A Dickon POV! Hooray!
Just a quick A/N to say thank you for all the lovely support! I love to read the comments so keep the coming!
ooo
While Mary slept easily, Dickon did not sleep at all. Even gazing at her beautiful slumber didn't make him tired in the faintest.
Perhaps it was the tea or the general excitement of the night, but his mind would not rest. It could not rest.
Mary looked so wonderfully peaceful asleep in the chair. He could've gazed at her for longer, but realize he would've looked rather queer staring at her if she woke up.
He decided to go to his desk. It was an old, classic wooden desk that had been loved dearly. It was the first piece of furniture he bought for his home. It was the one he used the most.
The blank paper sat atop the desk, mocking him with its emptiness. He usually wrote at night. Night was when his mind filled with stories and characters begging to be purged.
There were no characters tonight: there was only Mary.
I should not have kissed her.
Dickon's mind kept replaying their brief passion. It was the only thing in his mind since it happened.
Well, not the only thing. He'd visualized many times what could've happened if the maid hadn't shown up. That was another topic his mind favored.
She is too innocent. I had no right to kiss her.
Dickon was only one and twenty, but he felt more like he was one and ninety. The things he'd seen...the things he'd done. It was more that most men did in two lifetimes.
I cannot bring Mary into this. It is selfish. I am selfish.
I should not have kissed her.
Dickon glanced back at her. She still slept soundlessly.
I should not still want her after all this time.
Five years away from her had not weakened his desire. It wasn't as though he'd thought about her every day. In fact, there were many months where she or Yorkshire never crossed his mind.
But she'd find her way back at in there. A light haired girl or a thicket of flowers would remind him of her. He'd wonder where she was. What she was doing. If she had married.
And suddenly there she was, standing there at the library's benefit like some vision. She'd grown far more beautiful than he ever could have fathomed.
He hadn't expected to see her. He hadn't expected to still want her.
She'd been on the arm of Andrew Navarlen. That was another beast entirely.
Talk of Navarlen brought up his dread again: I have to tell her.
She will hate me.
I should not have kissed her.
"Are you writing?" Her voice was barely awake.
He smiled, "No. Just thinking."
He listened as she stretched, placed her small feet on the ground, and began walking over to him.
"Go back to sleep," he said. "I didn't mean to wake you."
Mary placed her hands on the back of his chair. She radiated an incredible warm that penetrate straight to his core. She leaned forward, the key necklace dangling in his peripheral vision.
He stroked it gently, "It was my good luck charm." Dickon felt a twitch in his mouth. Almost a smile. "I wore it for so long."
"You can have it back, if you like," Mary's hand cupped around his own.
"No, I gave it to you."
Mary was very close to him now. She shouldn't be this close to him.
I should not have kissed her.
He imagined doing far more than kissing her. He imagined holding her tightly to himself and feeling every part of her. He imagine taking her and-
Dickon averted his gaze, "It's still raining."
"Yes," Mary's eyes were light. "I was only asleep for a few minutes."
"Take a guest room, please, if you wish to sleep." He did not meet her eyes. He could not meet her eyes. "I can't imagine that old arm chair is comfortable."
Mary laughed. Her laugh was terrific, "It was not so bad."
I should not have kissed her.
Mary smirked, "Besides…I don't want to sleep." She moved closer, sliding her slender arm across the back of his desk chair. Very gracefully she lowered herself so that she sat across his knees.
"I want to do this," she pressed her lips against his.
Instantly her poison spilled into his mind. He forgot that he was not supposed to be kissing her. He did not care about honor or moral. All he thought of was her lips upon his. Her passionate, innocent, soft lips opening his.
He pulled away, "Mary, we shouldn't do this."
"Don't you want to?"
It was so simple a question he nearly laughed.
"Of course I want to," he said. "But you hardly know me, Mary."
She frowned, "You had no qualms earlier. Did I know you better then?" Mary was not easily tricked. She had not outgrown that trait.
She kissed him again. His hands rested against the small of her back as she pressed herself into him.
This is untruthful. She doesn't know me. This is wrong.
But it is so wonderful to kiss her. To feel he against me.
Her fingers entangled in his hair.
It is late. Her judgement is skewed.
Worse than that, his judgement was skewed.
Dickon broke the kiss once more. His head was heavy. It hung lifelessly from his neck.
Mary's arms still held him, making his face closer to her breast than it should be.
"Should I tell you now or should I tell you later?" He said. "I promise you: It won't make the story any prettier." He looked up at her.
Her eyes were unreadable. They tightened at the sides, her mouth growing taught as well. Her arms still wrapped around him, leaving him closer to her than a man who is not her husband should be.
"What happened?" Mary asked. "Where did you go? Why didn't you write? Why didn't you tell me who you were?" She kept talking, "What of Martha? Where is she-"
Dickon kissed her again.
When he pulled back, she stared at him blankly.
"I just wanted to do that one more time," he admitted. "You may not want to do that again after you hear what I have to say."