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It was insatiable madness. It was ruin. It was glorious. If this was madness then let him be mad. God and country be damned.
He stood in the sparsely decorated bedroom of a northern country inn with his queen as the first inklings of morning filtered through the single window. She looked so out of place in the plain room, like a gemstone in a wooden plank. A dresser with a washbasin, a chair, and a bed occupied the room. The bed was situated several feet behind her. One room, one bed. For safety he’d given the false names of a married couple and in so doing, resigned himself to sleeping in a chair or on the floor. He may have just absconded with his monarch, but he hadn’t lost all sense of propriety.
He held her hands in his, her lovely hands, warm and miraculously real. Here they were, throwing their lives away with beautiful, reckless abandon. He had gone with her in order to convince her to return home, not to run away together. That’s what he had told himself when they left Dover House. How had he found himself here only a few hours later, ready and willing to forsake everything? He feared he would awaken from this delirium at any moment and find himself in his own bed.
He had been in bed when a loud rapping at the front door woke him. His heart dropped. In the small hours of the morning knocks like these were accompanied only by tragedy. Victoria’s face had flashed in his mind. Before someone came for him he had already pulled on his dressing gown and was hurriedly making his way to the door. He had steeled himself but was quite unprepared for the sight that greeted him when he arrived.
Victoria. Out of breath, hair long and loose over her shoulders, cheeks flushed from the cold night air, her simple dress wrinkled down the front. She had ridden on horseback, like a man, and in great haste. The servant holding the door open looked as shocked as he was by her appearance, but not as relieved.
He’d dismissed the servant and asked her what had happened, unable to hide his alarm as he helped her inside. She did not answer but only looked helplessly up at him as she panted. He had taken a candle and swiftly led her into his study where he offered her a chair. She did not take it.
The room had a haunting quality in the darkness, an empty hollowness. He’d spent many long evenings there. It felt strange to see her in it, so vibrant and alive against the ghosts of his memories. He had set the light on his desk, and self consciously ran a hand through his disheveled hair as he turned to her.
He asked her again if something had happened, prodding as gently as he could. She had fidgeted with her hands and looked about the room, avoiding his gaze as she caught her breath. She took several more steadying breaths before she began pacing.
She was so small, so demure in stature, yet her presence filled the large space. The skin of her shoulders glowed slightly in the moonlight that bathed them. He had been so ill-equipped to see her in that state and in that hour he could barely tear his eyes away.
“I am sorry, Lord M. I did not mean to disturb you, but it could not wait,” she had said.
“I am always at your disposal, Ma’am,” he reassured, and quelled the urge to step forward, take her hand, and comfort her distress.
She began again before stopping herself, immediately turning away from him and walking several paces. Her hair had cascaded down the length of her back, lovely and dark in the shadow of the room. He couldn’t help but wonder what it would feel like to run his fingers through it, and immediately scolded himself. She turned back to him, walking forward and standing close enough for him to see the flush on her cheeks in the darkness. Then she’d told him.
This was it. The turning point, when his world began to tilt, pulling him with it until he was unable to do anything but fall. She would not marry someone of her family’s choosing. She would have her own choice or she would not marry at all. She had come to tell him in the night, because it was her intention to run away with him.
Her words could not penetrate his mind. He felt lightheaded and could not speak for several moments. She had taken his hands in both of her own, cold and tiny and soft, as his heart leapt against his ribcage.
“Ma’am?” was all he could say.
“I know you have already rejected me. I know it, and yet I have stayed awake every night, thinking only of you. Oh, please, Lord M, tell me you do the same.” She seemed to find her answer in his silence and in his eyes, giving her courage to continue. “I know, you are the only one who will make me happy. Please.”
He had stood in stunned silence before her as she held tightly to his hands. His thoughts went everywhere at once. His mind had been a whirlwind, but he felt himself being drawn towards her shining eyes, like a lighthouse in the maelstrom. It was incomprehensible. Surely it was a dream and the woman standing before him would fade with the morning light, just another ghost in the room.
