Your reviews and messages concerning Chapter 18 simply amazed and once again humbled me! Thank you so much, you most lovely readers, for your steady encouragement and most appreciated words of support as this story continues to unfold. To the most precious and supportive beta I could ever ask for: R. Grace-God bless you! To the two incredible women and gifted authors who voluntarily sharpen me as a writer and make me laugh out loud so often: On either side the river lie and La Donna Ingenua-I adore you! I also have special words of thanks this week to patsan for reading a particular section of this piece and offering her amazing insight. You're a doll!
As I stated last week, the rating has been bumped to M. I don't think you will notice any drastic differences in this chapter, but I did feel that some of the content was borderline and decided to err on the side of caution.
Well, now...shall we begin?
Ch 19
"Thank you, Campbell," Mary issued, eyeing herself once again in the mirror as she gave her lady's maid a glance of approval. "I do like this hairstyle quite well."
The younger woman's eyes nearly disappeared into her cheekbones as a genuine smile of relief overran her features.
"I am so glad you approve, my lady. I was certain this look would suit you."
"You were quite bold to suggest something new," Mary continued, rubbing lotion into her hands. "You would have been rather miserable if I had hated it."
Glynis dropped her head, looking back at her lady with a grin. "It's always good to try new things, I think. Keeps us from getting stuck in the past."
"Words of wisdom, indeed," Mary decreed quietly, looking at Glynis over her shoulder. "Are they your own thoughts, or advice from another source."
"From Headmistress Blake, herself," Glynis admitted, seeing to any final touch-ups on Mary's hair before preparing to take her leave.
Mary smiled to herself at the girl's statement, understanding the absolute depth of Lady Catherine's words as she allowed them to settle.
"If I may, my lady," Glynis began, a trace of nervousness lining the edges of her voice, "you look quite lovely today. Life must be agreeing with you."
Mary swiveled around upon her vanity bench, looking the younger woman directly as she absorbed her compliment, the rather personal nature of it striking too close to home for her comfort.
"Thank you, Campbell," she voiced. "That will be all."
The maid curtseyed politely, realizing that she had been decisively dismissed as she closed the door behind her. But the younger woman's rather bold assertion prompted Mary turned back to the mirror, studying her image more closely as she sought just what had prompted Campbell's observation. Shallow circles that had been her constant companions were now noticeably absent, having abandoned their dwellings in the crevices under her eyes. She raised her hands to the sides of her face, noting a pale hue of color there that had been missing for longer than she could remember. An ashen gauntness had been subtly replaced by an opaque shimmer lingering on her skin, making her appear more alert, more vibrant…
More alive.
Her body stirred, insistently reminding her of its own awakening within sheltering arms and skilled hands that still left her breathless. Fingers followed the path his lips had taken upon her neck yesterday afternoon, her heartbeat accenting the journey as her breasts began to tingle. Nerve endings that had been dormant in deep slumber were now fully alert, her body crying out for her to arise from her lonely chamber and bask unashamedly in the warm rays just outside her tower.
What was it her granny had stated? That once certain delights had been partaken, it could be rather difficult to hold back, especially for someone with a passionate nature…
A woman of fire.
Her body shuddered at the memory of his words, pressure pulsing in her temples as this newness assaulted her, pushing her towards her bed as she sat upon it, rubbing her forehead in an effort to slow her thoughts. For a moment, she wished she were more brazen, wondering just what it would be like if she could truly disassociate her mind and emotions from her physical senses. Mary fully understood the futility of such musings, but his kisses and caresses were just so alluring. The reckless side of her was ready to submerge with Charles, to allow herself to experience depths of sensation crashing over her with this man who had led her to the water's edge.
But then there were her feelings to consider.
She shook her head in a misguided attempt to clear it, memories of a life now past reaching out to her as she could sense a different pair of arms holding her tightly.
They had lain naked together countless times in this very bed, limbs tangled in such a manner that Mary could truly not feel where her body left off and his began. His touches—so loving and gentle—had taught her the meaning of true intimacy, of what it was supposed to be like when a man made love to a woman. Her encounter with Pamuk had marked her in more ways than one, leaving her more frightened of a most precious act than she dared confess on their wedding night.
But Matthew had known somehow, his own inexperience and transparency coaxing away her misgivings one by one until she was absolute putty in his hands. It came down to trust, she had come to understand, that the physical act itself was cold without that greater level of intimacy. Matthew had not only seen her naked physically, but had somehow encouraged her to bare her emotions to him, an act that had been much more difficult for her than allowing him to touch and enter her body.
