Here I stand again, thanking you all so very much for the wonderful messages and reviews you sent my way after Chapter 19. I still quite honestly shake my head in amazement with every review I receive-it just boggles my mind that so many of you have taken this story into your hearts, and your ideas and reactions mean more than you can ever know.
I also have some very specific thank yous to dole out for this chapter: R. Grace-for your avid support and enthusiasm for water sports; On either side the river lie-for stimulating and hilarious conversation concerning ancient literary classics; La Donna Ingenua-for painstakingly reading and giving a play-by-play analysis of almost every line in this chapter...and I won't mention your fascinating hypothesis concerning the overall theme and imagery! ;)
And finally...KE-for a certain bridal shower gift you gave me years ago...you know of what I speak! ;D
Time for a Field Trip...
Ch 20
"I am so delighted that you could accompany us today," Lady Catherine smiled, grasping Mary's hand across the small space between them in the backseat of Charles's convertible. "Your company makes the journey even brighter, my dear."
Mary smiled at the compliment, her insides rumbling in nervous anticipation as she watched Charles maneuver the car expertly around a curve.
"I am very much looking forward to seeing your home," she replied evenly, attempting to quell the rumbling within as a part of her understood the underlying reason for this invitation. Yes—it had been a kind offer, and the fact that his aunt was journeying with them had at least given them the appearance of having a chaperone. But Mary was keenly aware that this was more than just an outing to his estate. Charles was offering her a glimpse into his private world, an entry into areas of his reality unseen by her up until this point. He was essentially giving her a sample of what life was like at his home.
And she knew without a doubt that he was seeking her approval.
"I must admit that Rufforth Hall is much grander than to what I had become accustomed in Edinburgh," Lady Catherine continued, "but it is beginning to feel like home, all the same. And the grounds are beautiful, I must say."
"Ajit informed me this morning that the last of your books finally arrived from Scotland," Charles relayed to her, making his aunt's eyes sparkle in delight. "He was in the process of arranging them for you just before we left Downton."
"Ajit?" Mary inquired, wondering just why she had never considered the very distinct possibility that Charles would have Indians as a part of his household staff.
"Ajit is our butler," Lady Catherine explained congenially.
"He took care of my father and me quite adeptly in India," Charles continued, "and when I informed him of my plans to sell that estate and move back to England, he asked if he and his wife could continue to work for me. I told him yes before he could change his mind and withdraw the offer."
"What does his wife do?" Mary asked, becoming even more fascinated by the moment at just who and what she would find at Rufforth Hall.
"Ishana is our cook," Charles replied, wishing he could see her reactions clearly. "And believe me, she could give Mrs. Patmore a run for her money."
"And don't worry, my dear," Lady Catherine interjected. "Ishana is quite adept at preparing both traditional English and Indian cuisine. After all, she did cook for British citizens for decades. You need not worry that your lunch will light a fire upon your palette."
Mary smiled at her assurances, wondering if the traditional constraints of English society were so strictly observed at an estate owned by a man raised in Scotland and India and overseen by a lady who had brought up a child alone and risen to the rank of headmistress on her own merit.
She somehow doubted it.
"It's a good thing that Mr. Roquefort did not join us," Mary mused wryly, noting the older woman's head shake at the mere mention of the scoundrel's name.
"In more ways than one, I daresay," Lady Catherine retorted with more than a hint of mischief in her tone.
Countryside that had been a life-long acquaintance moved past her quickly, oddly as foreign to Mary at the moment as India itself would have been. How was it possible to feel so at ease yet so restless at the same time?
Her mother had nearly leapt from her seat when she had informed her of Charles's invitation, waving away any concerns of entertaining guests alone in her delight at just what such a visit could instigate. Cora saw this as a precursor to a possible engagement, a step in the right direction for her daughter and grandson that she would encourage with zeal. Mary downplayed her own nervous excitement over the outing, unwilling to give her mother the slightest bit of fuel to add to her already blazing hearth. She was by no means ready to entertain the notion of marrying again just yet.
But here she sat in his car en route to his estate, understanding resolutely that men such as Charles Blake did not simply show up in one's life on a regular basis. Anna's words to her from years past took on new life, words of caution and advice on the eve of her wedding to Matthew.
What I see is a good man, m'lady. And, they're not like buses. There won't be another along in ten minutes' time.