Yet her hands, slowly warming in his, had been real. Her eyes, filled to the brim with hope and desperation, had been real. Her little breaths had been real and so close he could almost imagine the feel of them against his skin. For a moment these were more real than any responsible answer he could give her. It was shocking how easily his thoughts indulged in being with her, holding her, loving her.
But reality shattered the fantasy as quickly as it had formed. Where could they go? How long could they live in hiding until they were found out? The monarchy and the House would be in an uproar. The world would be in an uproar.
He had broken eye contact and bowed his head with a sigh, still holding tightly to her hands. All the tension had fallen out of her fingers and he felt her disappointment radiating from her. He couldn’t bear to look at her when he finally spoke.
“Ma’am,” he had started, his voice only a sliver of sound, “I...am not sure you realize, the implications of what you ask.” He summoned whatever strength and composure were left in him to meet her eyes and say what he must.
He had urged her to go back, and reassured her that they would speak in the morning, that he would use whatever influence he had to ensure she was not rushed into a hasty marriage. She had begged him not to send her away, and his world continued to pitch under his feet. He did not answer, hoping his silence could steady the earth again.
With eyes full and glistening she had dropped his hands. She turned her back and stepped away from him, wrapping her arms around herself. He felt himself instinctively reach for her and stopped his hands. He had stood frozen in an inner war, needing both to comfort her and to let her go. Suddenly she spun back around and his hands dropped.
“But I am a rook!” she had shouted, stunning them both as her voice rang through the expanse of the room. Their eyes locked. A pregnant silence had filled the darkened space between them, her heavy breaths and his beating heart the only sounds.
“Please,” she had whispered taking a step toward him. “Lord M, I am a rook. It is already too late for me to be happy with another.” Her eyes were large and pleading. A sting in his own had forced him to turn away from her. Anguish threatened to overtake him and every instinct commanded him to take her in his arms and never let go. What man had the power to resist her? How could he refuse her? How could he accept her? A tumult had raged through him as he stood in silence.
“Please, Ma’am,” he had said faintly, dropping his head and shoulders. He pinched the bridge of his nose and wiped the moisture from his eyes. “You cannot ask this of me,” his voice no more than a whisper.
Without warning he felt her fingertips on his back and he took in a breath. It was then she’d started making small circles on the smooth fabric of his dressing gown and told him she was still leaving, even if it was without him. He’d spun back to face her, feeling the ground slipping beneath him even more.
Then they’d argued in earnest. He had pleaded with her to go back, saying that things would look differently in the morning. But his queen had been headstrong and insistent. She had never known a moment of autonomy in her life, and the prospect of being controlled for the rest of it was not to be borne. A scullery maid had more freedom of choice than she, she’d argued.
His cacophonous mind had grappled for coherent thought. They had duties they could not ignore he’d finally told her, as well as himself, but the earth was still shifting.
"How can do my duty to my country if I am to resign myself to a lifetime of unhappiness?”
"If you forsake your duty to your country you will certainly have a lifetime of unhappiness. Where could we go where we would not be disgraced? Please Ma’am I beg you not to be foolish!”
His forceful voice was rough and desperate, beseeching them both to see reason. He had watched her eyes harden and her jaw set in the darkness.
“Yes. Yes I see I am a fool, to have come here for comfort from my misery.” And then she bid him farewell, tipping the ground so steeply with each step away from him he had no choice but to stumble down after her.
He would go, he reasoned, if only to persuade her to come back before word spread that the queen was missing. But the world had already angled itself so sharply, he could barely hold onto it. Still he struggled for purchase, even as they set for the north in an unmarked carriage, even as he followed her request to sit beside her, and even as she rested her head on his shoulder, the scent of her sweet and inviting.
The night had deepened and grown darker as heavy clouds obscured the moon and made the air thick. He thought she had fallen asleep, lulled by the movement of the carriage, until she broke the silence.
