@visualspice Dahlia Gray sat on the bed in the room the servant had led her to, her knees wrapped tight against her chest. A fire had already been lit in the Highheart guest quarters, and the small but comfortable room had a warm glow. But Dahlia felt very, very cold. It had taken considerable persuasion to convince the woman that what was best for her now was rest. That she couldn't go out
just then into the dangerous night of the war. That it wouldn't do anyone any good. That guards had already been sent out, and servants with dogs, and the locals had been alerted. But she couldn't believe it. And she couldn't rest. She was safe inside the house of Lord Edward Draven...
...but her children were out there, missing in the night.Her heart pounded loudly, echoing in her head, as her grey eyes stared glassily at the fire. How had this happened? She'd been worried since since they left. Then when the letter arrived from Edward, saying that he had them safe and sound and she need only come collect them... She'd arrived only a few hours earlier to do just that. Only to learn that they were
gone. Gone.
She'd barely had time to get the story from Edward. She'd been told only the bare bones: Riley and Lily had been there. Now they weren't. And, worse,
Britta and another young lady were missing, too. Dear God, Dahlia thought, what had she done? All she could think was that she had failed them. Worried maids had quickly wisked her away, forced her to eat and wash after the hurried journey from Uthlyn to Highheart. And now she was told the best thing she could do was rest until the morning. But Dahlia couldn't rest. She couldn't sleep. She could only stare at the fire, wondering desperately where her children were.
Gone as the hope that once filled his heart. Gone was the future or care to see the morning. Gone was the color that made life worth living.
He had broken down, sniveling and crying. It had been countless hours since they had been out in the night, searching, seeking, calling out for the children and his betrothed. But there was nothing. No sign of a struggle, no sign of a run. In fact, the hounds seemed to only be guiding them in circles.
He felt as if they must've combed the entirety of the forests surrounding his home. But as his men convinced him it was wise to return home and they'd do a better search when there was dalight, he had dropped to his knees and sobbed. It took several men to convince him his child was okay, all of the children were. That his fiance would be alright, and they'd find them later that day. That he needed to rest, and that they could continue their search efforts then.
He went on, sobbing and demanding they go into town, knock on every door to see what everyone had to say.
"Surely someone has seen them!"
But even when they allowed Lord Draven to start this venture, he was breaking down, going off on men and was over whelmed with fatigue and despair. When he finally was ushered home, he felt empty. And couldn't even bring himself to open the door, as he stood outside, weary and trembling, before eventually his maid opened the door and rushed to bring him in.
He was guided to a chair, because he himself could not remember going there. Tea must've been placed in his hands, his boots removed, a blanket thrown over his shoulder, and his eyes staring listlessly at the flames. If his maid was saying anything of importance, he wasn't fully hearing it, just nodding numbly as he felt the crushing weight of his failure close in on him within his own home.
Somewhere in the middle of his maid's conversation, Lady Gray was mentioned. And it was only then did he feel completely crushed, as his hands went limp and his tea cup toppled to the ground. He didn't remember what happened next, just that he was in her room, sitting at her bed side as he shook.
"Gods... Dahlia... I'm so sorry." He didn't even know if she had been awake, if he woke her or anything. The world was just a numbness he existed in, and he felt a crowned fool.
Dahlia didn't move as Edward came into the room. She stayed sitting how she was, arms wrapped around her knees and staring at the smouldering fire. She knew, somehow, that it was Edward. The man who had been, perhaps, courting her until she'd cut off contact with him. Or simply stopped returning his letters. It wasn't until after his apology that Dahlia let out a shallow sigh and turned to look at him.
"I should apologize to you, I -" She paused, something flickering on her face. "My children, showing up here and -" But her throat tightened, and she couldn't finish the sentence. Dahlia ran a hand into her curly blonde hair, staring at her knees determinedly for several long moments before looking up at Edward, a wet shine in her eyes. "What happened?"
It was like staring at a ghost- a beautiful, mournful ghost who's eyes now shined with despair. He felt his own throat constrict, and it was hard to breath in the moment, but then he was on his knees before her, taking her hand and kissing it hotly.
"Gods.. no... No, Lady Gray, you mustn't blame yourself for the free spirits of your children!" he implored her. His hands closed around her's, his large and warm, while her's were just the right fit in between. He gave her hands a squeeze and never once took his eyes off of her's.
