In Consequence: A Retelling of North and South (29 page)

“Yes,” he answered, after a moment’s hesitation.

Margaret studied him with renewed admiration, wondering what it was that had kept her eyes so firmly closed to the true stature of the man beside her. “It was a great kindness. Why did you?”

“She was your friend. I wished to honor her as such,” he explained, glancing at her briefly before turning his face back to the path ahead.

She accepted his answer with glowing satisfaction. She would not pry further into his motives or offer ebullient praise. He desired no laud from men for his acts, but accomplished what he deemed right for his own conscience’ sake. She could not admire him more.

Walking together in contented silence, the couple passed the last outlying villas and headed toward the gray avenues of unremarkable terraced houses that had been built in haste to accommodate the masses
who had toiled in the city’s factories the past twenty years.

Margaret compared the newer buildings she saw to the well-established streets of London. Mr. Thornton explained how much the town had changed and grown since he was a boy. And so they talked of childhood pastimes, amused to discover that the curiosity and joy of youth were essentially the same whether running the city streets or roaming the forest floor.

With wistful reluctance to find their walk at an end, they rounded the last corner toward the Hales' home.

Margaret ushered Mr. Thornton into the drawing room where her parents still sat.

“John,” Mr. Hale enthused upon his entry. “Please, sit down. Join us for a time.”

Mr. Thornton gave a warm smile. “I’m sorry, but I cannot stay for long. Unfortunately, I have accounts to look over before tomorrow,” he apologized as he took a chair in the middle of the company.

Margaret watched as conversation flowed easily between her betrothed and her father, with an occasional remark made by her mother. She marveled at how well her intended fit into their comfortable home. A warm feeling of contentment settled over her as she imagined the future, when he would take his rightful place as a welcome son-in-law.

Her contemplations were interrupted when the mantle clock struck five and her mother announced she must take her rest before dinner. Mr. Hale insisted on helping his wife upstairs, leaving the engaged couple alone.

Mr. Thornton rose from his seat as the last footsteps sounded on the stairs. With quiet dignity, he placed himself conveniently near the object of his affection, taking a seat on the same sofa.

Margaret’s heart began to drum relentlessly as she picked up her book from the side table. “I’ve been reading a new book. Perhaps I could read you a few lines,” she offered as distraction.

“If you wish,” he replied in a soothing voice, and she returned to the book hastily before the warmth of his crystal blue eyes could mesmerize her.

He gazed at her with open wonder as she began to read, the sound of her mellifluous voice a certain balm to his soul. He could scarcely believe his good fortune. He felt it might be a dream, for he could never have imagined how swiftly their relationship would evolve from one of bitter contention to such fond attention and respect.
But could she learn to love him?
The question was never far from his mind, and with every encounter his hopes grew more potent as he detected that she was not resistant to his favors.

His breathing slowed as he studied intently the movement of her
luxuriant lips, and every fiber of his being yearned to take her into his arms and kiss her.

Her stomach tightened as she felt the heat of his gaze upon her. She dropped the book to her lap. “You are not listening to a word I am saying,” she turned to accuse him, her dimpled smile coyly teasing him.

A mischievous grin pulled at his face. “I was paying close attention,” he returned in defense, a smoldering gleam in his eye.

Tingling expectation aroused all her senses. “Were you?” she boldly taunted with dancing eyes, although she could scarcely speak above a whisper. Her gaze fell helplessly to the soft curve of his mouth.

“Yes,” was all he answered as he moved his face ever closer to hers, their playful banter driving him mad with the desire to kiss her soundly.

She did not recoil. He even thought that she strained to meet him. A shudder coursed through him at his first lingering contact with her lips. He kissed her gently, reverently — careful to treat her as something extraordinarily precious. He moved slowly to take her face into his hands and, with aching tenderness, tasted again and again the blissful sweetness of her soft, supple lips.

She clutched at the crook of his arm to steady herself and began to move her lips in answering accord.

All his senses ignited at her response. Her willing compliance melted his resolve and his kisses grew more fervent, with
an urgency he could not suppress. How long he had yearned to love her!

Margaret tremblingly endeavored to match his fervor, her pulse racing as he sought more and more of her. She flinched to feel the touch of his tongue and drew back in shock.

Their eyes locked in silent communication, only inches apart. He was desperate, afraid of her repulsion — she saw it all in his questioning stare. She ached to banish his fears and returned her mouth to his, willing to be shown how to love him.

She felt his glad relief in his resumed tenderness, and was rewarded with a rain of gentle kisses before his attentions grew more ardent. With tantalizing slowness, he coaxed her to open her mouth to him. Their hearts pounded as they tentatively took their first taste of secret pleasures, becoming lost in the intoxicating bliss of sweet discovery.

The sound of a guttural but distinct clearing of the throat accosted their ears.

Mr. Thornton shot up from his seat. “Mr. Hale!” he exclaimed awkwardly like some errant schoolboy as a shade of crimson stained his face.

Mr. Hale surveyed the scene before him with a wary and startled expression as he entered the room. His daughter’s face was bowed in shame, her mortification palpable. “I thought you might have already gone home,” he remarked somewhat stiffly to their guest.

“I was preparing to leave,” Mr. Thornton muttered, his brow creased in consternation. He could not meet his future father-in-law’s gaze.

“Yes, of course,” Mr. Hale answered dryly, casting a dubious eye over the man who was to marry his daughter before he gathered his wife’s shawl from the back of her chair and headed uncomfortably toward the stairs. The creases of concern on his brow gradually vanished as the old vicar recalled this own long-ago days of courtship.

The guilty lovers remained frozen in place in the drawing room. “I must go,” Mr. Thornton stated vacantly, letting out a long breath. He condemned himself for the shame she now endured, but could not regret the taste of
their shared passion which still smoldered in his veins despite the cold dousing they had received.

