How Far the World Will Bend

How Far the World Will Bend - Chapter 25

Chapter 25. Wonderland

The sun shone brightly on Meg's wedding day, and quickly burned off the morning mists and damp. When she came to awaken her mistress, Dixon was surprised to find the bride standing by the window, gazing out on the street below. She turned as Dixon entered with a tea tray, and smiled brightly at the loyal servant. "It is my wedding day, Dixon," she said softly, and Dixon smiled fondly in return.

"Indeed it is, miss. I am glad to see you up and about-I am heating water downstairs for your bath, and have laid out your clothes in the spare bedroom." She set the tray down on a table, and said briskly, "Have your tea, and by the time you are done, I will be ready for you downstairs."

As Meg slowly fixed her cup of tea, she thought of all that had occurred these past several weeks and, before that, all of the events that had occurred since she had first come on her incredible adventure through the looking glass-oh, it seemed like ages ago. She smiled as she remembered her first awkward days with Mr. and Mrs. Hale and Dixon, cautiously feeling her way about Milton and learning her place in her family. She recalled meeting Bessy and Nicholas and Mary, and thought of her first encounter with Doctor Donaldson, when she sewed up the hand of the worker from Marlborough Mills and he had complimented her proficiency. She remembered the deaths of those she had known and loved, of her warm relationship with Mr. Bell, and of the work she did and would continue to do for the poor of Milton.

Most of all, she thought of the man she was to marry, the man whose ardor and yearning for her had reached across the years and brought her back to his side. They would seal their commitment to each other that day, but in her heart she had pledged herself to him long ago, and she knew that he felt the same. Today was a formality for their family and acquaintances-in reality, nothing could ever rend them apart again.

She smiled as she recalled the first day she had seen him on the floor of Marlborough Mills. She had been struck then by his raw power and dark good looks. Little did she know how truly special he was-his quiet intelligence, his curiosity and thirst for knowledge, and his fair treatment of the men who worked for him set him apart from other men she had known. She loved his strong hands, the small line that formed between his eyes when he was perturbed, the sheen of his raven-dark hair, the brilliant blue of his eyes, and the way his shy and charming smile transformed his austere face to one of devastating handsomeness. "I love everything about him," she whispered with a happy sigh. Setting her tea cup down with decision, she hastened to her toilette.

At Marlborough Mills that morning, John Thornton, too, awoke early, although he lingered in bed, his head supported in his hands, gazing at the ceiling and thinking of the momentous day ahead. If the truth were told, he would not feel easy until his ring was on her finger and she had spoken her vows-no, that was not true, he thought with a small smile. He would not be easy until he had possessed her physically, until he was able to slake his hunger for her with his mouth and hands and body. She was so beautiful, physically and spiritually. He had never met a woman who challenged him as she did, who made him want to be a better man just so he could see the light in her eyes when she gazed at him.

He was happy that she would continue her work at the clinic, although he knew his mother disapproved. He vowed he would never do anything to stop her from doing what she loved. It was part of who she was, and he loved her every trait, even the ones that occasionally maddened him. Thank you, God, for giving her to me, he thought, thank you for her, for this day, and for our future together. Throwing back the bedclothes, he leapt from his bed and stretched. It was time to start the day.

********

Dixon clucked and exclaimed and fussed like a hen over its young chick. She did not like that Meg planned to wear her hair down, and argued and objected until Meg finally acquiesced and allowed her to arrange her tresses on top of her head. Meg decided that rather than have a new dress made for her wedding, she would wear the dress that she had worn to the theater in Oxford. Dixon had surprised her that morning with her mother's veil, which she had found laid away in a trunk in the attic that week. She attached it to a small tiara that Mrs. Hale had worn at her debut years before. The long lace veil flowed down Meg's back, and a portion concealed her features from her groom until the time arrived for him to lift it for a kiss.

At last, Dixon stood back and beamed at her work. Meg was beautiful in her gown; its shimmering golden threads and deep amber color set off her complexion and complemented her hair. The gown left her neck and shoulders bare, and her mother's diamond necklace encircled her neck once more. The veil shimmered and hinted at the lovely, flushed face beneath it.