"You are a perfect mother, honorable, wonderful, beautiful and brave," he confessed, pausing as his lips trembled over a breath. "And from it one can not fault themselves their children would not want to part. This war.... it reaches it's grip into things we do not see."
He squeezed her hand again.
"They had come here," he revealed. "As you know but through my best efforts, it seems even I was unable to keep yours, as well as my own, safe within this house."
He moved one strong hand to her cheek, and thumbed away a freshly rolling tear, while his own eyes shined with tears of his own.
"We should not dwell on blame, and once we find them in the morrow, for we will do so, we will celebrate! And get your children a pony, or an entire stable of horses for them all, and treasure them and spoil them until we are rot out of money!"
But how did they come to disappear - again - and this time with Edward's own little daughter. And not just Edwards daughter, but another young lady. Who she was, Dahlia had hardly had the energy to wonder. Her thoughts were preoccupied with Lily, and Riley, and also with Britta. Edward might say that she wasn't to blame for the strong will and free spirits of her children. But if not her, then who? He called her the perfect mother, but Dahlia was unsure.
But instead of saying any of this right now, she only said, "Call me Dahlia," in a hoarse voice for what must have been the hundredth time.
When he put a hand to her cheek, large and warm and strong against her cold, clamy skin, she found herself leaning into it. Despite her sense of proprietary. She closed her eyes to fight back a further round of tears, taking comfort in Edward's warm touch.
"And get your children a pony, or an entire stable of horses for them all, and treasure them and spoil them until we are rot out of money!"
Edward's words made Dahlia look up. But when she opened her eyes, they were no longer full of tears, but of a fierce, cold determination.
"No," she answered slowly but firmly, her voice thick. "You may do spoil Britta and buy her as many ponies as you like. But my children are going to Serendipity. Whatever they hoped to accomplish with this stunt. Nothing is going to change that."
And that, she knew, would 'rot her out of money,' as Edward put it. Paying for the journey, protection along the way, and whatever she could send with Lily to support them once they were away. Dahlia was not so naive as to think she'd easily be able to send them more. Or that, once they were gone, she would see them any time soon.
Eyes shining with tears, Edward took her hand and dared draw it to his lips. He kissed her fingers lightly before releasing a shaking breath.
"Dahlia..." His lips trembled, his smile fumbling over the usage of such a name without a title. It was intimate, close...
But he supposed they were rather close in that moment. He looked from her hand into her face.
"Dahlia..."
Any other words faltered in his throat, choking him up as he found himself only able to look at her as he floundered in his own internal mess of emotions. But one shaking hand crawled towards her face again, moving to brush away a wild strand of hair that dare hide her face from him. And he felt such a sick sensation in his belly. One that beckoned him to kiss her, to want to hold her, and never let her go.
But was it right? Could he even deserve it? Should he even go after such a feeling knowing his first love was in the grave. But so many years had past. So many years without love, without this sort of feeling. And before he could stop himself, he began to lean towards her, lips seeking her's.
It was Dahlia who closed the last distance between them, whose lips pressed against Edward's. She didn't even think about it. If she had, surely she would have stopped: They were alone, in his home, on a bed, and Edward had another female visitor. The lady who had disappeared with the children. Surely, if Dahlia had stopped to think about it, she would know what that meant.
But she didn't stop to think. Not in that moment.
She kissed him gently at first, but after a moment her hands came forward to hold either side of his face, fingers lacing into his hair, and she felt a heat grow in her stomach.
It was wrong. But what could Dahlia do? She was alone, exhausted, widowed, spending every last scrap of energy trying to save her children from the gaping maw of the war that seemed intent to devour her family. And just for that moment, she wanted to feel some... something else. Some comfort. Something...
After several long moments, Dahlia drew away from him, looking surprised at first, and then embarrassed, cheeks coloring pink.
"God, Edward, I'm sorry. That was... That, I mean, I didn't..." She shook her head, looking down at her knees. "You have to forgive me."
He said nothing. He did nothing, for he was too stunned too. The kiss had taken more than his breath away and once released from its intoxicating hold...
He knew he couldn't go on any further until he had more.
