Margaret was soaring. His powerful arms held her close as they embraced each other, deeply, hungrily. She was alive to his every touch; every movement of his lips against hers awakened more feeling in her as she clung to him. She had never before felt so reckless and secure. He drew her closer with every passing moment, her hands instinctively moving from his shoulders to his hair. There was no thought but him, no awareness that anybody could interrupt them, only his all-consuming presence. The familiar pressure was gone now as it was spent on her matching his ardor, expressing her own passion. Had she ever felt so vibrant?
The hunger of their embrace finally gave way to a slower, more tender fervor. He did not release her from his grasp, but his mouth moved away from hers to plant gentle, feathery kisses on her brow, her cheeks, her eyes. Each graze sparkled within her, and when he whispered her name into her ear, she thrilled in ecstasy. How could she have ever believed that this was wrong, this affection and passion that she was so obviously made for? He returned to her mouth soon, alternating kisses with her name. She was only too happy to hear the open feeling in his voice, returning touch for touch, smile for smile.
Too soon, he drew away. She thought of pulling him back, closing the gap between them, but before she could do so, he smiled warmly and brought a hand up to her cheek, caressing her face in wonder. She leaned into his touch, reveling in his adoration. Finally he spoke, quietly and reverently.
"Margaret." Would she ever tire of hearing her name on his lips? "Marry me." It was not phrased as a question, but his tone was so gentle and soft that there was no hint that it could be a command. She could only hear pleading and love in his voice, and she opened her mouth to answer, ready to accept him in the midst of her passionate haze. But a portion of her mind cleared, reminding her that only minutes ago, there had been conflict. Anger. Opposition. And as much as she might wish to in the safety and comfort of his arms, she could not ignore that.
She pulled away from him silently. She hated looking at him and seeing the question in his eyes, and she hated the answer she must give him. How could she explain herself?
"I cannot. Forgive me."
His dismay was more than evident in the drop of his mouth and the stagger of his frame as he turned away from her.
"Please, Mr. Thornton, please let me explain."
"There is nothing to explain. You will not have me. You have misled me." He could not bring himself to say more; his feelings were in disarray at her refusal.
"No, there is more to it than that, I promise you. Please believe me when I say I did not mean to mislead you. I do care for you. Truly, I do. Very greatly."
"And yet you deny me," he growled, not a little angrily.
"Yes."
"Why? If you care for me so greatly? Why refuse me?"
She felt helpless at his angry sorrow. "Mr. Thornton, it has not been very long since my feelings for you began to change. There is so much I do not know or understand about you, and I cannot accept a man whom I do not yet love."
He noted the word "yet" spoken, but forced himself to ignore it, as disappointed as he was. "If you do not share my feelings, why allow me to take such liberties? Why return them?"
"You will not believe that I do share your feelings, Mr. Thornton!" Margaret exclaimed. But she would remain calm. She would see the situation through his eyes, and she could see that her behavior was very contradictory to him. After all, only moments before she had declared that he lied about his feelings, the next moment she had given way to them, and then the next moment abruptly turned from them. "But I do. There are times when I think that I could love you. My feelings for you are very strong, but as long as there is doubt within me, I should not give way to my feelings, no matter how much they persuade me to consent."
"And what doubts can you have? Is this still about the strike?" There was desperation rather than anger in his voice as he faced her again, wanting to shake her shoulders and convince her to retract her denial.
"Yes, that is part of it," she said simply. "I do not know everything about you yet. And I am not sure I can reconcile your behavior within myself."
"And nothing I have said on this matter has done any good? I have done nothing to show you that I am not so evil?"
"No, you have, Mr. Thornton. I do understand better what your position is, and I want to understand more. I want to know you. I want to say yes to you!"
Her direct admission made him nearly forget himself and give in to passion once more, but he stood his ground. "Then why do you not?"
Her eyes filled with tears. "I need time to know for certain. I need to know that I do really love you." She knew she was hurting him; she was hurting herself to say it, but it must be said. "I feel so much for you, Mr. Thornton. I am nearly overcome by my feeling for you, but I cannot tell yet whether it is sincere love. And I will not do you the dishonor of accepting you while I am still in doubt."
He stared at her in disbelief. That she could deny him and still believe she was doing him honor by doing so seemed so preposterous, yet she was sincere. He knew that she was honest. He allowed his anger to pass him by, but his disappointment would not abate. He was almost desperate enough to tell her that she needn't give him such credit; he would gladly take whatever she had to offer him now if she would only marry him. But he knew she would not accept such terms. He needed to cling to what little she did give him.
