A few minutes, though as few as possible, were inevitably consumed; and when her own mistress again, when able to turn and look as she had done before, she found herself accosted by Captain Wentworth and his formidable glare, in a reserved yet hurried sort of farewell. “He must wish her good night; he was going; he should get home as fast as he could.”
“Is not this song worth staying for?” said Anne, suddenly struck by an idea which made her yet more anxious to be encouraging.
“No!” he replied impressively, “there is nothing worth my staying for;” and he was gone directly.
Jealousy of Mr. Elliot! It was the only intelligible motive. Captain Wentworth jealous of her affection! Could she have believed it a week ago; three hours ago! For a moment the gratification was exquisite. But, alas! there were very different thoughts to succeed. How was such jealousy to be quieted? How was the truth to reach him? How, in all the peculiar disadvantages of their respective situations, would he ever learn of her real sentiments? It was misery to think of Mr. Elliot’s attentions. Their evil was incalculable.
Over her shoulder, she heard Mr. Elliot try to regain her attention once more, but this time, Anne flaunted propriety. Captain Wentworth’s long stride was quickly taking him out of the room, and she could not bear to let him go without trying to allay some of the tension between them. Without a word of excuse to her cousin, Anne launched to her feet and walked quickly in Captain Wentworth’s wake.
She was walking so quickly that those she passed were turning to stare at her, but she paid them no mind. It took all of her fortitude not to call for him before she reached the door, but shouting his name in the midst of a concert hall would only exacerbate matters.
However, this slipped from her control as soon as she reached the Octagon Room once more. She spied him at the opposite side of the completely empty room; he was reaching for the door.
“Captain Wentworth!” She cringed as the desperate twinge to her cry echoed around the empty room long enough for Anne to regret the rashness of her shout.
As though he had expected her to follow him, he immediately changed course, dropping his hand from the doorknob and whipping around on one heel in a moment. He stalked toward her almost faster than she could track, his face an impenetrable mask.
Instinctively, Anne backed away, even though she knew he would never hurt her. But he was an oncoming force to be reckoned with, and Anne was not sure she was ready for whatever was about to come.
He walked forward faster than Anne retreated backward, and soon, they were nose to nose. Captain Wentworth gripped Anne by her upper arms, and she was startled to feel her feet leave the floor. He walked perhaps two more steps before she felt her back meet a wall, surprisingly gently for how he had charged and grabbed her. He crowded into her, and she was pinned between his unforgiving front and the tapestry-covered wall at her back.
Every delicious inch of him was pressed into her. The buttons of his waistcoat pressed into her ribs, and he shoved his lower body between her legs, forcing her to all-but-straddle his thigh.
She sucked in a startled breath and prayed for enough control to keep from moaning. A dim, barely functioning region of her mind recognised that she should not enjoy being handled thusly, but enjoy she most certainly did. The pressure of his firm thigh at the apex of her legs was too much, and she could not prevent herself from rocking forward and rubbing herself against him.
He groaned harshly and switched his hold on her in an instant. One hand fell to her hip, gripping roughly and staying a repetition of her movement. The other hand gripped her wrists and forced her arms above her hand. That was the moment Anne realized her hands had wandered to his chest where they had been stroking the planes of muscle most indecently. “Hold still,” he ordered with a desperation that claimed her attention. “Anne, please.” His voice broke, and Anne froze.
“F-Frederick?”
At the sound of his name, his eyes squeezed shut, and she felt a shudder go through him. “It is happening again. Just as it did last time.” His words were low and dripping with pain.
She tried to free her wrists from his hold, the desire to somehow touch him, to soothe his hurt, overriding his command to be still.
His hold tightened, but remained gentle. “They are persuading you again,” he said in a near moan. “Anne, think for yourself! For God’s sake!”
Anne’s shock forced her head backwards, but instead of thumping her head against the wall painfully, the back of her head met with Frederick’s hand. As his fingers, the ones that had been gripping her hip, stroked into her hair, Anne realized he had intentionally shielded her head from harm. However, now he was cradling her head, and their lips were a breath apart.
Anne sighed brokenly. “Freder — ”
His lips crashed down upon hers. Her lips parted exultantly, and his tongue swept into her mouth, affording her no choice but to return the favour. He finally — finally — released her hands so that he could cradle her face with both of them, and as he tilted her head farther back and deepened the kiss, Anne was able to touch him as she wished.
Her fingers combed through his hair, trailed down the flexing muscles of his jaw, and stroked the column of his neck, wrenching a groan from him that vibrated against her lips.
He broke the kiss for only a moment to whisper, “Never stop touching me,” before kissing her once more and allowing his hands to roam as hers were.
She felt both of his large hands land upon her bottom, and he squeezed and pulled her up so that her feet once again left the floor. Anne silently cursed the constricting skirts that kept her from wrapping her legs around his waist, and she whimpered in protest.
As though he knew her thoughts, one of his hands moved from her bottom to behind her knee, and he wrenched her leg up as far as it would go and trapped her knee against his hip. They both moaned harshly as his arousal pressed against the swollen and dripping part of Anne’s body that desired him to the point of madness.