She'd find his hand claiming her's, and another hand moving to coax her face, to let her now it was okay to rest comfortingly into it, to look at him as if he were her rock, her strength as he breathed the words, "You never need apologize to me."
And he moved to kiss her again, and again.
Now it was Dahlia's turn to be surprised when Edward reached out for her, drew her to him, and kissed her again. Edward. Proper, bashful, sometimes almost awkward Edward. Who she could hardly imagine ever setting a foot on the wrong side of propriety.
Yet here they were.
Dahlia didn't hold back, returning all of his kisses, hands finding their way to his neck, then down his back, moving her body so it could be closer to his, pressing against him. How long had it been since she had felt the strength of a man next to her? Taken comfort from a man in her bed? Dahlia knew exactly. She had been with no one since Kerry had died. And now...
And now a heat was spreading through Dahlia, a need. Edward and Dahlia were on a dangerous line. It could still stop here. A moment of weakness, nobody's reputation marred, no serious rules of propriety shattered. Dahlia broke away - only just - to look at Edward. Her chest rose and fell with heavy breaths, but her eyes searched for his, asking silently, Is this what you want?
It wasn't too late.
Seeing her eyes, glittering over with tears and the depths of concern, had him reaching out, both hands upon her face, both eyes seeking her's and only her's as he took her in, breathed in her smells and leaned in to kiss her once more, all the while whimpering. Perhaps at his own defeat, perhaps at his own need, but he could not stop himself.
Too many emotions had been built up, and over time. And through their trials and with the aiding hammer of the war, the dam broke and he felt raw emotions soar through his veins. And soon he wasn't just kissing her lips, but her cheeks and ears and throat as well, all the while his own pulse was hammering inside his brain.
And now it was too late. Dahlia leaned into his kisses, tilting her head back as his mouth came to her throat. No more thinking. No more propriety. No more worries about the war, about her family, about her children. Not in this moment.
But still, all those worries hung right behind the curtain. If Dahlia wasn't thinking about them in that moment, they still drove a sense of mortality. Of urgency. Pushing Dahlia to find some proof that she was still alive.
And there with Edward, she did. She kissed the side of his head, his ears, his jaw, between his kisses pressed against her throat. Her breath was light pants now, chest rising and falling with each inhale and exhale. Her hands slipped below the collar of Edward's shirt, smoothed against the warm skin beneath.
Her hand to his flesh sent a rippling across his skin, bumping it all over as he shivered. He didn't think much into it, just went into actions as his own hands moved to smooth up her warm, soft arm, and then up t the flesh of her shoulder beneath her sleeves until the fabric allowed him no more progress, and she'd feel his whimpering breath exhale against her throat, where his lips had found a home to kiss and nurse at with need.
Dahlia was no shy teenager or inexperienced young lady, who might have reacted more bashfully in this situation. But a grown woman, who had shared her bed with her husband for more than a decade. So when Edward's hands were stopped by the collar of her night shirt, she simply pulled away just enough to undo the buttons closing the collar until she could shrug off the upper part of the garment, leaving her exposed from the waist up.
She felt for a moment small and vulnerable: half-naked now, next to the fully clothed Edward; after all, he had come in from his search and was still dressed the part, while Dahlia had been wearing only the night shirt she had brought with her. But she didn't feel vulnerable in a bad way. She felt exposed, but she felt safe. And it was only a moment before she reached forward to kiss him again, this time with a passionate need.
If Edward had any reservations before,t he moment he watched her remove the top half of her night dress, he could not look away or back off now. He felt his own body rising to the occasion, and his chest swelling with such need. Forgetting he was still clothed nad not even caring, he moved forward, hands hesitant, before they reached out and cupped around the soft warm mounds of her breasts. And he gripped them, massaging them with such a hungered moan he couldn't help himself. And soon he was guiding her back onto the bed, she now laying flat on her back while he crawled over her.
Hands were hungry, warm and powerful, even becoming a little greedy as he felt every inch of her skin that he could while his own lips were doing the same, claiming her's, then devouring her chest, and moaning all the while.
How long had it been since he'd enjoy any such company with a woman? Only one other had stirred his heart and loins the way this woman was. And it was a feeling that spread like wild fire, he was lifting up her night skirts before he even knew what he was doing, and his hands moved to fumble and open the front of his pants. And before he even knew what he was doing-
They were making love.