Emotions were difficult for Mary, a facet of her being she would rather mute than sort out. They were complicated, messy, and they created a cacophony which often drove her to distraction. Had Matthew never entered her life, she could but imagine where she would be. She very likely would be tied to a man in a marriage by design, one in which she could control just how much of herself she would offer into the equation of its depth of feeling.
And she almost assuredly would not be a widow raising a son alone.
But Matthew had ruined all of that. His disarming manner and quick mind had cut through defenses, his tender soul sneaking through crevices she had thought impenetrable. Before she could control her weak sensibilities, they had firmly wrapped themselves around the man, burying their teeth so deeply that Mary finally had to admit that nothing could sever the attachment…not even his death.
Dear God, she had loved him so much.
She closed her eyes, wishing all too late that those words had fallen from her lips with more frequency than she had permitted them. The few times they had, she had felt inexplicably as if she had given away a piece of herself that could never be returned. Somehow she had believed that if she spoke the words too often, she would eventually disappear, losing her identity in the role of wife that had been planned out for her since her gender had been announced at birth. Such vulnerability could steal her identity, Mary had feared, chipping away at her very core until there would be nothing left of her to offer. How foolish, she berated herself yet again, but there it stood. Mary had instead tried to show Matthew the true depth of her feelings in her most personal language, the gesture of touch that could convey the longings of her soul, surpassing the boundaries of speech.
When she would touch her hand to his face, memorizing the feel of his skin beneath her palm…I love you, Matthew.
When she would kiss him, taking into her being the breaths he exhaled as their tongues mated in a delicious frenzy…I am not complete without you.
When she would draw his hand to her breast, reveling in how beautiful yet helpless his touch made her feel…I trust you completely.
When she could not help but kiss his skin, using her mouth to demonstrate her passion across the plains of his body rather than to merely verbalize it...I need you so desperately.
When she dared to open herself freely to his caress, placing herself in a most vulnerable state before him…I know you won't hurt me.
When she would finally draw him fully inside her, allowing him to probe her depths in a manner that was almost beyond comprehension until she would cry out in completion… I am yours, my darling, and you are mine.
She had painted her emotions into his skin, tattooing her unspoken feelings into his pores. Yet he had spoken those words so freely to her, each uttering of them whispering a blessed peace into a heart that had all but given up on ever loving or being loved so completely. How she wished she had simply had the courage to voice those sentiments to him more frequently.
She breathed them nightly into her son, speaking her love into his hair when rocking him to sleep, and christening him in such sentiment with every kiss she adorned on his cheeks. Mary would not allow her foolish notions to leave this one remaining remnant of Matthew in any doubt of the depth of her feelings for him. And as she baptized George with her words of love, she somehow hoped that the pieces of his father dwelling within the boy would hear them, too.
Where did all of this leave her?
Her eyes strayed to the bed table, the book of poetry sitting there yet unopened. She picked it up gingerly, stroking the cover before daring to open its hidden confines.
Lovely verses penned by Tennyson of the sleeping princess spoke to her, an absolute understanding of a forced hibernation granting her instant kinship with the story. How tragic that an entire kingdom had been suspended in time as well, she noted, the sleeping beauty's fateful curse becoming the destiny of all who dwelled within the confines of her keep.
The tentacles of grief stretched far.
Her attention was commanded by the passage Charles's had written down for her in his note of courtship, the words hitting her with decidedly more force than they had just days ago as she now knew more of him. She fought the urge to pull the letter itself from the protective confines of her drawer, her heart fluttering anew at the sentiments offered upon the page.
She sleeps…
Yet she slept no longer, that was clearly evident. Her eyes had been opened, and the world around her was nearly blinding at times. Mary idiotically caught herself longing to take in every new sensation physically, to allow bare toes to walk across the grass, to swim unhindered in clear water, no matter if it chilled her skin. And even though a portion of her was still weary, another segment was now refreshed, ready to stretch unused muscles and put on a new frock to face the sunlight.
She had not been awakened to the same world in which she had fallen to slumber, but to one that had not been suspended, moving forward in spite of her absence from it. It was new, it was fragrant…a world of brown eyes, thick, dark hair, of long fingers that caressed piano keys as artfully as they did her face. There was laughter here, lively conversation and understanding she had never dared hope would be possible again. Here passion still dwelled, as did a tenderness that spoke to her no matter how desperately she might try to drown out its calling.
