Robert trod heavily through the main hall, a late autumn breeze at his back. It had been another long day of tenant meetings, he following behind Tom and Mary—everyone careful not to rouse him into excitement. But he was roused. And he had been for days now.

It was just—he paused, looking into the drawing room (finding it empty); it was only that he'd been rather on edge. And the source of it? Well, that was just it. Why on earth would some blasted book conspire to put him in such a foul mood? It was not the book, not really. How could it be, after all, when the book had been lost to him for over a week now?

Wandering past the library, he thought—not for the first time that week—that it was a trifling thing to be vexed over. But it was other things, too. Tom and Mary had been painfully superior today; he knew they did not mean to. And he reminded himself, wandering into the library and pulling on the cord, that they were doing a good job. But, oh, how he hated to be informed of things, to be clued in, like some dull child.

Even that, though, was not it. Cora had been annoyingly absent this week, spending most days in the hospital offices pouring over paperwork and meeting with various boring characters from York. He'd gone into the village one afternoon early in the week to take her to lunch and she'd been too busy. Too busy!

Robert laid his head back against the settee and exhaled with great relish. Too busy. He'd wanted to take her to see the work on the hunting shed, but they'd never found the time. And even that idea seemed silly now. He rolled his eyes at nothing in particular, staring up at the ceiling, and wondered with some concern when the last time he was busy even was? His days were long, yes, but he felt at times the weight of his tasks was quite different than once it was. Instead of exhausting from negotiations, from staring at columns of numbers in his ledgers, he felt the exhaustion of a monument being paraded around—the weight of becoming ineffectual and impotent.

Robert closed his eyes and tried to tamp down the flickering anger he felt in his belly, the tiny flames of irritation that licked at his insides when he stopped to consider his place in the house. He focused instead on the steady tick tick tick of the clock on the mantle, breathing in and out in time with its sound.

But—

It was not only a tick tick tick that filled the room. Robert cracked his eyes open and furrowed his brow, realizing another noise in the room had begun to drown out his rhythmic clock. He sat up. It was a thump. No, no—it was a scratch?

Yes, it was a scratching sound that roused him then, and he stood, curious, and peered around the room.

The culprit was not hard to find. For all her merits: her burgeoning loyalty, spirited bark, and boundless enthusiasm, Tiaa Crawley was not a particularly skilled burglar. And so she sat, quite out in the open, in her basket, chewing on her latest prize.

Robert approached her with considerable exasperation, having already lost two pairs of shoes to her tiny teeth that week, and clicked his tongue loudly, about to issue a strong rebuke.

But—

He looked down, standing at the foot of her basket, and felt his eyes widen in disbelief.

Oh—oh!

Could such a jewel truly lay just at his feet? So carelessly discarded? Tiaa was clever, certainly, but what—what simpleton would leave this masterpiece where anyone could get to it? He knew not where it had come from, but that was no matter now. Robert reached down and snatched the small brown book from the wicker basket, ignoring Tiaa's yelp of displeasure, and clapped a hand against his thigh in delight.

"Well done, little one!"

The small dog looked up at him curiously, yawning in reply.

He flipped open the cover to inspect for damage, finding only a few errant teeth marks on the edge of the binding, and grinned despite himself.

"I knew I'd trained you well," he muttered, already wandering away from Tiaa's corner back toward the couch. Eyes wandering furtively round the room, Robert glanced down at the book, up toward the door, and then back down to the book again.

No, the library was no safe place. No indeed. It was in this blasted room that he'd lost the thing in the first place. But not again. No—never again! He grinned once more, a chuckle rumbling from his throat, and allowed this surge of delight to carry him out of the room toward the staircase. Silence, he needed silence. And silence he would have.

When Cora awoke the next morning, it was with some confusion that her hand—reaching out for her husband—met the cool pillow beside her. Robert had behaved strangely all the last evening. He'd skipped dinner, claiming a headache, and then had not come to bed, even after promising her that he would once he was finished reading. She remembered, then, falling asleep with her own book, Pride and Prejudice,in her lap. But, well, that had been rather dull compared to what she'd finally finished last week. Now that had kept her awake.

