Jane Eyre (44 page)

“Welcome back, Miss Eyre.”

I blinked several times and then opened my eyes. It was as if I had been away from my body and had now returned. Mr Rochester stood in front of me; his athletic body was silhouetted by the moon’s glow. How magnificent he appeared, how in command of his surroundings!

 “You finally went into the abyss, to that place I’d always hoped to send you. I’ve lain awake at night, fair Jane, thinking of ways I might do just that. You’ve now earned your just rewards.”

 In this moment it was hard to imagine there might be anything more. I was delirious, still floating along the English countryside.

 “Shall I tell you of my intents, Miss Eyre? Or shall I simply set about the task I have given to myself, that of ensuring your happiness?”

 It seems, for the first time in my life, finding my tongue was impossible. But no surprise, if I were to think on it, for with the way I was being scandalised, there was no room inside my head to even ponder my own name.

  “Ah, what an unusual occurrence! The indefatigable Miss Eyre has not a single word, a command perhaps, not even an instruction? Nary a slight provocation in sight! Well then, I shall make the determination in your stead. I shall speak aloud, and I shall tell you every thing I am going to do to you.”

 I was very much aware of his hand there, against my—I forced myself to think the unthinkable and uncomfortable word—quim.

 “Tell me what this is, Miss Eyre.”

 He touched me with great deliberation, using his fingertips to play in the dampness he had caused. I knew why I hesitated, however, it was one thing to think the vulgar word, it was another to be forced to speak it before him.

 When I did not supply the information instantly, he delivered me a sharp spank. I cried out.

 “Tell me what this is, Miss Eyre,” he repeated. “Unless you would like it slapped again?”

 Unbelievably the breath-taking pain nearly sent me plunging recklessly into that dizzying desire I desperately sought. Just one more might be enough. Dare I ask for it—?

 “Miss Eyre?”

 “I think I should like another slap, sir.”

 He raised his dark brows. “Should you, indeed? What other delights do you have in store for me this evening?”

 “Please, sir. I implore you, grant me this request for only you yourself can know how difficult it was to beg it from you.”

 “Jane, Jane. How could I deny you anything?”

 With nary another word, he did as I asked.

The pain was shocking.

 I screamed. But I realised the sound wasn’t torn from me because of the torture, but from the sudden sensations that seized me from the inside out. His hand striking my quim was exquisite—searing, but it also gave me a completion.

Never had I felt anything like this—a burn that led to being unable to breathe, to think. I was scaresely able to breath, and I knew I was coming undone.

My body weak, I released my grip on the overhead branch and sagged forward. I might have fallen to the hard earth had Mr Rochester not been there.

 “Ah, Miss Eyre! Come here.”

 He gathered me close to him. He held me against him, my cheek pressed to his chest. He stroked my hair even as he uttered nonsensical words. Even though I could not make out anything he said, I felt soothed.

 My heart beat frantically, like a tiny bird. My breaths were terribly rough; eventually I found my evenness again—still, Mr Rochester held me as if I were infinitely precious. And he would send me away in favour of the duty of a lifetime with Miss Ingram?

A waft of wind came sweeping down the laurel-walk, and trembled through the boughs of the chestnut, it wandered away—away—to an indefinite distance—it died. I wrenched myself from his arms. The nightingale’s song was then the only voice of the hour, in listening to it, I again wept.

My solicitous master helped me to restore both my clothing and my modesty. But the moment I had dreaded drew nigh, for this was good-bye.

Mr Rochester took his seat. Quietly he looked at me gently and seriously. He took my wrist and pulled me down next to him. Some time passed before he spoke; he at last said—

“Come to my side, Jane, and let us explain and understand one another.”

“I will never again come to your side. I am torn away now, and cannot return.”

“But, Jane, I summon you as my wife, it is you only I intend to marry.”

I was silent, again I thought he mocked me.

“Come, Jane—come hither.”

“Your bride stands between us.”

He rose, and with a stride reached me.

“My bride is here,” he said, again drawing me to him, “because my equal is here, and my likeness. Jane, will you marry me?”

Still I did not answer, and still I writhed myself from his grasp, for I was still incredulous.