No—when a good man was lost, there was no guarantee that another would ever come along in his stead. For a year Mary had resigned herself to a post-love life, certain that an opportunity to be with a man who made her feel anything rather than disdain or apathy would never present itself again. How could it? Had she not expended every ounce of love she was capable of producing upon Matthew, depleting herself of the ability to conjure up even a small amount for any hapless gentleman who might wander across her path? She had been so certain that no other man could ever stir feelings within her again, could ever make her long to be held and touched and kissed in manners of which she dare not speak.
But such longings now rumbled, emotions now stirred. And the culprit who had launched such lunacy within sat in front of her, tempting her to stroke the back of his neck to reaffirm the fact that he was actually real and not a product of her own imagination. Mary was still so uncertain of what to do with Charles Blake, how to manage feelings that seemed to have already drafted their own agenda when it came to the man. But there was that growing portion of her that had tired of gripping the reins of her life so very tightly, that was panting to release control and enjoy the sensation of allowing the wind to blow freely through unbound hair on a ride she did not have to steer. Such thoughts were fool-hardy, reckless, and should be beneath a woman of her stature.
But they were present, nonetheless, demanding more and more of her attention as this new world of hers kept beckoning her to open her door and experience its pleasures. And she now sat in his back seat, attempting with little success to control unruly butterflies flitting in her stomach at the knowledge that she had secretly brought along a swimsuit at his request.
Good God, just what had she been thinking?
It had not been good judgment that had prompted such an action, that much was certain. And it was most certainly not the will to adhere to a traditional sense of propriety that made her long for more time alone with the man. She was acting in sheer accordance with her desires at the moment, a decision that had her skin tingling in excitement while she rationalized her actions the best that she could.
Copses of trees stubbornly blocked her view, the uncertainty of what might lie just around the corner touching her with a frustrating excitement. But the vista broadened slowly, stone fences lining each side hinting their impending approach to Rufforth Hall. Her anticipation began to bubble over as she observed a few horses grazing languidly in green fields, turning to her left so she could view them better. Two chestnuts, one white mare…no sign of the illusive dark beauty anywhere among their ranks.
Just when and where was she to inform Charles of Edward Roquefort's ultimatum?
A large home of grey stone arose from the landscape, crying out for her full attention at their continuing approach. Its coloring did nothing to disrupt its cheerful nature, perhaps due in part to the patches of ivy trellising stubbornly up the sides, softening the starkness and blending the manor into its natural environment in a lovely way.
She was utterly enchanted.
"Do you like it, Mary?" he queried, the slight hitch in his voice betraying his nervousness as his hand unconsciously raked through his hair. He had nearly leaped from the car to help her from the automobile, pausing to study her reaction before moving to assist his aunt.
"Very much," she assured him. The near glow that beamed from his face at her words made her feel light on her feet, and she fought the urge to cup his cheek in assurance, returning her gaze to his house instead.
"I know it's not as grand as Downton, but I actually feel at home here," he ventured, leaning slightly in her direction as she smiled up at him.
"It's perfect," she whispered almost to herself, the words out of her mouth before she could halt their progress, feeling as though she had just exposed another portion of her inner workings for his perusal. It sounded as if she were inspecting his home for her own needs, giving him a grade based on her personal expectations rather than his own.
Checking out her potential territory
"It suits you, I mean," she offered, attempting to correct words too personal that had already traversed the space between them.
"Thank you," he whispered in return.
Could his eyes appear any fuller, she wondered as his smile lightened his face? How was it her words brought him such joy, made him appear even taller than he had mere seconds ago?
And just what was she doing here with him?
He then kissed the top of her head before she could ponder the matter even further, making her draw back and look up at him in a slight censure.
"Not in front of your aunt," Mary warned, staring somewhat agape at him as he shook his head and chuckled.
"Don't mind me," a voice cried from the back of the auto, Mary's cheeks warming quickly as she directed her stance towards Lady Catherine. "Just pretend I'm not here and carry on."
Charles flicked a brow playfully in her direction, heating her skin from pink to a muted shade of red as he then dared to toss her a wink
Good God, just what would her parents have said over such a public display of affection? It was quite a good thing that they had not witnessed any of their behavior under the protective shade of the tree yesterday.
She felt momentarily bereft as Charles left her side to help his aunt emerge from the vehicle, the loss of his nearness reminding her that she was indeed a mere visitor here. The foreignness of her environment was only accentuated as an Indian man emerged from the house, bowing ceremoniously in their direction as he approached. He took care of Lady Catherine's belongings without a word, smiling congenially at Mary before following them towards the front entrance.
