Roses and Lace
Chapter 24
It felt thrilling to stand beside John and hear herself introduced simply as "My wife, Mrs. Thornton." Thrilling and strange and surreal as the real Mrs. Thornton, the elder Mrs. Thornton, sprang to mind. Strange to realize that she herself, Margaret, was now Margaret Thornton.
But the gentleman at the warehouse simply bowed to her politely as was her due, and then he and John were discussing shipments and storage and fluctuations in the market, and almost before she knew it the two men were shaking hands and it was done.
Then back into the carriage, she and John, the two of them, with the carriage driver only very discreetly touching his hat. Margaret blushed to imagine what he might have heard or what he might have imagined... If he was accustomed to ferrying around newlyweds on the day of their wedding.
"The inn that I booked for tonight is nearby," John was explaining. "We'll spend the night there and in the morning take the train to Bristol. Then from there it will be another carriage ride to the village where I've arranged for us to stay in a small cottage." He was watching her again, looking into her eyes as if he was drinking in the sight of her. "It's a place apart from any amusements. I thought we might... get to know each other... for a few days. With no distractions. Before returning to Milton."
A small cottage somewhere, just herself and John Thornton and the sound of the sea.
Just herself and John Thornton watching her with that heat in his gaze, and soon again it would be his hands and his mouth and... Margaret felt herself blushing and breathing more quickly. Even though she was wearing her lightest weight traveling clothes, she felt like everything was too close and too tight. She couldn't look away from John's eyes.
"It sounds... lovely." She hardly recognized her own voice.
His eyes drifted to her mouth, and she knew he was going to kiss her again. Margaret's lips parted in anticipation. But then the carriage stopped with a jolt. Margaret stepped out to find a large, well-appointed looking inn, and a porter came forward to assist with their trunks. John was speaking to the carriage driver, and then he and Margaret took their smaller bags and followed one of the inn's servants up to their room.
Their room. Their single room. It had a large dresser and a chair and a mirror and few other furnishings apart from the bed. The large four-poster bed with what looked to be very clean sheets already turned down.
Margaret couldn't tear her eyes away from the bed as her fingers fumbled to remove her duster.
"Would you..." John cleared his throat. "Would you care to dine? I reckon they must be serving supper, if you're hungry."
"I... I hardly know if I could eat anything. But I suppose I ought to try," she said, turning to look at him. The look in his eye... He was gazing at her as if he might devour her. "I scarcely ate at breakfast, and I confess I feel rather lightheaded."
He bowed his head with a shy sort of chivalry and stepped forward to escort her to the dining room.
The room downstairs was noisy and lively. The innkeeper, a stout and friendly-seeming man, met them at the entrance and led them to a table in the corner while enquiring as to the suitability of their room.
It still felt strange to be so much in the company of a man, unchaperoned, and have no one think anything amiss. What a difference that label, "Mrs," had already made to her life. She and John Thornton belonged together now. It was not improper to be alone with him. On the contrary, it was her right and her duty to sit with him, to stay with him, to share a room with him... to share his bed.
The food arrived quickly. Margaret found she could only nibble at the cut of beef and the parsnips and sip her glass of wine.
John himself hardly touched his food and drank little from his own cup. As usual, he seemed content just to take in the sight of her. He looked as relaxed as she had ever seen him, with a small smile playing about his face.
Margaret couldn't help but return his smile.
They were together. It was new and strange, but it felt right.
Finally, as if he had just had the thought, he took a breath and then leaned toward her and spoke close to her ear. "Margaret... You needn't fear anything from me. There's no hurry in... getting to know one another. I shall never... I shall never... impose upon you... if you do not want me to."
Margaret smiled and almost laughed. Already she could hardly imagine being alone with her new husband for an hour without some kiss or caress. But she understood his meaning. She turned to look him in the eye. Their faces were very close, but she did not draw away.
"Thank you, John," she answered softly. "And I believe that I am ready to retire, if you are."
He smiled at that and leaned in as if to kiss her, but then he stopped himself and instead gently helped her to rise from her seat.