And it awaited her arrival.
She returned her attention to the book, a new passage, bidding her to read it as she lost herself in its meaning.
He comes, scarce knowing what he seeks:
He breaks the hedge: he enters there:
The colour flies into his cheeks:
He trusts to light on something fair;
For all his life the charm did talk
About his path, and hover near
With words of promise in his walk,
And whisper'd voices at his ear.
More close and close his footsteps wind:
The Magic Music in his heart
Beats quick and quicker, till he find
The quiet chamber far apart.
His spirit flutters like a lark,
He stoops–to kiss her–on his knee.
'Love, if thy tresses be so dark,
How dark those hidden eyes must be!'
Love.
How close to love were his feelings for her, she suddenly wondered, shaking her head at the absurdity of the notion that Charles could feel something so deeply for her so very quickly.
But was it truly absurd? And just how would she label her own feelings for him? She knew they were well beyond infatuation, having entered an area that made her nervous even as it beckoned her forward. And as she realized just how utterly her emotions were beginning to betray her again, Mary buried her head in her hands.
"Oh, Matthew," she whispered to the confines of her bedroom. "What am I to do?"
No answer was forthcoming, even the drapes hanging motionless as air seemed reluctant to stir. She heard the faint call of geese just outside her window, wondering just where their flight would take them as she envisioned their progress across the clouds.
No one would offer her an answer, she understood, her mother's words of there being no set rules when it came to matters of the heart reminding her of just how solitary a process this could be. Just how her heart had managed to get itself caught up in the middle of…of this she still could not rationalize. It was too soon for her logically, yet here she sat, longing for his presence, his laughter, his touch…all of Charles Blake in a manner that made no sense. Perhaps Anna was right—maybe she should allow herself to feel more and think less. Yet feelings had never failed to leave her injured, open exposure repeatedly brutal upon her emotions.
And if she should feel exposed as her tower was being undone?
Her own question put to him under the tree as another fairy tale was discussed at length came back to her, his answer washing through her with a force that nearly left her breathless.
It is always his job to make sure that she feels protected.
He had watched her sleep as he tended to George, had leaped to her defense with both Edward Roquefort and the hideous duke. He had cast no judgment upon her when she had told him of Pamuk and had held her repeatedly when she shed tears over Matthew.
Charles Blake was a protector at heart. And until this moment, she had not realized just how deep the yearning in her soul for such a man had reached.
She sat in the quiet, reading a moment more before standing from her bed to face whatever lay outside of her room's protective walls. She marked the page on which were written words that had shaken her, yet she knew with absolute certainty that she would return to their persistent beckoning again when she later prepared herself for bed.
And on her lover's arm she leant,
And round her waist she felt it fold,
And far across the hills they went
In that new world which is the old:
Across the hills, and far away
Beyond their utmost purple rim,
And deep into the dying day
The happy princess follow'd him.
"Ah—Lady Mary," Edward crooned, Mary realizing with marked disappointment that she had missed her opportunity for escape by mere seconds. "You have emerged at last."
"Good morning, Mr. Roquefort," Mary replied, putting on a polite face. "I do trust you had a pleasant breakfast."
"Pleasant, and rather quiet," Edward answered. "It would seem as though I was the quite late in arriving and missed partaking the morning meal with the rest of the gentlemen."
"I am certain they were quite despondent without your company," Mary returned, one corner of her mouth turning up as she spoke.
"I am certain they were," came his response, Edward eyeing her keenly. "Especially that Mr. Blake of yours. I have become rather attached to him, you know."
"I'm sure he'll be delighted to hear it," she quipped, forcing herself not to grin at the look she was certain would cross Charles's face when she told him of this exchange. "Do you know where he is, perchance?"
"So the two of you did not get enough of each other after the rest of us retired last night?" Edward inquired, raising his brows until they disappeared dramatically into the lines of his forehead. "Gillingham and I might as well go home with our tails tucked between our legs, it would seem."
"Whatever suits you, Mr. Roquefort," Mary smiled, "Although I am not certain that the other guests would appreciate you speaking for them."
"Oh, I don't know," Edward mused dramatically. "He speaks so very little that he might appreciate me saving him the effort."
"Well, at least you never seem to be at a loss for something to say," Mary returned, her patience beginning to wear thin.
