From What I've Tasted of Desire

Chapter 8: Give Me Shadows

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Anna gasps, rooted in place with alarm at the swift opening of the door. A heavy breath flows out when she sees it's only Hall.

"Anything?" he questions with impatience.

"No." She turns back to the wardrobe, continuing her search. "Nothing. Just as the last two rooms." She watches him from the corner of her eye, he looks healthier lately, not so deathly pale, the dark circles beneath his eyes fading some. "It might help if you tell me what it is we're searching for."

"I told you," he says with an irritated shake of his head as he lifts a portrait - of a rather gloomy looking man in black - from the wall.

Her eyes roll. "Ah right, an elephant."

His hands pause while feeling the brown paper behind the painting, eyeing her with warning. "A coat of arms, pet. A deed."

She stares right back, unafraid. She thinks she's figured him out. "Well, now I know everything."

Hall blinks, turning away to carefully rehang the portrait, hands coming to his hips as he appears to study it.

She knows better.

"You don't need to know anything," he whispers with menace.

"So you don't trust me."

He looks at her sharply, frowning and baffled. "This isn't about trust."

"I disagree." They stand that way, opposing sides of the room, air thick with an electrifying mix of desire and intensity. "I don't think we should continue"

Hall takes a step forward, expression already changing into one of placation. "It may not be in this room, or the other two we've searched, but it is in this house."

She almost wants to smirk. "I mean us. What was started in the school room. I don't think we should continue."

His glowering face reappears quickly as he takes slow steps toward her. "I'm sorry, are you trying to punish me into giving you what you want, pet?"

His fingers are rough when he takes hold of her chin, making her nose flare at the pinch. If he's not careful, he'll leave marks, but she's sure he doesn't mind that. If anything, he'd probably enjoy watching to see if Marriott notices it.

He lifts her head higher towards his face, almost making her stand on her toes. "Because I can have whatever I want from you, whenever I want, yes?"

They don't really have time for this. Mr. Marriott and the others are due back any moment now, but these last few days of reflecting over their time in the school room has given her some idea of what's happening, and what she wants. And even allowing herself to think about her own needs has her heart hammering with excitement.

He grins, one corner of his lips raised higher than the other, giving him an arrogant look as his pupils begin to dilate. "I think you enjoy it when tell you what to do." His other hand holds fast onto her hip, pressing her closer and leaning in, sharing the air between them. "I think you enjoy being punished," he whispers smooth and dangerous as his eyes have gone.

Her traitorous gaze flicks down at his lips as she forces her arms to continue hanging at her sides, despite the desperation to touch him. "I despise you."

It's said without malice, or any truth to it at all, not that she really tried, but it causes his smile to widen with humor, no longer making him appear like some threatening highwayman.

He tilts his head, his too long hair falling across his brow. He's been raking his fingers through it again if its messy state is anything to go by. "But that's not what I said, is it Anna?"

The sound of her name coming from him has her softening in every way, and he releases his hold on her chin in response, caressing the sore skin there before sliding his hand up to cup her jaw. The gentleness of it makes her eyes flutter as she sighs. "You don't understand it, do you?"

"Understand what?"

"You feel powerful when I bend under your will. In control." She's been wanting to talk about this for days, instead she's mulled over her thoughts in her bed, while she taught, while she ate, while she read. It's safe to say, it's been on her mind during her every waking moment. "Do you feel a lack of it in life? Is that why you enjoy it?"

His adams apple bobs nervously in his throat before quickly breaking all contact with her, stepping back and turning away. Hiding.

"Just because I enjoy telling a woman what to do in bed, doesn't mean anything about my life, or any lack of control in it."

The suggestion of him having a similar relationship with other women is meant to hurt - to push her away. But it does just the opposite, knowing that he's lashing out only because she's struck a nerve.

"Perhaps not. But you still don't understand."

He turns around sharply, face red and teeth bared as he sneers at her. "Praise tell, oh wise woman? Please enlighten me, simple Anna. What the fuck are you talking about?"

It's now she who follows him, eyes open and face clear as she tries to explain her thoughts. "In the school room I was scared. And for a few moments even, I let it overcome me." She pauses, wanting to take his hand but thinks better of it.

