Chapter IV

Mr. Thornton closed the door behind him, and went straight to the window. He could not believe what had happened in the carriage. He brought both of his hands to his face, breathing in the smell of her most intimate place, and felt, once more, his need and desire burn a path from his stomach to his groin. How could he, who, before, had never cared for women, never given them a second look, how could he put himself in such a state? If before, when she had rejected him, he had felt sharply the pain of his unrequited passion, and discovered himself to be a passionate man, he now discovered an even wilder side of him, one sharpened by her love. In the early days of their engagement, he had felt elated, joyful, positively happy, and mesmerized by the idea that she would be his wife. But now, after a long separation, every feeling was multiplied, every sensation too. The more curious and sensual she proved herself to be, the more anxious he got. He was a proud, confident man, but his experience in that area that he had until then all but dimissed seemed to lack desperately. Of course, he knew how the act was supposed to go, and he had grown to master and tailor his own needs and desires to the necessity of his lonely, powerful position. All he had to show for it were a few visits to a special house, in London, one where he risked being recognized less, where he had, over the course of ten years, given way to his primal need for purely bestial intercourse; it had always been short, and perfunctory. The only way in which he would allow himself to visit such a place was if it was merely to serve his need. He knew, already, the power that intimacy could have if it was enjoyed to a point of leisure, comfort and sensuality, and could not bear to be so indulgent to himself, or to some unknown woman. He was very aware, however, that this was an insufficient education in the loving, intimate way in which he needed to be with Margaret. How would he balance, he wondered, his carnal, rough taste, with what Margaret would want, and what could see himself want too, a loving, slow, langorous intimacy? Could he restrain himself, now that she had given free reign to his passion by responding to his love?

They had had a narrow escape, managing to bring about their dishevelled state to a presentable appearance. Margaret did not seem to notice how scandalous their position had been, and he was surprised at the way she dissimulated their escapade to his mother when they saluted each other on the porch. Was it possible, then, that he was the faint-hearted one? The one who would fear to blush or that one look at her would be his undoing in front of everybody? They had gone up the stairs, and his mother had made polite conversation with Margaret, welcoming her into the house, and showing her around the rooms. It was almost time for dinner, and they were to go and change before. He had let his mother show Margaret her room, mostly, if he was honest, because he would not trust himself to leave her alone in there and not take full advantage of the situation. How would he sleep, tonight, knowing that she was but meters away, lying in the soft sheets that would caress her figure, all the plump angles and curves that he started to know, the mapping of which he would make his lifetime achievement?

In her room, Margaret was no less flustered. She was powerless to explain, even to herself, what had just happened, but she could not help smiling; it would be a lie to pretend that she had not been nervous, and extremely ashamed at her lack of knowledge, as to what was to happen between them once they were married. She now recognized that, from the very beginning of their acquaintance, he had attracted her with his magnetic charm, his sometimes cold poise, his hidden softness of character, his smile. What she failed to understand was how much power the sentiment itself had over her, over both of them, it seemed. She had, of course, heard other women talk of marital duties like a rite of passage, a moment that was all for the husband's pleasure and for the conception of children. She had been dumbfounded as to how being naked with such an attractive man as John, having him kiss you like he had, and do other things, could ever be unpleasant. She had then determined that it must be painful, and had hoped it would not be too much. But after the carriage, she had less of these apprehensions – she was certain no pain could ever counterbalance such pleasure enough to not be a frequent feature of their marriage – and other ones; she had guessed, somehow, that he had experience, where she did not, and was not sure what to assume or think about it. She could only feel ashamed at the situation that necessarily always left women to be passive instead of equals, in such matters. How unfair, that he could arrive in their union with a knowledge of how to make her feel all this, and all she could do was touch his member and be awed at the whole thing. She resolved, then, that she would, with as much care as possible, get the answers she needed tonight.

Dinner was a quiet affair; they had the details of the wedding to go over with his mother, listing the errands and details that still had to be sorted. It was only two more days now. Two more nights of sleeping in a bed alone. They retreated in the parlor for an hour, as was customary, and she took up some embroidery, and made a point to ask Mrs Thornton how she did such and such a point, showing her that she could teach her some thing, perceiving that in such a whirlwind as their engagement and imminent marriage had been, the stern lady felt unsure of her place. Mrs Thornton's attitude toward her was now almost fully warm. It seemed the happiness she had seen in her son, while privately upsetting, could not help but make her feel grateful that Margaret had returned his love, and saved the mill. John would just be sharing a few words, sometimes, reading his book. Sometimes, she could tell he was looking at her, in that way, like she was wearing no clothes, and she felt like she could have melted on her chair, frozen under his gaze. Would he never behave?