“Yes,” she murmured, gathering herself up from the chair at last, her cheeks burning. She faltered for a moment in taking her first steps, her limbs quaking with a rush of confusing guilt and thrilling pleasure at what they had shared. She followed him to the hallway in placid guise, a confluence of strong emotions stirring wildly within her. She was drawn to him like a magnet, feeling a palpable bond to the man who had unsealed her maidenly reserve to find the fervor of feeling that flowed so readily beneath.

Unable to meet each other’s gaze, they stood awkwardly as they listened with anxious impatience to her father’s last retreating footsteps until the only the sound that remained was the throbbing of their own heartbeats in their ears.

“Will you come on Tuesday ... if you are not otherwise occupied?” Margaret stammered, staring at the buttons of his waistcoat.

“I will come if at all possible,” he answered readily, noting how beautiful she was in her timidity — her lashes fluttered and her cheeks glowed with all feminine modesty and grace.

“I enjoyed our walk,” she offered haltingly, her gaze still cast down.

“As did I,” he responded unequivocally in low tones that mesmerized her, beckoned her to look at him.

She bravely lifted her eyes to him at last, and fell instantly under his power.

He took a step toward her instinctively and she raised her face to his, helplessly scanning it for his intent.

He placed his hands gently at her waist and bent to bestow one last parting kiss, in hopeful wonder at the sparkle of longing in her eyes.

Their lips clung. He could not relinquish contact and she made no move to retract from him. Their lips mingled slowly at first in tremulous restraint and then with growing rapture as neither withdrew from such a pleasant exchange.

He curled his fingers at her waist to bring her closer, and she melted under his possession like wax to flame.

Margaret felt her insides burn with the impulse to cast aside all restraint and follow wherever he would lead. She slid her arms up around his neck to hold more securely to him.

Mr. Thornton groaned to feel her soft form against his; his body quaked at her submission. His ardor increased and she answered him in kind until lips and mouths moved in a desperate frenzy to convey all that had yet been unspoken.

Emboldened by her response, he sought to taste the very essence of her. Wave after wave of molten desire coursed through his body as he took deep draughts of her and she quivered to give what he would take in unrestrained passion, all pretense of tepid affection now banished forever.

Margaret felt as if her body were on fire, all her emotions unleashed. Alarmed at the strong urge to melt further into his arms and abandon
herself entirely to his mercy, Margaret disengaged herself from him at once and buried her cheek against his shoulder in flustered shame. Her heart beat wildly in her breast.

“I love you,” she whispered in dizzy admission, as if to absolve
herself of such wanton impulses. Her hands trembled helplessly as she grasped his waistcoat.
Was this love then? A wild, uncontrollable need to be near him, to feel his touch?

His raging desire subsided as his heart leaped to hear the words he had once believed she would never utter.

“Margaret?” he murmured hoarsely in stupefied wonder, not quite believing he had heard her aright. His arms fairly shook in tremulous hope as he pulled back from her to fervently search her face. His breath stilled as she raised her eyes to his.

“I love you,” she repeated, unable to speak above a whisper, but meeting his gaze with a fierce determination to wipe any doubt from his mind.

A flood of aching joy coursed through him at seeing the look of love in her eyes. He gathered her in his arms and pressed her to him, stunned by her earnest confession.

“Margaret!” he murmured again, brushing his lips over her temple in delirious rapture at the silken feel of her,
then nuzzling into her sweet-smelling hair. His arms caressed her back as he kept her close, incredulous that she should finally be all his.
She loved him!
How he had longed to know if it could so soon be true. How he wanted to take her home and show her how much he loved her, needed her.
My God, how he needed her!

“When will you marry me? We have not spoken of it,” he rasped as his lips continued to hungrily graze over the tender skin by her ear and nearer her neck, drinking in her presence, craving to be bound to her forevermore.

Margaret drew back to face him, shivering as she roused herself from the drunken bliss of his tender possession.

“My mother isn’t
well ...” she began weakly, unable to answer the intensity of his searching gaze.

He knew well her reservations. “You must know that I would not hold you prisoner in my house. You would wish to visit your mother often ... all day perhaps,” he faltered, not wishing to bring up the unpleasant thought of what lay ahead. “I only ask that you come home to me every evening,” he implored, his voice low and gravelly with emotion.

She dropped her eyes from his pleading gaze. A deep blush crept up from within and spread an effusion of warmth through her body at the thought of belonging to him during the midnight hours.

“I will not press you for an answer,” he said gently after some time, noting her uneasiness. “But you must promise you will tell me as soon as the date is set,” he urged earnestly.

She nodded in compliance, although she could not yet look at him.

“Until Tuesday, then,” he reluctantly announced, taking his hat.

‘Yes,” she answered, bringing her eyes to his once more.

His heart lurched to see the gleam of affection in her eyes. He gave her a soft smile and turned quickly to leave before the impulse to take her into his arms again could overpower him.

The door closed with a gentle click, but the reality of his sudden absence was harsh, leaving the room cold and empty. How she would bear the remainder of the day without him, she did not know.

*****

Margaret was quiet at dinner. Keeping her head bowed slightly over her plate, she meekly answered her father’s inquiries about Mr. Thornton’s busy schedule, giving only fleeting glances in his direction.

It was a relief to the besotted girl when bedtime finally arrived and she was free to contemplate all that had stirred her so effectually. She brushed her long hair and gazed reflectively at the mirror, hardly recognizing the woman who stared back at her. How much had changed in one day, she could scarcely fathom. But she knew she was no longer the girl who had eagerly dreamed of his attentions this morning. She had tasted his love. His powerful kisses had aroused in her something dangerous and thrilling in its intensity.