"Oh, Miss Meg, how proud your mother and father would be," Dixon exclaimed, and both dabbed at the tears that formed in their eyes as they hugged.

At a knock on the front door, both women sprang apart. Dixon bustled down the stairs with Meg at her heels, and opened the door to reveal Doctor Donaldson, nattily attired in a new suit and top hat. He swept his hat off and bowed to both women gallantly. "Good morning, Meg, Miss Dixon," he said in a jaunty tone. "I am here as requested to escort both of you to the church." He indicated the hired hackney that stood behind him. Gazing at Meg, his face softened. "You look lovely, my dear. I am proud to stand in your father's place today, and give you away. I tell you, I would find it difficult to do so if I were not assured that the man you are to marry is worthy of you."

Meg and Dixon hurriedly gathered up their reticules and gloves, and hastened to the carriage in the summer sunshine. Doctor Donaldson helped both women in, and climbed in behind them, and they set off for the church. Meg felt as if her heart were in her throat; she was on edge and slightly teary eyed. Glancing at her with some degree of trepidation, the doctor said, "Lord, Meg, I beg you not to cry. I have no sympathy for feminine tears, and would hate to turn you out onto the street to walk the remainder of the way." She laughed instead, and all three were still chuckling when they pulled up in front of the church.

Doctor Donaldson clambered out of the carriage and said, "Stay here, Meg. I will find out where we stand." He walked briskly into the church and Meg smiled at Dixon.

"I dare say you never thought you would see the day that I would wed," she said ruefully, and Dixon laughed.

"Dear, me, Miss Meg, as if none of us had eyes in our heads to see how you and Mr. Thornton felt about each other. I remember the night he came to tea, and you had just come from your bath. He looked at you as if he wanted to devour you right then and there. I said to myself, 'That man is in love with our miss, and mark my words, he will do all in his power to win her,'" Dixon concluded smugly.

Meg replied spiritedly, "And so you were right. I am a lucky woman, to win the love of such a man."

Dixon retorted, "And he is a lucky man, to win the heart of such a one as you."

Meg leaned forward and tenderly kissed Dixon's cheek. "I cannot tell you how grateful I am to have you with me today. Besides Fred, you are my last true link to Mother and Father."

Dixon waved her hand, tears forming in her eyes. "Oh, bah, get on with you! We've a wedding to get through."

At that moment, Doctor Donaldson opened the carriage door and exclaimed, "All is ready-are you, Meg?"

She nodded, and he helped her from the carriage. Dixon fussed with her veil and the skirts of her gown before she bustled inside. Meg looked up into her escort's face and softly exclaimed, "Thank you for giving me away."

He replied promptly, "I am greatly honored. I only wish your father could be here to perform this office. However, I will do my best by you." He offered her his arm, and she gladly took it and walked with him into the church.

As they entered the doors, he stopped and, reaching over to a small table nearby, picked up a bouquet. "Mr. Thornton asked me to present this to you," he said, and Meg saw that he held out a small bouquet of yellow roses and purple larkspur. She ran her fingertips down the stem of one rose and noted that the thorns had been removed. Oh, how I love him, she thought fervently as she clasped the bouquet to her breast.

A blast of organ music alerted the small congregation that the bride had arrived, and Doctor Donaldson slowly walked Meg down the aisle to the front of the church, where Mr. Thornton awaited her. As she moved forward, she met his gaze and kept her eyes on his. He was dressed in his finest suit, with pristine linen and neckerchief, and a yellow rose in his buttonhole. Meg longed to run down the aisle to him; she could not bear to wait one moment longer to be his wife. However, Doctor Donaldson's steady clasp of her hand on his arm kept her in check and she proceeded at a respectable pace.

Mr. Thornton felt his thoughts scatter as he watched Meg come toward him. He recognized her gown from the night at the theater in Oxford; seeing it once more conjured up memories of the moment when she mouthed Juliet's words across the space of the theatre to him, and lifted her hand to her lips. His heart had thrilled then, and it thrilled now to realize that she had traveled across the years to be his bride. She had chosen him rather than any future possibility, and he was humbled by the thought. Beneath the sheer veil, he could see her eyes shining and her lips curved in a joyous smile, and he felt his own mouth curve in response. When she finally reached him, Doctor Donaldson adroitly moved aside and John stepped forward eagerly and took her hands to pull her before the altar beside him.

