In Consequence: A Retelling of North and South

by Trudy Brasure

  He pulled out his pocket watch again to stare dumbly at the thin shimmering metal that pointed the minutes. Thrusting the merciless object back into his pocket, he let out a long, wavering breath as he continued his feverish, solitary walk in the starlight.

  *****

  Mr. Thornton entered the brightly lit hotel at the proscribed time with a semblance of calm dignity. The eager groom clenched and unclenched his hands behind the mahogany counter as he made a few arrangements with the hotel clerk before ascending the carpeted marble stairs, his heart beating more wildly with every step.

  As he neared the landing, a rustle of movement made him turn his head. A slight girl in servant’s frock closed the door to their room. Not a year older than the bride she had just assisted, the maid caught sight of the approaching master with a curious and frightened stare before scurrying off down the hallway.

  The brief encounter disquieted him, making him feel uncomfortably like a predator as he approached the threshold to their private domain.

  He laid a hand on the doorknob and took a long breath. Blood pounded through his head so that he felt dizzy at the tension that held him still. The half hour was past. She would be expecting him. Slowly, he opened the door.

  “Margaret?” he rasped, his voice faltering as he stepped into the darkened room. The curtains had been drawn and a few candles flickered on the bedside table. Soft light glowed from behind the paneled screen. Every muscle in his body drew taut as he waited for her reply.

  Margaret could scarcely speak. The whispered call of her name, tender and passionate, sent waves of shivering sensation flowing through her every nerve. “I need a few moments more,” she choked out.

  Relief flooded through him at the sound of her voice, even as his heart began to pound at her answer. “I only wished to let you know of my presence.”

  “Yes,” she breathed. As if she did not feel the vibrating power of his presence pervade the room! Had not the very thought of his coming consumed her every moment since they had parted?

  The impatient groom retired to the bedside and slid off his heavy frock coat in the dim light. He tugged at the binding silk wrapped about his neck with slow deliberation. A thousand times had he had done this, never with more import. Anticipation quickened his pulse and flooded his body with heat. He closed his eyes a few seconds to bask in the heady realization of what was happening. Resuming his task, he unbuttoned his waistcoat until the stillness in the room bade him turn around.

  She stood silently by the foot of the bed, arrayed in flowing white gowns, her auburn curls spilling down around the thin cotton and lace. Scalloped edging dipped seductively at her neckline while a satin sash gathered a delicate ruffled dressing gown at her waist. A flounce of eyelet lace appeared above her bare feet.

  All the vagaries of his imagination could not have prepared him for the sight of her. She was the essence of everything soft and feminine — the very promise of the tender affection that his soul craved. Her face radiated angelic purity even as her curvaceous figure, thinly veiled in sheer cotton, called as a dangerous siren to the dark lust he held within. The desire to possess her seized him with an ache that wound about his chest and stole the breath from his lungs.

  She raised bashful eyes to meet his with imploring anxiety. Feeling strangely forlorn and vulnerable to be apart from him, she longed to feel his strong arms about her.

  He broke from his trance and stepped forward to take hold of his reality. He gathered her to him, delving one hand into the thick locks of her unbound hair at her back. “You are so beautiful,” he murmured his intoxicated bliss, tangling his fingers into her silken tresses, feeling the warm press of her body against his, and breathing in the scent of her as his cheek grazed hers.

  She melted against his strong form, assured by his tender possession and whispered words.

  He took a shivering breath as his hands explored the smooth expanse of her back, unhindered by the binding undergarments of women’s daily dress. Every muscle moved in deliberation to treat her gently, although his arms shook with the intensity of longing to let loose the storm of his emotions in a torrent of power.

  His hands slid readily over the fabric of her nightclothes in growing hunger to feel the soft flesh underneath. His mouth moved in restrained ardor, sending feathered kisses along her temple as he gripped her tighter.

