Jane: A Jane Eyre Retelling

by Lark Watson

  “Well, hello there.”

  “Hello.”

  “Finn, this is the mouse.”

  “Are you going to slide over little mouse?”

  “No.” Mr. Thorneton was climbing from the front seat and crossing in front of the car. “You’re shotgun with Micha. Literally.”

  “Ah.” Finn gave me a quick wink before shifting to the front as Mr. Thorneton settled himself next to me.

  “Right to the highway, Micha.”

  Mr. Thorneton gave me a quick look as if to ensure I was where I was supposed to be and went back to work. The men fell into a stride of talking about things I wasn’t aware of in the typical short-handed code of men who had been working together for years.

  I gave up trying to follow their meaning and returned to my book when not watching the road slip by as the city fell behind us.

  It wasn’t until we were almost back to Tower House that I was brought back into the conversation.

  “Why Mouse?” Finn asked me, although the gaze was more directed at Micha.

  “Stop calling her Mouse.” Mr. Thorneton didn’t look up from the tablet he’d been working at the entire time.

  “She doesn’t mind, do you Mouse?”

  I shrugged because I knew no answer would please everyone.

  “And,” Micha continued, “she knows why. It’s not an insult.”

  I got another of his quick winks in the rearview which got him another scowl from Mr. Thorneton. It appeared Mr. Thorneton did not want me getting too friendly with his men. It was another reminder of my place and to keep it.

  We turned into the long drive up to the house, but at the turnoff, Micha slowed to a halt, allowing Finn to gather his belongings.

  “Finn’s visiting up at the little house. He’ll be around though, so don’t be surprised if you stumble upon him.” Micha watched his friend get out of the car and head down the drive, not bothering to let him make the first turn before pulling away again.

  The men were, if anything less comprehensible than usual, but what was that to me? Mr. Thorneton’s world of wealth, power, fame, and beautiful women was something so disconnected from my reality—from most people’s reality—that their odd behaviors stopped being notable.

  Micha pulled to the front of the house and hopped out, grabbing my door and taking my bag before heading into the foyer. Once inside, I watched him set my bag by the stairs and head back to the kitchen.

  Even with the shortened trip in the car, I was ready to set myself in for the night.

  I turned to head up the stairs myself when a sharp voice came from behind me.

  “Jane.” Mr. Thorneton stood at the door to his rooms. “My office.”

  I set my bag back down, confused about his anger, but ready to meet him head on if he thought he could be out and out rude.

  I passed below his arm where he held the door open and turned to see what this rant would be.

  Mr. Thorneton crossed to his desk, taking his jacket off I was more than a little surprised to see a gun in a shoulder holster. He pulled off the holster and set the entire thing in a drawer before. Then, when I thought he would turn to me, he raised a leg to his chair, pulled up the cuff of his pants up to reveal a second holstered gun.

  After depositing that one in the drawer and closing it with a click and a lock, he turned to me.

  When his gaze met mine, I realized the guns were a sort of test as well as him setting them aside. He could have called for me after disarming, but instead he made a point of having me present.

  This was not disturbing to me in the ways he might have predisposed himself to believe.

  Instead, it made me more curious about what went on here and what it meant to those of us who lived under his sway.

  He crossed the room, stalking me as I stood still, waiting for his wrath.

  “Jane.” He met me, toe to toe, forcing my head back to look up at him. “You went to town unescorted. To a lawyer.”

  “Yes,” I answered because it was the truth and I had no idea what had angered him so.

  “You got on a train, unprotected, went into the city and dealt with a lawyer.”

  He stated this as if I was unaware of the events of the day.

  “I didn’t see the lawyer about Tower House.” I was suddenly afraid he’d think that I had been speaking out of turn after promising my silence.

  But, hadn’t I said I wouldn’t? Didn’t I believe that Mr. Mason was fine and on his way? How could he question me so?

  “Bah.” His arm shot out trapping me on one side against the door. “Do you think I’d believe you’d break your promise like that?”

