Emma Barry (5 page)

Her fingers bit into the windowsill, strong and angry. At least that was what she told herself as she shushed him and signaled that she would be coming down. Out of all of the emotions roiling in her stomach at the sight of him, rage was easiest to name and address. Being mad at Theo was the simplest thing in the world. She’d done it for years.

After an eternity locating her slippers, she ran toward the stairwell. Had the man gone mad? What could there possibly be left to say to each another?

Margaret met him at the back door and pulled him in the direction of the stable. Most of the teachers were gone for the summer, but she didn’t want Mrs. Jenkins or one of the maids to look out a window and see the headmistress conversing with a man in the garden. This was all monstrously improper. It didn’t need to become scandalous too.

“What are you doing here?” she demanded when they had retreated to a clean, empty stall at the back of the stable.

“I had to see you.” He was grinning stupidly and listing to the left.

She breathed deeply, and alcohol burned her nose. “Have you been drinking?” she asked, brows up and hands on hips.

His smile widened. “Only a little brandy.”

That explained his bizarre behavior. Margaret released some of her frustration with a sigh. “Go home and rest. You can call for tea tomorrow, and we can talk then.”

He shook his head and paced about the stall. “No,
now
. I have to tell you
now
.” He bounded toward her and seized her hands. “I did it! I enlisted.”

This pronouncement was followed by the pounding of a drum. It took a moment for Margaret to realize the sound was her heartbeat, suddenly magnified so it consumed her body. She swallowed with what little moisture was left in her mouth before whispering, “You what?”

He squeezed her hands. “I did what you always said I should. I stood up to Mother, I acted on principle, and I changed my life.”

At this, she found her voice again. “Theo! This is not what I had in mind. I cannot be responsible for this. What if you are injured or killed? I cannot have this on my conscience.”

He looked at her, his blue eyes wide and confused. “You didn’t put the idea in my idea. There’s a war on. I wanted to go from the first. You merely … emboldened me.”

“Be sure you embolden me right out of the story when you tell your mother. Have you?”

He grinned again, this time sheepishly. “Not yet. After we celebrated, I came straight here. To you.”

The air between them was thick and charged. Margaret suddenly became aware that she was standing with a man in only her slippers and a thin, white, cotton nightdress. She dropped his hands and wrapped her shawl more tightly about herself as if it could protect her.

“Congratulations, then, Mr. Ward. I wish you the greatest success.” She intended the words sincerely, but something sharp crept in that she didn’t quite understand. Perhaps bitterness he hadn’t taken a stand on something more personal two years prior.

“We’re back to Mr. Ward, then, are we?” He sounded exasperated.

“I don’t want to fight,” she said, shaking her head. “I want to return to my bed. And you need to go home. Your mother is doubtless worried, and she deserves to hear this heavy news from you and not from some gossip.”

“Hurry along to bed now?” He stepped toward her, very close now. Margaret began backing toward the door.

“For both of us, yes.” His eyes had softened. She had been mistaken. He wasn’t angry. He looked hungry.

“Margaret, I … ” he whispered. One of his hands tangled in her hair while the other ensnared her waist and drew her up to him. He contemplated her face and apparently tried to check himself. He smelled faintly of brandy, but mostly of salt and of warm summer air and of Theo. And soon he would be gone, perhaps forever. He was going to war. She might never have this chance again. She leaned in and pressed her mouth full on his.

There was an instant of still surprise for both of them. Sensations ran through Margaret’s body too quickly to be named. But as her muscles relaxed, she knew relief was paramount among them. His lips felt as they always had: warm, soft, but strong. She had missed him.

She felt herself sigh and begin to pull away when Theo responded to her advance. For a moment, lips and teeth crushed in heated confusion, an inelegant tangle as if they had both forgotten the mechanics. But two years was a long time to wait. Their mouths searched impatiently for satisfaction. It was as if they were trying to cram years’ worth of kisses into the space of a few moments.