This was a much more forward Edward than Dahlia was expecting, and it surprised her. But she wasn't complaining. He'd already been stoking the growing heat inside of her with his mouth on the skin of her chest, on her breasts - or maybe it would be more accurate to say he'd been fanning the flames.
Still, she gasped when he entered her like that, night dress hitched up to her waist and him above her still fully clothed. But the gasp quickly turned into a moan and her hips bucked up against him, relishing he feel of having him inside of her. And like this, Dahlia would be lying if she said the manner of it all wasn't a little exciting. Her back arched, hips rolling against his.
"Oh, god, Edward..."
At her words, it all came rushing in- the reality, the tension, the anxiety and loss, the years of repression, the truth of feelings, their shared vulnerability, and his sudden strength by their spark of desire.
He whimpered, moving around like some unschooled lover until he got into a rhythm that was more suiting to the mood. He shivered, eyes opening to look into her's as he slowly began to move into her, making love to her good and slow, like he had done to his wife, when he had told her over a thousand flamed voices and proclaimed his love.
And though this time was new, and with a partner he had been too shy around to vocalized any of his wants...
It was by no means anything but perfection, for her heat was soft and he could feel how tight and needing she was. He had no resistance as he was slow paced in his rolls through her velvet sex. And though he'd felt her near ten times now, each one took his breath away as he dipped into her deeper and deeper still.
A short, breathy gasp escaped Dahlia's lips each time Edward moved, each time pushing deeper into her. Her back arched upward against him, arms roped around him, clutching him to her. The coarse fabric of his traveling clothes rubbed with some friction against her bare skin and against her exposed nipples; the sensation left her moaning and excited. And though she'd moved in kind to each of his slow thrusts, Dahlia's hips now rolled against his, encouraging a more urgent pace. This felt urgent. A base need she'd ignored, that urgently needed to be satisfied.
Hands grasped firmly on her hips as he gasped and moaned and bucked to meet her need. And soon he was growing hot, too hot for his riding cloak and coat and pants, and fumbled around feverishly to be rid of them, all the while refusing to stop the rolling union of their hips.
It might have been clumsy, as his clothing whished over her head and clumped to the ground, but he felt all the better for it, finding himself down to his simple under shirt- and nothing more. Sweat suctioned his remaining garment to his body as his lips continued to claim her own. And still, he was moving erratic as he purred out her name.
"Gods.... Dahlia...!"
Dahlia clutched tightly to Edward as her body moved to meet his. She stopped thinking. She just moved. Because if she wasted any time thinking...
No. Now was definitely not the time for that. This was the time for a need. A need she'd almost forgotten she'd had. And when that need was finally met, and their love making came to its natural conclusion, Dahlia felt her body relax against the bed, beneath Edward. A feeling settled on her that was simultaneously satiated and unsettled.
What had just happened here?
Well, she wasn't a little girl. She knew what happened. ...But what did it mean?
Perhaps the act was enough to make the man a bit too relaxed. Where as so many questions were beginning to form inside Dahlia's head, his own mind was simply reveling in the fact he finally was able to escape into a woman he could yet again embrace and desired to call his world.
Soft fingers stroked her side as he breathed against her neck before kissing her shoulder. A hand found her's as he gave it a squeeze.
"You're beautiful, do you know that?" he asked her gently, a small, admiring smile upon his lips while his brown eyes warmed from his utmost affection of her. "Beautiful.... strong. Truthfully, a woman I have always admired."
"Yes," Dahlia answered, with a small and somewhat wry smile, "I do. At least, within the normal bounds of what might be expected for a woman my age."
Dahlia's smile, however, was a thin veneer over her thoughts, and even as the smile lingered on her lips, it left her eyes. Dahlia's gray eyes, watching Edward with an open earnestness, were more serious.
Because Dahlia was strong. And she was smart. And she was practical. At least, smart enough to be practical.
She was silent for a long moment, or a series of long moments, before she asked carefully, "Edward. When I arrived, your manservant said there was a visiting young lady who went missing with the children." She paused only a beat, and it was clear the next question was not only idle curiosity. "Who is she, Edward?"
The smile was quick to fade, and the roll of emotion lay clear in his eyes. He turned to look at her, to really look at her before moving a large hand to brush her wild, sex curled hair from her eyes.