But thatwas no matter now. What mattered, Cora thought, forcing herself up and away from the pillow, was that something was quite wrong with Robert. Quite wrong indeed.

And that fact seemed plainer when Cora rounded the stairs an hour later in pursuit of her husband, only to find him fiddling with his overcoat and hat in the main hall, Tiaa nipping at his heels.

"Robert?"

Cora's voice sounded out through the foyer, catching the attention of both her husband and his tiny charge.

"Cora—" He smiled, shooing Tiaa, and approached her. "I was just about to go look for you."

"Well, you've found me," she answered. He smiled again as their eyes met, a most curious greeting, Cora thought, considering his sickness of only the night before. But she remained silent on that matter.

"I'm going out for a walk and want you to come," he explained simply—his eyes shining with an excitement that Cora could not quite place. She watched as Robert looped his scarf into a lazy knot.

"Are you feeling quiet up to it, darling?"

He nodded.

"I'm feeling much better, and rather lively, actually."

"Oh?"

He nodded again.

"Yes, indeed."

Cora hummed in agreement. "Well, I suppose I could do with a bit of fresh air."

Offering his arm to her, then, he gripped her hand, his gloved palm warm against her own, and led her toward the mudroom in search of a coat.

"I was worried when you didn't come to bed last night," she commented, murmuring a thank you as he held out her coat to slide an arm into.

He chuckled, softly, and then held the other arm out. "I am sorry about that, my dear. I was up late reading. Though I finished my book—"

"I assumed," Cora replied.

"And, it was much too late by the time I'd finished. I popped my head in but you were asleep, so I went back to read over another part—"

Robert trailed off, then, watching as Cora pulled her walking hat off a nearby shelf.

"What is it?" Cora asked, fidgeting uncomfortably under his attentions, feeling a slight heat prickle at her neck.

"Nothing," he murmured. "Just admiring you."

Cora smiled curiously in response, taking Robert's proffered arm once more, and allowed him to lead her out the front door. If Cora was discomfited by his sudden desire for fresh air, and the strength with which he held her fingers within his own, she did not say. She only listened as he began to chatter on about a surprise, and wondered briefly why he insisted they leave little Tiaa behind.

Robert felt rather light-footed as he strode across the parkland with Cora on his arm. When Carson had approached him that morning to say that Mr. Andrews had finished work on the hunting shed, it had seemed entirely serendipitous. After all, he'd only completed the story last night.

He thought of Lady Chatterley—Connie—and Mellors, the rogue. They were certainly happy enough in that little shed. And now he, he and Cora, had their own little cottage. Although the excitement would perhaps be lost on Cora (he dared not tell her of the book), he supposed that his excitement would be enough for them both.

And so he remained largely silent as they walked on companionably, arm in arm, toward his unnamed destination.

Robert saw the cottage in the distance before Cora did; his eyes had been scanning the wooded copse for several moments now, and though Cora was deep into a story about the children—George having said this or that—he'd not the faintest idea what she was talking about. For, there! There it was. Oh, it was perfect. They ambled down the hill, Cora pausing in her story to slow her pace and lift her skirt a bit, just for safety's sake, and she clutched tightly to his hand.

"Robert is this safe? You know I hate to leave the path," she muttered, pushing an errant tree branch out of their way. "Perfectly safe," he replied, eyes fixed on the little door.

And he stopped, then, just as they trudged down the final slope and greeted the flat land. He smiled and held up a hand in great flourish. "Look—"

Cora turned round, taking in the great mass of trees, the verdant green canopy that surrounded them. She listened to the errant chirping of a bird, and breathed in a gulp of crisp autumn air. But, look? At what? What was so important that they had trekked down a near cliff to reach it? She began to turn around, a sharp word on the tip of her tongue, but then, oh, then she saw—

It was one of the cottages. One of the dilapidated old hunting sheds, she supposed. Robert was still smiling, his eyes vacillating between her and the tiny shed, and Cora couldn't help but fix her gaze on the little structure, feeling suddenly a pull of memory, the tingle of words that had been so very alive as she'd read those pages.

