Belle wasn't afraid anymore. That thought was thrumming through her veins as she led her husband into her bedroom. Something about his confession earlier had triggered this fearlessness inside of her; she was sure more than ever that she wanted to have a true marriage with him and that she could have a true marriage if she wanted. If he was afraid of hurting her, then she would just have to prove to him that she wasn't afraid of him. She'd never really been afraid of him - she'd been afraid of men in general, surprises, and people touching her - but never him. She could do this; she wanted to do this. She wanted her husband.

There was no way to ever explain to Rhys what he'd given her, but then she suspected he knew. He had given her back her power in her life. She had no idea what it had cost him, or how he had known to do it except that Rhys always knew how to make her feel better. The day he'd proposed, he'd given her his cane as a weapon and disabled himself for her. When they had married, he'd kissed her cheek instead of her lips. Every single step of the way he'd been gentle and kind and patient with her, but Belle was sick of being patient and she was sick of being the one who always needed help. If her husband needed her, she was going to put her fear aside and help him.

"I have a book I want you to see," she said as she climbed into her bed and fished the book she'd found so scandalous only a handful of weeks ago out from under a pillow.

Her husband looked at her warily as he shed his robe and joined her. She flipped through the first few chapters before arriving at the illustrations that had so startled her and handed it over to him.

"This was in the books you bought me," she explained. "I can't imagine they knew it was in there, but I found it a few weeks ago."

Rhys licked his lips and she saw his adam's apple bob as he swallowed hard. His eyes were darting back and forth between her and the book and she knew he wasn't sure what to do, but she hadn't been sure at first either.

"How long ago?" he asked at last.

"Around the time we started sharing a bed again," she replied. "That's what gave me the idea to try touching you."

"Oh," he said, sounding so adorably confounded her heart skipped a beat. "And you've been reading this?"

His eyes were firmly locked on the illustration now, open to a colorful picture of a man seated behind a woman. Her legs were spread wide and her lover touched her as they kissed.

"I read the whole thing," she replied. "Twice."

The book slipped out of his grasp and he scrambled to recover it.

"Belle…" he groaned her name and closed his eyes. "What are you asking for?"

"I just want to try," she replied, gesturing towards the book. "Not necessarily that. But something. I want to keep moving forward. With you. Aren't you sick of letting someone else control your life? Because I am."

He made a strangled noise in the back of his throat and closed his eyes tight.

"It doesn't have to be this," she repeated, taking the book back. "Or even tonight. But I was hoping there might be something you'd like to do, even if it's just read it with me."

Rhys sighed and opened his eyes again. He looked at her for a long moment, and she decided to risk touching him. She raised her hand to cup his face and he turned his cheek into her open palm like.

"I'll read it with you," he said affectionately. "If nothing else, I should probably know what sort of ideas are in your head now."

There was no patronization in his voice despite his words, and she suspected he was more concerned out of a sense of self-preservation than because of any idea about what she should and shouldn't know. So she leaned in and kissed him on the cheek before snuggling into his side with the book in hand. She would skip the portions about etiquette and furniture, and instead turned to the chapter that contained a description of the various types of kisses lovers might engage in. Her husband's arm came around her midsection cautiously, as though he feared that she would pull away from him. Instead, she moved in closer and leaned her head against his shoulder. His hand was warm where it rested against her belly and she was abuzz with pleasure as she opened the book and began reading.

"It is said by some," she began, "that there is no fixed time or order between the embrace, the kiss, and the pressing or scratching with the nails or fingers, but that all these things should be done generally before sexual union takes place, while striking and making the various sounds generally takes place at the time of the union."

She felt herself blush as she read the familiar words in sentences she'd never spoken aloud. The idea of fingers pressing into her flesh had been fascinating to her since she'd encountered it. It sounded painful, but the author of the book listed it as one of a series of pleasurable activities including kisses, embraces, and 'sexual union.' It was a thought that had wormed its way into her conscious and refused to let go. She wondered if he'd do it if she asked it of him, but today she'd promised they would just read despite the tension building in her lower belly.

"On the occasion of the first congress," she read, putting her hand on his thigh gently to gauge his reaction. "kissing and the other things mentioned above should be done moderately, they should not be continued for a long time, and should be done alternately."

Rhys snorted, and Belle stopped to look at him quizzically.