“Please,” she cried softly against his lips. “Frederick.”
He pulled back from their kiss to look at her, and his eyes were glazed. He opened his mouth and his lips formed her name, but the actual sound of her name came from the entrance to the concert hall.
“Anne, are you out here?”
As Anne and Frederick froze, Anne knew that Mr. Elliot’s voice had never been more unwelcome. Clarity began to edge back into her thoughts, and Anne realized they were both breathing heavily, their chests rising and falling against one another’s. The light was dim, and it was with some relief that Anne saw the tapestry was enshrouding them somewhat, hiding them from the view of any passers-by.
Anne held her breath, hoping her lungs would get the point and stop billowing so. She watched as the light of passion dimmed from Frederick’s eyes to be replaced by the hardness that had been in them when he’d watched Mr. Elliot stroke Anne’s neck.
“I will not apologize for this,” Frederick muttered vehemently while slowly lowering Anne to the ground.
Anne opened her mouth to assure him he had done nothing that she had not most heartily wished for, but he stepped back and perused her coldly. His eyes roamed over her hair, and he reached forward quickly. She felt him adjust one of the pins in her coiffure before he simply turned around without another word and walked back to the door.
The click of the door as it closed behind him shocked through her, but her cousin’s repetition of her name forced her to move. She stepped out of semi-hiding and walked toward the sound of Mr. Elliot’s voice, hoping she was composed enough to make it through the rest of the evening.
She did not know if matters were better or worse between her and Fre — Captain Wentworth — but she knew matters had definitely changed.
Chapter 21
Anne recollected with pleasure the next morning both the feel of Captain Wentworth’s bruising kiss and her promise of going to Mrs. Smith, meaning that it should engage her from home at the time when Mr. Elliot would be most li
kely to call; for to avoid Mr. Elliot was almost a first object.
She felt a great deal of good-will towards him. After all, it was Mr. Elliot’s attentions to her that had spurred Captain Wentworth to passion. Captain Wentworth’s responses to her last night had been almost too passionate to be excused by a man simply seeking physical gratification. For a moment, she had felt the same tender passion from him that she had felt in their youth when he had touched her. Was it possible that he was developing feelings for her again? In spite of the mischief of Mr. Elliot’s attentions, she owed him gratitude and regard, perhaps compassion. She could not help thinking much of the extraordinary circumstances attending their acquaintance, of the right which he seemed to have to interest her, by everything in situation, by his own sentiments, by his early prepossession. It was altogether very extraordinary; flattering, but painful. There was much to regret. How she might have felt had there been no Captain Wentworth in the case, was not worth enquiry; for there was a Captain Wentworth; and be the conclusion of the present suspense good or bad, her affection would be his for ever. Their union, she believed, could not divide her more from other men, than their final separation.
Prettier musings of high-wrought love and eternal constancy, could never have passed along the streets of Bath, than Anne was sporting with from Camden Place to Westgate Buildings. It was almost enough to spread purification and perfume all the way.
She was sure of a pleasant reception; and her friend seemed this morning particularly obliged to her for coming, seemed hardly to have expected her, though it had been an appointment.
An account of the concert was immediately claimed; and Anne’s recollections of the concert and what came after were quite happy enough to animate her features and make her rejoice to talk of it. All that she could tell she told most gladly, but the all was little for one who had been there, and unsatisfactory for such an enquirer as Mrs. Smith, who had already heard, through the short cut of a laundress and a waiter, rather more of the general success and produce of the evening than Anne could relate, and who now asked in vain for several particulars of the company. Everybody of any consequence or notoriety in Bath was well known by name to Mrs. Smith.
“The little Durands were there, I conclude,” said she, “with their mouths open to catch the music, like unfledged sparrows ready to be fed. They never miss a concert.”
“Yes; I did not see them myself, but I heard Mr. Elliot say they were in the room.”
“The Ibbotsons, were they there? and the two new beauties, with the tall Irish officer, who is talked of for one of them.”
“I do not know. I do not think they were.”
“Old Lady Mary Maclean? I need not ask after her. She never misses, I know; and you must have seen her. She must have been in your own circle; for as you went with Lady Dalrymple, you were in the seats of grandeur, round the orchestra, of course.”
“No, that was what I dreaded. It would have been very unpleasant to me in every respect. But happily Lady Dalrymple always chooses to be farther off; and we were exceedingly well placed, that is, for hearing; I must not say for seeing, because I appear to have seen very little.”
“Oh! you saw enough for your own amusement. I can understand. There is a sort of domestic enjoyment to be known even in a crowd, and this you had. You were a large party in yourselves, and you wanted nothing beyond.”
“But I ought to have looked about me more,” said Anne, conscious while she spoke that there had in fact been no want of looking about, that the object only had been deficient.
“No, no; you were better employed. You need not tell me that you had a pleasant evening. I see it in your eye. I perfectly see how the hours passed: that you had always something agreeable to listen to. In the intervals of the concert it was conversation.”