"Thank you, Ajit," Lady Catherine called from behind her shoulder as her nephew helped her through the front door.
"My pleasure, my lady," Ajit responded in perfect English, the rich baritone timbre of his voice reminding Mary in an odd and reassuring way of Carson. How lovely for Charles that he could bring these servants from his life in India to ease his transition into his own estate. But Mary could not help but wonder at how great a change life in England must be for Ajit and his wife.
Of course, life transitions of any sort were rarely easy.
The manor's interior matched the impression given by its outer facade, bringing a pleasant glimmer to Mary's gaze as she looked around in appreciation. She noted the library off to her immediate right, a drawing room to her left, and an impressive yet not overly ornate staircase in front of her. The colors were of lighter hues here than at Downton, almost as if spring and summer were perennial seasons here at Rufforth Hall and winter forever banished from its confines. The drapes were open, welcoming the sun's rays into a home she noted did not seem completely furnished.
This was an estate of new beginnings, the home of a man rebuilding a life from the ashes of ruin just as he had witnessed his aunt do in his formative years. The markings of tradition and history that pervaded Downton were absent here, replaced by a deliberate homage to personal taste and freedom. This was a residence by choice, purposefully selected and sought out rather than assumed as a matter of birthright.
It was so very different from the place in which she had dwelled her entire life. Yet it was vastly and gloriously liberating.
Mary followed Charles and Lady Catherine up the steps to her quarters, a room of muted yellows, whites and pale blues that suited the woman immensely. The furnishings were much simpler than Mary would have anticipated, yet they matched the demeanor of a teacher, a headmistress, a lady who had survived and carved a meaningful life out of meager scraps tossed at her feet. A small table sat by a window overlooking a garden, a welcoming stone bench set tastefully under a rather large oak tree catching Mary's eye immediately as she strolled towards the transparent pane. The view was easy to admire, and she wished acutely that she had paid better attention to all of Granny's lectures on the various names of flowers as she absorbed their beauty from afar. She could not help but smile amidst surrounding such as these, the aroma of fresh daisies peeking out from a china vase by Lady Catherine's bedside tickling her nose.
At least she knew what to call those blossoms.
"I do enjoy that view, my dear," Lady Catherine sighed, strolling up to her side as she gazed out the window in near reverence. "Sometimes I imagine that I can smell the lavender from here."
"An old nanny of ours would put sachets of lavender in our pillowcases when we were young," Mary reminisced, smiling at a forgotten memory resurfaced. "She swore it helped us sleep better, but it always made Edith sneeze."
The older woman laughed softly, turning towards Mary conspiratorially.
"I have slept with lavender in my pillow for as long as I can remember," Lady Catherine confessed. "There is something so wild yet comforting about the scent, if you ask me. The combination makes it utterly irresistible."
Wild yet comforting...the words echoed in her mind as she dared a glance in his direction. And utterly irresistible…
A woman of rather muted features then entered and approached, introducing herself as Nurse Hathaway as she ventured to help get Lady Catherine settled. Mary and Charles left the room to afford them some privacy, descending the stairs at a leisurely manner as she continually attempted to note the small details of his choice of home.
"Where are your other servants?" Mary inquired, wondering just how large a staff Charles employed.
"We have very few, actually," he answered evenly. "Besides Ajit and Ishana, I employ three grooms, two gardeners and one housekeeper."
"What?" Mary voiced, rather astonished at the relatively small staff for a decently-large estate. "No footmen? No lady's maid for your aunt or valet for you?"
Charles chuckled at her immediate reaction, shaking his head gently as he led her into the library.
"Mary, my aunt has not had a lady's maid in over forty years," he explained, "and she has no desire to be fussed over whatsoever. I am certain her new nurse will be in for more than she ever bargained for with Aunt Catherine. Contrary to popular opinion, she is quite a particular woman."
"All women are somewhat particular, you know," she returned, the small flash of a challenge in her eyes.
"Oh, yes," he answered with raised brows. "Some more than others."
Her brows caught his implication perfectly, throwing back to him yet another question perplexing her.
"And what's your excuse? For not having a valet, I mean."
"I grew up taking care of myself, Mary," he answered softly, his eyes casting down to the carpet momentarily. "It just seemed a bit excessive for me to employ a valet when I am perfectly capable of dressing and undressing myself."