  All this was now his. He marveled at the truth of this refrain, which pounded through his head and caused every fiber of his being to pulsate with frenzied yearning. Falling under the tantalizing allure of the silken skin beneath his roaming hands, he allowed one hand to creep brazenly ever lower, brushing the first rise of soft flesh at her backside.

  She trembled in his arms.

  He halted. What she might have been told to expect this evening, he could only conjecture. “Are you afraid?” he rasped gently by her ear, loosening his hold on her as he searched for the answer in her face.

  She struggled to contain the tumult of nerves that weakened her knees and made her head spin at his closeness. He smelled of sea salt and country air, and ever that hint of sandalwood that seemed the very essence of masculinity. She clung to him to steady herself, grasping for the only truth that could buoy her, his very asking the assurance she needed. “Never of you,” she whispered, boldly bringing her gaze to his.

  His eyes flared in wonder. The unwavering honesty shining from her face touched him to the core. Desire sparked at her submission even as he quaked at her trusting innocence.

  He bent to kiss her once and returned again and again, the touch of her lips unraveling his reserve. But with careful deliberation, he pulled back from her, suddenly recalling the state of his dress.

  “Will you get in the bed, and wait for me?” he articulated slowly with uneven breath, his forehead bent towards hers while his broad hands still circled her waist.

  His request, spoken in low, gravelly tones, sent her pulse racing with its underlying urgency. She could only nod her accord, and silently moved to do his bidding.

  He stood immobile for a moment as she padded to the bedside and untied the sash of her dressing gown. Rousing himself from his stupor, he moved to the other side of the bed and began once more to undress.

  He sensed, rather than saw, her every movement as she settled into their bed, and he clumsily fumbled with the buttons of his waistcoat and shirt. He slipped them off his body in the silent stillness of the room and took two steps to retrieve his nightshirt, feeling a certain thrill in being exposed to her view, if she was indeed watching.

  Propped up by several pillows, she tried to keep her gaze focused on the pattern of the bedcovers, but it was of no avail. Her eyes had drifted to the shadowy movements of his form, mesmerized by the hint of muscularity in every flick of his wrist or angled motion of his arm, shrouded only in thin, white cotton.

  She inhaled sharply as he drew off his shirt and guiltily devoured the sight of his bare flesh. A tremor of turmoil stirred mysterious longings within her as she imagined caressing the broad curve of his shoulders with hands and lips.

  She closed her eyes when, after donning a nightshirt, he came closer and, sitting on the edge of the bed, began to remove the remainder of his clothing.

  He doffed stockings and boots, her silent presence behind him instilling the very air with an awareness of his every movement. At last, he climbed under the covers at the far side of the bed.

  She fluttered her eyelids open to acknowledge him but could not move.

  “Will you not come to me?” he asked with creased brow, despairing at the expanse of luxurious bedding between them.

  She smiled at his serious expression and the ridiculous space between them. Relief washed over her as she recognized that they both suffered under the stubborn awkwardness of this untried arrangement. She happily slid to meet him in the middle of the bed, feeling much like a child in daring something once forbidden.

  Her beaming smile banished the heavy anxiety that had burdened him. He enfolded her into hi
s embrace with a smile of his own. Lying supine together with limbs touching and arms entangled, they enjoyed for a time the pure pleasure of this new intimacy, which the morning’s ceremony allowed them.

  His hand traced the path of her bare arms up to the thin fabric of her nightdress at her shoulders. He let his fingers play with the long strands of her hair in fascination before focusing on her face. Brushing over the softness of her cheek with his fingertips, he reveled in the rapturous wonder of lying next to her.

  His heart began to pound as he brought his lips to hers and kissed her, knowing it would be the tinder with which to ignite a raging fire.

  Lips and mouths met gently for a moment in tentative assurance of this familiar intimacy, but the first touch of tongues sent fire coursing through their veins.

  His kisses swiftly grew deep and unyielding. Margaret quivered in her attempt to match his fervor.