"Her name is Lady Rosalie Parks," he began, lips tugging into a thin, firm line. "And she has come to be my intended."
Dahlia's clear gray eyes watched Edward intently as his expression changed and he formed his answer. But she didn't respond to his touch when he brushed a strand of wild blonde curls from her face.
"Yes," she answered after a long moment, "I thought as much." If the confirmation of this news upset her, she didn't exactly show it. Her tone, though carefully modulated, was tired more than anything.
Dahlia's head moved in what might have been the smallest of nods, then she half-rose to sit up, pulling her hair out of the now disheveled bun. Unbound, it made a proper mane of ash blonde curls around her delicate features. Like this, the resemblance between Dahlia and Lily was particularly striking. Dahlia let out a long exhale, pulling her knees up towards her chest.
Of course it was his intended bride. Dahlia had already known that. Not officially, but as good as. And how recent are the arrangements? a voice at the back of her mind asked. And how thoroughly had the Gray family waltzed into Edward's life to turn all of these 'intentions' to chaos.
Dahlia didn't say anything else just then. But she wrapped her arms around her knees, resting her chin there, eyes considering the door on the side of the room. While her mind considered what this all meant. This urgent, unthought, messy and potentially weighty mistake.
The weight that she knew disturbed- if only a little. Perhaps the idea he was already engaged and found himself seducing Lady Grey....
It was appalling. How could he have let himself become so foolish? Not only would Lady Parks be gravely hurt by what happened here.... Dahlia....
"I know I'm a fool," he began, studying her form as he frowned. "And I know I deserve no forgiveness for this moment of weakness but I..... I don't think I want to ask for it. Not from you. Not after..... " He cast his eyes downwards, fumbling over the words before deciding upon just stumbling forward as he said, "What we did..... It has been years since I have ever discovered so beautiful as to what we just shared. And in the moment..." he shook his head. "I did not feel a fool. Not at all. Not for a single moment of it."
He moved and fisted a hand, and tapped it over his chest.
"My heart was all into this, Dahlia. It moves, it beats warmly... rapidly.... And it's because of you," he went on, taking her hand and hoping to guide it so she could feel how passionate it was beating, how warm his skin still was after they made love, and how much emotions were glowing inside his eyes.
Edward was a fool. Of that, at this moment, Dahlia was convinced. But she let him take her hand and move to it to his chest. Her gut reaction, which she suppressed, was to yank her hand back away. A vague annoyance flashed momentarily through her mind - though she tried not to show it - because why was he telling her this? What did he think was going to happen? But she knew why he was telling her this: Because he was Edward. Hopelessly earnest, hopelessly serious, hopelessly romantic.
But it would be a lie to say it had not effect on Dahlia. Here he was, holding her hand to his heart, looking at her... like that. The same warm, earnest kindness that had first made an impression on her was there. He was so different. Edward was so proper and dewy-eyed and romantic and prim. Different from her, with her wry sense of humor and pragmatism; very different from her wild and chaotic brothers and sisters; and... so different from Kerry. But then again, not. Kerry was also kind and warm and...
No. Dahlia pushed the thought of him out of her head. And slowly, deliberately removed her hand from Edward's grasp. When she spoke, her voice was also slow and deliberate.
"What we did," she began, mirroring his words, "was a mistake, Edward. We were both emotional, and vulnerable, and have both been alone for a long time. So maybe an understandable one. There's no need for it to leave this room. And you needn't fear that your Lady Parks will hear anything from me." As she spoke, Dahlia kept meaningful eye contact with Edward. So he couldn't misunderstand the full meaning of what she said now, "I only came here for my children, Edward."
There was a sparkle of pain in his eyes. His lips trembled lightly, remaining agape until their dryness lead him to lick his lips as he released a breath. The words that came out, careful and guarded, were choked.
"I know."
But he couldn't stop there.
"I know all that. Dhalia, please.... " He shook his head. "This... What happened...us," he went on, reaching for her hand.
"'Us', what?" Dahlia snapped back before she could stop herself, eyes flashing. It wasn't, after all, only Lily's temper that had frayed in the long years of the war.
