My Clarity

Chapter seven

Pushing his fingers to his throat, Jack attempted to give himself an ounce of room to breathe. The collar was tight, digging into his flesh and with a string of curses released as he pounded the corridor which led to the Grand Staircase, regret swam about belly for even accepting the invitation to dine with the Hockley’s -- Christ's sake, what was he thinking? It was one thing to spend the day with the woman who would become Hockley’s wife. A vibrant, modern woman who was about to be trapped into a long life with the man who Jack loathed more than any other. How a whiskey would be needed, perhaps several.

Rose DeWitt Bukater had tortured him, thrown accusations and then taken his arm as though it was the most natural thing in the world. Together, their minds had taken them from the decks of a ship to the beaches of California and the thought was beyond pleasing. The way that her laugh affected his stomach was a new notion and then, they had parted to dress for the dinner which her fiancé had invited him to attend, out of pity, no doubt. It was her temper though, which irritated him the most, struck a chord perhaps. The fact that she wasn’t identical to other ladies of society who swooned, who massaged the male’s ego just for gossips, or a dance. It was the matter of how captivating she was, without trying to do anything other than navigate her way through a prickling situation and Jack was suspicious, today aside, of when the last time she truly laughed had been.

A man engaged to a woman of Rose’s calibre should be proud, pleased and bending himself backwards to please her in return. Not restrict her in such a way as described.

Almost reaching the landing, strains of classical music caught Jack’s ears and his own footsteps became drowned within the sounds, and then, his fidgeting stopped as emerald eyes locked onto his and a rush of tenderness tightened his chest and prevented him from breathing.

Rose.

Her attention entirely on him, with the backdrop of a spectacular sunset painted across the sky out of the large glass window behind her. Together, it was a sight to marvel. She wore a gown of dark red satin-backed silk, which had a slight sheen to it with a bottom layer of black beaded circles and helped the dress stand out from the knees on down. The gown consisted of an underdress with a black lace and nude bodice, and the skirts. The skirts consisted of a red tubular under layer, covered by a layer of fine black netting. The netting went to calf height, and had the beaded circles sewn to it and is trimmed with the beaded fringe.  Each of the skirts had 8 beaded circles with rhinestones in the centre. The circles are made from large black crystal beads. Her hands were un gloved, clasped in front of her stomach and her hair was simply done, with wispy pieces of curl simply framing her face.

‘’Good evening, Jack.’’ Her soft voice cut through the elegance of the music and using his given name, as instructed earlier, weakened his heart.

‘’Hello, Rose.’’

‘’I begin to feel as though I am lacking wits,’’ she groused, ‘’I am hungry and yet, I am dreading sitting with the vultures of society to dine.’’

Jack found her slight honesties endearing. Rolling his shoulders back, he fought off the tension which was gathering there. She watched him, wary and unsure.

‘’You are not lacking anything, but you do look beyond beautiful.’’

Taking three steps to her, they were a few metres apart when he took her left hand in his own and slowly, almost painfully so, brought it to rest upon his lips and allowed her skin to linger there just a moment before he kissed the back of her hand and then lowered it back to her. Mesmerised, Rose was unable to look away from him. He was an extraordinarily beautiful man, his skin as dark as clover honey, his dark blonde hair falling over his forehead in a way that made her fingers twitch with the urge to push it back. He met her wide-eyed glance with a steady interest that caused her toes to curl inside her leather shoes. Fighting for composure, Rose looked away from him. But she remained sharply aware of him, the relaxed alertness of his posture, the unknown pulse secreted beneath the elegant layers of his clothing.