  All tentative hold on his restraint snapped and he rolled to trap her beneath him, consumed by the urge to bind himself to her.

  He groaned at the surge of desire that coursed through him. Straining at the last vestiges of his self-control, he kept the full weight of his body suspended over her.

  He kept his mouth fitted to hers, unwilling to relinquish the sweet taste of her answering passion. With emboldened liberty, he traced a trembling hand over the curve of her shoulder before bringing his palm to brush over the soft peak of her breast.

  The muffled sound of her approval sent a thrill through every pulse point, encouraging him to continue his pursuit. He slipped his fingers under the cotton confines of lace to explore the contours of her womanly shape as his ardor grew to painful proportions.

  He tore his lips from hers. “Margaret…!” he cried out in panic at his urgent need.

  She pressed her finger to his lips to dispel the distress she saw in his gaze and faintly nodded her understanding.

  In a haze of wonderment and palpitating anticipation of the unknown, she moved her body in compliance with his silent guidance as his shaking hands pulled at the fabric of her nightdress and adjusted her position.

  His eyes met hers and they communicated with an intensity of love for a moment, in breathless awe of what they were about to share. He bent low to kiss her once more, before he slowly but firmly fit himself inside her.

  Whether it was a stifled gasp of pain or surprise that sounded from her parted lips, he could not tell for he was at once engulfed in such exquisite sensations that all else was dim and distant. He was one with her. The euphoria of this truth swept all else from his mind. No longer in reasoned control of his actions, he moved his body in rhythmic time to a calling of its own accord, finally free to love her as he had long desired.

  Margaret gripped the thin-clad form of his muscled arms. Tensing in apprehension, she studied his face, spell-bound by the rapture that closed his eyes and caused his open jaw to waver in intensity. Her breath, as his, came in short gasps as his movements became only stronger. She clung tighter to him in some alarm as every muscle of his body tightened in growing tension.

  At last, a guttural cry rose from his throat. His body shuddered and all motion stopped.

  Margaret held her breath, uncertain if all was truly accomplished. Everything was still for a moment, then he returned to her, his face suffused with a look of such radiant bliss that she glowed in return to have given him this happiness.

  “Margaret.”

  The utterance of her name washed over her in a wave of tenderness, enveloping her in his love. Her eyes pricked with tears as he began to cover her face with delicate kisses, worshiping her as something extraordinarily precious and beautiful.

  “Have I hurt you?” He looked to her with wrinkled brow.

  “No … a little,” she stuttered, impelled to honesty by his searching gaze.

  A shadow crossed his face and he released her from his weight. Sinking his back onto the mattress, he closed his eyes.

  She rolled to lean over him, at once regretting her words. “It was nothing, John,” she assured him, reaching out to lay a hand on his roughened cheek. With curious reverence, her fingers began to explore the contours of cheek and chin. She marveled at the rugged features of his face, so familiar and adored by her, which only moments before had been illuminated by some transcendent bliss.

  He did not open his eyes, for fear she would stop her ministrations. Never before had she touched him like this. The tender caress of her fingers, forgiving him for all his faults, seemed to melt the hardness and bitterness of years of toil. He fought to hold back the tears that sprang to his eyes.

  “I am well pleased to be your wife,” she uttered softly as she traced a finger along the bridge of his nose and smoothed his forehead, earnest that he should know that she would gladly give herself to him again. She wished nothing more than to please him.

  He wrapped his arm around her waist to fasten her more tightly to him, moved by her honest affirmation. She had given of herself without hesitation and had not been repelled by his roughness.

  “Stay always by my side,” he pleaded, his voice cracking in desperation as he looked to her for her answer.

  “Have I not promised so this morning? I wish always to be with you,” she whispered.

  A puff of air, part cry and part laugh, escaped him. He pulled her into a full embrace, binding her to him with ardent strength.