She shoved down such images forming in her mind before they could distract her from the conversation at hand.
"Besides, our world is changing, you know," Charles continued, a serious weight settling on his tone as he looked upon her sincerely. "It is rather amazing that your father has been able to keep an estate as large as Downton functioning as smoothly as it does."
Images of the heated arguments between her father and Matthew over the management of Downton ran rampant, singing rough edges of her memory as she attempted to dull their potency. It was a wonder the family had not been torn asunder by the rather marked disagreements concerning this issue.
Instead, it had been ripped apart by the heartless hand of death.
"He nearly lost it," she offered quietly, her eyes meeting his tentatively at this confession. "My mother's fortune was depleted in keeping Downton afloat, and it was Matthew's vision and Tom's practicality that convinced my father that modernization was a necessity for survival."
Her confession surprised him, and he encircled a soft hand within his.
"It was good of him to accept their advice so readily," he stated, a strong hint of admiration lacing his tone. "Many men would have had too much pride to do so."
"Believe me, there was nothing readily accepted," she corrected with a firm glance. "There were many terse conversations over the matter, unfortunately. Both Matthew and my father were rather stubborn about everything."
"That cannot have been easy for you," he put forth, stroking the top of her knuckles with his thumb. "Having to straddle the wall of conflict between your husband and your father."
"It wasn't," she admitted honestly. "I felt as though I was being torn in half at times."
"What a horrid position for you," Charles pondered, working through facts in his mind as he continued to stroke her hand. "How were they able to save Downton with no money?"
Not this…she hated even thinking of the matter.
Dark eyes cast themselves down to the floor, unable to look at him as a deeper cut cried out to be tended.
"Matthew came into a rather sizable fortune himself," Mary finally replied, drawing breath to bolster her faltering courage. "It was left to him by the father of his late fiancé."
"That sounds rather complicated," he mused, attempting to draw her gaze back to his own as he sensed her discomfort.
"It was, rather," she admitted freely, finally squelching the insistent churning of her stomach at this line of inquiry. "He came into this money quite unexpectedly and was unsure of what to do with it for some time."
"How could he have been unsure when your family was in such need?" Charles questioned, true confusing overtaking his features at this new information.
Mary sighed heavily. She had made peace with this episode of her marriage in her own manner, but Matthew's initial reluctance to save Downton still bore enough venom to sting if she examined it too closely. How honor and a duty to conscience could be prioritized over family and practicality had never made sense to her, but Matthew's values had in some areas been different than her own. She had ardently respected and loved him for his idealism and goodness…even if at times she had wanted to throttle the virtues right out of the man.
Those senses along with a healthy dose of stubbornness on both of their parts had kept them separated years longer than they should have been.
"Matthew felt quite guilty over the circumstances of their engagement and her death for some time," Mary finally stated flatly. "Do you remember when I told you on the train how she…"
"She died after seeing the two of you kiss," he finished for her, noting the exhale of relief she breathed at not having to speak the words herself. "I must say, Mary, your life has not exactly been free of twists and turns."
"An understatement if I've ever heard one," Mary mused, attempting to lighten her own mood a bit before moving back into tender territory. "She died from the Spanish flu, you understand, but Matthew blamed himself for months. He believed that she lost the will to live after seeing us together, that he—that he and I were responsible for her death."
Dear God, she had not expected this—this overflow of emotion too long untapped over yet another episode she had unsuccessfully attempted to bury. Mary forcefully absorbed her own tears, refusing to allow any more to be shed over this unfortunate chapter in the saga of her life.
Enough was enough.
"And that's when he told you that the two of you were cursed," Charles reasoned, his conclusion affirmed in silence as she nodded her head twice.
"He thought that he deserved to be unhappy—that we both did, actually," Mary admitted cautiously, certain of the response she would receive from the man standing across from her. "Don't judge him for this, Charles, please! Matthew was such a good and honorable man. He and I just never seemed to be granted an easy road to travel."
Speaking of understatements…
Charles bit his tongue, pursing lips together deliberately to halt words of reproach aimed at her late husband from escaping him. He wished at that moment he could shake the man, make Matthew Crawley see just how deeply his careless speech delivered out of guilt and grief would sear into a soul more fragile than he seemed to realize. But any words against him would have the same effect upon Mary that Charles was attempting to avoid at all costs. They would wound her, he knew, and nothing was worth that.