"Then I will not press you any longer." He spoke dully, and she was quick to step forward and offer him her hand. He wanted to deny it, but he could not stop himself from craving her touch. He looked into her eyes as he took her hand and saw gratitude and sorrow.
"Thank you, Mr. Thornton. You . . . you cannot know how difficult this is for me to say. I . . . I know I have disappointed and hurt you. I can only say that I hope it will not last very long."
"Margaret," he could not revert to calling her Miss Hale, "It will only last as long as you refuse me."
The grief in his voice caused her heart to swell. How could she have injured him so much? "Some day I will not. This is not no, not forever. This is only no, for now." She thought of how little recompense this admission must seem, but his eyes did lighten briefly.
"For now?" he repeated, a hint of a mournful smile on his lips.
"For now," she assured him. "One day . . . I'm sure that I can love you. I already could, but I am afraid of mistaking desire for love. I need to be certain." At such assurances, she saw the luster return to his eyes as he took her in and noted her frank admission of desiring him.
Boldly he brought her hand up to his mouth and kissed her palm delicately. "Is there anything I can do to persuade you?" His voice had become silky and seductive, and all too quickly she felt intoxicated. Her breath became ragged as he pressed another kiss to her hand and she felt herself nearly giving in to his ministrations.
But she could not. She would not rush headlong into a marriage simply because her husband-to-be was so devastatingly attractive. She could not hope that every argument would give way to passion. She could see and admit that she wanted passion, but she wanted it to proceed from happiness and love, not anger and disagreement. She wanted to know that when inevitable arguments manifested themselves, they would not be swept under the rug. She needed to stick to her resolve, as shaky as it was when he cast his alluring eyes on her.
"I'm sure there is, but it will still take time," she managed.
There was still that disappointment in his eyes, but she was relieved and glad to see that hope and desire had done their part to lessen its severity. He pressed his lips to her palm once more and lowered her hand, reluctantly letting it go. Her decision was not what he wanted now, but he would make himself be patient. She had all but promised that one day she would be his wife, and he would not destroy all chance of that happiness by forcing her to accept him today. He swallowed as he collected himself in her overwhelming presence, repeating to himself that all was not lost. She did not want him to give up, and he vowed to do everything in his power to persuade her to accept him as soon as possible.
When Mr. Hale came home, he was pleased to see Mr. Thornton sitting with his daughter in the drawing room. While he had been out, he had heard some dreadful things about events at Marlborough Mills, and he was eager to verify their authenticity. Who better to ask than his favorite pupil?
After thanking him for his visit, he immediately said, "I understand there has been some violence at Marlborough Mills. Is this true?" He did not see his daughter's face flush, so intent was he on knowing what had happened.
Mr. Thornton replied calmly without even a glance at Margaret. "Yes, I'm afraid it is. There were some . . . disgruntled strikers who were not overpleased at my bringing in Irish workers."
"To get the mill running again, I assume?"
"Yes."
"Well, I suppose I can understand some anger on the strikers' part, but that certainly does not justify violence. I hope there has not been too much damage."
"We do have to repair the mill gate, but nothing and no one else was harmed." He head twitched slightly toward Margaret, who bowed her head. Only then did Mr. Hale remember.
"Margaret! You went to Marlborough Mills yesterday. Were you there when all of this happened?"
With a look to Mr. Thornton, she quickly replied, "Yes, Father, but I was quite safe. Mr. Thornton took all possible precautions to protect us, and it did not last very long. I was well defended." No one could have doubted her from her cool reply.
"Well, thank God for that. I am sorry you were there at all, but at least you are safe. Perhaps it is best that we do not tell your mother, though. I do not want to distress her without cause."
"Of course, Father."
With his conscience quite cleared on that matter, he turned back to Mr. Thornton. "I also understand that the rioting has finished the strike. What will happen now?"
Mr. Thornton hesitated before answering. "I cannot know everything that will happen, but the mills will reopen and machines will be running again. People coming back in droves, and many of them not pleased to do it. The riot leaders were not representative of the union leaders who led the strike. I have already heard reports of their own anger that the rioters broke the law. But as such actions have ruined their plans, they will have to come back to work with the rest of them."
"And the Irish?" Margaret inquired.
"Most of them will go home. And I'm sure after yesterday, they will be most glad to set their backs to Milton. I cannot blame them. But some may stay; I am not sure. I am sorry to have brought them over just to expose them to terror and violence."
"But that was not your fault," she said quietly.