Finally Theo broke from her and smoothed her braid with his hand. “Margaret, we should stop — ”

No, not yet. There was no need for words and rationality and limits. Not yet. Not when there were so few moments left before his departure. She kissed him again, brushing the corner of his mouth with her tongue until he opened to her assault. She must have been persuasive because, before long, he struggled out of his coat and wrestled the shawl from her shoulders. He spread their discarded clothing over a small pile of hay in the corner of the stall and nudged her down onto the makeshift bed. Without a word, he drew her to him and pressed her to his length.

His hands were working up and down her sides, caressing and exploring her body as he never had before. Margaret allowed herself the same freedom, sliding her fingers over his shirtsleeves, feeling the muscles and sinews beneath. She had yearned for his arms for years. She had been blind with wanting, without even the words for her desires. She worked the buttons of his waistcoat open. It was an arduous process between kisses, but when she had achieved her end, she was able to repeat her journeying over his stomach with only a thin layer of linen between flesh and flesh.

Straw jabbed into her back like a thousand needles, contrasted against the hard, warm expanse that pressed her down. The air was warm and sweet from the smell of hay and the nearby garden. This was crazy. It was madness. An animalistic desire to touch more of him gripped Margaret. Everything happening was too much, and yet not enough.

She began to unfasten his shirt, her fingers demonstrating greater confidence now. Finally she pulled it free from his trousers and rolled it back on his shoulders to expose his chest. He was so beautiful. She had never seen a man naked from the waist up this close, and she felt suddenly embarrassed. She pressed her face against his hard muscle to hide her shame.

As if on its own, her mouth began to work across the hard plane dusted with brown hair until she reached a pink nipple. She ran her mouth across it, and Theo shivered beside her. Feeling powerful, she did it again, and he groaned and rolled her onto her back. He pulled her nightdress up and knelt between her legs while he fumbled with the tapes on her drawers. They locked eyes.

Theo shook his head and rocked back onto his heels. “Oh, no, Margaret. What have I done? I didn’t mean to … I can’t compromise you. I am so sorry.”

That word “compromise” floated between them for a long moment. Compromise: each party making mutual concession in exchange for a shared goal. The surrender of her virtue to the only man who had ever touched her heart. An incandescent, stupid moment to warm the rest of her life after he had gone to war. That seemed right.

She raised herself onto her elbows, and tried to keep the annoyance out of her voice as she said, “Yes, you can. I’m asking you to.”

He shook his head. “I can’t slake my lust and leave you soiled. You don’t want this.”

“Theo, I’ve kept my virtue intact for thirty-seven years. Much good it has done me. I give it to you.”

“I … ” He trailed off. One of his hands was still running over her drawers. He was twisting the silk between thumb and forefinger anxiously. Margaret sensed she had won. If he had absolutely decided against debauching her, he would stop touching her.

She stretched back and looked up at him enticingly, she hoped. “Theo, please.”

• • •

Her words echoed across the stable and imprinted themselves onto the parchment of his life. It was Margaret. It had always been Margaret. Reclined now against the hay, in the moonlight, her lips swollen from his kisses, she was the mistress of his soul. He was powerless to deny her.

“Ask me again.”

“Theo, please.”

He moved his hands to cup her face, brushing his fingers over her brow and cheeks. He kissed her gently, reverently, as if she were a delicate porcelain icon. He wanted her to know this was not just a quick tumble. He had had a different set of intentions for this evening, but they had fallen before her heated assault. Lust and brandy had addled his brain, however. He couldn’t begin to explain it to her now. But maybe it had to be this way.

“You’re precious to me,” he whispered before kissing her again, working his hands around her shoulders and nestling her to him gently, settling her in for a long period of worship.

Margaret, however, had other plans. She rubbed her body against his length. It was wanton and glorious. Theo felt himself growl. He had to have her. He’d simply waited too long and, having promised himself he would act rather than check himself, he was ready to do precisely that.