She had been wounded enough in her life.
"I'm glad it all worked out for you in the end," he offered, kissing her hand gently before adding, "that you were granted some true happiness together."
She could only nod in response, the impact of his sentiment rocking already overly-sensitized emotions.
"We were both just so stupid at times," she breathed, a rueful laugh escaping its cages before it could be captured. "It cost us dearly."
"Love always costs something," Charles whispered, the slight twitch of his mouth betraying a note of emotion he struggled desperately to conceal.
But she had seen it, had noted it, even if she was not yet ready to entertain exactly what it meant.
Lunch had indeed been delightful, and Mary determined she would mention nothing of the high quality of the cooking here at Rufforth Hall to Mrs. Patmore. There was no telling what Downton's cook would have to say if she learned that a foreign woman could prepare a salmon mousse that would rival her own. Mary could not help but smile, however, at the thoughts of Mrs. Patmore serving up an Indian feast for her family.
What would her grandmother have to say about that?
They walked towards the stables afterwards, the pride Charles held for his horses and their quarters evident as she watched two Cleveland Bays being led into their paddocks. She was also relishing the sense of absolute privacy this place afforded, the smaller household staff making her feel fairly secure that no prying eyes were upon them as he took her hand and led her to the precise field he so wanted her to see.
She was there in all her splendor, a breath-taking creature of ebony, the sunlight making her coat shimmer magically as she galloped freely in the grass. A secret thrill shot up Mary's thighs as she watched the black mane fly freely, unhindered by bridles or any other constraints, characteristic pointed ears setting this horse apart from any other residing at Rufforth Hall. Kala was the prize of this estate, and she seemed to know it, slowing to a prance as she eyed the humans observing her actions in a vague interest.
"She's magnificent," Mary uttered, unable to take her eyes from the horse as she took up a rather unusual gait. "Did you teach her to do that?"
"No," Charles admitted, "Although I do practice with her."
He paused, gazing at her intently as he offered, "Would you like me to have one of the grooms bring her around for you?"
She instinctively knew this was an invitation extended to very few, a heavy measure of trust and feeling on his part granting her this opportunity if she desired to take it.
"No," Mary answered, rather surprised by her own answer. "I enjoy watching her like this—free to run as she pleases."
He smiled at her, his arm softly moving around her waist as he agreed.
"So do I."
She did not have the heart to yet speak of Roquefort's threat, unwilling to mar this moment of peace as a breeze bearing the slight scent of autumn billowed her skirt and snuck under her hair. They could speak of such matters later at Downton within walls that had sheltered more than their fair share of strife. She would not ruin this place with the mention of ugliness from an external environment.
Not this…
They traversed the grounds in an easy silence, allowing the wind and their hands to converse freely as a wave of peace enveloped her. She almost felt as if she were a different woman away from the all-seeing eyes of Downton, one not bound by expectations of status and duty but free just to be. She had felt this same liberation on her honeymoon, when she had been afforded time with her husband untouched by the constraints of her life.
Spying a rabbit made her grin, wishing for a moment that George could have been here to see the small animal. He would love it here.
She loved it here.
Charles finally drew her into a grove of trees, stroking her face in a manner so intimate she thought she might melt from the sheer tenderness of it. His kiss nearly shattered her, the softness of his touch matching the caresses he somehow flitted across her heart, her mouth responding in kind without any coherent thought. She felt quite sheltered, protected from anything that could harm her as she willfully relaxed her senses into the alluring oblivion of this man…
This man.
Oh, Dear God.
"Would you enjoy an excursion to the lake," he cut in, the husky timbre of his voice wrapping itself around her reason even further.
"I'll have to change first, you know," she replied groggily, leaning into him slightly.
His eyes widened in delight, his grin suddenly infectious as he realized what she had just admitted.
"You brought your swimming attire?"
Her nod merely added to his delight, and he kissed her soundly once more before leading her back to his home. Her body began a nervous jig as logic began to knock insistently. She was by no means unaware of the slight danger this excursion presented, being alone with him in attire more revealing than was probably prudent.
Charles had assured her he had no desire to expose her to any further scandal. He had proven himself to be a man of his word, and she had no doubt that he would allow her to set the boundaries between them this afternoon.
And that was precisely what frightened her.