They recited their vows in clear, confident voices, and John bent his head after he slid her wedding band upon her finger to kiss her ring into place. When the vicar pronounced them man and wife, a grin swept across the groom's face. He lifted her veil, smoothing it back from her radiant face. Gazing at her rapturously, he kissed her tenderly, his mouth a soft seduction. When they parted at last, they turned hand in hand and proceeded down the aisle and out into the sunshine of the courtyard.

At the wedding luncheon, John found himself in such high spirits that Fanny's fussing and fretting made little impression upon him. Watson rose and gave a rambling, incoherent toast. He was followed by Doctor Donaldson, who sincerely wished the couple all good things in their coming years together, and spoke effusively of their sterling characters and stellar accomplishments in Milton. Meg blushed, and felt many speculative pairs of eyes upon her as the doctor expressed his hopes of continuing to work with Mrs. Thornton for many years to come. Meg held her head high; let them stare and talk-as long as she had John, nothing could annoy or shame her.

At length, the luncheon was over and the guests began to leave. Meg was heartily hugged by Nicholas and Mary, who congratulated her multiple times and invited the couple to their home in Crampton. "I hope you enjoy-" Nicholas began enthusiastically, but at a frantic motion from Mary, he cut his words short.

Meg wrinkled her forehead in confusion. "Enjoy what?" she asked blankly.

Nicholas ran his finger around the inside of his collar, as if it were too tight, and exclaimed awkwardly, "Ah, the rest of your day, Meg. I hope you have a pleasant evening." Hearing the words come from his mouth, he reddened and walked quickly away.

Meg turned to Mary, mystified. Mary in her turn simply smiled and hugged her friend once more. "Come see us soon," she said, and followed in her father's wake.

Meg turned to look for John. She was glad that the ceremony was over and that they would soon return to the mill and take up their lives together. She found him outside the hotel, speaking with Doctor Donaldson. Both men turned at her approach and smiled at her.

"Well, Margaret," Doctor Donaldson said in a pleased tone, "I wish you very happy. Both of you deserve it, after all that you have been through. Enjoy your first few days of married life-and then hurry back to the clinic. You know what a mess I make of supplies when you are gone." Meg laughed and rolled her eyes-upon her return to the clinic, it had taken her a week to reorganize the supply closet. She smiled warmly at their friend as he left them, and snuggled into Mr. Thornton's arms to watch the doctor stroll down the street.

"Let us go in and hurry our other guests upon their way," Mr. Thornton whispered in Meg's ear, and she shivered at the note of anticipation in his voice.

The remaining guests left within the hour, including Fanny and Watson. With exquisite tact, Mrs. Thornton informed her son and new daughter that she would spend the night at Fanny's home, returning to Marlborough Mills on the morrow. John kissed his mother's cheek, and Meg proffered her cheek to the older woman, who kissed her reservedly and left.

John helped Meg into the waiting carriage, and they sped off for home. Now that they were alone, an awkward silence fell over them. Meg was not nervous, but was feeling a bit bashful at what she knew would come that night. She prayed she would not disappoint him; she knew so little of love.

John for his part was seething with impatience for the night to come; whoever had devised the scheduling of weddings in the morning surely intended to torture the parties involved. He sat opposite Meg in the carriage, ostensibly to avoid crushing her gown, but in reality to keep himself from reaching for her, pulling her across his lap, and kissing her improperly. He pressed his hands together to quash his urge, and gazed out of the window as the buildings passed by his line of sight. He wanted to do nothing to frighten her, and feared his passion would be off-putting. He vowed to act with propriety.

Meg sat watching him-he seemed quite stiff and uncomfortable, and she wondered if she had said or done something to upset him. She reached across the space between them and slid her slender hand between his. "John," she asked softly, a winsome smile on her face as he turned his head to look at her, "is anything wrong?" She thought with some anxiety that he might be having second thoughts, and hoped fervently that she was wrong. He had struggled with so many demons over the past few months-the troubles with his business and her disappearance-that she feared he was grappling with some strong emotion.

At the feel of her soft hand upon his own, he turned and gazed at her impassively for a brief moment before he dragged her across the carriage and onto his lap. The hell with propriety, he thought, as he bent his head to ravish her mouth.