The game-keeper's picturesque little home was in sight…A rather dark, brown stone cottage, with gables and a handsome chimney, looked uninhabited, it was so silent and alone. But a thread of smoke rose from the chimney, and the little railed-in garden in the front of the house was dug and kept very tidy. The door was shut.

Oh—yes, yes, this was nearly it! She took a step forward, only a half step, and peered at the little windows, at the door and path that looked remarkably well kept. She couldn't remember the last time Robert had hosted a hunt out here. But—oh, suddenly she wished desperately to go inside. She thought of Connie and Mellors, thought of the things they'd gotten up to in the cottage, the salacious images still fresh in her mind.

But, goodness—no. Oh, Robert would think her terribly profane if ever he knew. And so she turned, instead, and smiled, adopting an air of innocence. "One of the hunting sheds?"

Robert nodded, his grin one of exaltation, and reached to take her hand once more. "I've had Andrews fix it up—"

"—For hunting?"

Robert felt Cora's grip on his arm tighten, her steps guiding them closer to the door. Her voice sounded strange, somehow, and faraway. But, well—he felt himself, too, pulled toward the door, and thought little of anything beyond the words on those pages, the glorious pages—

A rather dark, brown stone cottage

With a quiver of exquisite pleasure he touched the warm soft body

The door was shut

It was so silent and alone.

Exquisite pleasure—oh—oh, yes—exquisite pleasure

They stood at the entrance and Robert reached for the knob, drawing a hum of confusion from Cora.

"You mean it's already done?"

Her face was incredulous, Robert was pleased to see; she looked shocked, but pleasantly so, and allowed him to lead her into the tiny space.

And indeed, the cottage was dark, the stone walls and new drapes—a modest wine colored fabric—colluding to keep the light out. The bare floor, scratched wood recycled from the former structure, creaked pleasantly as they spilled into the center of the room and Robert reached for a lantern, turning the lamp on and feeling himself somehow drawn backward into the past.

"What is all this?" Cora laughed, crossing her arms.

Robert didn't answer, only chuckled in response and reached for another lantern. Once he'd turned that one up, too, he set his attention to the small wood stove. The room was tiny, space enough only for a metal stove, a basket of wood, and—perhaps most surprisingly of all—a well-appointed cot against the far wall covered in a fur blanket.

Oh if he only knew, she thought, if he only knew the images called to mind, the sinful words that she had read with such relish. Oh, yes, he would be quite scandalized.

They were quiet, breathing in the scent of peppery wood and relishing the moment of veritable silence.

And then he stepped closer, his smile suddenly more focused—his gaze intent.

"Perhaps we should go now," Cora murmured, feeling Robert's hands take up her own once more. The cottage was small enough to heat quickly, even with only the aid of the tiny appliance. But it was his hands; his lovely hands that warmed her, his skin soft and so terribly warm. Oh, yes, this was pleasure—exquisite pleasure.

He leaned down, his lips just below her ear, and she felt his smile against her skin. His voice rumbled quietly in the stillness of the room. "Do you want to go?"

Exquisite pleasure, yes, this was it and she was so terribly breathless all of a sudden. She shook her head, feeling her hat bump against Robert's brow, and then his hands moved away from hers, and pressed hotly against her cheeks before pulling the hat up and away. He tossed it gently toward the foot of the cot, and then turned his attention back to her. And she felt then, felt with his gaze fixed on her, so wonderfully warm.

"Cora—"

"Darling?"

His hands were on her in an instant, and his lips found hers, their bodies toppling backward until her back was pressed up against the stone wall of the cottage. He kissed her gently, warm, wet kisses that made her spine tingle in anticipation as his lips, his beautiful lips, applied themselves to her neck, the pearls of his teeth grazing the skin there.

Was this it? Oh—oh, was this how it felt? Cora thought of the dark brown stone cottage, of the man with the rough words and brusque manner. Robert's hands slipped beneath her overcoat, pulling urgently at buttons until the garment yielded, and she thought of the exquisite pleasure of sin, the lustful urges of men and women—

And he bent over her and kissed her, and she felt, so he must kiss her for ever.

