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He sat so very still at the edge of the bed. It was a painful reminder of all that had been taken from him, this man who one strode over the grounds of an estate as if not just the land but the whole of the earth belonged to him. She had rarely seen him still, not even when sitting before the fire; his eyes moved constantly, ever observing.
They saw nothing now.
“Shall I ring for tea, sir?” she asked as she tugged on the ribbon that held her robe closed. Though she knew he could not see her it felt strange to be dressed so before him. He had seen her so only twice in all their time at Thornfield, and neither was the most pleasant of circumstances. She doubted he even remembered what she had worn.
“You tease me, wife?” While she had called him husband once, the word on her tongue feeling even more peculiar than calling him Edward, he had used every opportunity to refer to her as wife. They had been married for six hours, and he must have used the word a dozen times already.
“I’m only concerned that you might be thirsty.” She smiled, glad that she had at least distracted him from whatever thoughts he had been brooding over in her absence. “If you don’t wish for tea what is it you want?”
“You, Jane. I want my wife.” Thirteen times now, and none had caused the twist in her belly that this one did. He held out his hand to her; the twin sides of her fought to move closer or to stay where she was. He was the man she loved, but he sat at the edge of her wedding bed and she had so little knowledge of what was to happen there. Mrs. Fairfax had tried to explain some things, but she had come away more confused, and for once books had failed her.
“I am here.” The first step forward was the most difficult, but she loved him. She would trust in that, and in the gentleness that he showed to no one but herself.
“That you are here makes me believe in miracles, my Jane. You are all I need to believe that there is a God in the heavens.” He held tightly to her hand when she reached for it, and looked at her so earnestly. She was overwhelmed with the need to press her lips to his.
“He has always watched over both of us.” She believed it every day, but never more so than when she had heard his precious voice echoing to her across the moor. She might have, in a moment of loneliness, agreed to join her cousin in India. There was no sin in a life of service, but such a life would not have offered her the richness of loving and being loved.
“I envy Him, if only because he could gaze upon you for hours if he wished, while I…” Jane would not let him continue with such thoughts, but silenced him with a kiss, and then another.
“Hear my voice, Edward. Touch me.” She pressed his fingers against her throat as she spoke, wanting him to feel her passion as well as hear it. “I do not care about your eyes, only that you are here with me.”
“I want to touch every fiber of your being, Jane, listen to every sound you makes, and taste every inch of your skin.” He drew her closer to him, his fingers curling against the back of her neck and the ravaged stump of his arm firm against her waist.
“Taste, sir?” She did not quite understand. She had grown used to the feel of his tongue as he kissed her, the taste that was so unique to him of port, smoke, sage and a surprising hint of something sweet. But surely he did not mean to kiss her everywhere?
“Any feast served in the Elysium Fields could not please the tongue so well as a taste of you.” She was confused, at first, when his head dipped down, thinking he had misjudged the direction of her lips. Before she considered a way to correct the error his tongue brushed against her skin, just above his fingers. She gasped, the light touch seeming to be something more than just a touch.
“Will you sit, Jane? I desire your closeness, and would have you sit here on my knee.” She felt her pulse dance under his tongue.
“Like a child?” He had allowed Adele the privilege a handful of times, always sending her into a rapture of delight. If Jane had ever been granted such a bonding moment with the parents she didn’t remember of the uncle who was only a shadow in her memory, it was not something she could recall.
“There has never been a moment that I have viewed you as a child, Jane. An elf, a temptress, a savior, a ghost, or a dream, but never a child.” The hand at her neck moved down, touching the single row of lace on her robe. She would no more allow him to clothe her in extravagance now that he could not see, then she had the first time they picked out her trousseau. “If I have but one hand to touch you I wish to use everything else I possess. Sit.”
As it was more of a hope than a direct order she obeyed, sitting upon his left thigh. “I am none of those things, my Edward. Only human.”
“Sometimes when I am not touching you I still fear that you are that sweet madness I was sure I had descended into.” She soothed him with a light stroking of his hair. She had meant to trim it for their wedding, but in the bustle of planning it had somehow been forgotten. It had been tied back neatly for the wedding, but had long since slipped its band.
“If it will ease your mind I will always touch you. We will hold hands into eternity,” she promised.
“And if I ask for more than just your hand, Janet?” He had asked for her shoulder and her hands, her heart and her lips; she had given them all to him willingly. She only understood a little of what he asked now, but still she nodded.
“I am yours, body and soul. Every part of me.” The thought of it made her grow warm; she was sure her face had grown red with color. She would never consider it a blessing, that he could not see, but it saved her perhaps a little embarrassment. “I want to make you happy.”
He shook his head. “My happiness rests with you. I think it has since that first night. It was not just my horse that you bewitched.”