"Oh, I always have something of interest to report, Lady Mary," Edward stated, sounding all too pleased with himself. "For example, I have learned some most delicious tidbits concerning your Mr. Blake, about his late wife, in particular."
She stood immobile, the slight edge of venom lacing his voice freezing Mary's blood instantly.
"Really?" she questioned, willing a steady aloofness into her tone that she did not feel. "And just why were you checking up on Mr. Blake to begin with?"
"Oh, Lady Mary," Edward preened, stepping too close into her perimeter. "I make it a point to know something about everyone with whom I come in contact."
Mary stared at him in loathing, any pretense of civility clattering to the floor as his threat took center stage.
"It is not considered gentlemanly conduct to pry so overtly into other people's private affairs," she shot back smoothly, determined not to step away from him even a fraction.
"No," he conceded willingly, "but it can be quite prudent—even profitable at times. And when one is the second son, it offers a measure of power denied to one at birth."
"Mr. Roquefort, I am at a bit of a loss," Mary clipped, tilting her head slightly as her eyes bored into his. "Do you or do you not have a purpose for this conversation?"
"Why, Lady Mary," he sneered, "I would think that by now you would know that everything I do has a purpose."
"A self-serving one, no doubt," she stated flatly, her insides crawling uncomfortably as she continued to wait upon his declaration.
"Of course," he smiled, the faint yellowing of his teeth making her inexplicably want to scratch her arms. "What better purpose is there?"
"Mr. Roquefort, I am tiring of this game. If you have nothing of actual value to say, then I shall bid you a good morning," she retorted, done with his antics and innuendo.
"As you wish, my lady," he returned, "Perhaps I should seek out your father, then. I am certain he would find what I have learned most intriguing, indeed."
He had her, and she detested him for it.
"And just what have you learned?" she demanded curtly. "I shall tolerate no further empty implications."
"Ahhh—a lady who likes to get down to the business at hand," Edward mused, pursing his lips dramatically. "No wonder Mr. Blake enjoys your company so very much."
That remark would have sent Charles over the edge had he heard it. She was suddenly sorry that he wasn't here.
"You were saying?" she pressed, moving to stand even closer to him as she made use of her slight height advantage.
"Only that it would seem your Mr. Blake has a taste for the exotic, my lady," Edward preened. "Of course, the allure of India could have blindsided him. I do understand that some men just have a weakness for forbidden fruit, as do some women, I am told."
"And I tire of listening to you speak in riddles," Mary fired back, narrowing her own eyes slightly as she fought back a swell of nausea. "It would seem as though you have a weakness for provoking the wrong people, Mr. Roquefort."
"Oh, Lady Mary, am I provoking you?" Edward questioned dramatically. "Forgive me, I meant no such offense at all. I was merely attempting to warn you."
"Warn me?" she queried, doubt encircling dark orbs as they bored into him mercilessly. "Of whom? Mr. Blake? Forgive me if I find that so ironic that it borders upon the ridiculous."
"Ridiculous, is it?" he mused, shrugging his shoulders in exaggeration. "So you would consider information concerning his late wife ridiculous?"
She cursed inwardly, drawing a deep breath as she adjusted the mask of calm upon her face.
"And why is Mr. Blake's unfortunate wife any of your concern?" Mary threw back, unwilling to grant him even a small piece of ground in this verbal tug-of-war.
"Because I am your friend, Lady Mary," he attested, drawing his brows together for effect. "And I believe it is important that you be informed of any, shall we say, lapses of decorum on his part. It is only fair that you know as much as you can about him if you are going to sneak off into corners with the man, wouldn't you say?"
"Go on," Mary pushed, needing to ascertain just what Mr. Roquefort actually knew from what he might be guessing.
"Your Mr. Blake made a rather interesting choice in wife," Edward began, his nostrils flaring slightly in muted excitement. "No blushing English rose for him, it would seem. You might want to make note of that if you are considering any future plans with the gentleman in question. It would seem that he rather does enjoy the spice of life."
"Your concern for my welfare is touching," Mary bit back, raising one brow in a warning. "But I can assure you that Mr. Blake and I are perfectly capable of discussing his deceased wife without your assistance."
"So the fact that he was married to an Indian woman does not bother you in the slightest?" he pressed, nearly forcing her to take a small step backwards that she fought doing with sheer will. "I never knew that the Crawley family was so very modern in their thinking."