Margaret felt his hand warm and steady against the small of her back as he led her back up the stairs to their room. Someone had lit a fire in the grate to provide some small warmth and light. The sky was turning to dusk outside the window. There was still the noise of conversation and laughter coming up from the dining hall below.
Other than that it was quiet, and they were alone.
Margaret turned toward the dresser and began to untie the tapes holding her sleeves. She could feel her heart fluttering and her skin prickling in the beginning of a nervous sweat. She could sense John on the other side of the room behind her, his own clothes rustling.
After a moment, he spoke to her. She could tell that he was facing away from her. "Margaret... Margaret, may I..." He cleared his throat. "May I help you with your dress?"
She turned to look at him, then, and he turned toward her. He had scarcely bugun to untie his cravat.
"You want to... help me undress..?"
His eyes darkened. "I want to look at thee."
"...Oh."
Margaret felt her heart beating heavily. She was beginning to feel an ache down in her belly.
"Well I..." She licked her lips. She imagined it, him peeling every article of clothing off of her, watching her... "I scarely think it would be fair, for you to assist me in that way while you yourself are fully clothed."
"..And what do you propose?" he murmured.
Margaret could see the barest triangle of skin at his throat. For her to be so exposed, while he still had the protection of all his clothing... "A trade."
"A trade?" He cocked an eyebrow at that loaded term.
She met his eyes boldly. "Yes, sir, a trade. My sleeves for your cravat."
His hands flew to his neck and the loosened the knot in an instant. He tossed the piece of fabric aside and then waited expectantly as Margaret untied all the tapes holding her sleeves and gently pulled each one off her arms and lay them on top of her trunk.
"And now?"
"And now your jacket for my... blouse."
He took a step forward as he removed his own jacket and watched hungrily as Margaret removed her outer blouse.
Then it was a cummerbund for a skirt, a waistcoat for a corset cover...
"I'm afraid I have rather more petticoats than you do."
"I'll give you one pair of trousers for the lot."
They were both laughing somewhat nervously, and she imagined they each looked ridiculous by the time they got their shoes off. He was down to a loose shirt and his underclothes, and she could see wiry dark hair on his chest and shoulders. She had never imagined how different a man would be, and she briefly wondered what it would feel like if he pressed close against her, but mostly she was aware of her own body being gradually revealed. She resisted the urge to turn her head or try to cover herself.
They were married now. He could look at her, and she could see him.
They had had to sit down to remove their shoes, he on the bed and she on the armchair near the window. They were less than two feet apart, and she could feel his eyes traveling all over her. She was down to her shift and her corset and her stockings.
"Oh, the garters! I was told it is a... tradition... for the husband to untie his bride's garters on their... wedding night." Her voice had dropped to a whisper as John slid off the bed and onto his knees in front of her.
"Then we mustn't break tradition."
He spoke in his own whisper and met her eyes as he gently traced his fingertips up one stockinged calf up to her knee. He untied the satin and gently pushed her knee over so that her legs were open on either side of him.
Margaret could feel her breath grow shallow. Even though her chemise still fell over her thighs she felt open and exposed and the place between her legs was now moist and throbbing. John closed his eyes and laid his head against her leg and groaned. Then he lifted his head and gently traced his fingers up her other leg and untied the other garter. He leaned forward and placed a kiss on Margaret's inner thigh just above the knee, and Margaret twitched and gasped.
He groaned again and kissed her knee, then looked up at her. "Please, Margaret... let me see all of you."
He watched her face until she nodded. Then he pulled off her stockings and stood up and helped her to her feet. Margaret unhooked her corset closures and then she was standing before him in her bare feet and her shift.
"Your shirt," she suggested.
At the same time they each pulled off their own shifts.
He was angular, knobs of bone and taught, lithe muscles. Pale skin and dark hair all over his chest and his belly and... there. Where his... member... was... erect.
She had never quite imagined it, but of course, a man... It would be so.
John Thornton naked before her, ready for her, watching her like a hungry wolf with those dark, dark eyes, and Margaret did draw her arms over her breasts and her thighs then and looked down.
"Nay..."
He took her hand gently and then gently, slowly, pulled her forward so that she was standing close to the fire with her arms spread apart and he was slaking his thirst just to gaze at her.