“Do you doubt me, Jane?”

“Entirely.”

“You have no faith in me?”

“Not a whit.”

“Am I a liar in your eyes?” he asked passionately. “Little sceptic, you
shall
be convinced. What love have I for Miss Ingram? None, and that you know. What love has she for me? None, as I have taken pains to prove. I caused a rumour to reach her that my fortune was not a third of what was supposed, and after that I presented myself to see the result. It was coldness both from her and her mother. I would not—I could not—marry Miss Ingram. You—you strange, you almost unearthly thing!—I love as my own flesh. You—poor and obscure, and small and plain as you are—I entreat to accept me as a husband.”

“What, me!” I ejaculated, beginning in his earnestness—and especially in his incivility—to credit his sincerity, “me who have not a friend in the world but you—if you are my friend, not a shilling but what you have given me?”

“You, Jane, I must have you for my own—entirely my own. Will you be mine? Say yes, quickly.”

“Mr Rochester, let me look at your face. Turn to the moonlight.”

“Why?”

“Because I want to read your countenance—turn!”

“You think to order me around, servant?”

 “And thus the master is mastered—turn now, sir!”

 “There! You will find it scarcely more legible than a crumpled, scratched page. Read on, only make haste, for I suffer.”

His face was very much agitated and very much flushed, and there were strong workings in the features, and strange gleams in the eyes.

“Oh, Jane, you torture me!” he exclaimed. “With that searching and yet faithful and generous look, you torture me!”

“How can I do that? If you are true, and your offer real, my only feelings to you must be gratitude and devotion—they cannot torture.”

“Gratitude!” he ejaculated and added wildly—“Jane accept me quickly. Say, Edward—give me my name—Edward—I will marry you.”

“Are you in earnest?” So his use of my name and calling me Janet had mattered—it had not been the unchecked musings of fancy. As he had deliberately called me by given name, he now demanded the same intimacy from me. The insufferable man loved to tease, either before or now. How could I ever be sure? Why would he choose a plain governess over an accomplished woman? The scandal of lying to turn her away! Now was he lying to secure my affections? I could not relent. I must know the truth. “Do you truly love me? Do you sincerely wish me to be your wife?”

“I do and if an oath is necessary to satisfy you, I swear it.”

 I looked into the enigmatic depths of those dark eyes. His heavy brows were drawn together above them. I searched and searched for a betrayal of his words. The way he looked at me, the absence of mirth, convinced me. “Then, sir, I will marry you.”

“Edward—my little wife!”

Was this possible—his wife? “Dear Edward!”

“Come to me—come to me entirely now,” said he and added, in his deepest tone, speaking in my ear as his cheek was laid on mine, “Make my happiness—I will make yours.”

“God pardon me!” he subjoined ere long. “and man meddle not with me, I have her, and will hold her.”

“There is no one to meddle, sir. I have no kindred to interfere.”

“No—that is the best of it,” he said. And if I had loved him less I should have thought his accent and look of exultation savage, but, sitting by him, roused from the nightmare of parting—called to the paradise of union—I thought only of the bliss given me to drink in so abundant a flow. Again and again he said, “Are you happy, Jane?” And again and again I answered, “Yes.” After which he murmured, “It will atone—it will atone. Have I not found her friendless, and cold, and comfortless? Will I not guard, and cherish, and solace her? Is there not love in my heart, and constancy in my resolves? It will expiate at God’s tribunal. I know my Maker sanctions what I do.”

 “And what is it you do, sir?” I wondered if it were really me saying those words that could be conceived of as saucy. Truly this was out of character for Jane Eyre—but perhaps not for the future Mrs Rochester.

 “I put my humble servant in her place.”

 “For the world’s judgement—I wash my hands thereof. For man’s opinion—I defy it.”

And thought I, “As did I.” No guilt did I feel over my scandalous—as some might say—behaviour—for I had offered everything to this man, my heart as well as my body. Society’s heavy opinion could not blight the euphoria of belonging to one to whom you could meet on so many levels, physical as well as mental. How could I have ever imagined he might find happiness with a peacock such as Miss Ingram?