  They clung to each other, neither wishing to yield up the new bond of closeness, basking in the joy of this first night of many until sweet sleep overtook them with the promise of a blissful morrow.

  *****

  Shafts of sunlight from the eastern horizon shone through the sheer curtains at dawn, bathing the room in shimmering beams of golden light. John opened his eyes and took in the vision as an altered being waking to a luminous new existence.

  She was there, beside him. No longer would he wake to the dull ache of loneliness.

  A small hand still clutched at his waist, and luxuriant tresses of auburn hair spilled over her shoulder and into the space between them. Long lashes brushed her cheeks and her lips parted in innocent slumber. The curve of her hip, still prominent under a swath of sheets and bed covers, drew his gaze to the womanly shape of her body as she lay on her side to face him.

  Did she know with what force of feeling he loved her? A paradox of uncommon strength and fragile femininity, she was fire and gentle rain — perfect refinement and bold rebel — everything fascinating and endearing in the anomaly of one Southern girl.

  He was under her power, and had been from the moment such beauty had spoken to him with self-assurance and dignity.

  She had accepted him: a wonder he would never relinquish. And he had loved her and would love her with all the power of his being for as long he drew breath in this world.

  He wished above all things that it would be his love, constant and true, that would enable her to walk in glorious sunlight midst the darkening trials of life and the uncertainties of daily existence in the drab, toil-filled town that would be their home.

  He had for years been an authority over hundreds, and was accountable for the success of a vast enterprise that affected the lives of hundreds more. But as he drank in the sight of his young wife in peaceful repose, he marveled at the responsibility of keeping her happy and safe in his care.

  He reached out to carefully brush away a strand of hair that lay across her face.

  Her eyes fluttered open and he watched, transfixed, as the light of recognition crossed her features and she gifted him with a waking smile. “Good morning,” she said groggily.

  His heart turned over at the look of love that beamed from her eyes. “Good morning,” he answered in kind, incapable of speaking anything further, so profound were the emotions swelling in his breast. He brushed the back of his fingers along the silken expanse of her cheek.

  In her drowsy happiness she stretched out her hand to touch the skin at his chest that appeared so enticing at the open collar of his untied nightshirt.

&nbs
p; He stilled as her fingertips lightly stroked him until they caught against the draping fabric. She withdrew her hand as if suddenly aware of the brazenness of her act.

  John sat up swiftly in alarm and divested himself of the offending garment. Lying down beside her again with the sheets pulled to his waist, he grasped her hand and placed it over his heart, his eyes imploring her to continue her discovery of him.

  He closed his eyes as she hesitantly renewed her exploration, at first following the line of his collar bone with tentative fingers, and then more boldly running her palms over the smooth, molded surface of his chest.

  Something began to stir deep within her, wakening every nerve with tingling energy. Increasingly aware of the power that she held over him, her whole body pulsated with anticipation as she listened to the pattern of his breathing grow low and uneven at her sensual touch.

  When he could no longer bear it, he pulled her roughly to him and began his own exploration of her womanly shape.

  A twinge of thrilling fear raced through her to witness what her gentle ministrations had unleashed, but she welcomed his amorous assault and shivered as his hands glided over her shoulders, waist, and hips.

  The sensuous feel of her supple curves beneath his palm made him nearly delirious in the desire to know all of her.

  He slid his broad hand over the soft mound of her covered breast, eager to claim as his own that intimate softness that so enchanted and seduced him — that seemed the essence of all feminine allure and comfort.

  Her breathing deepened as he continued his exploration, hindered in accessing the whole of her bare flesh by a fine stretch of cotton and lace.

  She disengaged from him without a word and wriggled in the attempt to free herself from her nightdress. With his help, and not a little awkwardness, she managed to slip out of the restraining garment.

  He drew in his breath as his eyes roved over the vision of her uncovered form. The hue of her creamy skin pinked under his hungry gaze as she nervously lay down beside him.