“I know about the greenhouses,” she’d said quietly, without lifting her head. “And the flowers. I know what they mean to you.” She paused. “That you only grow them for me.” He had started to protest when she took his hand in hers and swiftly brought it to her lips, silencing him. His heart beat roughly as she kissed the back of his hand, his knuckles, then brushed her lips up to his fingers. Her breath was warm against his skin, and he felt himself leaning into her.
She’d turned his hand over in hers, caressing her fingertips along his. Then she brought his palm to her lips and kissed it slowly. He inhaled sharply at the arousing sensation and froze as his fingertips grazed her skin.
“I know that you love me,” she’d whispered against his palm, lifting her eyes to his. He could not look away. “And I know you have not allowed yourself to think of me.” She lowered his hand, but did not let it go. She turned to press her cheek to his and whispered, “Please. Allow yourself.”
He had been holding tightly to the skin of the world only by his fingertips, willing himself not to fall. But with her words in his ear and her breath on his skin, he finally let go. He was careening down, away from all sanity and reason, and it was euphoric.
He gave in so quickly he was certain he had shocked her, until she smiled so brightly she could have lit up the night sky. His voice was desperate when he asked if she was sure about her decision, because it would be difficult, but he could barely find the courage to dissuade her, lest she find her senses again. He had finally lost his and he did not want them to be found.
And now here they were. Together. A small room at a country inn shrouded in fog, covering them from the world beyond. He caressed the backs of her hands with his thumbs as he urged her to rest, and he would do the same.
“But I am not tired,” she insisted, stepping closer.
“Please, Ma’am,” he said, the temptation of her already intoxicating. “You need to rest.”
“Then rest with me.” He could not escape her intentions.
“I will, Ma’am,” he said with a quiver in his voice, “in the chair.”
Her eyes lost none of their determination.
“If Elizabeth could have companions without incurring the eternal wrath of almighty God, then so can I,” she said, tilting her head towards him.
He found himself rooted to the floor, unable to step away from her as he ought, and practically dizzy with want.
Her breath grew heavy and he was transfixed by the movement of her chest below her slight collar bones. She leaned in farther, eyes on his lips, until they were inches apart. The alluring scent of her saturated his senses, her skin, her hair, her breath. He squeezed her hands tightly, desperate to ground himself. She lifted her gaze. Her impossibly blue eyes met his with all their sweet softness, and he watched helplessly as they darkened.
“Please,” she whispered, her breath catching and the damp heat of it ghosting over his lips. His own breath shook and his resolve began crumbling into ruin. “Please,” she breathed again, looking down to his lips and back again.
A force from within drew him forward, closing the tiny distance to her lips. He touched them tenderly, but briefly, as her breath shuddered against his skin. He drew back, desperate to reign in his urges, her short puffs of air still hot on his lips. She leaned forward and found his lips again, delicately pressing once. Twice. A third time, exploring the new sensations.
He relented to her discovery while he lost himself in her, as a ship tossed in a storm. And he found himself in her. With each new brush of their lips his surety grew. If he were to drown in her he would die a happy man. She made a needy sound against him as she kissed with more insistence and he finally let himself match her. He pressed into her inviting mouth with fervency, the storm rising in him as rain started tapping against the window. Their kisses, which began so chastely, were growing heady and passionate. A sudden crack of thunder split through him. He buried one hand in her hair, loose and soft and wild, and pressed the other into the small of her back, hauling her flush against him in one powerful movement.
She gasped at the roughness and sudden contact, breaking the kiss. Her wide eyes locked onto his as she froze. It was too much too soon, her youthful inexperience blatant in her eyes and the heated glow of her skin. He’d let his carnal passions loose and frightened her. Her heart thundered against his ribcage and he quickly lifted his hands from her.
“I- I’m sorry, Ma’am,” he said weakly as he took a step back, ashamed of himself.
She swayed forward slightly at his sudden absence. Her eyes scanned the sparse room as she caught her bearings until they found his again, and she steadied. He wanted to apologize further, to promise never to be so presumptuous again, to excuse himself from her presence and berate himself, but he was trapped under her gaze. The rain outside fell in steady, reproachful whispers.