She was trembling. She didn't even know what she was afraid of, but there was so much warmth and love and adoration in his eyes that as much as she was nervous it felt like she was being bathed in his regard for her. She felt like she was covered in gold.
"You truly are a goddess."
She cast him a self-deprecating look and he only smiled and shook his head in wonder.
"It's the truth," he said simply.
He stepped close to her then and cupped her face in his hands. And then he kissed her again and again and she could feel his member touching her thigh and she could feel the fear and the excitement mingling together with some other feeling, heavier and warmer and building in the bottom of her belly and between her legs.
Some current traveling from the secret, dark place at the joining of her legs up to her heart beating wildly and the tips of her breasts where they pressed against his firm, hairy chest to her mouth where she was kissing him back just as urgently and her arms twining around him and pulling him close.
She moaned his name, and he pushed his hand into the hair gathered up at the nape of her neck. Margaret spared a single thought for all the hairpins she would have to eventually untangle, but then he had lifted her onto the bed and he was pressing close so close to her and his hand was on her breast and Margaret pulled away in a gasp.
And then his lips and his teeth were on her neck again and he was murmuring something.
"What?"
"Is it too much?"
His body pressing close to her and Margaret felt herself pressing up with her hips and she could hardly think and she could hardly breathe but something in her wanted more.
"Please... Don't stop."
His mouth kissing her breast and then he licked the tip and Margaret gasped again. He met her eyes to gauge her reaction and then he sucked on her nipple and Margaret could only pant. The sensations were almost overwhelming.
John groaned and kissed his way back up to her face. "Margaret, please..." And he was pressing close against her, his member pressing against the moist hair of her sex and her legs fell open for him and he pressed more urgently. "I can't..."
And then his hand was there, his fingers finding some other spot that sent lightning through her whole body and Margaret was gasping and then his finger somehow slipped in to where she felt herself throbbing, but it was so tight.
His finger moving in and out and into her, deeper and faster, and Margaret had never imagined anything could possibly feel such as this. All she could do was hold onto him, and then he took his own member in his hand and slowly pressed the head into her body.
"Margaret, I don't want to.. hurt you..."
It did hurt. It felt tight and there was a searing sort of painful feeling, but it was a small pain. There was still the throbbing pleasure and the urgency behind it. "Just..." She somehow found her voice. "Go slowly, please. But don't stop."
He went slowly. Inch by inch easing into her, and Margaret could feel his body trembling in her arms.
And then he pulled out partly.
"Slowly," she whispered.
He pulled out slowly, and then slowly back in, and out, and in, until she was holding him close and urging him on and pushing her hips up to meet him.
Pain and pleasure and some raw, aching need, and then he was shuddering and thrusting even deeper into her and Margaret could feel a pulsing where they were joined. Then he relaxed with a sigh.
With her legs and her arms wrapped around him Margaret felt like she just wanted to hold him there forever, but he pulled himself away only to collapse next to her on the bed and gather her close to him in his arms.
They were both panting. Margaret could actually hear his heart pounding as she lay with her head against his chest.
His arms tightened around her and she felt him kiss the top of her head, then his breathing slowed and his arms relaxed.
He was asleep.
Margaret lay awake for some minutes marveling at the sensation of being so close to him, much closer than she had ever been to anyone since she had been a babe at her mother's breast.
His warmth, the feeling of his skin, the fierce tenderness with which he held her... even the scent of his sweat, it intoxicated her.
But eventually she realized that her back was aching and her bladder was full.
She stepped behind the screen to relieve herself in the room's chamber pot. As she dried herself off she noticed that she was tender and swollen down there, but not overly sore.
There might be some bleeding, but it hadn't been terrible.
No, not terrible at all.
She felt... sensitive.
Tender.
She felt like she was still charged with electricity, and any touch would set her to... craving... more.
John, her husband, was snoring in their bed.
Margaret pulled out her hairpins and quickly twisted her hair and then stepped over to the bed and pulled the covers up from where they had been kicked down at some point during their activities.
She crept into bed beside her husband.
He immediately rolled over and wrapped his arm around her.
Margaret fell asleep surrounded by his scent and his warmth and the weight of his limbs.
She fell asleep content.