They entered the house at Marlborough Mills and stood awkwardly in the parlor. John smiled tentatively at Meg, and took her hand in his. "Meg, I have a surprise for you-when I spoke to the doctor earlier, I asked him if he would spare you for a few days so that I might take you away on a wedding trip." Seeing her surprised expression, he hurriedly continued, "I have rented a cottage in Blackpool, along the seaside. I have never been to the sea before, and hoped you might enjoy going there with me."

He watched with relief as a smile spread across her features. Her heart quickened at the idea of a sliver of time alone with him, away from the mill and his mother, the clinic and dozens of other responsibilities they faced. There would be time enough for those, she thought with excitement. Oh, to go away somewhere with John, and spend time just with him! The thought delighted her.

She looked up at him, eyes shining, and exclaimed, "What a marvelous idea! I love the seashore, and even more the idea of going away with you." She slipped her arms about him and laid her head upon his breast, and he heaved a sigh of relief-he had been unsure how she would regard his solitary planning, whether she would see it as welcome or officious.

The afternoon crawled along at Marlborough Mills. John explained apologetically that in order for him to leave the mill for several days, he must spend some time that afternoon reviewing the books with Williams in preparation for his wedding trip. Meg reassured him that she understood; in fact, she was a bit tired from her early hours that morning, and planned on resting in her room until he returned. Satisfied with her response, he showed her to her bedroom, pausing to ensure that she was pleased with the room before he retired to his own bedroom to change from his wedding attire and depart for the mill.

After Dixon helped her to disrobe and change into a simple cambric dress, Meg settled herself in the large bed in her room and attempted to sleep. However, between the strange surroundings and her racing mind, she found she could not rest. Rising from the bed and smoothing her clothes, she instead wandered about the large house, exploring its various rooms and closets.

She felt a slight sense of melancholy-the house was so austere and cold, without the small niceties that made Gran's home in London and the house in Crampton pleasant and inviting. She devolved a scheme in her head to bring some of the pieces of furniture over from Crampton-the chintz chairs, the small side tables, and the charming paintings and decorations. She hoped she would not offend Mrs. Thornton; she determined that she would decorate their bedrooms first, and then proceed to introduce some of the other pieces into the common rooms. She guessed that John would approve, as he had always admired the décor at Crampton.

She wandered into her husband's room later in the afternoon, curious to see where he slept. Although much less ornately decorated and furnished than the other rooms in the house, his bedroom was still dark and gloomy. The walls were painted a grim shade of gray; Meg wrinkled her nose in distaste. If it were up to her, she would have the walls papered a soft shade of yellow, to better reflect the morning sunshine that would stream into the room from its eastern exposure. She walked idly about, touching his hair brushes, and peering into the closet at his garments, several of which were hung askew. She picked up the neckerchief he had discarded from that morning, and held it to her cheek, breathing in his masculine scent-bay rum, she thought, and an underlying tang that was distinctly his, as she was learning.

She heard a small sound behind her and turned with a guilty start to find John standing in the doorway, his arm propped on the door frame above his head. His face was somber, but there was a decided gleam in his eye. The entire time he had been discussing business with Williams, he was distracted by images of Meg lying on her bed, flushed and tousled from sleep. When his business was concluded, he had hastened back to the house, hoping to surprise his wife in her bedroom. As he walked down the hallway to her room, he had noticed the door to his own bedroom was ajar-and found Meg moving about within, idly touching his possessions. A languor spread through him at the sight of her holding his neckerchief to her cheek.

"What are you doing in my bedchamber, Meg?" he asked softly. "I thought you were resting."

She blushed deeply and dropped the neckerchief back onto the dresser where she had found it. "I-I was l-looking about," she stuttered, feeling a flutter which was a combination of embarrassment and pleasurable anticipation. "Have you returned for your tea?" she asked quickly, moving toward the doorway. "Given the little you ate at the luncheon, you must be starving." I should be seeing to his meal, not meandering about the house, she chastised herself.