She closed the distance between them with one large step, the heels of her shoes thudding resolutely on the wooden floor. For a long moment she did not speak. His eyes searched her face, but she was unreadable. He couldn’t bear the crushing weight of her silence. The chattering rain felt deafening. This was a mistake. It was all a mistake.
He began to step away from her. “Ma’am, I-“
“A moment, Lord M,” she said and paused, placing her palm on his chest. He looked down at it. “….William.” His eyebrows raised as he lifted his head back up to hers and his heart surged within him.
Determination had set itself into her features as she lifted on her toes and lightly pressed her lips into his. His eyes closed as surprise and desire mingled together in his rapidly quickening heart. Her gentle kiss turned into several and his willpower to resist her and be prudent dwindled with each. Such a small and delicate woman, yet what fearsome power she held over him.
Soon their breaths were coming hot and fast and it made their sensitive lips tingle and burn in the morning chill of the room. His hands had found their way to her waist, but he would not pull her to him again. She parted her lips over his, either as a first step to separating, or as an invitation, he could not be certain.
His eyebrows knit together as he struggled for rational thought and he pressed his forehead to hers. She leaned up into him again to resume their kiss and after a moment he felt the wet heat of her tongue barely graze his bottom lip. He held tightly to her waist as he felt urgent passion overtaking him again, and a short whimper escaped him. Raindrops beat heavily on the glass as he willed his own tempest to calm.
He moved his hands to her small shoulders and pulled back from her slightly, grasping for what little remained of his senses; her warm skin like silk beneath his fingertips.
“Please Ma’am,” he said, his voice no more than a husky whisper, "….Victoria.” His eyes were involuntarily drawn to her flushed lips, where they remained. "Do not permit yourself on my account.” He dragged his gaze back to hers by sheer force of will, still struggling to control his breathing. "Your comfort and company are my highest desires.” He wrapped his hand over the one she kept on his chest, kneading it lightly. “I will kiss your hand and nothing more, for as long as it pleases you.”
“And if it does not please me?” she said with the authoritative air of the queen she was.
He tried not to let his face fall, and carefully said, “Then Ma’am, I will do whatever pleases you.”
“Victoria,” she said firmly.
A pause. “Victoria,” he repeated and looked away from her, the edges of his lips lifting subtly.
“Good. Because, William,” he turned back to her with color in his cheeks at the pointed mention of his name, “for now, this is what pleases me.” She placed her hand to his cheek and guided him to her lips for a long, tender kiss. He kept his hands at his sides, swearing an oath to himself to only take her lead.
She continued to kiss him, at first just softly brushing and caressing her lips to his, then pressing harder and with increasing earnestness.
“Hold me. Hold me, William,” she breathed between kisses, and he finally capitulated, his name on her lips making his head swim; the falling sensation returning with vigor.
He encircled her in his arms, bringing her ever so slightly closer. Once more he felt her mouth open, and her tongue tentatively touch his lips. This time there was no mistaking her wishes, and he would not reject her again. He brought a hand to her face, thumb caressing her cheek, and his fingers moving lightly over her slender neck.
She sighed at his touch and he let his mouth open to her, scarcely grazing his tongue along hers. She reciprocated, slowly, and then with more confidence. She moaned into his mouth, making his lips and tongue tingle and sending shivers through his body. A low rumble of thunder rippled through the heavy morning air.
He felt the urgency returning, but this time he was absolutely certain she felt it too. Her hands slid from his chest up to his neck and face, then back down again, when she suddenly thrust them beneath his overcoat. Gripping the sides of his waistcoat in tight fists, she strained to pull herself upward, deeper into his hungry kisses, and he drew her tightly into his chest. They grew more and more frantic, breathing harder, sighs mingling with their names and sweet mumbling words as winds thrashed the outside world. It howled against the window and tore leaves from the trees.
But nothing could touch the pair within.