“You make me happy, Edward. You do.” She had no better words to convince him, so gave him her mouth instead. Lips to lips, tongue to tongue and still she wished to be closer to him. “I love you.”
“My Jane,” he said, his lips touching her chin, her nose, both cheeks, her jaw. His fingers followed her collar down, brushing her skin, moving lower still. She did not know what to think when he covered her breast with his hand; she felt the heat of his touch through the layers of cotton, and had to fight the feeling of impropriety. From somewhere in the dark recesses of her mind, to which she had condemned her memories of Brocklehurst years ago, a voice whispered that a proper girl did not enjoy such things.
She refused to listen. “I know a little of kissing, but of other things…”
“My little wife is always so honest. No artifice, no coy games, only the truth falls from my Jane’s lips. Even in this.” His forehead rested against hers, his breath warm against her cheek.
“Shouldn’t there be honesty between a husband and wife, especially in this room, more than any other?” She had nothing to compare it to, their marriage. She had no memory of her parents, or what it had been like between her aunt and uncle before he’d died. Though she had seen a little of the courting between Miss. Temple and her beau she knew nothing of their marriage. She only knew what felt right.
“We have suffered so much from silence and lies. In all things you will have my honesty, Jane, but especially in this. And I will carry your confidences to the grave.” It was a bargain sealed with a kiss, and carried forever on two hearts.
“Don’t speak of graves, sir. Not tonight.” It was still too clear in her mind, the burned out shell of Thornfield and the fear that she might never see her beloved again.
“If the devil himself came to claim me I would fight him. Not when I have the one things in the world that I most treasure finally before me.” Perhaps it was luck or more experience with a woman’s nightclothes than she was comfortable imagining, but he found the tie that held her robe closed and loosened it. His touch to her breast this time was not just a warmth, but a tingle completely unlike the sensation when her foot slept, and yet there was nothing closer to compare to it. “She trembles beneath my touch. Fear, Janet?”
“I don’t know. No.” Nerves, yes, she would readily agree to, but she would not allow fear to intrude upon time moment. “I trust you, husband.”
“Another miracle.” His smile was not the same as it had been, when she had first observed it. Small, more often a quirk at one corner of his mouth. It was infinitely more precious now, because it belonged to her alone. “Your hands, Jane.”
“They are yours.” She would remind him of that every day, as long as he needed it.
“I would not suffer a valet, and sent the one that Fairfax brought packing the very day he arrived. My hand is too clumsy tonight, Jane. Will you help me?” His arm blocked her way, but when he lowered it to his lap she felt bereft of the touch.
“I will.” Her own hands trembled, inexperience as well as nerves making it difficult to undo each button. There were far too many, she decided, though less than on the dress she had undone some half hour ago. With each button a little more skin was revealed. She tried not to think on it too much, lest she grow distracted, but it was hard not to notice the sparse black hairs and smooth plane that was so unlike her own chest. It was only when she pulled the shirt off and folded it, putting it on the chair beside the bed, that she looked.
There was a criss cross of scars on his shoulder, one long one traveling down past his elbow to the point where his arm ended. The right side of his body was almost without blemish, but it was his shoulder that held her attention. She did not even think about what she was doing, but soothed the skin with two fingers, finding it softer than the rest. “Does it hurt?”
“Not now. And when it did I did not care.” His face was turned from her, his voice slightly muffled.
“Should I stop?” She did not know, and could only be guided by what she felt was right or his consent.
“God no.” He shook his head vehemently, his hair looking even more like the lion’s mane she had once called it. “If I had my wish you would never stop.”
“Never is a long time, husband.” She wished to please him, though, even more than she wished to satisfy her curiosity.
“Not long enough. An eternity would not be long enough.” Her hand was trapped between them when he tugged on her shoulder, pulling her as close as possible. She half slipped from his leg, barely catching herself.
“Perhaps we should…” Jane swallowed, looking at the bed with its pillows piled up. There was little difference between this bed and the one just a few rooms over where she had slept the past month. And yet for the first time in her life other than the few brief hours with Helen as a child and the one night with Adele after what she knew now was no nightmare, Jane would not be alone in her bed. “...retire to our bed?”
“Would it be too much of a shock if I were to remove your nightclothes first, my dear? I want to touch you, Jane. To feel you beside me.” There was a trace of his old smirk when he looked a little to her right, expectantly.
“When your hand was on my… when you touched me there, I liked it.” It was a small confession, perhaps, but he had promised her his honesty and deserved as much in return. She found his hand and placed it on the ribbon that held her gown closed tight around the neck. it would take little more than a sharp tug to undo the whole thing.
“You will enjoy it all, I swear it. My only pleasure is in yours.” Only the slightest flutter of cloth marked the falling of her gown to the floor. Without asking she freed herself of her drawers as well. She was nude before him, though he could not see.