"With all due respect to," he tilted the book in her hands back so he could read the name on the front, "Vatsyayana and Mr. Burton, the first time should be nothing but those things."

"He says that after the first time you should do them more," she replied, unsure why she was defending the book to her husband.

"The first time," he said softly, not really looking at her anymore even though she was staring at him. "The first time should mostly be kissing and touching until you're both nearly ready to die from the excitement of it. Then you can move on to the rest."

"Was that how yours was?" she asked him, unsure what sort of answer she really expected. Her first time had been none of those things, but she didn't want to dwell on that fact there in bed with her husband.

"No," he replied. "Not exactly. Some things you learn with age and experience."

"Oh," she said, because what else could she say? The buzzing inside her was reaching a fever pitch and she desperately wanted to know more. "Will you show me?"

He turned to her quickly with a startled expression on his face.

"Belle," he began and she knew what he would say before he even said it.

"Just kissing," she interrupted. "You've kissed me before."

She saw him consider her words for a moment before he nodded and she smiled and turned to face him. Their positions had her leaning down to kiss him, but she found she rather liked that. She felt stronger and safer somehow while she was over top of him and it wasn't long before the buzzing inside of her had worked into a nearly unbearable heat. She guided his hands to her sides and leaned further into him to deepen the kiss. She felt good when they did this; it had lost its terror for her and now only held pleasure. The more she kissed him, the more sure she was that kissing him would be the key to making this work. When she kissed him, she became lost in his lips and time seemed to hold still and move too fast at the same time.

She put her hands on his chest and let the warmth of him seep into her through her fingers. He was her husband, and his heart was beating strong and steady beneath her. She loved him, he loved her, and they would be happy.

After a few moments, Belle collapsed against Rhys a little and let herself rest against his chest. He wrapped his arms around her just enough that she didn't quite feel trapped; she just felt cherished.

"I like kissing you," she admitted after pulling away for a moment. "You're good at it."

He smiled and she couldn't help running her fingers through his hair.

"You're lovely," he replied. "I'm sorry, I -"

She quickly pressed her lips to his before he could apologize to her again. She didn't want to hear his reasons for not wanting her to love him, she just wanted him to trust that she could love him. They were just kissing. It would be all right - they would both be all right.

Once she was sure he wasn't going to try to apologize, Belle broke the kiss and returned to her original place leaning against his shoulder with the book in her lap.

"Do you like that?" she asked him idly, tracing the cover of her book. "Kissing, I mean."

"I do," he said almost instantly. "I very much do."

He put his arm back around her and curled into her a bit with his face buried in her hair and his legs against hers. She wondered if he was even aware he was doing it, or if it was just simply his way of seeking comfort from her. Either way, she was relishing this moment of being held and not scared. He wasn't trying to restrain her, he was trying to stay close to her and somehow that made all the difference in the world as to whether it was comforting. She pressed back against him, letting him hold her as tight as he wanted and threaded the fingers of her hand through the fingers of his good one.

Rhys smelled clean and warm with a hint of whatever cologne it was he used. She had grown to love that scent since they'd been living together, and she shut her eyes and inhaled, filling her lungs with him. He'd never hurt her; he was safety and affection and she loved him.

"I love you," she murmured, deciding he deserved to hear it again properly.

Rhys' fingers clenched a little bit when she spoke, but he nodded against her neck and she smiled.

"And you love me," she continued and he nodded again. "And you're not going to hurt me. Neither one of us needs to be afraid."

He tensed behind her but didn't pull away, and she took it as a good sign.

"Rhys," she whispered his name. "I'm not afraid of you."

He didn't reply, so she repeated it again and again until he relaxed at last behind her.

"I do love you," he said at last, so softly that she felt it more than she heard it. "And I'd die before I hurt you."

"I know," she replied, tossing her book at last to the side of the bed. "Because I'd kill you if you tried."

She meant it as a tease, and she felt him smile against her neck. It did seem to calm him, though - the idea that she could stand up for herself - and she decided to take it a little further.

"There's a knife in the box on my bedside table," she confessed. "I've slept with it either there or under my pillow since before we got married. I only moved it to the table when you started sleeping here."

Rhys pulled away for a second and she felt him staring to see if she was serious about that part.