"But I saw you," she proclaims, strong and determined as she steps even closer. "I felt you. Your heavy breathing as I lay across you. Your rapid pulse as it skipped hard and fast within your delicate throat." She wets her lips at the memory, enjoying how his gaze catches the movement, eyes lingering there. "You were under my control as much as I was under yours."

"No," he whispers, coming out shaky and parched. "That's not how it works."

"Don't you see? It's not about who has control. You may be stronger physically, but you're just as weak as me when I'm around you."

With that she comes up fast, pressing up on the balls of her feet to sink her fingers into his hair, clutching hard at the blond locks before tugging at them meanly. A thrill shoots through her, straight down between her legs at the sight and sound of his wince followed immediately by a groan.

"You see, I think it's about trust, sir," she says in her sweetest voice, hand dragging slowly down his chest as he watches her with fascination. "And even though you've given me no reason to, I trust you, and I think you enjoy it."

He's practically panting now, hooked on her every word and movement. And, she notes with a wicked sort of happiness, not breaking out of her hold, despite his absolute ability to do so. "You're wrong."

Her brows raise. "It frightens you, what I've said?"

"Nothing frightens me," he growls, though it's rather unconvincing truth be told.

"Everyone is frightened by something." She begins to slide her hand lower, eyes flickering between it and his face, unsure. She's never touched a man like this before, never had one so willing to be at her mercy, and as exhilarating as this is, she feels silly and naive in her ignorance.

It's the desperate look of need on his face, along with the sight of his pulse under his, once again, loose cravat that gives her the courage. Her hand finishes its journey, trembling fingers exploring him through his trousers. He lets out a harsh breath, eyes closing as his nose flares. The tips of his ears turn pink and she has a strange desire to bite it.

She leans in close after giving another small tug at his hair, lips just barely caressing his as she speaks "I don't believe you're as uncaring and monstrous as you let on, sir. I think you have your own monsters that you're trying to trick into believing you are meaner than you are."

"Anna," he groans, low and wanting. His eyes are closed, and she watches with fascination as they move beneath the lids, too overwhelmed to look at her.

"Why are we here?" she questions without being given a reply. "What are you searching for so desperately?"

When he continues to stay silent, she squeezes him, making him grunt. She blinks with surprise when she feels a twitch. Her chest feels tight, her stomach twisting and center drenched. She takes a deep breath to take hold of herself.

"Trust me, Robert," she urges, the earnestness of it making him look at her. "Let me help you fight your monsters."

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Chapter 9: It Plagues My Soul

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"Anna."

She's taken aback by the voice. Not suspecting him of all people to be here, despite the fact that it is house. "Mr. Marriott."

She blinks away the surprise, setting the school work on the table. "I'm sorry, the children aren't here. Mary's nursemaid-"

Marriott raises a hand kindly, coming into the room with a strange apprehension. "Oh no, no. I'm here to see you." She can't help the bewildered expression that appears on her face. Never has her Master ever come to see her, the children, yes, but not her. Always just sending a servant to fetch her to wherever he was. She came to him, in all ways.

"I'm afraid we last parted on... bad terms-"

The memory of his yelling and disgust with her in his study just a few day before has her cheeks flaming with embarrassment. "Sir-"

"No," he interrupts gently, stepping closer, "please, allow me to finish."

She stands straight, willing her spine to harden as never before. The uncertainty of what's coming making her feel as if she's drowning.

"Anna, I owe you an apology." And whatever it was she was preparing herself for, it certainly wasn't that.

"What happened that day in the billiards room, was not your fault. And even though I knew it then, as I do now, still I took my misplaced anger out on you. You did not deserve such severe treatment. And... I am ashamed even remembering it."

She's stunned into silence for a time, an awkward quiet filling between them. "I hold no animosity towards you," she finally says. And it was true. Despite all that's happened, and what she's learned in these last few days, she truly believes he is still a good man. "I did wrong-"

"You did no such thing, Miss Smith. The truth is, I am to blame for it all, I'm afraid."

That was news, and despite Robert's explanation the night before, she couldn't help but feel there was something he hadn't told her. "Sir?"