Yes—yes, how she wanted to kiss him forever, how she wanted to hold onto him forever. How could this (for now Robert's hands were beneath her blouse, warm palms pressed to her sides, against her belly), how could this feel wrong? And if it was sin, Cora considered dimly, her husband rasping her name against her throat, well—she would happily set them both aflame for such exquisite pleasure.

Gold buttons tinkled against the floor as they fell from the threads of her silk blouse, Robert's hands inexpertly pulling, pulling, and pulling.

"Darling—"

He'd pushed her against the wall, their bodies close enough for her to feel him, hard, pressed against her, and she fumbled with his own habiliments, layers of thick tweed falling round them as he rocked against her, grunting with pleasure and practically rutting against her.

The smoothness of her skin against his calloused palms was heavenly, exquisite, and Robert buried his head in her neck, the scent of her perfume overwhelming. A chill brushed against his back, his vest falling by the wayside, and Cora moved to his shirt buttons, unclasping them one by one until his chest was exposed.

They paused then, just for a moment, and Robert pressed his lips to her forehead, Cora's hands moving beneath his opened shirt to envelope him in a tight embrace. She was small beneath him, though she always was, and he thought again of the words, the words that ran exhaustively through his head—the arousing, vulgar words that he wanted to whisper into her ear, whisper against her beautiful skin, marking her and making her sinful right along with him. Oh—oh, she was so beautiful, and he wanted her so much.

She was like a forest, like the dark interlacing of the oakwood, humming inaudibly with myriad unfolding buds. Meanwhile the birds of desire were asleep in the vast interlaced intricacy of her body.

She whispered his name and he felt himself, painfully hard, grow nearly dizzy at the sight of her unclasping her chemise, exposing her breasts in the relative darkness of the room.

Feeling unaccountably bashful, thinking if he only knew, Cora moved to cross her arms, to cover her exposed skin, but Robert reached out to stop her, his fingers brushing against her arm, against the gentle slope of her waist, and then around and over the dusky pink of her nipples.

The quiver was going through the man's body, as the stream of consciousness again changed its direction, turning downwards. And he was helpless—helpless—helpless.

He slipped out of his trousers, shoes having been kicked off carelessly, and allowed Cora to pull him to her again. Her fingers, her delicate fingers, moved to the buttons of his pants, and he hissed out a garbled profanity, his breath heavy as she moved her hand against him, taking his manhood into her soft palm.

"Good Lord, oh—Cora—oh, exquisite—"

Robert bit the inside of his cheek, eyes squeezed shut, and his head lolled backward, feeling himself helpless under her delicate ministrations. She murmured his name and his heart thundered against his chest.

Oh, he was beautiful, strong and so beautifully masculine, and as Cora felt her back press back against the stones and Robert's fingers—finally having regained some consciousness—tear away the silk of her undergarments, she bit back a profanity of her own, the exquisite pleasure of his fingers against her thigh and then—oh, oh—against her wetness. Yes, this was exquisite, exquisite pleasure.

A man! The strange potency of manhood upon her!

His movements had begun to grow frantic, his hands strong as they held her close, and then he moved to hook an arm under one of her legs. He looked at her, eyes dark and aroused, and she nodded without being asked, her silent assent enough for Robert as he guided himself into her, whimpering with pleasure as he moved against her, potent and so exquisitely aroused.

How lovely, how lovely, strong, and yet pure and delicate, such stillness of the sensitive body! Such utter stillness of potency and delicate flesh.

How beautiful! How beautiful! Her hands came timorously down his back, to the soft, smallish globes of the buttocks. Beauty! What beauty!

A sudden little flame of new awareness went through her.

A flame, yes—yes—yes, it was a flame. Robert felt himself grow hotter, his bare chest pressed to Cora's breasts, her leg hooked round his waist now as he pushed into her over and over and over and oh—exquisite. "Cora—Jesus—Oh—Oh—Fuck—Fuck—"

The words passed through his lips as though disembodied; he felt his face flame at the sound but could not stop, and felt himself only grow harder at the sound of Cora's gasp, unaware of whether or not she had even heard the deliciously vulgar word. But he caught sight of her eyes, bright, aware, and he knew that she'd heard. And he knew, then, as he felt her nails press into his skin, her voice crying out his name, that she'd enjoyed it.