He dropped his arm and moved toward her, stalking her like a powerful, barely constrained panther. She had the impression that he was holding his emotions in check. "I am starving," he murmured, "but not for tea. I asked Cook if she could delay dinner for an hour or so," he continued softly as his eyes captured and held hers. "I don't think I can wait until this evening, Meg," he said in a deep, rough voice. "I would like to take you to bed-now, if you have no objections." He reached out and captured one of the curls that had come loose from her topknot, rubbing its softness between his fingers.

Now was the time for her to blush deeply, to feign embarrassment, to put him off, he thought. He must be patient with her, he reminded himself. To his delight, although she blushed rosily, she closed the gap between them and encircled his waist with her arms, resting her head upon his heart. "I should like that very much," she responded simply, and raised her flushed face for his kiss.

He captured her lips, and his own were so firm and persuasive so that she quickly opened hers to his questing mouth. He kissed her over and over again, deep, soul-wrenching kisses that caused a spill of sensation in her breasts and lower abdomen. She stood on tiptoe to better fit herself to him, and his hands clasped and pulled her snug against him, so that she felt his urgent need. They broke apart momentarily, and he rested his forehead against hers. "Should I send for your maid?" he asked in a breathless tone.

She shook her head. "I believe that you are perfectly capable of assisting me out of my garments," she said in a silken voice, and thrilled to see his eyes flair with passion. Without saying a word, he stepped to the door, closed it, and turned the key in the lock.

"I would hate for us to be interrupted," he explained softly, as he gently turned her away from him and began to undo the long row of buttons down her back, placing a kiss along her spine as he undid each one. She thrilled at the feel of his open mouth on her heated skin; when he finished unbuttoning her gown, he was practically on his knees behind her, his large hands cradling her body. He undid the sash at her waist and gently lowered the dress from her shoulders and torso. She stood shivering as he fumbled with the ties and fasteners holding up her heavy undergarments, and sighed with relief as she stepped out of the massive pile of clothing, standing before him in her thin chemise.

He rose slowly from his knees and held her from him to gaze at her lovely figure. "No corset?" he asked in bemusement, and she shook her head.

"I cannot stand the constriction-when I returned from the future, I stopped wearing one." She looked at him anxiously. "Do you mind?'

He laughed appreciatively. "Why should I mind? It is one less garment for me to remove, and I am able to actually feel you rather than stiff fabric and stays." His smile was warm and intimate as he encircled her waist with his hands. "I find I rather enjoy playing ladies' maid," he murmured, rubbing his thumbs against the tender skin under her breasts and kissing the side of her neck.

"You are very good at it," she remarked in bemusement, and gasped as he lowered his open mouth to the cleft between her breasts. She felt the soft plush of his tongue play over the silken contours of her skin, and her knees buckled. He supported her in his arms as he continued his exploration, untying the ribbons of her chemise until the folds of fabric fell away and she was exposed from neck to naval. He raked his hot eyes across the lovely expanse of skin, and she felt scalded by the expression in his eyes. "Please," she whispered, not knowing what she was asking, and he smiled as he continued exploring her body with his hands and his hot, wet mouth. She could do little except lean against him, willing and pliant, and thread her fingers through his thick, soft hair. When her legs at last gave way, he swept her into his arms and carried her to his bed.

With lethal precision, he stripped himself of his coat, his waistcoat, his neckerchief, shirt, and the remainder of his clothing. She stared at him dazedly-he was so beautiful, all angular planes and muscled skin. Rising on her knees from the bed, she ran a hand down the smooth skin of his chest. He caught her hand and kissed her palm before tugging her inexorably toward him until they were flesh against flesh, soft skin against muscle. He kissed her greedily, as if he would never have his surfeit of her. Slowly lowering her, he covered her with his body, holding himself on his elbows above her to study her beautiful, flushed face. "Are you afraid?" he asked in a husky whisper.

"No," she whispered in return as she reached up to stroke his cheek; her confident smile made his heart soar. He kissed each finger of her hand slowly, bringing her to a boil of frustrated need. He lowered his head to devour her mouth again, and they rolled in a tangle of heated limbs, forgetting everything except their overwhelming need for each other.

John wanted to be gentle with her, but his desire was so great he felt as if a wild wind roared in his ears. Clasping her face between his hands, he gazed down at her rosy complexion and closed eyelids, and felt a rush of love and lust so powerful that he shook.

