by Amity Cross
I stood, the wind tugging at my hair and casting it across my face. Strands stuck to my lips as I watched the landscape, the lights of Thornfield dull through the trees of the bordering forest. I heard a voice but saw no movement to match it.
Damn superstition, I thought to myself as I tamed my hair. The moors hid wild places among the crags and bushes. No doubt, the wind and the starry night were playing tricks on me. The sound had not come to my ears as if it had been spoken directly. It had been borne on the air to my spirit and from whence it came, I did not know. Perhaps it was stirred up by my ravenous soul-searching.
My fingers curled around Edward’s letter, and I placed it back into my pocket for safekeeping, not wanting to lose the words he had so painstakingly committed into being.
“Jane!”
The voice came again, and this time, I could hear the masculine tone, the desperation, the longing, and I knew without a doubt that it was the very human and present tenor of Edward Rochester calling to me through the silver night.
“Where are you?” I called out, my heart beating wildly knowing he’d come.
“Jane!”
His pain spoke to mine, and I was overcome. Scrambling down the rock, I forged a path across the moor toward Thornfield. I must feel his presence against my palm. His words were still swirling in my mind, his devotion and passion raw and bleeding. I must have him!
“I am coming!” I cried. “Wait for me!”
I saw him then, an outline against the universe, and I knew at that moment, I never wished to allow anything to come between us again. We were open to one another, the entirety of our secrets exposed. I loved him still, and I loved him in spite. My powers were finally in play, and it was time to use them completely.
I all but fell into his arms, glad to find he was not an apparition but flesh and bone. He grasped me tightly, his chest heaving, his eyes raging with a fierce storm. I could see him clearly now, and it had nothing to do with the face of the moon hanging full and bright above us.
“I have seen your words,” I exclaimed, my hands caressing his face. “I have seen them all.”
He knew I had, for he would not have sought me out so desperately otherwise.
“Jane,” he whispered, his voice ragged. “Have you come back to me?”
I wanted to hold him tighter, but I could not, for my fingers were like iron against his skin.
“Yes! Yes, Edward. I have come back to you.”
He moaned and pressed his forehead against mine, his eyes never leaving the depths of mine. “I will love you to my last breath, Jane Eyre.”
I pressed forward and claimed his lips with my own, kissing him like it was the first time. My embrace was all encompassing, my tongue darting out to meet his in a blaze of passion so profound I was lost to it. Surely, this was true love and not the mere euphoria we had once shared. This felt unearthly and wild as if we stood on the precipice of forever and had leapt into her waters without thinking twice.
Edward’s touch was rough and demanding as he lowered me to the ground. A soft patch of heath cushioned my body, and I sank into it with a sigh as he covered my mouth with his.
His fingers deftly raised my skirt and removed my underwear, and when he touched me within, I arched into his body. He pleasured me, stroking and massaging until I could bear it no more. I urged his jeans down, wanting to be quite thoroughly joined as if our love had to be consummated.
Opening my legs with his palm, he pressed his manhood into me, filling my body completely. Holding steady, he pressed his lips against mine as I caressed his back with my hands. Then he moved gently, pulling back before driving himself into me, his mouth worshipping mine, his body trembling as he lost himself in the same euphoria which had risen in me.
We writhed against one another, soothing the longing of the past months, chasing the release both of us craved. Again and again, we joined, our pleasure rising and rising. Finally, we were at the zenith, and we tumbled, crashing into one another as our bodies came together. We no longer needed words. Our souls had spoken.
Afterward, we lay in the heath, Edward’s arms wrapped around me as I lay my cheek against his chest, listening to his heartbeat return to its normal rhythm. The stars stretched overhead, hanging bright against the full moon, and all was magical and peaceful.
Nothing could touch us here. We were safe.
15
The next morning dawned bright and clear, and it was as if Thornfield had transformed overnight.
I lay in my bed in the suite, a warm body pressing against my back and a heavy arm over my waist. I nestled closer to Edward, delighting in his touch after such a turbulent night. After we’d met on the moor and made love under the stars, we’d returned to Thornfield and talked about all manner of things before touching again, then falling asleep in one another’s arms. It was something we’d never done before—remain in the same bed together—and it made me happier than I’d ever been.
Against all the odds, Edward and I had come back to one another, and it was in full and complete knowledge of each other. No secrets remained, and no terrifying truths hung over our heads. At least, none we knowingly held from one another.
This simplicity, this sharing of ideas and comfort was all I’d ever wanted. If this was a dream, then I did not want to wake.
Turning, I beheld his face, studying his features as he slept away the morning. The only other time I’d seen him this way was the night I found his bed set alight by Bertha. I’d had no time to stare at him then like a lovesick fool, for I’d been too busy saving him from the flames, but now I had the opportunity.
His lips were parted, and his eyelashes brushed against his cheekbones, and I couldn’t believe the change in him. Sleep made the enigmatic Edward Rochester look like an innocent boy, not a terrifying man. His vulnerability only served to make my heart ache for him even more.
