Euphoria (The Thornfield Affair #1)

by Amity Cross

  The garden was quiet under the shadow of the west wing. The facade crumbled behind me, ensnarled by many years of torment from the climbing roses, which looked as wild as I felt. Above, the sky was gray, threatening more rain in its wake. The grass glistened with thousands of tiny droplets from the early morning showers that had doused the land around me.

  Finding a quiet corner, I sat on a stone bench, relishing the silence. The air was cool against my skin, and I could feel the lingering moisture as I drew in breath after breath.

  Unscrewing the cap from the tiny bottle of whiskey Bessie had given me, I sipped at the liquid. While it warmed me from the inside out and calmed my nerves a little, all I could think about was the fateful kiss that had triggered all of this pain and longing. Studying the label, I read all of the information presented and then proceeded to run my thumbnail over the edges of the sticker, peeling it away from the glass. It did nothing to soothe my spiraling mind, so I watched a tiny robin sift through the garden bed before me, scattering dirt and debris over the path.

  What a simple life that tiny bird must have! I felt envious of the little creature, which was absurd! Perhaps in my next life I could request to come back as a house cat, for I was not cut out to be a human in the traditional sense of the word.

  I wondered over my existence then as I was known to do when life had given me a blow. I’d been knocked on my backside, my tender heart reeling once more.

  If I should die and still be as solitary as I am now, I should hope that I’ve lived a full life. Love wasn’t the be all of human existence, was it? If I could stand on my own two feet, be of sound mind and heart, and haven’t squandered the life that had been given to me on selfish pursuits, then was that enough to satisfy? Certainly, it was to some people, but was it enough for me? In my old age, would I miss the things I never had at all? Would I fear never having another to love, or would I just be disappointed when all chances had passed unfruitful? I guess I wouldn’t know until I was standing on the threshold of the next life, and by then, it would be too late.

  A house cat it was.

  I knew one thing, and if it was a comfort, at that moment, when my heart was delicate from its many rejections in as many weeks, I wasn’t sure. But it was something, and I held onto it like a raft in a stormy ocean.

  I have lived too near the coldness of the living to be afraid of the icy fingers of death.

  14

  Mr. Rochester summoned me the following evening.

  After almost two weeks of being rendered invisible by his eyes, I was shocked to say the least. Then as the events of the previous afternoon swirled into the forefront of my mind once more, I began to feel ill. I was going to be cast out of Thornfield, and all because of the fickle whims of Blanche Ingram. How easily a life as little as mine could be upturned and broken.

  Standing outside his study, my heart beat painfully against my rib cage, and my nerves were shattered. My fear had returned stronger than ever, and the unknown stretched before me, dark and bleak.

  Knowing I couldn’t avoid his wrath, I knocked lightly on the door, my mind already pondering which direction I would turn once I reached the road in the morning. Would I go as far south as London? Or north to Scotland and Edinburgh? Or even more north to the wild solitude of the Isle of Skye?

  “Enter.”

  I trembled at the sound of Mr. Rochester’s voice and opened the door.

  His back was to me, and the curtains were open, letting in the last of the summer sun as it disappeared over the horizon. The fading colors haloed his formidable form, and I took a deep breath before continuing.

  “Sir?” I asked, stepping into the room.

  “I’ve been made aware of the incident with you and Blanche,” he said directly, not turning to face me.

  I closed the door behind me, and the study felt like it was shrinking in on itself. Strength, Jane.

  “You have nothing to say about it?”

  I remained silent, unsure how to proceed. Was I being reprimanded? I didn’t understand why he’d bothered to summon me if I wasn’t.

  “Jane,” he said harshly, and this time, he turned his gaze upon me.

  I faltered, beginning to feel like I’d been called to the principal’s office at Lowood and was about to be punished. His stare was guarded, but I imagined I could see a little anger in the swirls of his irises, though at whom it was directed, I couldn’t tell.

  “I’m asking for your explanation,” he said, prompting me to action.