"It would seem there are many things about which you know next to nothing," she retorted firmly.
"I assume your parents share this rather liberal world-view with you, then?" he questioned with feigned innocence.
Her insides ran cold, and she was certain he sensed it.
"And just why is the manner in which my parents view the world of any concern to you?" she challenged, speaking quietly even as her heart hammered in her temples.
"It isn't, really," he admitted, frowning in contemplation. "But I would think that it be of great concern to you."
"The late Mrs. Blake's ethnicity does not trouble me at all," Mary continued, pressing on offensively as she struggled not to lose her standing. "I fail to see why you are so certain it should matter to my parents. His wife is no longer alive, so there is truly no issue here."
"Oh, come now," he quipped, rolling his own eyes. "One's past always has a way of catching up with one and making life rather complicated. I thought you of all people would know that, Lady Mary."
He had shed the skin of congeniality, his true nature hissing a warning while Mary watched for him to blink.
"People of our class do not usually tolerate mixing the gene pool, a fact of which you are well aware. Life could become much more difficult for a newcomer such as Mr. Blake settling in the vicinity if word were to ever get out about her."
"What do you want?" Mary questioned directly, ending this cavorted dance abruptly.
He chuckled, the sound quite menacing as her skin crawled in tandem.
"He is in possession of a rather spectacular horse, I am told," Edward began, "A Marwari from India. Do you have any idea of just how rare and valuable they are, Lady Mary?"
She felt as though he had punched her in the gut.
"Yes, I am quite aware of that fact," she spoke evenly, controlling the rise and fall of her chest with determination.
"I would very much like to negotiate a deal with him to purchase the creature," he continued, raising her urge to panic with every word he uttered. "I was simply hoping that you could convince him to accept my offer."
"What do you want with a Marwari?" she hissed, knowing just how much that horse meant to Charles. He had sought her out, bargained for her, practically begged for the right to purchase her. And he had named her Kala—dark beauty, the description that had made her blush at the dinner table several nights ago. But now she knew the authentic source of the name, the purpose behind his quest in obtaining the creature:
She was a tangible reminder of his lost wife and daughter.
No—she would never allow Mr. Edward Roquefort to take the horse from Charles, to rip from his possession a living reminder of the lives stolen from him.
"Prestige," he replied, gazing at her as if she were a simpleton. "To be in possession of such an animal offers one such an air of power and respectability."
"Two things you are dreadfully lacking," she put in boldly, fighting back the urge to claw his eyes out.
"Be careful, Lady Mary," he commanded, the timbre of his voice hardening instantly. "You're not exactly in a position to point fingers or make demands."
"And you are a guest in my family's home, or have you forgotten yourself?" she shot back, ire overcoming fear momentarily as it steadied her feet.
"How could I forget?" he drawled lazily. "I do enjoy everyone's company so very much. I suppose I should seek out your father's engaging conversation sooner or later."
He turned on his heels and left her, humming some ridiculous tune to himself that was horribly off-pitch. Her insides began to churn once more, and Mary raised her hand to her forehead as she attempted to make sense of what had just occurred. Edward Roquefort had no love of horses, no business to run in breeding and selling them. His sudden interest in the equine puzzled her, her brain racing in a frenzy as she sought to piece together his logic in making such a demand. Then it dawned on her—the true reason he wanted so badly to take this prize from Charles.
In Edward's own distorted mind, Charles had stolen any possibility of obtaining her hand and all of the prestige it carried with it right out of his grasp.
And he was determined to take something of value to him in retaliation.
To have the last laugh.
"Excuse me, my lady, are you all right?"
Mary jumped slightly at the unexpected intrusion, turning quickly to gaze into the concerned eyes of Mrs. Hughes.
"Of course, Mrs. Hughes, but thank you."
She only hoped that she sounded convincing.
The head housekeeper nodded, pursing her lips in a manner that alerted Mary to the fact that she had another purpose in seeking her out.
"Is there something else?" Mary inquired, attempting to appear as unfazed by the uncomfortable encounter with Mr. Roquefort as she possibly could.
"Yes, there is," Mrs. Hughes admitted, holding out a slip of paper. "I have a telephone message for Mr. Blake from Dr. Clarkson. It seems as though the doctor has found a private nurse who would be willing to look after Lady Catherine as she continues to recover."
"That's wonderful news," Mary stated, happy for at least one good thing. "Would you like me to inform Mr. Blake?"