Loathe to wake him, I untangled my limbs from his and tiptoed into the bathroom. Turning on the shower, I pulled off the T-shirt I’d worn to bed and stared at my reflection in the mirror as the water warmed. Turning my head from side to side, I studied the bruises on my neck and was glad to find them fading quite significantly now. My voice had returned to normal some time ago, and my throat no longer felt scratchy. I began to wonder what had happened to Rivers, but I cast all thought of him aside, not wanting to think the man I had once trusted could be capable of such violence.
Every human being had a failing, for we were not perfect creatures, and his had been grave, indeed.
Leaving my memories of him behind, I stepped into the shower and caressed my skin with a bar of soap, the sweet scent of vanilla and goat’s milk filling my nostrils. I was determined to enjoy the simple pleasures life had to offer now more than ever, whether they are a sweet-smelling balm, the sight of a rare bird, or the gentle touch of my lover.
Edward and I had overcome a great hurdle to find ourselves in one another’s arms once more, but obstacles still remained. I closed my eyes and allowed the hot water to wash over my head, completely soaking my hair. I thought of Blanche Ingram and the promise she made to me at the gallery opening and knew the tests Edward and I had faced were nothing in comparison to the destruction the truth would cause.
Edward had to understand what was at risk, but he didn’t seem worried about it at all.
As if on cue, his voice muttered, “There’s my little bird.”
My gaze met his as he stepped into the shower beside me, his hands sliding over my hips. He was a fine specimen to look at when he was naked, his body toned, his chest covered in a fine dusting of dark hair, his manhood pressing against my thigh… I was entirely sure I would never tire of seeing him as he was now.
“You look worried,” he said, taking the soap from my hand and rubbing it over my back.
For a moment, I was dazzled by his sudden gentleness and was lost for words. The moody and hurtful man I’d first met was nowhere to be seen.
“Is this truly Edward Rochester before me?”
I asked, laying my head against his shoulder.
“The one and the same,” he replied. “What worries you, Jane? Surely, it is not my ability to wield a bar of soap that perplexes you?”
“I worry about her,” I said, not wanting to speak Blanche’s name while we stood so familiar. “The things she said to me at the gallery, Edward…”
“You mustn’t allow it to unsettle you,” was his reply. “You forget the horrible manipulation I had embroiled the Ingram’s in. I am not proud of it, but I had been expecting some form of retaliation. This new threat is greater than expected, yes, but it shall be dealt with one way or another.” He sighed, his hands moving lower. “And I regret you were made a part of this.”
Grateful my chest lay against his and he could not see the scars from my stab wounds, I melted against his body, my mind unsettled as ever.
“What I would like to know is how did Blanche find out about Bertha in the first place?” I wondered aloud. “And how did she get past Grace to give her the knife? If she’s going to make these claims, then what proof does she hold? Could we garner some of our own? She is not blameless herself.”
“Jane,” Edward murmured, caressing my shoulders. “We are standing in the shower, naked as the day we were born. The only appropriate conversation to be had is none at all.”
“But—”
He pressed his fingers to my lips, silencing me completely. Then his other hand brushed across my breasts, his fingertips circling around each pointed bud before kissing me thoroughly, his tongue twining with mine in a slow dance.
Yes, showers were not made for discussion but for this.
Lifting me up into his arms, Edward pressed my back against the tiled wall and guided his length against me. His lips dragged heavily across my neck, his tongue laving the fading bruises, which still marked my skin, and then he thrust, tearing pleasure abruptly from my core.
He had me roughly, setting a punishing rhythm, and all was a blur of slick sensation. My arms wrapped around his neck, my fingers spearing through his hair, and I held on for dear life when he could bear it no more and poured his release into me. I gave him everything at that moment, just as I had the night before.
I’d never come apart so thoroughly under a man’s touch as I had Edward Rochester’s.
“Jane,” he said, moaning against my lips as my body shuddered against his. “My precious Jane Eyre.”
I’d never lingered in Edward’s study before.
I sat on the couch in front of the fireplace with his laptop on my knee and warmed my bare feet in a shaft of sunlight that was filtering through the window.
I felt I could be idle now, my position beginning to grow on me. I had nothing and nowhere to be, and I was finally able to see it for what it was. A chance to discover things about this life and myself that I had been forced to overlook.
I stared at the balance on my bank accounts for a long time, waiting for the screen to refresh and tell me it had all been an elaborate ruse, but it did not. This was my existence now.
“What are you looking at?”
I turned at the sound of Edward’s voice and smiled. It was a curious turn of events, which now saw us fully at ease with one another. The house had calmed, all thoughts of its crazy ghost were quelled, and my happiness seemed impenetrable.
“My bank account,” I said.
Leaning over the back of the couch, he snapped the laptop closed and replaced it with a folder of papers. “Perhaps this may be of more interest than numbers,” he declared.
“What is it?” I inquired, picking it up.
“After I met with your lawyer, Mr. Briggs, I looked into your uncle’s background.”
I sat up straight and scowled. “Edward!”
“Merely as a precaution,” he said in his defense. “I did not want to see you hoodwinked considering the circumstances you were in at the time.”