  “I’m deserving of it given my birth, social status, and lack of wealth. It is the way of things.” The words ate away at my tongue like I’d dipped it in acid. I couldn’t hold his gaze, so I lowered it to the floor. “I never spoke out of turn. I took all her words as gracefully as I could.”

  Once, I would’ve fought tooth and nail for my liberties, but the longer I was subjected to the presence of the rich and beautiful in this house, the more I realized my fight was futile. I would never be seen as their equal. I was smaller and more powerless than I could have ever imagined.

  “Do you seek her approval?” he asked, taking a single step toward me.

  I frowned at his question. I hadn’t considered looking at it that way before.

  “Well?” Mr. Rochester prodded. “You are too silent for my liking, Jane. What have you done with your spirit?”

  “I don’t need anyone’s approval,” I declared, returning my gaze to his. Least of all yours! I was too afraid to utter the last part.

  “Then why do you care what Blanche, or any one of those people downstairs, think of you?”

  “It’s the way of things,” I replied, avoiding the question.

  “Why do you give in so easily?”

  “Yes, their words hurt, but it’s only a temporary thing. I don’t care because it’s the way the world works. They are rich, and I am poor.” I shrugged, becoming uncomfortable with the turn the conversation had taken. “Why should I try to be seen as anything more than their slave when they’ll be gone in a fortnight? I’ll be forgotten one minute after they drive away. I am plain, little, and poor. I know this.”

  Mr. Rochester snorted. “Therein lies the world’s greatest dilemma. Class lines. Who dares cross them?” The way he proclaimed it, I wondered if it was his dilemma.

  “It’s not my place to debate the way the rich live their lives. I’ve never experienced it, so I have nothing to compare it to. I’m happy with what I have. It’s when you get more than you need that the problems seem to begin.”

  “So you don’t mind being treated poorly?”

  “No.” It was a lie, and at its root was the man before me.

  He threw his hands into the air. “So why do you hide your tears, Jane?”

  I blinked hard. “Hide my…”

  “You are cold, sick, and silly, Miss Doe,” he proclaimed.

  My mouth fell open. “Excuse me?”

  He prowled closer. “You are cold because you are alone despite being surrounded by people. You are sick because the thing you want the most keeps far away from you. And you are silly because you don’t fight for it. When will you wake up, Jane?”

  He was right. I knew exactly how I’d been acting since the night he returned, but I didn’t like being told so. Somehow, I believed I had to be accepted by his rich friends to be considered worthy of his hand. I believed he’d pulled away because I wasn’t socially acceptable. It was an easier reason to hold onto than the thought I wasn’t good enough on a physical and mental level.

  Mr. Rochester sank down onto the chair by the dark fireplace, a look of exhaustion about his eyes. “If I were to suddenly become abhorrent to them and they scorned me as they scorned the poor with what little heart they have, what would you do, Jane?”

  “What would I do?” I didn’t understand what had prompted his line of questioning.

  “Would you turn your back on me and treat me as you have been treated?” His gaze was almost desperate as he sought my answer.

  I shook my
head, completely bewildered. “I would not turn my back on any friend who was in genuine need, no matter their station.”

  His shoulders sank, and he lowered his gaze. “I owe you an apology, it seems.”

  “What for?”

  His lips quirked into the ghost of a smile, but he didn’t explain.

  “I have been heartbroken before, Jane,” he said instead. “I’m not as easily led as I was when I was a young man. I cannot give myself freely, not without certainty. I cannot leap on faith alone. In truth, I’m not sure I’m able to love again. Would companionship of mind and body be enough without the heart?”

  I stilled as I considered this. He exuded a presence of strength and certainty, but in the matter of his heart and happiness, he was almost fearful. If he’d been wronged in the past, then he had reason to be as closed as he was.

  He watched me closely as I thought over this, but he was too impatient to hear my thoughts. “Do you think the one I would entrust my closely guarded heart with has passed all my tests?”

  It was none of my concern who he gave his word of marriage to. If Blanche was who he wanted, then she wouldn’t decline. Who was I to think I was in the running? Still, he waited to hear my opinion.