 But what had befallen the night? The moon was not yet set, and we were all in shadow. I could scarcely see my master’s face, near as I was. And what ailed the chestnut tree? It writhed and groaned; while wind roared in the laurel walk, and came sweeping over us.

 “I should be done with you for the evening, Jane, but I fear I am not.”

 “Sir?”

 “If you think I shall cease my demands, forget your disobedience, merely because we are to be married, you are very much mistaken. Earlier I asked for words that you refused to give me. Before I release you tonight, I shall hear the words wrung from your lips. I shall claim you completely so you will recognise no other.”

 “Sir, if you think there has ever been, or will ever be, another for me, you are very much mistaken.”

 In that moment, with that half smile—made more radiant by the moon just now emerged from behind a cloud—he appeared almost handsome.

 “I will have you naked, Janet, this very instant.”

 I gasped. Again, a battle of the wills.

 “You will have no secrets from me, miss. I demand it to be so.”

 “Sir—Edward—anyone could hasten down the path as did I. We have no safety of a bedchamber, of a door, of a lock—”

 “Deny me not! I shall always be aware of your safety. I shall always care for you. You are to be my wife! I appeased you a bit ago; now you shall appease me.”

 He stood and yanked me from my perch. Before I could even protest, he span me around. With precision and haste, he unfastened my dress. It pooled on the ground. I had to force myself to resist the impulse to cover myself.

 He reiterated his words with an uncompromising snarl, “Naked, Jane, and quickly. You may cooperate else I shall rend them from your body.”

 “You would not, Sir!”

 He cast a glance in the direction of the switch he’d dropped. “And I shall beat you, besides.”

 I had enough experience with his punishment to doubt him not one bit; still, I opened my mouth to protest, but he lifted his hands as if to tear my remaining clothes. I knew he would force me to select replacement garments, and that was something I did not wish to participate in.

 It took him several minutes to bare my body, but he knew exactly what to do.

 “You are mine, Jane.”

Layer by layer, he revealed my secrets. This somehow seemed more intimate than anything we had done before. I remained partially clothed from the waist down.

 “Your breasts are lovely. Hold them in your hands for me.”

 I lowered my head somewhat, grateful for the curtain of privacy my hair provided around my face. For the first time, I was aware of my bosom as a seat of pleasure.

 “The bite of evening air hardens your nipples, Miss Eyre. Now thrust up your chin so I can see your face.

 Blasted man. I should have known he would miss nothing and allow me no quarter.

 “Good.”

 But clearly it wasn’t satisfactory; he used the back of his hands to tuck my hair behind the slope of my shoulders.

 “Earlier I told you I would tell you what I am going to do to you.”

 “Yes, sir.”

 “You are going to continue to hold your breasts for me, an offering for your master. I will touch your nipples, Jane, gently at first as I ascertain how much pressure you prefer. Then I shall suckle them.”

 My knees weakened. I had never imagined such a thing! I had seen pictures in books in his libraries but nothing as unbelievable as he mentioned. “Sir! That is not what the teats are meant for!”

 “The teats, as you call them, your nipples, are a source of great joy for me, and, you will find, for yourself, as well. You shall tell me whether or not it is true in a few minutes. Eyes on my face, Miss Eyre.”

 As he had indeed promised, his touch was gentle as he skimmed both of my nipples at the same time. I had been ordered to look at him, but I could not resist a downward glance. Mr Rochester had stated that the air had made my nipples harden, and I had on occasion noticed that phenomenon, but his touch made them even more thus.

 My master’s voice was thick, as it sometimes was from wine, as he said, “I look forward to seeing you in the light to ascertain the colour more completely. A dusky rose, perhaps? That is what I am thinking.”

 He squeezed the tips hard, and I took a sharp breath through my nose. I did not ask him to stop. I am not sure he would have. He seemed obsessed with what he was doing. I already knew that he was attuned to each of my reactions.

Suddenly he released his tormenting grip and leant forward. My own palms tightened on my breasts in anxious anticipation, heightening the sensations.

 As he had promised, he sucked on each of my nipples, first one and then the other.

 The sensation overwhelmed!

 Unable to follow his instructions any longer, I released my breasts and cupped my hand on him, seeking to steady myself.