Author's Note: This installment starts at the end of the first time Edward invites Bella into his study, at the beginning of chapter 4 of Culwoode Hall.

- Four: What Sort of Mind -

"I know what sort of a mind I have placed in communication with my own: I know it is one not liable to take infection: it is a peculiar mind: it is a unique one. Happily I do not mean to harm it: but, if I did, it would not take harm from me. The more you and I converse, the better; for while I cannot blight you, you may refresh me."

Jane Eyre, Chapter 15

After all, I reasoned as I watched her in the flickering firelight, what harm could come from conversation?

What harm could come from Miss Swan—Bella—using my given name? From my hearing it drip from those tempting lips, two intimate beats that mimicked the timing of her pulse?

"Bella, one more thing," I began, an almost-human shiver running down my spine. Voicing her name to her for the first time had felt like speaking an incantation, unleashing a great, dark power into the world—now I wanted to say it over and over again, wanted to hear her do the same with mine. "I should…like to the opportunity to know you better. If that's all right."

She looked confused.

"Would you perhaps join me again tomorrow night? Stay when you bring Nessie?"

What I would give to hear her thoughts as she stumbled over her response. But at least she was agreeing, even as she backed herself toward the door. What was she afraid of? Me? Or—and here I dared have hope—herself?

"I should go now," she said, and I felt myself at the edge of a great precipice, the air of the room closing in as though what would pass through that beautiful mouth was now inevitable—

"Good night, Edward."

Ed-ward. Tha-thump.

"Good night, Bella," I replied, the barest whispering caress around that answering rhythm.

The symmetry of it all was heady; our names, her heart. Two syllables, best played in 5/8 time, I thought—deep, thrumming eighth notes on the one and three, and those tantalizing rests between. A measure I'd never be able to recreate on any instrument, no matter how long I applied myself to it. This music could only come from the miraculous constriction of that singular organ, precariously caged inside her fragile ribs.

I was all too aware of how easily the music might be lost forever.

I closed my eyes and followed her path through the house by sound alone. Her footsteps were hurried as she fled down the back stairs. I heard the creak of a door hinge and then a pause, her heartbeat and breaths gradually slowing; I pictured her with her eyes closed, trying to gather herself after our conversation.

I could tell I'd surprised her with my invitation to return. It shouldn't have hurt so much to see her wariness—I had, after all, been deliberately standoffish with her til now. But I couldn't go on that way; it would drive us both mad.

Her steps began again, less hurried as she moved to check on Nessie before returning to her own room in the servants' wing.

When I heard the door closing, I remembered the overwhelming scent of her inside that little bedroom, like inhaling blue flame. But unlike the one night I had slipped inside her window, she was awake now.

The wardrobe door groaned as it opened, and I realized she was undressing. My imagination connected the dots between my memory of the simple blouse and skirt she wore and what would be revealed as she undid her buttons, helped along by all the visions I'd seen in Alice's mind. The pale pink silk and lace of her chemise against creamy skin…

I shook my head violently—dwelling on that was a bad idea.

I forced my senses away from that corner of the house in favor of the stack of documents the family lawyer had sent for my review. My purchase—or perhaps more accurately, re-purchase—of the Pennsylvania estate from the bank was finally complete, and now Jenks had drawn up an ironclad trust for Nessie.

It was hard not to feel angry at her father's mismanagement of all he'd been given. Henry was my grandson, and though I had only met him briefly, I loved him as such. News of his suicide had cut through me. But I couldn't deny that I was deeply disappointed in the man he'd grown into. He'd inherited a rather large sum of cash from his father, plus the estate free and clear from his mother and my daughter, Lizzie. But he'd squandered both—investing nearly all of his inheritance in bad real estate speculations, and then mortgaging my childhood home to try to recoup his losses. Had I not stepped in, Nessie would have grown up penniless.

Now, at least, she would be secure. The trust would be managed conservatively, invested with the expectation that after she reached the age of majority, she could live comfortably off the interest. And the house would ensure she always had a safe place to land—or sell, if she so desired.

Still, comfort wasn't everything. I had seen flashes of her father in her now and again; she liked the finer things, clothes and frippery. But even at this tender age, Nessie had a depth of character that filled me with pride. I could see that, with proper nurturing, she would become an amazing young woman.

I only hoped I could find away to remain in her life until then.

Author's Note: Another short one this time. Edward's starting to get over his own misgivings about getting closer to Bella…