She helped him untie her drawers and he rolled them from her body, exposing her pale, shapely legs. He wouldn’t allow himself to look any higher for fear of being overcome with lust. He raised one foot to his mouth and kissed her instep. His mouth traveled up, over her calf to her knee and then to the soft flesh of her thigh. He could smell the earthiness of her body now, musky and beguiling. He paused to unbutton his trousers and to shove them and his smalls from his body.

Theo paused for a moment to regard Margaret. She was so beautiful. So responsive. So vital. He wanted to take her inside himself, to learn to live through her example. Once this was done, he would … no, not even for thoughts of the future, not even for plans for their marriage, would he interrupt this moment. He was going to make her his. For years had he waited; now he owed her his full attention.

As softly as he could, he placed one hand on the small triangle of downy hair between her legs. She caught a sharp breath and her eyes slammed shut. He urged his fingers into the folds of her body. She made a small noise of pleasure and bit his shoulder. As he teased her, she alternated between lying like a statute, frozen and silent, and thrashing about in moments of carnal release even she couldn’t control.

When at last he felt moisture against his hand, he knew it was time. Everything in their relationship — all the serendipity, the arguments, the delays — they all built to this moment.

He positioned himself above her and whispered hoarsely, “Margaret, open your eyes.”

Obedient for once, her steady gaze was so patient and so trusting that Theo almost wept. He didn’t deserve what was in her eyes, not with what he was about to do. He entered her as slowly as he could, stopping to brush kisses on her face several times. At last he was sheathed in her.

His muscles trembled then from the effort of holding back, of giving her a minute to adjust. A tear did escape his eye then. With his heightened senses in the moment, he could feel it travel down his cheek into his beard. They were connected: finally, intimately joined.

He should tell her what she meant to him. Ask, no, beg her to marry him. But he was suddenly afraid. What if she declined him? No, she was here, now, with him. In this moment, it was enough.

All he asked was, “Are you in pain?”

She shook her head but worried her lip between her teeth.

“Please tell me if I hurt you.” At last, he began to move. He tried to master himself and to go slowly, but instinct took over and he thrust into her again and again. Margaret gripped him with her legs and clawed at his back with her nails. The tension built until he shouted her name and collapsed on top of her in release.

It had been as exquisite as he had always imagined it would be. Revelatory.

He pressed his lips to her hair, breathing her in and trying to prepare himself to separate from her. He rearranged their clothing and their bodies so that Margaret was covered by her nightdress and nestled in the crook of his body.

After the power of speech had returned to him, he said, “That was … you are … I know not what.”

She nodded. “It certainly was.”

He craned his head to look at her. Between the shadows and her closed eyes, he couldn’t gauge her feelings. “Are you injured?”

“Not seriously.”

“Margaret, I — ”

“Theo, let’s try to sleep. We’ll speak in the morning.”

“Good night, then.” He kissed the part in her hair and settled himself in the hay, satiated for the first time in years. Sleep came quickly and heavily for him with Margaret pressed against his heart.

Margaret’s slippers crunched on the gravel, making a disconcerting amount of noise as she skirted the school’s gardens. Each grind of stone against stone caused her to jump. But no one was near. There were no witnesses.

She watched the faintest tinge of violet appear at the eastern lip of the sky, bruising it. Birds stirred in the trees, preparing to sing but not quite starting yet. Morning raced to arrive, hustling night out ahead of it.

Behind her Theo slumbered in the stable. Before her stood the hulking black edifice of the seminary. She was leaving a luxurious, heated dream and returning to chill, stiff truth. No matter how many steps she took, she still had farther to go.

Her actions the previous night were … if not unwise, then unmeasured. It wasn’t the loss of her virtue precisely that nagged. No,
that
was a commodity with declining value.

Theo: he was the problem. Once she had known he was leaving, she had to give him something. To write in lightning the emotions she couldn’t quite name or explain. Their relationship needed to be marked in some way. And mark it they had.

What would he say? What would he expect? Would she see him again?

He had seemed pleased. The crisis had taken him violently and released him to sleep. For her part, she felt confused. She had experienced bracing intimacy and oneness, but also compression and anxiety and frustration.