  I didn’t know. I had no idea what was going on.

  His other hand came up and caged me in against the closed, heavy-oak door of his office.

  “Do you think I’d believed you’d betrayed me?”

  “I hadn’t, until you started yelling.” Now I didn’t know what to believe.

  He lowered his head, meeting my gaze eye-to-eye.

  “I promised to keep you safe and yet here you are, riding the train into the city alone. How is that watching for your safety?”

  “I grew up in the city.”

  He pushed off the wall and paced away before coming back.

  “You’re not in that world now and I won’t have you out there where your safety isn’t guaranteed. If you go somewhere, you take one of my men with you.”

  I bit my lip before asking exactly how many men he had—and if that was why the mysterious Finn had returned with us.

  Taking my silence for acquiescence, he barged on. “And, if a lawyer wants to speak with you, he’ll damn well do it with your lawyer present.”

  “She.”

  He turned from his pacing, to give me such a hard stare I almost backed down.

  “She. The lawyer was a she and I wasn’t the one they’re after.”

  He stalked back to me, his hand coming down to tilt my chin up.

  “You are never the one they’re coming after. And if they do, they’ll have to go through me and my hellhounds to get to you.” His hand slid around to the back of my neck, forcing me to focus on him, how he surrounded me, the heat of his body, the slight weight of it as he held me to the door with himself.

  Before I could respond, to consider where this madness was coming from, his lips crashed down on mine, stealing my breath and shuddering my soul.

  Chapter 37

  My back hit the door as a hot, solid body captured me against it. Mr. Thorneton’s mouth took mine, scorching and hard, without invitation but certainly welcome.

  His hand snaked behind my neck, shifting my head for his invasion. The callouses of his hand rode hard over my skin, an abrasion of rough over untouched softness. The heat of his mouth after the cold winter air, overtook me in ways I couldn’t have anticipated.

  His free hand slid down, cupping my rear and pulling me up and into him.

  No matter how many nights I’d laid awake dreaming of this very thing, it could never have matched the actual moment, the desire and want and fear and need all wrapping themselves around me. My head was telling me to back away, to run, to protect myself. Adrenaline pumped through me, fluttering around a drumbeat of lust and panic. But my heart—and most assuredly every other part of my body—was telling me to bask in the feelings and collect them. For one day, when Mr. Thorneton had moved on with the wife of his choice, I would have only these few stolen kisses to keep in my heart.

  His mouth shifted from mine, kissing its way down my jaw to my neck, nicking me with little love bits until he bit down on the edge of my earlobe.

  My legs nearly gave out, buckling from beneath me, leaving me trapped and held only by the weight of his own body against mine.

  “Jane,” he breathed my name across the sensitive skin where my neck slid into my collarbone, the edge of a feather-whisper touch.

  His hand released my neck, letting me escape with a simple glance away. But I stayed. It wasn’t until I felt the first but
ton of my little white top slide open that I realized my eyes were closed, had fallen shut sometime during the sensual attack.

  The second button slid open and so did my eyes. I stared up at Mr. Thorneton, his gaze locked on where his free hand worked at the small, pearl-like barriers.

  When the third button slid free, I heard a low growl come from the back of his throat and felt the tips of his fingers brush over the simple white lace edging the top of my Wal-mart bought bra.

  He lowered his head, another growl coming out on a “Mine” as his lips brushed along the edge of my collarbone.

  It was the one thing that may have moved me away, shifted me back to reality. Even as my brain re-engaged, I regretted it, quarreling within myself as my hands rose to his chest—not to hold him close as I wished, but to push him away.

  “No.” It was barely a breath of a word. I shoved back, my elbow hitting the wall and cracking my sensibilities further awake as I said, more calmly, “No.”

  Mr. Thorneton’s gaze lifted to mine, his eyes so close, so dilated that they looked nearly black at this close proximity.