He looked at her with such gratitude overflowing, that Mr. Hale uneasily wondered if he had missed something from their conversation before he came home.
"Far be it from me to regret your presence, John, but doubtless you are very busy with this great upheaval. What brought you here this morning?"
"I came to inquire if the water-bed arrived for Mrs. Hale. My mother was afraid that it was sent too late."
So his purpose was entirely innocent; Mr. Hale breathed a little easier. "It did come too late for Mrs. Hale to use it last night, but we were able to put it down for her morning sleep. How has she fared, Margaret?"
"Well, I think. She was sleeping soundly when Mr. Thornton arrived, and I have heard nothing since."
"I hope it will be of some comfort to her," Mr. Thornton said sincerely. "But you are correct, Mr. Hale, that I am busy. I believe I will be more than that for some time. So I should return to my duties." He stood and shook hands with both Mr. Hale and Margaret. Mr. Hale imagined for a moment that Mr. Thornton held Margaret's hand a hair longer than necessary, but he dismissed the thought as silliness.
As Mr. Thornton went through the doorway, Margaret said suddenly, "Father, I thought I might call on Bessy. Do you require me for anything?" Mr. Hale could think of nothing, and Margaret was also gone, quick as a flash.
He had heard her question to her father clearly as he walked down the stairs and smiled to himself. He would wait for her at the end of street, certain as he was that she intended him to hear that she would leave the house. Sure enough, instead of surprise to see him awaiting her, she smiled that he had understood her meaning.
They did not walk together long, as their paths took them in different directions, but the few minutes they were together were filled with quiet contentment. She held his arm, and if their bodies were a little closer than convention called for, they could hardly be blamed for it. In fact, in contrast to some of their behavior this morning, their current proximity to each other felt as though they were on opposite sides of the street.
Their move to the drawing room from the study was accomplished soon after they had ceased arguing. It was a wonder that their raised voices had not brought Dixon down, and it was purely providential that neither she nor Mr. Hale had interrupted what followed their fight. They did not want to tempt fate or each other any longer by remaining in an enclosed room. The drawing room had no door to close, so they would have to behave themselves there. As wonderful as their embrace had been and as much as they both desired to repeat it, it was not proper. They both knew it. Even had they been formally engaged, the show of passion exhibited would have been much more than was strictly accepted.
An excuse was decided between them for his arrival, so as not to raise the suspicions of her family and the observant Dixon. It would not do for her family to know precisely what had happened, imprudent as they would most likely view her refusal in light of her actions. And with how matters currently stood between them, they were both wary to confide in anybody their feelings. It must be better for them to remain silent until their attachment was conclusively defined. Margaret also confessed her fears that her parents would discover her presence at his home during the riot. Neither wished to be deceptive – it was not in their natures – but they both agreed that although her being at his home could not be concealed, it was better that her parents be ignorant of her injury. It would only distract her father's worries, and it might do Mrs. Hale further harm. They could only hope that none of the rioters knew her identity, so that stories of the worst violence done that day would hide her name. As Margaret had recognized only Boucher among the crowd and they had met only once, hopes were high that she would be safe from rumor. He only hoped he could control the tongues of his household servants and sister. She, knowing how well he adopted an intimidating stare and attitude, had no doubts of his ability to do so.
When they reached the turning where Margaret would go on to Frances Street, their parting was shy and a little awkward. Both were unsure of how much to say and were afraid of saying too little. But the smiles were sincere, and when she looked back to see him walking away, she was more than glad to see him look back at her.
.
A/N: Surprised? After reading your reviews of the last chapter, I honestly thought, "Oh, they are all going to be ticked when she says no!" Hope you can understand the reasons behind that decision. I am pretty much terrible at writing couples once they are officially together (either really boring or far too sappy), so I follow in the footsteps of Jane Austen, ending stories with engagement and/or marriage. And I wasn't quite ready for her to accept him just yet, so this is my solution. So, even though she said no, things are still looking up! Yay, right?
May I just say I love reading all of your reviews? Keep this up and I won't be able to fit my head through the door. A few of you have made comments about how quickly I update and how much you appreciate it, and I wanted to let you in on a little secret on why that is. I had a pretty good chunk of this story written before I ever started publishing it. As of the posting of the last chapter, I have officially finished writing it (well, my "first draft" of it, at least). However, since I am an editor and a perfectionist, I take what I consider to be my sweet time to post chapters (although i know that in fanfiction terms, it's really quick) because I am constantly editing and re-writing what I've written.