"Hall is... an unhealthy man. Haunted, and driven by a hate for me."

That much she now knew, but it still made no real sense. "I don't understand, then why invite him here if you know how much he dislikes you?"

"Because I am also haunted," he admits with a sad smile. "As you've no doubt guessed, we share a dark past. Though my feelings towards him are colored more by guilt than hate."

"Guilt, Sir," she prompts with a raging curiosity she tries to tamp down.

"Sometimes, when you are fortunate in life, as I have been, you can carry the burden of your happiness when those you greatly care for have not been so lucky."

She frowns, his 'admission' not really explaining or confirming anything. And for perhaps the first time, she sees that Mr. Marriott is as cunning with his words as Robert is. Maybe these two men are more alike than she first thought.

"You feel guilty because you are happy, and he is not?"

He opens his mouth to add to it, but obviously decides against it. "In its simplest form, yes."

"That seems..."

"Ridiculous?"

She tilts her head. "A bit."

"I pity him, Miss Smith. He's had a hard time of it. I've tried to help, but..."

"You cannot help those who refuse it."

He watches her with some emotion before affirming. "Exactly. So, his actions towards you that day, were simply a way to hurt me. I knew this, and I allowed my anger to get the best of me. You were an innocent party to it all. And again, I apologize."

This is all a bit surreal as she tries to take hold of it. "I still don't understand. How did he come to a conclusion that using me would hurt you? I'm merely your governess."

He swallows deep, eyeing the rug beneath him for a time. "Miss Smith, you-" His face tells of so many words but an inability to express them. "Anna, you really don't know?"

She thinks she does now, thanks to Robert, but the very thought of it is too unbelievable.

"Of course you don't," he whispers with a reverence that leaves her short of breath. "You are so sweet. So fresh and naive."

"I'm no fool," she fires at him, trying to hide the giddiness his words are causing her. How many times had she lain in her bed, and dreamed of this man saying such soft words to her.

"No," he agrees. "Far from it." His eyes behold her in a way that has her pressing her fingertips atop the desk between them, whether to keep balance or to ground herself she's not sure.

"Your intelligence is part of your loveliness."

She shakes her head minutely. This is wrong, she thinks, feeling her world shift around her. How could she not have seen this before?

He must notice her distress, reaching out to rest a warm hand over hers as he leans closer. "Please, Anna, do not fear coming to me if Hall insists on bothering you further. I am his friend, whether he believes it or not, but I won't allow him to drag you into his childish schemes to anger me."

She doesn't know what else to do but nod weakly, trying to unravel the twisted strings of this story between these two men, and understand her part in it without getting herself hurt in the process. It was an impossible task made even more so when her body kept betraying her.

He stops abruptly at the door, turning as if he'd suddenly remember something. "Oh, and I have thought about John's schooling. Perhaps you were right all those weeks ago. Perhaps another year or two before sending him away would indeed be better." It takes her a moment to even recall the conversation they had of John going away to Eton. It seemed so long ago now.

"I know how much you'd miss your favorite pupil."

With that he was gone, leaving her with yet another thing to think about. Was that the real reason she insisted on John staying with her? Was she merely being selfish? Her time in the orphanage truly did make her wary of allowing John and Mary to leave, but what if she was only hurting them in the end?

She dropped down in her chair with a sigh, wishing she could sleep for years.

—————

The day prior

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"Trust me, Robert. Let me help you fight your monsters."

He watches her for a moment, and she can see his mind working as he tries to fight through his lust to think. While she still has her hand set upon him, she doesn't move it, doesn't try to feel the outline of the prominent bulge under her fingers despite aching to do just that. She lets him have his time to decide, to trust her.

He exhales heavily through his nose, coming to some kind of decision. The hand she has in his hair releases him from its cruel grasp, sliding down to hold his jaw.

His sharp features fascinate her as her finger follows the line of his jaw absentmindedly. When she thinks of men, she thinks of large and brutish, thick and boorish. And, she admits with a smile, he still has quite a few of those qualities, yet his features seem almost delicate yet cutting, eyes piercing and cat like, nose long and thin. His masculinity shows in an appearance of a lean, cunning virility.