Mrs Thornton was the first to announce that it was time for her to retire to her bedchamber, severely implying that it would be time for them to go too, so they would not remain alone in the room, prey to the servants's gossip and their obvious need to be closer. She was not born yesterday, and yet she fully trusted her son's restraint and sense of propriety and respect to expect anything else than a normal good night hand shake and the subsequent retreat to their respective rooms. There was no reason to expect anything else from a gentleman's daughter and her respectable son. They exchanged a disappointed gaze, and proceeded to say their good night wishes. He smiled, and led her up the stairs, turning to his room. "I dare hope you like your room, Miss Hale," he attempted. "If I did not, it would not matter, since it will merely be my bedchamber for two nights, before I join yours." He swallowed and unconsciously took a step back. His mother's footsteps could be heard in her room, which was down the hall. He lowered his voice, as usual, sending shivers down her spine, "Margaret, I can hardly breathe properly when you say things like that. You will have to stop, if you want to make it to our wedding night any less touched than you have been already." She smiled widely. "Goodnight, mister Thornton." He touched her hand briefly, "May your dreams be pleasant, Miss Hale."

She undressed slowly, giving him ample time to be surprised by her introduction into his room, and giving Mrs Thornton time to fall asleep. She did not pull down her hair from the intricate updo it was in. She slipped on her nightgown, hiding the revealing nightshirt underneath, breathed in, and, with as much calm as she could muster, quietly slipped out her door, and made her way slowly to his own. She did not wish to wake up Mrs Thornton or alter her, so she rasped furtively at the door, hoping he would hear it, otherwise, she would have to come in unannounced. She heard some shuffling then, and a few footsteps, and he opened the door, his face all surprise and incomprehension at her state of undress. He opened his mouth to speak, but she silenced him once more by merely stepping inside his room, and closing the door behind her. "What are you…Margaret… I am ashamed to have to tell you this, but you must leave, as I am not sure I can trust myself to be alone with you, not after today…" As he spoke, he retreated slowly to a chair that was near the fire. Her eyes were roaming his body, telling him that she did not care. While she was merely wearing a gown that covered her perhaps more than a regular day gown, she had never seen him in that state. She did not think she had ever found him as attractive as right now. His stubble drew a shadow on the angles of his face, softening it somehow, and he had taken off his jacket, and his cravat. She stepped closer to him, towering above him, and he knew then, just like perhaps he knew on the very first day, that she would silence him thus whenever she wanted and pleased, for as long as they should live. This is perhaps the key, he thought, to my doubts. She reached out to graze his cheek, still silent. She did not know how to start. "What do you need, Margaret?" he asked, and lowered his gaze to her feet. He noticed her ankles then, he had not looked at them properly in the carriage, in the rush. She followed his gaze. "I wish to understand, John." He looked up, straining to let her say what she needed, but desperately needing to touch her ankles. He reached out one hand then, and gently made contact with the skin of her ankle, "Your wish is my command, love." She breathed, "I wish to know more about the experience you seem to have in such matters as these."

He looked up in distress, abruptly afraid that he had lost her because he had revealed himself too much, in the carriage. "Do not misunderstand me. I would not dare hope that a man your age, a man as… passionate as you… would remain chaste like a maid. But do not however assume that I am comfortable with that imbalance, and that my curiosity is not awakened. I wish to enter this aspect of our relationship with no doubts about how we can be more equal, with that asymmetry." He nodded, spell-bound, and moved from his chair to kneel in front of her, grabbing both of her ankles. "I am ashamed, dear Margaret. I have told you in the past that I had never loved a woman before, and that is the truth. I love you most ardently, and I never thought such a feeling was a possibility for me. I was never interested." He caressed the curve of her calf then, almost absent-mindedly, needing the contact to continue. "The only experience I have is one I am ashamed of. You must understand. I had never contemplated marriage as a possibility, and thought the only relief I would deserve were base ones, hidden away, without affection or love. Surely you must know, I would never have touched these women if I had but known you then. Even then, I only went a few times. I have loved you from the first second. Please, forgive my youthful imprudence." He dared not look up at her, and all he could do was grab her hand and kiss it softly, reverently. She took some time to think, to ponder how she felt. These were possibly the longest minutes of his life. For to have almost had her and then lost her would hurt a hundred times more than her original rejection, when he had not tasted her lips, or watched her reach her peak. He kept her hand on his cheek, and she felt him trembling thus.

She sat in the chair he had left, and took both of his hands in hers. "Thank you for being so honest. I had imagined so much worse… I am not fully certain yet how this makes me feel. I feel relieved that you did not love another woman. I feel relieved that you had no mistress. Is that strange of me? To prefer to think of you having been with a few nameless women instead of genuinely attracted to a single one? I do not wish to speak more about them now." He let a sigh leave him that he had until now kept in. "Margaret, you are the strangest, most incredible creature I have ever known. Please allow me to explain. I have told you before how, as a young lad, I was thrown into being responsible and the sole breadwinner for my family. I think my character has been shaped my that more than by my years of carefree childhood, of course. I sometimes felt trapped, knowing marriage was not an option since I despised all the women I knew, and knowing that, despite my physical, human need, I could not satisfy it. I resolved to do what many men do, althought others go very frequently, and often even after they marry. Margaret, I promise you, the minute you put your arms around me, there was never going to be another woman I would want to touch." He dared not touch her yet, but he raised his hand to her face, and moved it, seamlessly, an inch from her flesh, down her sides, tracing the curves. She seemed mesmerized by this. "I can live with that," she chuckled, too much under his spell to be upset, not sure she even actually was. He loved only her. Was not she lucky that he had not supported an actress, seen a married woman, taken advantage of some shop girl? Certainly, harlots were a taboo, but she was smart enough to recognize that they had a role in such a restrictive society – one that almost condemned her to marry an almost complete stranger for trying to save his life. One that would not allow a young woman to walk with a male friend after dark, if it were not a member of her family. She told him so, softly. As she spoke, he thought he would never tire of being able to discuss such matters so freely with her, to criticize society's expectations, to challenge them together. After all, had they not been entirely reckless and free in that carriage?