That realization was nearly his undoing, and he stilled his movements for only just a second, only for a breath of air, but Cora pressed her heel into his buttocks, impatiently so, and kissed him hungrily, encouraging him to continue. He kissed her and kissed her, and tangled his fingers into her loosened hair, and whispered, then, knowing that such a chance might never come again, that such nerve might never come over him again, "Cora, darling, oh—say it? Won't you?"

And she knew what he wanted her to say, for the words had nearly drowned her, had flooded her pounding chest, had prickled at the back of her mind ever since she'd read that book, that marvelous, exquisite, filthy book. And—oh, she'd not the strength to pretend she'd not heard his request; for, really, she wanted to, wanted to feel herself say it, wanted to see the look on his face as she said it. And so she did.

"Fuck—fuck—fuck—oh, fuck, Robert, oh—"

It sounded like a prayer hot on her lips, hot and obscene and he'd never been with her like this, so wantonly and he did want her, oh—he did. Beads of sweat collected against his brow as he thrust into her, feeling the heat and wetness of her almost overwhelming against his already fevered skin—

"Cora, we—ah—we—we've—"

"Darling, yes, yes—"

And it came over him, then, like a match to a flame, and as he felt her contract around him, the words passed his lips in passionate delirium.

"Cora—oh, Cora, God—we've fucked a flame into being—"

And then there was silence.

Silence.

Silence.

He felt her body tense. Her arms, the arms that had only just been boneless against him, fidgeted and her head rose from his shoulder. Their bodies were slick with perspiration and her hair had come comically undone, curls bouncing lazily against her own shoulder.

"What did you say?"

He blushed, though his body was cooling, and shrugged, already feeling his muscles ache in protest as his manhood slipped from her. "I, well, that is. It just came to me—in the moment."

Cora's mouth dropped open, and she shook her head incredulously.

"I should have known. Oh! Oh, I should have known."

His heart palpitated nervously. "Known?"

Her eyes focused back on him, full of mirth and—and of something. "You! You were the one who took my book," she exclaimed.

It dawned on him, then, and he laughed loudly. "Your book. Your book! Cora, God, Cora, you read that?"

She nodded, brows rising in question. "And you read that, Robert?"

"Well, I, uh. I may have glanced at a few pages."

Cora chortled, allowing her head to press against the blessedly cool stones, and then settled her gaze on the room around them. "Oh, darling. You did all this." She smiled warmly, so warmly, both of them grinning dumbly at the flickering lamps, at their limp bodies, at the piles of rumpled clothes collected around them.

"My very own gamekeeper," she murmured, bringing a hand up to stroke against his cheek.

Robert kissed her palm and then curled his fingers gently round her wrist, tugging her toward the bed. The room, perhaps having only been warmed by their activities, felt decidedly colder, and Robert pulled back the furs on the bed so that they could both slip beneath.

They lay side-by-side, fingers entwined beneath the thick coverlet, and stared up at the dark wooden ceiling, both blinking in a shared wonderment.

"Did you really read all of that, darling?" He was sheepish, and couldn't help but grin at the prospect.

"Wouldn't you like to know," Cora hummed, squeezing his hand in response.

"My very own Lady Chatterley," he mused, face still turned toward the ceiling. When he heard her chuckle in response, though, Robert turned onto his side, feeling himself overcome again at the sight of her, and pressed a kiss to her cheek. "My very own Cora," he amended.

Cora curled her body toward her husband, and leaned forward to kiss his lips. "Exquisite," she whispered, "just exquisite."

And they won't be able to blow out my wanting you, nor the little glow there is between you and me. We'll be together next year. And though I'm frightened, I believe in your being with me. A man has to fend and fettle for the best, and then trust in something beyond himself. You can't insure against the future, except by really believing in the best bit of you, and in the power beyond it. So I believe in the little flame between us. For me now, it's the only thing in the world.