Goose-flesh covered her skin as she observed herself in the mirror, the silken bathing frock covering her woolen jersey swimsuit admirably. She held the matching bathing cap in nervous hands, taking a deep breath again as she again took in her reflection. There was nothing risqué about her swimwear, everything essential was covered admirably and remained steadfastly within the bounds of decency. Women flocked to the shore in such swimwear, their bodies in full view of anyone on hand, for that matter.
But this lake was private. And Mary suddenly began to wonder if she would actually have the courage to step foot in the water, after all.
She glanced around the bedroom in which she had changed yet again, basking in the warm coral tones that gave the impression of a continual sunset. The room was not grand but rather bordered on the exotic, small statues most assuredly from India displayed tastefully in an open invitation to gaze upon their beauty. An amulet of amber drew her attention, commanding the notice of anyone who would venture near. It was stunning, the gold tones crying out to be touched even as they were protected from human hands in a glass case.
Had this been Rashmi's? Mary was suddenly sure of the fact, deducing quickly this had most likely been a gift from Charles to his bride. The jewelry acquired a holy air immediately, and she twisted her wedding ring unconsciously around her finger as she examined it further. She could imagine how stunning this would look against the woman's skin, how the Indian sunlight would make it gleam all the more.
Then she wondered.
Hands nervously opened a drawer just there, somehow knowing, searching…for she kept one in a similar location…
And there it was.
A photograph, one obviously held dear as attested to by worn edges. She was smiling brightly, this beautiful woman who seemed so full of life as she gazed happily at her photographer. What had Charles told her Rashmika meant? Ray of light? The name and meaning he had chosen for his daughter must have stemmed from her that of her mother.
Had she ever smiled in a photograph, Mary wondered, finding the notion of always looking so stern suddenly ridiculous. What would George deduce of her personality if a picture of his mother were all he had as evidence? The thought made her uncomfortable, and she suddenly felt like an interloper holding Rashmi's image in her hand. She replaced it gently, sliding the drawer shut upon the past as she so often did in her own bedroom.
Her feet then led her across thick carpeting to a small bookshelf, her fingers stroking the spines of volumes in a script she could not understand. Hindi, perhaps? Mary drew one from the shelf, admiring the golden embossed lettering even though she had no inkling what she would discover within its pages. She dared a peak, feeling again like an intruder peering into yet another private corner of Charles Blake's life.
She very nearly dropped it.
Her heart began to pound, swallowing suddenly becoming an effort as she gazed upon an illustration too vivid to be misunderstood. Her hands turned another page, and yet another, her mind understanding that this book needed no translation for its meaning to be understood.
Did she actually hold within her grasp a copy of The Kama Sutra?
Her skin heated of its own accord, fingers continually leafing through pages as if on a mission even as her logic screamed at her to put it back from whence it came. But the pictures were mesmerizing, their openness and artistry so very foreign to her English sensibilities that she could not seem to walk away. Her heart began to pound in her temples, a slight tingling in her breasts alerting her that she was trespassing on quicksand that could envelop her all too quickly.
A soft knock on the door then made her jump, the book actually flying from her hands before she caught it in midair, returning it hastily to its abandoned position on the shelf. She tried desperately to control her dropping stomach, feeling unreasonably like a child caught playing with her mother's jewelry as she moved towards the door.
Seeing him standing there draped in an embroidered robe of browns and burgundies did nothing to cool her flushed complexion, his eyes actually widening in concern at her heightened color.
"Are you feeling well, Mary?" he questioned, pushing the door wider to take in her complete appearance.
"Of course," she shot back quickly, forcing a smile that did not fool him. "I am perfectly well."
Charles eyed her in disbelief, taking a step in her direction as his raised brows demanded an explanation.
"I'm just a bit nervous, that's all," she admitted, unwilling to confess her previous viewing material as she placed the blame elsewhere. "I haven't been swimming in some time."
He smiled reassuringly, offering his arm as he turned them in the direction of the steps.
"Don't worry. The lake is not very deep, and I'll make certain you don't venture out too far."
If he only knew the type of venturing that was truly occupying her mind at the moment.
She felt odd, somewhat exposed as they traversed a path he knew well to the lake, set back in a rather secluded area of the grounds that seemed to be devoid of any disturbances to its natural state. Here wildflowers roamed freely, carpeting their journey as Mary inexplicably held on to his arm as a lifeline. He guided her expertly, occasionally pointing out a favored tree or the sighting of a squirrel, steering her away from muddy patches until they reached the shoreline.
