subject matter, and I want to deal with it honestly although it will not be done graphically or explicitly. I felt it was necessary to err on the side of caution, and I wanted to alert my wonderful readers as to this fact. I hope this does not dissuade any of you from continuing the story to its conclusion, and if you have any concerns about this change, I am more than happy to address them with you more specifically in a PM.
As always, I cherish your thoughts and relish your reviews! Have a blessed weekend! :)