Dahlia wasn't sure exactly what about his words, the way he reached for her hand - which she pulled away from him - that angered her. But her eyes shone defiant, expression set firm. "There isn't an 'us', Edward," she answered, and though there was an edge to her tone, she had the sense to keep her voice down. "What do you expect to happen now? That you would break off your engagement - your engagement," she repeated firmly, " and, what, we could marry so you could fuck me whenever you like?"
That wasn't fair, and maybe Dahlia knew it, but she didn't care just then. Dahlia had stretched her emotion and energy too thin for the past years to care now, in this moment, about whether or not she hurt Edward's feelings. Later, when her temper died down again, she would regret it.
"Edward. I'm sending Lily and Riley to Serendipity. Whether they like it or not." Saying it out loud, it was still surreal to her, and for a moment her harsh expression faltered, but only for a moment. "You can't seriously think that after that, that after... there'd be any room for..." she waved vaguely between them, "this." Whatever 'this' was.
The way his expression fell with each bite of her words could never be more true to the stab he felt grind deeper into his heart. Words were stolen from him, his mind a dull edged blade left trembling on his lips.
Was he that much a fool? Was he so blind not to see it?
"I suppose I must beg your forgiveness now," he began, eyes shining with the threat of tears. "For ever portraying myself to be this man you speak so vulgar of." For what else could he say? Her words shattered him to his very core. He stood up and moved for his clothes.
"I suppose I don't deserve it anyway." he gave a sniff, fighting back tears. His pants were on and he moved to his boots, silent as the grave.
"I'll find your children..." he went on, pausing as he was done buttoning up his coat. "Our children.... I made a promise. A man is only good as his word." With his riding cloak in hand, he finally spared her one last look.
"Rest well, Lady Grey." And with a frown, he closed the door.
Dahlia watched as he left, carefully closing the door behind him. And as soon as it was closed, she felt herself deflated. What had just happened? Not just the sex - surprising as that was - but all of it. Already her words rang with regret in her mind. Why had she said it like that? It wasn't that she hadn't meant it, but... And it wasn't lost on her that when he bade her good night, it was to 'Lady Gray.'
Pulling her night shirt back up around her, Dahlia collapsed down onto the bed. Why, she wondered, did it feel like her life was always unravelling? Normally she didn't stop for this sort of self-pity, but in that moment, all Dahlia could wonder was why she couldn't seem to catch a break. But she was here, and whatever had just happened with Edward, he wasn't the reason why. Her children were out there. Missing. Finding them; that was what was most important now. But, as she tried to settle into a fitful half-sleep, images of Edward mixed with those of her children's faces as she waited for dawn.
The next morning found Dahlia more composed than the night before, but almost more anxious. She felt like the night before had been, surely, just a dream. But she knew it wasn't. She was up and dressed by dawn. The first thing she needed to do, she knew, was see Edward. And when a manservant brought her into the breakfast room where the lord was taking his first meal, Dahlia was very relieved to find him alone.
The man servant left, and the sound of the door closing behind him felt very, very loud.
For a few moments, Dahlia stood in awkward silence, as if temporarily mute. When she finally found her voice, it was firm, but apologetic, and a little sad. "Edward," she started, not resorting yet to calling him 'Lord Draven', "please let me apologize for my words last night. I spoke terribly out of turn. You know, I hope, that your friendship means a great deal to me."
Dahlia hadn't been the only one chewing over her words last night. He hadn't a wink of sleep, even when his body had felt so sated after their ordeal. No... Her words stung him to the bone, and had sunk in deeply and turned all feelings he had of the moment into bitterness, and shame.
Come the morning he tried to collect himself, asking to be left alone before he prepared to go out on another search that morn. He hadn't thought to tell his servants to let the lady rest- so he was a bit tense when he entered the room, but he regarded her only briefly before looking down to his meal.
He barely touched his eggs, fruit and toast- and had moved to take another bite of the dry bread. It was hard to chew. I twas hard to swallow.
But so were the words she spoke to him.
Yet here she stood, coming to speak to him now and he couldn't help but look up at her with some form of hope glittering in his eyes, but the words she chose made swallowing the last morsels of bread down near impossible.
However, he was quick to stand.
"You should sit, have some tea, eat some breakfast," he went on, nearly tripping over himself in order to try to accomodate her, but no matter how he tried to hide it, his ears burned red with shame.