"You can check if you'd like," she replied and when he didn't immediately she wriggled away and reached over to grab the little lacquer box she kept her knife in. She pulled it out and held it for him to look at.

Rhys seemed stunned for a few moments and then he started shaking and it took her a second to recognize he was finally laughing at something.

"That's a paring knife," he said incredulously.

"I stole it from my father's house," she admitted, setting it back in its box and putting it back on her nightstand. "What's so funny?"

"Oh, sweetheart," he said at last. "You can't kill a man with that, it's too small to stab someone with. We'll get you a proper one tomorrow."

She should probably feel put out that he thought her choice of weapon was funny, but she was just relieved he wasn't so sullen anymore. He settled down onto the pillow with a smile on his face and she happily joined him, relieved that whatever tension had been following him since her father's visit had finally fled and left her husband as her companion again.

"I didn't have too many options, you know," she said, poking him in the side. "Nobody was going to buy me a dagger."

"Well," he replied. "If my wife feels safest with a knife by her bed, she'll have a better one and we can try and sneak that one back into your father's kitchens."

Belle smiled and took his hand in his. She was so happy that he was happy and that he was here with her. The strange feeling in her belly had settled a bit, but it was still there and she wanted more of it again.

"Would you touch me again?" she asked him once they'd both relaxed again. "If I asked?"

"Of course," he said. "Any time you want that you can just ask."

"Then I want it," she replied.

He paused for a moment and she was afraid he might not have really meant it, but then he was kissing her neck and shoulder and his free hand was on her hip. He was moving tentatively, as though he weren't quite sure if she had been serious or not. Belle squirmed under his touch and bunched her nightgown up over her thighs, inviting him in closer. He needed some encouragement to put his hand on her bare flesh, but once he did, he squeezed her hip and she knew suddenly that the book had been right and fingers pressing into her skin felt wonderful.

She arched her back and gasped, and finally he moved between her legs and she didn't have to be asked to leave her knees wide for him to settle with his shoulders underneath her legs so he could put his face in the juncture of her thighs. His lips were on that sensitive spot again and it was Heaven there as his mouth and tongue moved against her. She felt herself building again to that place that had scared her so much before, and she was halfway to stopping him again when he did something with his tongue and suddenly her world was spiralling out of control. Belle felt like she was flying for a moment and the earth seemed to tilt and focus where his mouth was still on her and stars were in her eyes and she couldn't catch her breath and then suddenly he was there next to her and he was cradling her in his arms and it was all wonderful.

Once it was over, Belle couldn't have described what had happened if she'd needed to, especially not in the immediate aftermath when her legs were still shuddering and it still felt like little shocks were radiating through her. It took her a moment to catch her breath, but eventually she did and was able to put her thoughts together coherently enough to be a little self-conscious of her exposed state and to pull the blankets over her sweat-slick skin.

"What was that?" she asked him, snuggling into his chest and seeking whatever warmth and security she could get from him.

"Have you never…" he said, looking at her with wide eyes and for a second she felt self-conscious, but then suddenly he shook his head a little and kissed her forehead. "No, of course not. It was a climax, sweetheart. It's supposed to happen."

"Oh," she replied, feeling sleep suddenly begin to overcome her. "I've never felt anything like it."

"There isn't anything like it," he said. "Do you feel better?"

"I do," she said. "Is this what it feels like for you?"

"I'm not sure," he replied. "Nobody can really be sure, can they?"

"I suppose not," she agreed. "Goodnight, Rhys."

"Goodnight, sweetheart."

She pressed her ear to his chest, and let the beating of his heart and the languidness of her muscles lull her into sleep.

It was entirely beyond Rhys to deny his wife anything, and the next morning, bright and early, they were dressed and in a carriage en route to an antique dealer to find Belle a suitable dagger. If they couldn't find anything, Rhys had no compunction about placing an order with the local blacksmith, but he wanted her to have something as soon as possible. If sleeping with a knife by her bedside kept his wife feeling secure, then she would have one.

Dagger shopping with Belle proved to be a rather amusing experience. She had very little knowledge beyond that the pointy end needed to go toward whomever she wanted to stab. Which, granted, was a good start - but she ended up needing a lot of guidance in selecting a proper one. The shopkeeper initially had seemed put off by the fact that Rhys was buying a weapon for his lady wife, but after realizing Rhys was willing to spend quite a lot of money on a weapon for his lady wife, the man instantly became more helpful. By the time they had finally selected a proper weapon for Belle, there was a decent pile of blades in front of them.