"Meg," he whispered hoarsely, "Look at me. I need you to look at me."

She opened dazed eyes and stared up at him. He brought his mouth to a scant inch above hers and whispered, "You belong to me now. You are mine."

He watched as her eyes widened and her mouth curved into smile of such warmth and intimacy that he caught his breath. She reached up to pull his mouth down to hers, and before she kissed him, she whispered, "Mine."

He felt his constraint snap; as his mouth claimed hers, he slid slowly into her until he filled her and she could feel nothing but the urgency of his mouth and the power of his body. Her hands grasped his shoulders, opening and shutting convulsively as if she searched for something to bring her relief, she knew not what. With a ragged cry, she arched her back, taking him in so completely that he moaned and could hold back no longer. With rhythmic thrusts, he brought her to completion and followed her a scant moment later.

For a time, they lay still in stunned delight, and then John began to move within her once more, dark and deliberate, for a second delicious coupling. No longer urgent with need, they spent time exploring each other's bodies with long, languid caresses. John wound his hands into Meg's thick, curling hair, enchanted by the feel of her long locks wrapped about his wrist. Meg ran her hands over John's chest and buttocks, feeling the strong muscles and sinew beneath his heated skin. They spent most of the late afternoon exploring the unknown territories of each other's bodies, in turns laughing and gasping with pleasure, and finally dozed lightly before a tap on the door announced that it was time for dinner.

They rose and washed, using the tepid water in the pitcher, and helped each other dress. When Meg went to brush and pin her hair up, John stayed her hand. "Please," he said coaxingly, "wear it down for me tonight. It reminds me of the evening you came to dinner and had cut your hair."

She laughed. "I was certain I had shocked you that night, and given you a disgust of me."

"On the contrary," he countered. "I thought you were beautiful."

"I am astonished-I thought you would find me beyond the pale," she said in confusion.

"I found you irresistible. I was more than half in love with you already, little did I know it. It took the riot to show me how dear to me you had become." He looked at her intently. "You saved my life that day, Meg, and you saved my life when you returned from the future." He saw her open her mouth to protest and he continued quickly, "Oh, I would have lived, no doubt. But my life was hardly worth living, was it, without you?" He smiled at her tenderly, and said in a husky voice, "You are my heart, Meg. I find I can no longer live without you."

With a small sob, she threw herself into his arms and held him closely. He kissed her forehead, and said soothingly, "I did not mean to make you cry, my dearest. Come, let us go downstairs and have our supper." He wrapped his arm about her and led her out the door and down the stairs to the dining room, where a maid awaited them.

"Jane," Mr. Thornton said to her, "Would you please tell Cook that we are ready for dinner?"

She nodded and hurried toward the kitchen, and Mr. Thornton led Meg into the dining room and pulled out her chair for her. She settled herself opposite the long table from him, and noted with dismay that he seemed a mile away.

With sudden determination, she rose and, picking up her table setting, walked down to his end of the table and set her place next to his. He looked up at her, startled. "I cannot converse with you if I am so far away," she explained firmly, and returned to her original place to retrieve her glassware and napkin.

"Meg," he said in protest, "the servants can see to that."

"I am certain they can," she replied mildly, "but as I am able bodied, so can I."

He stared at her and began to laugh. "I can see that life with you will be very different than what I am used to," he exclaimed, and she smiled.

"I would say it is about time," she responded with satisfaction, and seated herself close to him. They ate and spoke of their impending trip together, and laughed at several funny things that had occurred during the wedding breakfast-in making a toast, Watson had called Meg "Molly," which had incensed John at the time. However, Meg had laughed merrily, and he had joined in her laughter at last. Once dinner was over, he clasped her hand and said "I am so glad you changed your place setting-I shall tell Jane that you are to be beside me at table from this time forward." She smiled and turned her palm up so that they interlinked fingers, and he lifted her hand and held it to his cheek.

********

After they had dined, John walked over to the mill office in search of some correspondence that he had left upon his desk. Meg did not feel like reading, and wandered into the parlor. Seeing the concert grand piano, she settled herself upon the bench. When Fanny had married, her husband had insisted on buying her a new piano, and so she left her old piano behind at Marlborough Mills. Meg was happy to have such a fine instrument, and, raising the lid, rested her fingers on the keys.