It was a small lake, warmly inviting as sunlight skipping in delight across its surface beckoned her forward. Small pebbles lined the edge, forcing her to watch her feet carefully as she slowly removed her shoes. Why she suddenly felt naked with that small action was beyond any form of reason.
He had already removed the robe, standing unashamed in his swimsuit as she took a moment to stare at him. He was just as she had imagined, even the traces of his scar visible through the top straps of his suit only accentuating his attraction. He smiled in her direction, dimples issuing her an invitation her to shed her outer frock. She took a deep breath and did so, trembling in spite of herself as she noted the appreciation apparent in his gaze as she now stood in nothing but her swimsuit and bathing cap.
"You are beautiful, you know," he breathed in sincere admiration, a shudder rocking her knees at the impact of his declaration. "Are you ready to get in?"
"I hope so," she admitted, looking back across the surface that was in continual motion. She dared to slide a foot into the shallows, shivering slightly as the pleasant coolness that teased her ankle. The other foot followed as he stood patiently, content to let her move forward at her own pace into these unknown waters. She soon found herself knee-deep, pausing to catch her breath as her body adjusted to the change in climate.
"It's actually a bit easier if you just dive in," Charles finally advised, her eyes watching him warily at this advice.
"Says someone who jumped into Loch Ness in pursuit of a monster," she quirked back, watching him smile in appreciation.
"Trust me, Mary," he returned, extending a hand in her direction. "These waters are much warmer than those."
She took his hand haltingly, closing her eyes a moment to block out anything but the sensation of water upon her skin as her legs bade her to follow him further. The lake's silken fingers grazed her thighs, inching up to her naval until they completely enveloped her waist. An insistent tugging kept motioning her in deeper, the cool, alluring touch crawling up her ribcage as it teased her breasts. He stopped her there, the surface now skimming her shoulders as small currents rocked her body gently.
Mary didn't know what to say, feeling slightly wicked submerged in a lake like this with a grinning Charles Blake standing so daringly close. Before she could formulate another thought, he went under, swimming behind her as she attempted to twirl her body in the direction she sensed him moving. Water crested against her hip, hands grasping her shoulders from behind before she could react.
"You haven't gone under yet," he teased into her ear.
"And if I decide not to?" she questioned, turning her neck until her nose nearly touched his.
"Then I'll just have to change your mind," he grinned, scooping her legs up in his arms and taking her under the water before she could formulate a rebuttal.
They emerged, one face very pleased with himself, the other sputtering like an angry feline. She splashed him mercilessly when he released his legs, forcing him under again much to her chagrin as she sought to locate him futilely.
Then frustration began to be overshadowed by a mild sense of panic as she began to fear he had stayed under too long. If he had gotten snagged by something on the bottom, if something had knocked him unconscious…
His surprising ascent mere inches from her face made her jump, and she shoved his chest forcefully, knocking him backwards into the lake as his laugh just irritated her further. When he dared rise to his feet again, he held out his arms in a peace offering, watching her warily as he dared to allow one hand to slick back the hair from his brow.
"Truce?" he questioned, pausing his progress before moving any further towards her.
She raised her brow in response, angling her chin slightly as she retorted, "You, Charles Blake, are a cad."
"You've called me that before, you know," he grinned, his sheer nerve spurring her on.
"You must not have heard me very clearly the first time," she responded, eyeing him directly as he waded a bit closer.
"Oh, yes," he whispered, his roguish grin coming out from hiding. "I listen to everything you say, my lady."
"Then there just must be no hope for you," she replied. "You're doomed to remain a cad forever."
"Well, if that is to be my fate," he began, sliding up to her quickly, "I suppose it would just be wise to accept it."
"Can one be a cad and be wise simultaneously," she breathed, the water beading on his skin constricting her throat slightly as she haltingly played with a lock of his hair.
"I don't know," he voiced huskily, both of her hands making their way to his chest. "Why don't you tell me?"
That was all she could stand.
Their mouths met in a hungered frenzy, the coolness of the water somehow having no effect of the lightening heat that shot through to her core. His arms bound her tightly in an instant, raising her slightly from the water's surface as he held her eye-level with him. She grasped his neck in abandon, mesmerized by the texture of wet lips stroking her own, lost to the ministrations of his seasoned tongue sending her into a frenzy.
Quicksand, indeed.