“The bed?” she asked, shivering. Despite the fireplace it was not warm, standing without anything to cover her skin.
“I would give anything to see you as you are now, as a pagan goddess, wearing nothing but my ring on your finger. My beauty.” He crept up the bed, pushing the blankets aside. Waiting for her with arm outstretched.
“I’m no beauty. I am…”
“Jane Rochester, my wife and the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. Here, Jane.” He covered his heart with his hand, so earnest that she did not argue with him.
“I am cold.” She did not ask why he still wore trousers or if he intended to take them off. She had a general idea that people did, in the marital bed, but her only references came from the whispers of servants.
“I believe that’s something I am adept at remedying.” If she had expected the blanket she would have been wrong. The only thing that covered her was his mouth. not on her neck, which had been shocking enough, but on the curve of her breast and then, a moment later, on her nipple.
“Edward.” It had started as a question, perhaps, but as his tongue moved against her there was nothing but his name. She felt as if she was in a thunderstorm, the lightning trapped under her skin. There was little she could do but rest her hands on his shoulders, too distracted by the feelings to even stroke his skin. His mouth and hand seemed to be everywhere; it was a feverish dream as he touched her as no one had touched her before. She didn’t know it was even possible, the way she felt.
She wasn’t cold anymore.
“Spread your legs a little for me, love.” She did not understand what he wanted, but the command was simple enough to obey. She bit her lip and closed her eyes, finding it too strange to see herself positioned as she was. A moment later she snapped her legs shut as well. He had touched her there.
“Hush, my Jane. This is what it’s supposed to be.” His hand was still trapped between her thighs. Trapped inside of her. And it moved, making her gasp. “Open up for me, love. This is important.”
“It feels strange.” Not bad, but strange was the only word she could think to give to the sensation.
“You trust me. Trust that I know this. It’s what husbands and wives are meant to do together.” He spoke softly until she spread her legs again, her muscles still tense. It was still strange when he touched her, until his finger slid and…
“Oh.” Her eyes flared open. It was a little like falling without the landing. “Edward.”
“That’s it, love. Just the start of the things we have to share together.” He touched her again, his finger somehow moving in just the right way to make her gasp. To make her squirm in a way she was certain she’d never moved before.
“But you… I want you to…”
“I want too, wife, but not yet. Not until you come first.” In the middle of one of those little flutters there was a stretching and feeling of strangeness again as he pushed a second finger inside of her. She had to fight not to close her legs again.
“Come where?” She had no desire to leave the bedroom, not until the sun rose. Possibly not even then.
“Just come.” His fingers moved faster, until she was certain she would have to beg him to stop. It was too much, more than she could feel all at once. The tightening feeling in her belly was almost painful.
“Edward.” She was no longer in control of her body, her hips thrusting up as if trying to draw his fingers in deeper. She was sure they would not fit.
“It’s like holding lightening in my hand, my wild faery. I can feel it building. Let it break, love. Let it come.” She could barely make out his words, only that he spoke, and touched. And that she needed something. When the something arrived she understood what ‘coming’ was.
She had no words, but clung to him when he laid on the pillow next to her, an arm wrapped tightly around her. She felt as if even her very bones were gone.
“Have I found a way to silence my little bird? I hope the effect does not last for long; I miss her voice.” There was a pride as he spoke that she didn’t quite understand, but his warmth and strength were both welcome. She was too overcome trying to understand what had happened to think overmuch on the fact that she wore nothing and his bare chest was flush against her breasts.
“That is normal?” she managed to ask, finally. “Feeling like that?”
“It is, my elf. That and better.” His mouth found her neck again, and this time it did not seem so odd. This time she smiled and looked up at him drowsily until he whisper in her ear. “I’m in need of my little valet’s services again.”
“Your trousers?” She asked though she could guess well at his answer.
“Please.” He kissed the closest thing he could reach, the lobe of her ear. “I need you, Jane.”
“I’m yours, sir.” She undid his trousers. Rarely had she considered what a man might look like other than her limited knowledge of the differences between male and female animals. Men looked nothing like women, she observed. The nerves that had abated came back. She wasn’t sure if his fingers against her most private of areas made her more or less nervous.
“Still so wet.” he seemed to be talking more to himself.
“That’s good?” she hoped.
“It will make things easier. There may be a little pain, Janet. I would spare you if I could.”
“I’m not afraid, Edward.” She kissed him and allowed him to guide her onto her back, seeming to know without asking that he wished her to spread her legs again.
“Jane. Oh, Jane,” he moaned as he knelt over her, his body beginning to push into hers. It was not pleasant, but there was no great pain either. Not until the end, when he jerked forward and she gasped. Pain mixed with a strangely comforting feeling of knowing that he was inside of her, their souls as well as bodies combined.
Forever entwined. Her Edward and his Jane.