“And have I been?” I asked, glancing at the folder in my hands. “Hoodwinked?”
“Not at all,” was his reply. “I think you might find a rather telling story in there about a certain textile mill you now own. Curious, isn’t it?”
“How so?”
“From what I could gather from Mr. Briggs, your wealth consists mainly of investments and shares, all of them in emerging technologies and safety net items such as oil and gold. A textile mill doesn’t quite fit, does it?”
I shook my head as he came to sit beside me, placing my legs across his lap. As if he sensed I was too afraid to look inside the folder, he took it from my fingers and opened it.
“It so turns out that your uncle and your father worked together at the mill when they were boys. James was older by three years, and they both worked the same production line, both being employed from the age of sixteen. When the economy turned in the late seventies, business went sour, and production was scaled back considerably. It caused mass unemployment for the area, and many were forced into poverty because of it. Some years later, after your father had passed, your uncle was fortunate enough to have built himself a fine business. He returned to Leeds, purchased the run-down mill, and revitalized it, bringing all those jobs back to the region once more. It seemed he never forgot where he came from even after earning his wealth.” He handed me a piece of paper. “See here? The mill now supplies the finest materials. They have a Royal Warrant, which means they are approved to supply the royal family with goods for the Queen herself.” He then picked up a photo and pointed out the two men in it. “This is your uncle James, and I believe this is your father.”
Forgetting myself, I snatched the picture from his hands and stared at it, desperate to see the face I had never known.
There was Uncle James, tall, handsome, and with a kind face. I glossed over the man who had left me his entire life’s work and found myself quite overcome by the sight of my father.
Aunt Sarah was right. I did look like him.
“Do you understand what you have just given me?” I whispered, tracing the lines of my father’s face with my fingertips. “I have never seen a picture of him before. I never knew…”
“Then my meddling has come to something,” Edward replied, placing his hand on my thigh. “I knew how you longed to know of your family…”
His mobile phone began to ring shrilly, breaking the moment, and he scowled, moving my legs from his lap. Retrieving it from the desk, he looked at the screen and scowled. With a sharp sigh, he answered.
“Blanche,” he said, his lips thinning. His brow began to darken considerably, his temper rising so fast I knew he was struggling to contain it.
I rose from the couch, the photograph of my father forgotten. I opened my mouth, but Edward held up his hand to silence me, then retreated out of the room leaving me to wonder at the conversation.
I knew he was trying to protect me from further harm, but had he learned nothing? I was more than capable of fighting by his side, helping him shoulder the burden. I could help!
I paced back and forth, knowing I’d only anger him if I followed. My toes sank into the carpet as I walked, my body trembling with a chill at the thought of the vitriol Blanche was submitting Edward to. What was she getting out of this torment? Did revenge over a broken heart mean that much to her? I wasn’t entirely sure she had loved Edward at all, not honestly. I felt she was more slighted by the fact he chose me over her. It was her pride she wanted to avenge! It was all frightfully shallow.
Finally, Edward returned, and he did not look pleased.
“What did she say?” I asked, desperate to know what was happening.
Edward placed the phone on the desk and leaned against the mahogany with a shake of his head. “She is threatening to release all information about my past and Bertha’s existence to the media. Just as you said she would.”
I wanted to comfort him, to place my arms out his shoulders and hold him tightly, but I knew him well enough to understand it would be unwelcome. At that moment, he was stone once more.
“Does she have proof? She
must! What does she want in return for her silence?” I asked, my questions running into one another in my haste to get them out. “Surely—”
“Nothing,” he interrupted, pinching the bridge of his nose and screwing his eyes shut. “She wants nothing.”
“Then…” I trailed off, knowing whatever I had to say was empty.
“Then I bear the consequences of my actions,” he said. “I’ve dug my own hole all these years, Jane, and now I must be buried in it.”
“But—”
“Jane.”
His tone was abrupt and forceful, and I knew I wouldn’t get anywhere by pushing him further. I couldn’t believe he was going to let her walk all over him!
I watched as he turned to the crystal decanter, which sat on the side table, and poured himself a dram of whiskey, his shoulders tense. I hadn’t realized how tired he looked until now. His mask had slipped entirely, and it was the true man I now saw before me. Life had worn him to the bone, and he’d become a master at hiding it.
If he would not fight, then perhaps I should.
16
Edward was resigned to his fate, but I was not.
He remained in my bed again, though the comfort of his closeness couldn’t silence my worries. I lay awake, my mind restless with all that had happened, searching for the clue that would piece it all together.
Was Blanche going after Edward merely because she was jealous? Or was it something more? I suppose it had to do with their long-standing feud—something Edward had not explained fully to me—and this was the ultimate fallout. She was desperate to strike the final blow. That, I did know.
I couldn’t work it out, but perhaps I was asking the wrong question. How was much more appropriate, for if I knew how she intended to destroy him, then I could hopefully find a way of undoing it before more damage was done.
It sounded simple enough, but I wasn’t even skilled in the simple art of conversation, let alone espionage. I would need help if I were to embark on such a journey. The first step was to put a stop to the information leak, and I knew the perfect person to assist.