  “No?” His hand swept back up my arm, coming to rest at the crook of my neck as his fingers found my pulse and rested there. “Is that fear then, little Jane? Fear of me?”

  It was nearly a mocking question and for that reason alone I almost didn’t answer.

  But there had been no secrets between us when questions were asked. Honesty—forever blunt—had been our way, and so my courage came at me in a rush as hot and fast as the lust it was overtaking.

  “I am not a pet.” I pushed against the solid wall of man before me, trying to gain my breath and courage. “I am not a thing for you to own or have. I am not your belonging. A parcel or a piece of furniture.”

  He stared at me, not giving way, his gaze softening as he looked, the heat in his eyes banking, but not disappearing.

  “Is that what you think? That I own you? That because you’re in my employ I can take you as I see fit? Because, Jane, this is not the first time I’ve seen fit and yet you stand there, clothes still on, me not buried inside you. If I owned you, you’d be on your back now and weeks ago.”

  I breathed, hoping I could form the words to let him know how I felt. To make him understand how I had to do this if I was to value myself at all.

  If I cared for him less than I did, the words would be unnecessary. I would give what he asked and take what I wanted.

  But when your very soul was on the line in the offering, it was more than a simple slacking of lust. And perhaps I was more sentimental than I had expected. Those years of letting my escape be into regency novels and their sweet endings of tough tales may have left their imprint on me…or perhaps I had gravitated to them not wanting to admit too deeply to myself that this was how I wished the world truly was.

  Not just the happy endings, but the clarity, the roles and the lines and the comfort in that. I was, if anything not romanticizing the roles of the servants, for was I not blessed to live as one in this era instead of that. And yet…

  I had—at times literally—guarded my virginity growing up. Not because of a fear of sex or a thought that it was somehow wrong. But, because a girl in my place couldn’t risk the consequences that would visit only her. And, after years of staying true to that path, I found that most people began to see it as something to protect—those girls who had lost theirs, but choice or force, when we were young saw me as some mythical creature. Some respected that. Some hated me for it. The system didn’t breed partnerships of any sort.

  So now, as I fought my inner wants against my long-held fears of where letting into myself might lead, I watched Mr. Thorneton’s own battle echoed in his eyes before he growled again—one of frustration and need—as I looked for the right words.

  “I am not…yours, as you say. I am my own. I do not belong to you. Not to anyone. It is something I’d not wish for.” I glanced away as the lie that was hidden in my words fought with my emotions.

  I’d be his if I were fool enough or brave enough or stupid enough to risk my heart that way. But I was not.

  I measured my future. Not the risk of where I would be if he turned me out or kept me on. But of my heart and soul after allowing myself to be his.

  And, my gut said both would not live through the pain of the aftermath.

  “Jane.” My name, again, a whisper as he eased back, not letting me go, but giving me enough room so I felt the deep, sucking breath I’d needed gasping into my body. The ragged-edged tone and hard look were gone, replaced by something I wouldn’t have dared to put a name to. “You are mine. And you know it. You feel it as much as I do. Your heart, your mind, your body. You could no more deny it’s true than I could deny that I am yours.”

  His hand rose again, this time to cup my jaw, a gentle touch that took me more by surprise than the sudden urgency with which he had devoured me a moment before. With the softest of touches, he lifted my face, forcing my gaze back to his so that I could see the truth of his words.

  “I am yours, Jane. I have been perhaps from that first moment. A tiny elf coming out of the mist to my rescue on a deserted road. If I were superstitious I would perhaps think that you had cast a bit of a spell right then, bewitched me. And then when I thought I might escape, you traipsed into my very home to wrap me around that tiny little finger of yours.”

  He eased back a bit more, still leaving me between him and the door, but with the freedom to move, to run if I felt the need.

  “And so,” he went on, a finger running down my jaw as I fought not to lean into his cupped hand. “I claim you as mine only because you claimed me as yours months ago.”

  He lowered his mouth, a giving instead of a taking this time, brushing his lips across mine.