He takes the hand she has between his legs, raising it to his lips with a kiss. "Alright."

And she can't stop the way her eyes widen nor the large smile that spreads slowly across her face. He snorts in return, eyes rolling.

"Tonight. I'll visit you in your room, and tell you all about monsters, pet."

"My room?" She knows it's ridiculous to be so worried about proprietary considering, he's not only snuck into her room at night once before, but also touched her in ways that long crossed over any line society thought moral.

But worry over appearances and morality are difficult chains to free yourself from. She wonders if she even truly wants to be free? And if so, how will she end up at the end of all this?

"Be ready," he whispers into her ear before sliding away from her, leaving her, but not before giving her one last, devilish smirk.

—————

She tries her best to stay awake, keeping herself busy with setting a fire and looking over some of the children's schoolwork. But time continues to drag, and the warmth of the fire along with the mechanical, repetitive ticking of the clock has her eyes feeling heavier with each click.

She lifts her eyes open against their will at the caress she feels along her hairline, sighing tiredly as she blinks away the grogginess from her mind.

Robert kneels before her as she sits slumped in her chair, his expressions unreadable as he watches her. "I told you to be ready, pet."

"I waited," she explains, voice heavy and a bit slurred with drowsiness. "I couldn't wait anymore."

His thumb traces down to her lips, caressing the bottom one lightly, making her remember the last time he did that, and she swallows deeply. "That's not what I mean."

She's too tired to try and understand, looking to the still burning embers in her fireplace as he stands. So it's not been too long, she thinks.

Taking her hands, he helps her raise from her chair, her quilt falling between them. He leads her to the end of her bed without a word, her heart beginning to drum hard in her chest, pushing the blood with in her faster, and waking her from her drowsy state quickly.

Surprisingly, he turns her around, facing away from him. She realizes she can see their reflection in the mirror beside her wardrobe, and she watches with bated breath as he lifts his hands, fingers pulling out pin after pin in her hair, eventually uncoiling it from the bun she rolls it into everyday. Her tensions begin to ease with the quietness of the moment, and the attentive steadiness of his fingers.

He works on her braids next, patiently releasing her brown strands till they hang loose and free around her. He catches her gaze in the mirror, smoothing her long hair over her shoulder. Cool fingers glide back, the wide neck of her dress allowing him access to her skin, making her shiver. He caresses his knuckles down her neck until he reaches the dress edge, and his eyes catch hers once more when he begins to release the hooks hidden down the back of the fabric.

She knows she should end this now. It would be the right thing to do, but she's tired of doing the right thing. She'd never understood it while sitting in church, listening to the pastor drone on about the wicked desires of the flesh. She'd fancied boys and men, but never before now has she been unable to stop what she knew was wrong, despite her desires. She could no longer even remember what was so wrong and sinful about it.

Robert rolls the dress down, allowing it to pool at her feet, pressing a soft kiss on her back as he stands. "You're awfully quiet, pet," he observes as he unties layer after layer of petticoats.

She tilts her head, suddenly feeling a calm wash over her. "You promised answers."

"Did I," he asks nonchalantly without looking up. "I don't remember that."

She huffs, eyes narrowing, and she wants to kiss the stupid smirk that appears on his lips. After a ruffle of petticoats fall to the floor he leans in, kissing gently at the crook between her shoulder and neck.

"Marriott was my commander," he begins, breath heavy and hot as it washes across her back. His hands are at her waist over her stays, smoothing up her sides then back down again, before making their way behind to begin untying the laces with a slow ease.

"Like him, I was a younger son, so I paid my way to become an officer."

She'd known little about Mr. Marriott's time under the King's colors, other than that he had been.

"He was my Captain when our regiment was sent to Ceylon, a Crown Colony."

"The island off the coast of India," she questions. He gives a tight nod, and she feels the tension within him begin to build slowly, word by word, his breathing comes a bit faster, his expression becoming harder. The quick drag and snap of the laces as he undoes them only adds to it, and she's almost frightened of how this story will end.

"It was miserable. Hot and humid, and the rain seemed endless some months. But it was an easy post, and Marriott seemed to be a good Captain."