Anne half smiled and said, “Do you see that in my eye?”
“Yes, I do. Your countenance perfectly informs me that you were in company last night with the person whom you think the most agreeable in the world, the person who interests you at this present time more than all the rest of the world put together.”
A blush overspread Anne’s cheeks. She could say nothing.
“And such being the case,” continued Mrs. Smith, after a short pause, “I hope you believe that I do know how to value your kindness in coming to me this morning. It is really very good of you to come and sit with me, when you must have so many pleasanter demands upon your time.”
Anne heard nothing of this. She was still in the astonishment and confusion excited by her friend’s penetration, unable to imagine how any report of Captain Wentworth could have reached her. After another short silence —
“Pray,” said Mrs. Smith, “is Mr. Elliot aware of your acquaintance with me? Does he know that I am in Bath?”
“Mr. Elliot!” repeated Anne, looking up surprised. A moment’s reflection shewed her the mistake she had been under. She caught it instantaneously; and recovering her courage with the feeling of safety, soon added, more composedly, “Are you acquainted with Mr. Elliot?”
“I have been a good deal acquainted with him,” replied Mrs. Smith, gravely, “but it seems worn out now. It is a great while since we met.”
“I was not at all aware of this. You never mentioned it before. Had I known it, I would have had the pleasure of talking to him about you.”
“To confess the truth,” said Mrs. Smith, assuming her usual air of cheerfulness, “that is exactly the pleasure I want you to have. I want you to talk about me to Mr. Elliot. I want your interest with him. He can be of essential service to me; and if you would have the goodness, my dear Miss Elliot, to make it an object to yourself, of course it is done.”
“I should be extremely happy; I hope you cannot doubt my willingness to be of even the slightest use to you,” replied Anne; “but I suspect that you are considering me as having a higher claim on Mr. Elliot, a greater right to influence him, than is really the case. I am sure you have, somehow or other, imbibed such a notion. You must consider me only as Mr. Elliot’s relation. If in that light there is anything which you suppose his cousin might fairly ask of him, I beg you would not hesitate to employ me.”
Mrs. Smith gave her a penetrating glance, and then, smiling, said —
“I have been a little premature, I perceive; I beg your pardon. I ought to have waited for official information, But now, my dear Miss Elliot, as an old friend, do give me a hint as to when I may speak. Next week? To be sure by next week I may be allowed to think it all settled, and build my own selfish schemes on Mr. Elliot’s good fortune.”
“No,” replied Anne, “nor next week, nor next, nor next. I assure you that nothing of the sort you are thinking of will be settled any week. I am not going to marry Mr. Elliot. I should like to know why you imagine I am?”
Mrs. Smith looked at her again, looked earnestly, smiled, shook her head, and exclaimed —
“Now, how I do wish I understood you! How I do wish I knew what you were at! I have a great idea that you do not design to be cruel, when the right moment occurs. Till it does come, you know, we women never mean to have anybody. It is a thing of course among us, that every man is refused, till he offers. But why should you be cruel? Let me plead for my — present friend I cannot call him, but for my former friend. Where can you look for a more suitable match? Where could you expect a more gentlemanlike, agreeable man? Let me recommend Mr. Elliot. I am sure you hear nothing but good of him from Colonel Wallis; and who can know him better than Colonel Wallis?”
“My dear Mrs. Smith, Mr. Elliot’s wife has not been dead much above half a year. He ought not to be supposed to be paying his addresses to any one.”
“Oh! if these are your only objections,” cried Mrs. Smith, archly, “Mr. Elliot is safe, and I shall give myself no more trouble about him. Do not forget me when you are married, that’s all. Let him know me to be a friend of yours, and then he will think little of the trouble required, which it is very natural for him now, with so many affairs and en
gagements of his own, to avoid and get rid of as he can; very natural, perhaps. Ninety-nine out of a hundred would do the same. Of course, he cannot be aware of the importance to me. Well, my dear Miss Elliot, I hope and trust you will be very happy. Mr. Elliot has sense to understand the value of such a woman. Your peace will not be shipwrecked as mine has been. You are safe in all worldly matters, and safe in his character. He will not be led astray; he will not be misled by others to his ruin.”
“No,” said Anne, “I can readily believe all that of my cousin. He seems to have a calm decided temper, not at all open to dangerous impressions. I consider him with great respect. I have no reason, from any thing that has fallen within my observation, to do otherwise. But I have not known him long; and he is not a man, I think, to be known intimately soon. Will not this manner of speaking of him, Mrs. Smith, convince you that he is nothing to me? Surely this must be calm enough. And, upon my word, he is nothing to me. Should he ever propose to me (which I have very little reason to imagine he has any thought of doing), I shall not accept him. I assure you I shall not. I assure you, Mr. Elliot had not the share which you have been supposing, in whatever pleasure the concert of last night might afford: not Mr. Elliot; it is not Mr. Elliot that — ”
Persuasion (The Wild and Wanton Edition) Page 27