  “So, Jane, tell me. Are you mine? Are you mine as I am yours? Or,” he gave such a smile of self-awareness that I knew he doubted I’d follow through, “are you a smarter girl than I hope you are and have hidden your heart and very being away from me to keep them safe?”

  I stared up at him, realizing that where my hands had grasped to push him away were now curled into balls holding him in place, holding him to me.

  “Tell me, Jane,” he urged as I fought my own instincts to both run and to cave to his question, to answer that yes, I was his.

  “Mr. Thorneton—“

  “No.” He made a fast slash with his free hand. “There’s no Mr. Thorneton between us—not unless you are to tell me that, no. You are not my Jane and I’m not your Thorne. If that is so, say it quickly. But if you are mine, you stay mine and you call me Thorne.” He gave me a little shake, as if to make sure I was aware he was there, he was serious. “No more of this mister. Say it, Jane. Say it now for I’m not a patient man and your time has run out on being my brave little mouse. If you wish me to go, I will. I’ll leave the house, the staff, and the girl to you, but you must command it. You must be the one to say so.”

  I closed my eyes again, pushing back the tears I would not cry in front of him.

  I felt the vow he had made in his own way to the soles of my feet. I trusted it as much as one could, knowing a man like that would move on—go out into the world and to the next great job, next home, next adventure…next woman.

  But, for now, if he was mine then what question was there, because I knew the truth even if he claimed he did not.

  I was irrevocably his whether I wished it or not.

  And with this acceptance came a sort of freedom I could not have anticipated.

  I lifted my hand, feeling the slight scruff of a day’s growth scratch across my palm as he allowed himself to do the thing I had wished to do: lean into my touch.

  “Thorne,” I allowed myself in a soft whisper to try. It was the word that even in my own private sanctuary, I didn’t let myself voice.

  A smile broke out on his face, one unlike any I’d seen. There was no mocking to it, no measured response, but a true smile. I held my gaze, not moving, afraid to lose the moment.

&nb
sp; Then, the smile turned heated again as he erased the small distance between us he’d granted.

  “Or, sir. I can’t tell you what it does to me when you call me sir.” His voice had dropped back down, the gravel sound of the near growl coming back in. “Do you want to know, Jane? What happens when you utter that little word?”

  His weight landed back on me and I allowed myself to do more than notice it this time. I reveled in it. I felt the entire length of him, from the foot he’d slid between mine, to his knee nestled between my legs, to the heat and weight of his chest on me, to the place where he lowered his head to nip again at my ear.

  “You do, don’t you? My sweet, innocent Jane. Shall I horrify you with the wants I have when it comes to your tight little body?”

  Horrified I should have been. But instead I was excited, aroused…curious.

  “Yes.” I’d tried to state it strongly, to sound sure of myself and powerful in my own needs, but the voice that escaped me was little more than a whisper. “Yes.”

  His grin kicked up on one side, a slightly naughty grin he’d give when he was sure he had the better of me. I’d found that by allowing him the first move and countering it, I’d stayed ahead of him in the past.

  I doubted very much that would happen here.

  “Ah, then. Let me tell you.” He nipped at my ear again, an obvious favorite spot of his this evening. But this time, the nip was a hard bite that drew a sharp breath from me. “When you call me sir, I think of all the ways I’d like to make you to behave, to obey me. You act like the sweet, subservient girl, but don’t believe for a second that I don’t know you pull the strings with that little finger you’ve got me wrapped around.”

  I hid my own smile this time, glad to know that the wits we battled with allowed him to see me as an equal in some things.

  “I have this odd softness for you, Jane. I want to coddle and touch and stroke and caress you. I want to hold you and comfort you. These aren’t things a man like myself wants—or needs. When the words making love get tossed around so easily, I thought it was just bullshit to get in a girl’s panties. But you make me want those things.” He let his tongue run down my jaw, taking my mouth again for a moment. “Until you call me sir. Then what you bring out in me is a totally different animal.”