In the end, it was a Scottish dirk that finally made the cut. It wasn't the fanciest thing that had been presented to them (and to keep Belle high in the shopkeeper's estimation he added a brooch and a letter opener). The dagger they'd selected wasn't too large for Belle to handle, which had been his primary concern, and but it also had an ornately carved hilt and a scabbard studded with sapphires and rubies forming little flowers. It was feminine and delicate and - most importantly - would easily cut through to the kidneys of any man who tried to touch her against her will.

After the antique dealer, they stopped at the blacksmith to have her blade polished and sharpened to a dangerous degree before returning home. She kissed him on the cheek at the door and went upstairs to stow her presents and to make sure the dirk would fit in the box by her bed.

That night in her bed was practically a repeat of the previous one:, she read from her book for a little while, he pleasured her until they were both exhausted and then they fell asleep in each other's arms. It was a pattern repeated almost every night for the next two weeks, though sometimes she would ask him to pleasure himself while she watched and once she had him direct her in how to touch him before he eventually took over and finished himself off. It was terrifying, and stressful, and even so he still loved it. He'd never minded using his mouth on a woman, and Belle was responsive to his touch and his caresses. Most importantly, though, she didn't seem afraid of him. It was an important step, and he was grateful they'd taken it.

Finally, his six weeks in the splint was up and Dr. Hopper arrived with his bag in order to examine Rhys and give him the final okay to go back to normal. Peculiarly, Belle vanished not long after the doctor arrived, leaving Rhys alone for his examination.

Dr. Hopper had him demonstrate his range of motion in his fingers and squeeze his fingers before finally removing the bandages.

"You might be a little weak for a little while," Dr. Hopper explained, but Rhys was sure he could handle anything thrown at him as long as it meant getting the horrible, itchy splint off.

He sighed with relief when his arm was finally free. Dr. Hopper filled a basin with water and herbs and told Rhys to wash the dead skin off, which was when Rhys realized his life wasn't returning to normal any time soon. The moment he lifted his arm, his hand flopped down limply and it took all his strength to hold it upright. The muscles must have withered during his injury and he had only limited control of it. This was going to be very awkward to deal with.

Belle didn't emerge from wherever she'd been until after the doctor had left, but Rhys didn't press her for information when she finally came to him in his office. She sometimes didn't like visitors, and honestly he could live without them himself most times.

"How's your arm?" she asked him.

She came behind him and dragged her fingertips against the back of his collar in a way that sent a little bit of a shiver down his spine.

"It's been better," he admitted, holding his hand up so she could see how it hung limply at the end of his wrist. "Apparently the muscles have atrophied."

Belle gave him a sympathetic smile and hopped up on the desk. She took his hand in hers and began stroking the fingers and wrist gently.

"You poor thing," she said. "Your poor arm."

"It's not as bad as it looks," he replied, at least partially out of masculine pride and partially because it was hard for anything to be bad while Belle was holding his hand for the first time in weeks. "The doctor said it should recover within a few weeks."

"That's good," she said, stroking his palm. "Does it at least feel better to be out of it?"

"It does," he said. "For one thing, it doesn't itch anymore."

"Good," she said, smiling at him earnestly. "I'm glad. Will you be coming to bed tonight?"

It took him a second to catch up with her change in subject, but he nodded anyway.

"I thought," she began, and she took a deep breath before continuing. "I thought perhaps we might try...do you think we could try for more?"

It took him a second to realize what she meant, but the blush that had spread across her cheeks at her question told him everything he needed to know: she wanted to make love, and she wanted it soon. He felt his heart sink and his stomach tie itself up in knots at the prospect, but she looked so hopeful - and he knew it had cost her to even ask for it.

"We can try," he said at last, wishing she hadn't asked or that he had the heart to say no to her. "If that's what you'd like."

"I would," she said softly, still stroking his hand.

"All right then," he said, trying to sound surer than he felt. "Tonight."

"Tonight," she repeated, hopping down off the desk and kissing him on the forehead. "I can't wait."

He, on the other hand, could wait. He really, really could.