"That is what I came to find out, my lady," Mrs. Hughes confirmed. "If you wanted to deliver the message to him yourself, or if you would prefer that I have Alfred do it?"
"I shall take care of it, Mrs. Hughes," Mary stated, taking the note into her hands as Mrs. Hughes nodded in return.
"Very good, my lady," the housekeeper replied, turning to take her leave before Mary stopped her.
"Do you happen to know exactly where Mr. Blake is at the moment?" Mary questioned.
"He's out back with Mr. Branson," Mrs. Hughes replied. "They mentioned something about building a dog house on their way out the door earlier this morning."
A dog house? Was the infernal puppy now to become a permanent resident?
"Shall I summon him for you, my lady?" Mrs. Hughes inquired softly, awaiting Mary's answer in silence.
"There's no need," Mary returned. "I believe I should like to have a look at this dog house for myself."
The fact that it was hotter than it should have been for this time of year assailed her as she marched out the back door in search of two men who were up to a covert operation of which they knew she would not approve. Beads of sweat pearled on the back of her neck, making her wish that she had dressed in a lighter frock than the one she had donned in anticipation of autumn-like weather. Why Charles and Tom would have any desire to perform physical labor of any sort in such heat mystified her, especially when it was done for no other purpose than erecting a shelter for a stray canine.
The thought processes of men still mystified her at times.
Mary found them effortlessly, shirt sleeves rolled up and jackets discarded as they laid wood out to measure and cut. She stood silently for a brief, unobserved moment, admiring against her will the tautness of arm muscles currently displayed in a manner yet unseen by her. The sight of Charles in such a state stirred her, both physically and emotionally as the myriad of her morning thoughts once again cried out for her attention. And when her gaze rounded as he dared to undo a button on his shirt in an effort to cool himself, she knew she had to make her presence known.
"And just what are you constructing, pray?" she inquired, glowering at them both in a manner that demanded an answer. Tom's eyes widened slightly, his face searching that of his companion to be certain of just how to phrase their response.
But Charles just grinned at her, the eagerness for a morning debate conveyed shamelessly in his expression.
"It would seem as though the puppy was in need of a home," Charles began, laying down the plank he had been holding and taking a step in her direction. "He has evidently been disturbing some of the flower beds, so we are simply trying to keep the poor chap out of trouble."
"Poor chap?" Mary echoed, drawing her brow up slightly higher. "Is my mother aware of your activities?"
"No, but your father is," Tom returned quickly, dropping his eyes back to his work as he sensed her displeasure.
"It would seem as though we are dealing with a clear case of men vs. women in this matter," Mary put forth. "Of course, the men seem to have made a final decision without consulting the women involved."
Charles took two more steps in her direction, the slight sheen of sweat on his skin provoking a shiver up and down her legs she fought down purposefully.
"That is not quite true," he began, stifling the powerful urge to kiss her soundly, even with Tom standing as witness. "Young Sybbie was quite enthusiastic about the idea."
"Is that so?" she returned. "And just when, may I ask, did the two of you consult with my niece concerning this issue?"
"Just a few minutes ago, actually," Tom replied, tossing his head slightly to his right. "She and George are playing in the yard just over there with Nanny Thompson."
Mary's eyes followed the path his gesture had indicated, watching Nanny Thompson toss a large blue ball in Sybbie's direction as her son attempted to steal the toy from his cousin.
"Come on, Mary," her brother-in-law pleaded quietly, shooting her a look of sincerity that irked her for some reason. "The children both adore the puppy."
"Of course they do," she shot back incredulously. "They also adore sweets, skipping their naps and being allowed to go to bed without a bath, but that doesn't mean we allow them to manage their own affairs. They are children."
His chuckle did not surprise her, encouraging her to step towards him as she shot him a wordless challenge.
"You should have seen George's expression when Biscuit licked his face," Charles stated, his dimples becoming more defined at the expression of horror upon Mary's features. "He was absolutely thrilled, Mary."
"Although he kept calling him cat," Tom cut in, shaking his head in confusion. "I tried to to correct him, but the boy was insistent."
Dark eyes met wordlessly, Mary noting an actual blush creeping up his neck as Charles smiled in unabashed glee.
"Yes, George seems rather attached to both cats and dogs these days," she quipped ruefully, "Although both kinds of creatures can get my dander up if they're not careful."
