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.
Instead of scolding me, he held my right breast in one hand and pressed his left palm to the small of my back. He held me secure and yet captive at the same time.
He bit each nipple then instantly used his tongue as a salve. My knees grew weak and I found I was again climbing that mountain at whose peak I would need release.
I moved my hips and pressed my toes downward. I needed— My master—as always—seemed to realise when I was at that point where I would shatter, and he pulled back.
“Seeing you thus, with those buds moist from my mouth and tight with want stirs me. I see we have more nipple exploration in our future. Fortunately, miss, we have a lifetime ahead of us.”
The reminder that I would soon be his bride filled me with unspeakable joy. I had heard whispers that some women did not enjoy the pleasures of their husband’s bed. I, for one, fully intended to demand this type of attention from here forward. It would not be a duty for me, rather it would be an exploration, one of the intellect as much as the physical body.
He took the hand that I had placed on his shoulder and removed it. He kissed my knuckles in a true gentleman fashion that once again stole my heart.
“The hour grows late, and we have much still to enjoy. Step out of your bloomers. Because I happen to like a lengthened look to your calves, you may leave on your shoes, though a sensible fashion they are.”
“My shoes are serviceable, sir. They suit me well.”
“This is not the time for an argument about that. I have said you may keep them on.”
How clever was he! By commenting on my footwear and vexing me, he had avoided a disagreement about removing the remainder of my clothes!
“Unless you want them trampled, I remind you a final time to step out of your bloomers.”
What choice had I? He hung them on the briars, as he had done with the rest of my clothing.
“Now, miss, turn around slowly, a pirouette, if you please. I wish to see every bit of Thornfield’s future mistress.”
That thought, piled atop the others, made tonight seem like a magical fairy fantasy.
With grand impatience, he snapped his fingers. I leapt to action, complying as he’d requested. I completed a circle and then began another.
“Very lovely, miss. Now stop.”
I stopped with my back to him.
“Spread your legs wider than your shoulders and then curl your hands around your ankles.”
“But, sir! That promises to be terribly uncomfortable, and it will expose me to your eyes.”
“That is exactly what I wish to see!”
I huffed out my displeasure. Faced away from him as he was, I could not tell his reaction. I got into the position he indicated. My hair brushed the ground. Where was the prim and proper Miss Jane Eyre, and who was this creature of pleasure in her place?
My master teased my exposed femininity. With a memory that was unspeakably sound, asked he, “What is this called, Miss Eyre?”
That terrible need churned in me again. I knew he would deny me a hundred times if I did not abide by his rules. Thankfully he could not see the scalding of shame on my cheeks. “My quim, sir.”
”Your heated and wet cunny, Miss Eyre?”
With great effort, I managed a whispered, “Yes.”
“I fear I did not hear you.”
I called upon all my years of elocution lessons as I repeated aloud, “It is my quim, sir. My heated and wet quim!”
“Do you see? The ground did not swallow you whole with the use of the word quim! You were not smitten! What’s more, miss, you very much pleased your master and future husband!”
My heart soared on angel’s wings. What else mattered? What existed between us mattered not to the rest of the world.
“Is your cunny a bit sore from my earlier abuse?”
“It is, indeed.”
“I told you I intend to tell you what I’m going to do, Jane.”
“Yes, sir, you did.”
“I am going to pull back the hood of your clitoris.”
He touched me there and then said, “Tell me what it’s called.”
“Do you delight in tormenting me so?”
“I want you fully comfortable with your body. I want you to be able to ask for what you want. I want you to say to me, ‘Sir, spank my quim; sir, beat my bottom cheeks; sir, play with my clitoris; sir, suck my nipples so hard I crest from the pleasure.’ For when things are named and embarrassment is gone, much more satisfaction can be had. I would make that a gift to you, Jane.”
“The ability to use those words is a gift, sir?” I demanded with more than a fair amount of scepticism.
“You intentionally misheard, my wayward bride. The gift is being an equal in all things, including sexually. You cannot hope that I will always read every sigh and secret wish any more than I will know each time you are tired or have a thirst. You must be as comfortable as I am in our sexual joining. You have no qualm about asking for a cup of tea; you should have no qualm about asking for release.”
He pinched a buttock.
“It’s my clitoris, sir!”
“Neither the ground nor the heavens opened up and Miss Eyre has used the word quim and clitoris! Now, fair one, I shall pull back that tiny little hood that covers your clitoris and I shall expose the little nub.”
He did more than just that! He fondled it with tremendous tenderness. Embarrassment fled as he suggested it might. In its place was something combustible.
He stroked me again and again.
“I would enter you now, Miss Eyre.”
My grip tightened on my ankles.
“I will be easy, but you will surrender your maidenhead this night.”
Nerves unsteadied me.
“Please stand and face me, Miss Eyre.”
He lent his assistance. In moments, I stood before him, feeling the shortness of my stature as compared to his athletic physique.
“When we are alone like this, it is my preference that you keep your hands behind your back.”
He waited for me to follow his instruction. Honestly it was easier for me this way. Having something to do with myself allowed me to more fully engage my mind.
“Keep your legs slightly apart. I will have access to your cunny at all times, yet I do no
t require your discomfort.”
I moved into position.
“Lovely, Miss Eyre. And tip back your head. No hiding ever again.”
He was still fully dressed. How I wished for clothing to cover my nudity. The advantage seemed all his. But I could not deny my thrill. My nipples were still hard. Moisture dried between my legs. My thighs quivered.
“Fear not. You shall have my guidance, and you shall have control.”
“I am afraid I do not understand, sir.”
“Of course you do not understand, fair Jane. You have shown me great trust thus far, and I shall continue to earn it. You need not fear you will become with child. I am prepared with a safe, but after we are Mr and Mrs Rochester, there will be nothing between our skin. From here on forward, neither of us will take another.”
I was once again reminded he was a man of the world. I was not his first love. He had renounced all others, that served as my comfort. Not all men did. It was not unusual for a man of his station to have a mistress. But in me, Mr Rochester admitted he had found his equal.
He removed his coat and shook it out, placing it on the ground in front of the bench.
“Traditionally men take their wives while she is lying on her back. I find I do not favour that position. It allows the woman to leave on articles of clothing and to feel as if she is just doing her duty. Also, it permits the husband to be selfish. If she closes her eyes and turns her head, he can assure himself she is properly submitting to his voracious needs, but he doesn’t give her the attention she deserves. It may be acceptable—preferable even—for some in the marriage bed, but not for us. While you might find that position enjoyable from time to time, and I will not refuse you if you do, it will merely be among the various ways we make love.”
I tried not to be embarrassed; he had expressed a preference for me to be plain in these things, yet surely these blunt words were not normal discourse on the night a man has proposed to his future bride.
“I shall take my seat, Miss Eyre, and then invite you to be seated on my lap facing me.”
Now that the moment drew near, I found I was petrified.
He stroked my cheekbone. “I will talk with you, Miss Eyre. Please do the same.”
Jane Eyre Page 35