  I considered each word carefully as I spoke them. “If she is noble in her intent, is of similar rank and wealth, and there is no barrier to the union, then I don’t see an issue.”

  “Who do you think I speak of, Jane?” he asked, looking perplexed.

  “Why, Blanche of course,” I replied haughtily. “It is quite clear you make a fine match. In looks, temperament, and wealth.”

  He stood, the chair almost falling over at the abruptness of his movement. His stern features were full of his familiar brand of swirling rage, and I began to shrink underneath the pressure of his gaze. I had angered him, but he had been torturing me for weeks. He deserved it!

  “If only you knew,” he said cryptically. “Then you would not say those things to me.”

  “But I don’t know, Mr. Rochester. So what is the point of this?”

  “Do not think yourself clever, Jane,” he snapped. “You call me that to separate yourself from me.”

  I was no longer afraid of revealing my hurt at his rejection, nor did I care about jeopardizing my position. I would not be toyed with.

  “And what of it?” I asked harshly. “You cast me aside, and so it was done.”

  “You have such little regard for yourself?” he asked, towering over me, his broad shoulders casting an arrow of doubt into my resolve. “You, Jane, who has so much spirit would back down and wither away inside yourself? What for?”

  My mouth flapped uselessly as I attempted to solve his riddle.

  “I’m asking… What would Jane Doe do to secure my happiness?”

  “Me?”

  His eyes fixed upon me and held, his aura pulling at mine like a magnet. “You.”

  “I wouldn’t know,” I said, my eyes misting with tears. “You walked away from me with no explanation. All that I am wasn’t enough, and you and your friends have delighted in reminding me every single day since. I tire of your games and riddles. I cannot take it anymore!”

  His expression softened, and it was a curious thing to behold. “Are you so fixed upon your own dire conclusions you don’t see how I long for you?”

  My heart twisted as I fought the sudden desire to fling myself into his arms. “You mock me!”

  “I’m beholden to the burden of my name, and it is a terrible weight that I cannot leave behind, not for want of trying, but I struggle, Jane. Then came the spirit who knocked me off my motorcycle and breathed air into my starved lungs, and through her sharp tongue, she brought life back into my cold body.”

  “But you despise me!”

  “You argue and war with yourself, so you can’t see,” he went on. “You challenge me like no other, Jane. Do you understand how much you ire me?”

  “That is longing for you?” I asked incredulously. “Annoyance and anger?”

  “You challenge me,” he said again. “Do you think any of those women are anything but followers? They say whatever it takes to placate and earn my favor. That, to me, is stagnation, Jane.”

  “But…” I shook my head. “You… I’m not…”

  “I understand.” His brow furrowed. “I cannot have you, not on the surface, but I want you nonetheless.”

  My knees buckled, and I fell onto the couch, feeling faint. If this was a ruse, it was elaborate indeed!

  “You transfix me,” he murmured, sitting beside me. His hand found mine, the connection sending a bolt of lightning through my body and into my heart, jump-starting the failing organ.

  “You…” I began, but I couldn’t finish.

  “I have seen the soul that lingers behind your eyes, and I want to possess it.” His voice was a whisper, a promise, a threat.

  “I must protect myself,” I muttered. “You accuse me of bewitching you on the road, but you are the master.”

  He seemed rather pleased with my answer, and he smiled. Not a smile full of joy and pleasure but one of triumph and longing.

  “Don’t fight me, Jane,” he said, tightening his grip on my hand. “I must have you.”

  “Mercilessly?” I asked as he edged closer.

  His answer wasn’t words, it was a kiss, his lips meeting mine in a soft embrace. The same desire that had overcome my body the first night he’d laid his hands on me flowed through my veins and overloaded my nerves, and I melted into his touch. Parting my lips, his tongue dove against mine and delight shifted into pure passion.

  Easing me backward, I lay flat on the couch as he lowered his body over mine, propping up his bulk with his elbow. My legs parted, one foot falling to the floor as I felt him harden against me.