"Do tell," Charles breathed in her direction, Tom oblivious to the exchange as he continued to stare at the building supplies in front of him. "Besides, how can you resist such cuteness before you?"
"Cuteness is in the eye of the beholder," she returned, her brow annunciating her meaning clearly as his dimples caught the implication.
"It most certainly is," he agreed softly, bringing forth a small sigh in response that tingled down to her knees.
"And just who is going to care for this puppy?" she reluctantly inquired, unwilling to give in but unable to resist the insistent tugging upon her heart at the thought of her son's delight.
"I will," Tom answered quickly. "And I'll teach Sybbie and George what to do as they grow older.
She offered neither response nor rebuttal, both men sensing her lowered resistance to the idea that propelled Tom to return to work.
"I have a message for you," she finally offered, fighting down the urge to straighten a wayward lock of his hair.
"Will you walk with me, then?" Charles questioned quietly, smiling at her nodded consent before wiping his face with a towel.
"Don't go too far," Tom teased, grinning to himself as Mary's eyes yelled back at him.
They strolled around the corner of the house, waiting until neither could detect any watchful gazes upon them before her arm linked itself through his own. The contact heightened her senses, and she instinctively moved her body in closer to his as they followed a wordless trail to the tree that still held the poor kite hostage.
Her thoughts kept weighing themselves as she struggled to decide whether or not she should tell him of Mr. Roquefort's threats. She knew what his response would be, that his protectiveness of her would overshadow any considerations he held for himself. He would confront Edward blatantly, and she was certain just how that encounter would end. Charles would take care of the smaller man decisively in the physical realm…
But Edward Roquefort's knowledge could complicate life for the two of them immensely.
"And just what message do you have for me this morning?" he inquired gently, turning to face her even as he stood in close proximity. "Dare I hope it is from you?"
"There's nothing wrong in hoping, I suppose," she answered with a sideways grin, pushing aside other considerations so she could think them through later. "But the message is from Dr. Clarkson. He has found a private nurse for your aunt."
She handed him the note, watching as he nodded in satisfaction before slipping it into a pocket. "That is good news. I can take her home tomorrow now that there will be someone to look after her properly."
His eyes sought hers out, their richness beckoning her forward as he voiced with a bit of uncertainty, "Perhaps you would like to accompany me to York? I should very much like to show you around my home."
Her pulse responded immediately, and she swallowed in an attempt to force the pounding down from her throat.
"I should like that very much, indeed," Mary replied, casting her eyes to the grass before adding, "However, Mama might not appreciate it if I leave her alone with the rest of the party."
"She is hardly alone," Charles observed wryly, "and we can invite the others along if you insist."
He then leaned forward, his lips just making contact with her ear as he breathed into her, "Although I would much prefer to have you all to myself for a while."
Her body shuddered down to her toes, her spine instinctively curving into him as she responded, "That might not be the most prudent of ideas, you know."
She felt his laugh resonate in her own torso, turning her face up to his as he admitted, "I know."
Her back was quickly against the tree, Charles quite cautious not to push her against the rough bark as his lips worried her ear in a most delicious manner. A heated giddiness tickled a trail through her veins, sensitizing tender skin even further to the ministrations of his mouth. Restless hands clasped onto his shoulders, her head making contact with the wood behind her as she sought something solid to keep her upright. He drew her lobe gently through his teeth, the sensations forcing her to bite her lip in an effort not to cry out. Her neck was next in the line of fire, pulsing skin rejoicing at the renewal of attentions in that area that had been first explored but yesterday. His mouth daringly moved to her collar bone, the jolt nearly bringing her out of her shoes as her arms encircled his neck, contact with his sweat-slickened skin only firing her need further. He then claimed her pulse point with exquisite gentleness, her body responding with an unleashed abandon that almost frightened her. She pulled him as close to her as she could, drawing his attentions to the hidden wonders of her mouth, her ferocity in returning the kiss nearly rocking him backwards as he held her to him securely.
"Bring your swimming attire," he whispered into her mouth, his words prompting her eyes to fly open in surprise.
"You can't be serious," she insisted quietly, drawing back just far enough to examine his eyes for herself, her breath coming in short gasps.
"Believe me, Mary," he grinned, placing a light kiss upon her nose. "I am quite serious, indeed."
Opportunity to discuss the matter further was decidedly denied as he engaged her lips and tongue in other pursuits.
And Mary found she had no complaints to voice about that whatsoever.
Thoughts, anyone? You know I adore your input!