"What can I do, love, to make up for that imbalance? What would you like to know?" She smiled then, and touched his neck, where the cravat usually obstructed it, and grazed his skin all the way down to his chest, where the chemise lay open. "Show me how to please you," she requested, trembling, but her face and bearing more queen-like than ever. He thought he would spontaneously combust on that moment. "Margaret, as much as I love to hear that you wish to please me, I do not feel that our conversation has led to a feeling of worthiness of my part. You are a queen, full of grace and beauty, and I feel now but a fool, driven by a sort of animal need to do things I now regret." She blushed, and looked deeply into his eyes then. She leaned down, to better show him she meant her request, her fingers left his chest to get to her own, and open her gown to reveal her nightdress. She then kissed him, a few times, taking his bottom lip in between both of hers, seeing he would not be easily convinced. "John, please, what do you mean, animal need? Show me"

His blood boiled at her words, "My love," he grasped her ankles firmly this time, "I say animal because this is what it felt like for me to be with these women, since there was no love. It was not slow, it was not gentle, and I am afraid now that I would not know how to restrain myself with you, for I want to worship you, not ravish you." He spread her legs then, and brought the nightdress up, to make his way to her center, pulsing wildly for him already, so wet. "But when I feel you so wet, for me, I risk losing all control," he panted, still looking at her straight in the eyes, "and I must rein myself in for I want to please you so much more than I want to please myself." He touched her then, as he had before. She gasped and laid her head back on the cushioned chair, "Oh John, I felt the same way…" she panted, "when I first felt your member, rigid as it was. I felt that it was for me, in some very primal way, and it made me want to…" he started circling the nub with his thumb, she moaned loudly, "It made you want to do what, love?" She blushed even deeper, and stood up abruptly, only to slip down on her knees to face him. She licked her lips, and reached out to his breeches, "It made me want to rip your breeches off, John." He fell back on his behind then, bracing one hand on his side, opening his legs up, frozen in place. She reached inside then, and freed his erected member, fascinated at the sight.

Looking questioningly into his eyes, she encircled it with her right hand, and he hissed. He brought his left hand back to her thight then, and made contact with her wet heat once more. She moaned, "What should I do now, John?" He smiled, "You do want to know everything, Margaret." She moaned and started to move her hand up and down. "Well, love, there are several ways, as you have seen earlier today, to reach your peak. One of them is the marital way, where I penetrate your heat" – he introduced two fingers all at once – "with my member" – he felt her hand go tighter around him, and it felt too delicious to say anything, for a few moments. She moaned and panted loudly now, moving herself over his hand, and only imagining her doing the same over his cock, he almost came. "Or there is the pleasure given with the hands" he then mimicked it by circling her nub simultaneously, as he moved his fingers in and out of her. She moved to kiss him, impatient, realizing she still had not fully kissed him that night. He introduced his tongue in her open mouth then, and she understood, that all those movements they made where mirrors of one another, a frantic dance for their bodies to get together for the maximum pleasure possible. How wonderful, she thought, as they kept exploring each other, that our bodies have been created that way. She told him so, too, wanting to share her thoughts with him to rectify the balance as well. He only accelerated his movements, then, "I agree…And then, the third way, is the pleasure given with the mouth." She stopped kissing him then, with a questioning look. "Do you mean to tell me…" she moaned again at his ministrations, "that we can reach the peak by kissing each other." He grinned then, "In a way, Margaret," he was almost there himself, pushing himself into her hand, feeling his balls tightening in the familiar way, and he let go, giving a deep and long moan and taking himself into his own hand to prevent her from being scared at his ejaculation. She was fascinated, and he still kept two fingers suspended into her, filling her. He caught his breath then, and moved quickly sit her in front of him, in a better position, her back against his chest. He kissed her neck then, and quickly moved his right hand back into her, starting over his caresses, his left hand pressed against her left breast. She leaned her head back on his shoulder, completely in his power, moaning softly. When she started to push herself into his hand again, he did not accelerate, only gripped her left breast firmly, and chose his moment to whisper into her ear, "Yes my love, except what I'm doing with my fingers now, I plan on doing with my mouth tomorrow." At his words, a deep, slow shiver started to overtake her, and he quickly moved his hand over her mouth, to stiffle a proper cry. He let her recover, panting, and he kissed her deeply. "Now go back to your room, Margaret, before I take you here and now."