This was sheer madness, but she reveled in it, memorizing the feel of how his hair felt between her fingers when wet, sampling the flavors of his mouth as if it were a delicacy prepared just for her pleasure. He continued to hold her tightly, her feet drifting just above the lake's bottom freeing one to stroke up and down his leg. She felt his shudder, oddly emboldened by it, as she tugged his lower lip with her teeth.
"Good God," he breathed, drawing back just enough for her to see the blazing intensity in his eyes.
And she had put it there. The knowledge spurred her forward.
His mouth was on a wild descent down her neck, his lips feasting upon the surface of her shoulders in a manner that set her on fire. She clasped his head closer to her, begging wordlessly for him to continue this erotic hypnosis. She pushed herself up in the water, wrapping her legs about his waist securely as his ministrations moved to the neckline of her swimsuit, feathering kisses rocking her head back as she attempted to draw a full breath.
One strong arm continued to clasp her back to him fiercely, but another descended, cupping her bottom gently. She did cry out at this contact, taking his face within her hands as she kissed him with a passion pent-up for far too long. She was soaring, embracing this new thrill of life with everything she had. Kisses were becoming sloppier, hands more daring as new terrain was explored.
But he suddenly stopped, gripping her tightly to him even as he could not look her in the eye. His breathing was heavy, and each exhale tickling her neck as she clasped his head to her.
"Do you have any idea just how badly I want you?" he managed, finally chancing a direct glance into her own eyes, the blackness of her own desire staring back at him.
She could formulate no response just yet, wondering just why he had stopped to tell her this when she had erected no barriers between them. She then grinned daringly, pulling back slightly herself as she responded.
"I think I have a pretty good idea."
He couldn't help but chuckle, the fact that she was still wrapped against his waist becoming even more pronounced as he replied, "I daresay you do."
His expression once again became serious as he set her down gently, stroking her arm once her feet touched the bottom as his other hand fastened around her waist.
"Why have you stopped?" she questioned boldly, feeling a bit unsteady on legs that had just been snaked around this man quite intimately.
"Mary," he began, swallowing deliberately as he sought the right words, "When I make love to you, I don't want there to be any ghosts between us."
His honesty both stoked the fire already blazing even as it made her pause. She looked at him, noting how he was searching her face carefully for any reaction before he continued.
"I don't want either of us running from anything or anyone, but rather running towards something wonderful. I want it to be about us and only us, an expression of what we feel for each other. I'm just not certain you're ready for that"
He kissed her forehead slowly, his lips brushing her skin in a manner that made her ache all the more. She closed her eyes, keeping his face close to hers as a part of her fought against what he was saying.
"And I would be a cad in the worst sense if I took advantage of you."
His words brought her steadily back to reality, a reality still so new she was having a bit of difficulty taking it all in. His eyes beckoned her to remain locked on his, the hand in her hair now caressing her cheek in a manner that called her to lean into it. She nodded wordlessly at his assertions, there being no need to affirm that he was correct. He knew it…she knew it.
But there was something of which she was unsure.
"And what of you?" she voiced throatily, still feeling quite wobbly in more ways than one. "Are you ready for this?"
Her question startled him, the direct honesty piercing him as he understood how vulnerable he had suddenly become. She wanted to know what he felt for her, had asked him clearly if he was ready to commit to her and take her as his own. Her reaction frightened him, but he had no option in this circumstance.
His slow nod preceded his answer, his gaze taking in the surface of the water as he feared what he might see upon her face.
"Yes," he finally uttered, his confession marking something inside her.
She cupped his face again, turning his eyes up towards hers as she took in this wondrous declaration that both beckoned and terrified her. She kissed the small lines of his forehead, noting the shudder that rocked him was even stronger than the one she had felt in the throes of passion. This man loved her.
Charles Blake loved her.
The realization felt somehow like a spring flower daring to open up inside her, braving the elements for a chance to bloom in all its splendor. How was this possible? She was unsure of how to respond, her feelings still so jumbled yet clarifying at a rate that was rather alarming.
"Be patient with me," she whispered, the only words that fit the puzzle pieces of emotion she could somehow not yet fit together. He soothed her instantly with arms that encompassed her, held her…
Loved her.
"Always," he breathed, kissing the top of her head. And as she rested in his embrace, she realized that the waters here were indeed warmer than expected.
Dare I ask for your thoughts after this chapter? Or perhaps hide behind a chair...