She remembered the dinner months before when she had played Chopin for the assembled dinner guests. A small smile on her mouth, she began playing the same piece. Within minutes, she was caught up in the music, oblivious to the world around her. She shut her eyes and let the melody lift and carry her along.

It was thus that her husband found her moments later. He stood on the threshold, the forgotten letter in his hand, and observed her performance. Once again, he thought how beautiful she was, caught up in the beauty of the music. She looked enraptured, eyes closed and lips parted. He felt a surge of lust rush through him, and the thought struck him that she was his now, to love and cherish.

As she finished and the notes of the song died their sweet death, he folded the letter and thrust it into his breast pocket before moving deliberately toward the piano. At the sound of his footsteps, she opened her eyes, startled, and gazed into his dark face. All amusement was gone from his features, all patience over. She knew that he burned for her-she could see it in his expression, and felt an answering spill of need deep within her belly. She rose from the bench, and he stepped forward and lifted her into his arms, carrying her up the stairs and into their bedroom, where he kicked the door closed with a reverberating slam.

They spoke no words-they had no need of words. He set her upon the bed and, as he kissed her, removed her garments and his own as swiftly as he could manage. He could not be leisurely; his need was too great. He was overcome with a dark passion that would brook no delay or refusal. When he thrust into her at last, he gave a great sigh, as if that which had been half was now whole, that which was incomplete was finally complete. He teased her with the slow, sensuous movements of his body until she sobbed out her need; then he took her quickly, holding her tightly in his arms as he watched her reach her fulfillment. They slept close to one another, and for the first time in weeks, John did not dream of her departure through the mirror. He hoped his demons had been laid to rest at last.

********

Upon their arrival in Blackpool, Meg was delighted to see the charming cottage where they would spend a week. It was small and picturesque, covered with climbing roses. She asked him how he had found the time to acquire such a lovely place, and he explained that when she had returned from the future and agreed to marry him, he had sent Williams to Blackpool to secure lodgings for them for a week.

It had taken them two days of leisurely travel to arrive at Blackpool. It had rained those two days as they rode in a hired chaise, but the day of their arrival was glorious. During their journey, Meg thought over their departure from Marlborough Mills. She did not know who had been more unhappy to see them leave-Mrs. Thornton or Dixon. Mrs. Thornton arrived home from Fanny's house in time to fuss and fret over what was to be done with the mill for the week. John spoke with her calmly and reassured her that all would be in fine fettle, but Meg could see she was worried and anxious.

As for Dixon, she was shocked that Meg would consider taking a trip without her. "Who will see to your clothes, and make sure all is in order?" she demanded of Meg.

Meg soothed her, saying, "I am certain the cottage where we are staying is small, Dixon. We shall not be attending any grand balls or fancy dinners." She twinkled irrepressibly at the servant. "I doubt we will leave the cottage much."

Dixon turned red and pursed her lips in disapproval. "Very well, Mrs. Margaret," she said stiffly, and left Meg's room in a huff. I shall have to bring her a gift, Meg thought resignedly. I only hope she can rub along with the other servants until I return.

The day that they arrived in Blackpool, the newlyweds spent most of the afternoon exploring the town and strolling along the shore, watching the seabirds and breathing in the bracing air. Mr. Thornton had arranged for someone to deliver meals to their cottage so that they might spend their first few days alone, without the world intruding.

They ate in front of a blazing fire, and tumbled into bed soon after to make rapturous love. John dozed off almost immediately afterwards, but Meg could not sleep. She was excited to be at the sea-she had not been there since she was a girl. Meg had spent a number of summers at the seashore in Brighton. Gran and Lily had rented a house for a week during the late summer, and she and Amelia has splashed in the waves and built sand castles until they were old enough to learn how to swim. Meg had taken to it like a fish. Once war had broken out, however, it became impossible to take a holiday at the seaside, and Meg had missed the sea immensely.

She longed to swim once again. Seeing that John was deep asleep, Meg crept stealthily from their bed and, donning her night rail and her robe, quietly left the cottage. She ran down the path to the shore, and stood along the shoreline where the waves lapped at her toes. It was cold, but not too cold for a brisk dip, she decided and, walking several feet away to a dry spot, dropped her robe on the sand.