  “Jane,” he murmured, his gaze searching mine.

  “I am yours,” I replied. “I couldn’t fight you now even if I wished.”

  His lips curved into a smile as his fingers began undoing the buttons of my blouse. “Good. I couldn’t stop myself now. The beast has been unleashed, and he must taste you…”

  I shuddered against him, his wicked words speaking deeper to me than anything he’d ever murmured before.

  He reached behind his neck and pulled his T-shirt over his head, discarding it onto the floor, and then resumed work on my blouse. Boldly, I ran my palms over his torso, feeling his muscles beneath my palms. His body was magnificent. He was rough and wild, chiseled out of stone, and made of flesh before me.

  The last button came undone, and my blouse opened, revealing me to his greedy eyes. He stared at me for a long moment, his fingers tracing the edges of my bra and brushing against the swell of my breasts. This felt different to last time. Then, he’d been wild and passionate, hardly containing himself, and now he relished and savored each touch, knowing I wasn’t going to flee his tyranny. This time, he was sure of himself and his intent.

  I was at his mercy as he tugged the cups of my bra down and exposed me, his thumbs rubbing against my taught nipples. The sensation of his hands, the master’s hands, against my naked skin was exquisite. Forgetting myself, I arched my back and urged his touch to deepen just as his kiss had.

  Instead of his hands taking me, he lowered his lips and pulled me into his mouth, his teeth dragging against my skin. The sharp burst of pain was nothing compared to the pleasure that coursed through my body and splintered between my legs, and when his tongue soothed the hurt, the euphoria only rose.

  He moved to the other breast, repeating his torturous dance, and then his mouth moved between where he placed a soft kiss. Then his trail moved lower and lower until he reached my stomach.

  His gaze flickered up to mine as his fingers tugged at the hem of my skirt, and I was pleased I’d chosen it that morning over a pair of jeans. The weather had called for it, and as luck would have it, it provided splendid access.

  My eyes fluttered closed as his fingers hooked around my underwear and tugged, removing the last barrier between hi
m and what he desired the most in that moment.

  Edward moaned as he palmed my thighs, opening my legs farther, and my eyes opened. I was shocked to see the expression on his face, for it wasn’t wild desire, anger, or a will to dominate. No, it was pure longing, and my heart twisted.

  His hands moved closer, my skin heating under his touch, then he lightly traced over me, pleasure fluttering through me, but it wasn’t enough. Lost in my own version of longing, I pushed against him, begging for the relief only he could give me. These long months, my own hand was a poor substitute, my fantasies empty without the real man before me. Relief had been fleeting.

  Kneeling on the floor, Edward tugged me closer, forcing my legs apart, and then… His tongue laved along me and settled, sending lightning bolts ricocheting through my body. From head to toe, I was alight, then burning brightly without end as his fingers entered me and began stroking.

  My hands found my breasts and began kneading, my mind lost in the storm of sensation that was of Edward’s making. Was I moaning? Crying his name? Pleading and begging for more? I didn’t know, and I scarcely cared that my facade had crumbled under his onslaught. All that mattered, and existed, was feeling.

  His movements quickened, and I thrust against his touch, the wildness inside me breaking free and running rampant. My blood thrummed through my veins, my heart beating a tattoo in my ears I was sure he could hear.

  It was his doing. All of it.

  The moment I’d risen to unbearable heights, I fell, coming against his tongue and over his fingers while he delighted in his triumph. I fisted my hands in his hair, holding him in place as his teeth bit down, and I shuddered violently. Never had my pleasure lasted so long. Never had a man worshiped my body with his mouth like Edward.

  When he appeared over me, I pulled him down, relishing his weight against my body after such euphoric sensation.

  “Exquisite,” he murmured, his lips claiming mine. He kissed me deeply, his palm rubbing my cleft softly as his tongue wrapped around mine.

  It was not in my nature to receive and not give, so my hands found the hem of his jeans and fumbled for his zipper.