She ran into the sea, gasping from the shock of the cold, briny water. Her breath left her body momentarily, but returned in great gulps as she struck out through the waves. She had always been a strong swimmer; Gran had constantly marveled at her strength. She travelled in a path parallel to the shore line, turning in the silky water like a mermaid. The moonlight shone upon the water and gilded the foaming waves a brilliant silver hue. When she began to tire and felt the undertow pulling at her, she set out for shore.

As she reached the shoreline, before she could gain her feet, she was grasped at the elbow by a strong hand and dragged upright onto the beach.

Pushing her long, wet locks from her face, she glanced up into the furious eyes of her husband. He was barefoot, dressed only in his trousers.

He said in a carefully controlled voice, "I awoke and found you missing. Can you imagine what I felt?" Beneath the fury in his voice, she sensed his panicked fear and understanding flooded through her. She had been back in Milton several weeks. Although she had pledged to him that she would never leave him again, when he woke up to find her gone, his fear had overwhelmed him. She sank back onto her knees at the thought of his panic on awakening in a solitary bed.

"John, I am sorry," she said in a quiet, shamed voice. "I was stupid and thoughtless. I could not sleep-and thought a swim would help to tire me."

She stood and reached out toward him in contrition, but noted that he was not listening, but was staring at her. She looked down and realized that her wet nightgown was transparent, clinging to her every curve and leaving nothing to the imagination. A muscle ticked in his cheek, and he lifted blazing eyes to hers. Without a word, he clasped her by the wrist and led her up the beach to their cottage.

"John-" she said coaxingly when he turned to close the door, but it was apparent that he was beyond conciliation. With a single motion, he tore the night rail from her body. Before she could utter a word, his hot mouth came down on hers, muffling every protest.

She realized that his fear of losing her fueled his passion; he appeared furious, but she was not afraid of him-she could never be afraid of him or his passion. She recognized that there was nothing she could say to console him-but there was something she could do. She wound her arms around his neck and pressed her body against his, reveling in the feel of his fevered skin against her cold, damp flesh. He struggled out of his clothes before he pulled her onto the bed and rolled over on top of her. Before she could catch her breath, he buried himself within her to the hilt, desperate to prove that she was with him, not some apparition who would disappear the moment he awoke. She welcomed the invasion, and tilted her hips to bring him even deeper, as if she would take all of him into her welcoming body.

Their lovemaking was fevered and they reached their climax together, crying out in wonder. Neither slept for the remainder of the night, for each time she turned over to doze, he pulled her back against him and used his hands and mouth to inflame her once more. As the dawn turned the sky pearl gray, he turned on his side and drew her close to his body, her head tucked beneath his chin and their limbs intertwined. They soon fell asleep, exhausted and satiated.

The following morning as they ate breakfast, Meg kept a cautious eye on her husband. Neither spoke much during the meal, but when he had finished and pushed back from the table, Meg rose and raced around the table to throw herself in his arms. "Please, forgive me for leaving you last night," she said in a low, fervent tone. "I promise I shall never do so again."

He cradled her against him and gently kissed the top of her head. She was looking heavy eyed this morning, and her skin had the delicious flush of one who has been well loved. "It is I who should beg your forgiveness," he said hesitantly. "I fear that I was too rough with you."

She shook her head, blushing. "Actually..." she said hesitantly, "It was perfect. But I am sorry that I caused you worry."

He hugged her tightly, and continued, "If you insist on swimming again, I plan on coming down to the sea to watch you." He smiled down at her. "I was very angry, but not so angry that I did not appreciate the picture you made as you swam about and arose from the surf." He laughed softly, and added, "I thought you resembled Venus rising from the waves."

She smiled up at him, a gleam of amusement in her eye. "I shall swim just for you tonight-if you will take me back to the cottage and love me afterward."

He lowered his lips to hers and whispered, "It would be my pleasure."

"Actually," she said hesitantly, not meeting his eyes as she played with a button on his shirt, "I should not mind if you were to love me again...now."

He laughed and, bending his head to kiss her, took her to bed immediately.

©2010, kleindog, All Rights Reserved.