Bodice Ripper

When Mary came and knocked on the study door, James hadn't been working for the better part of an hour. He couldn't focus. His thoughts were disjointed, with the glue that should have held them together replaced by images of a young woman, her cheeks flushed, and both of them breathing hard. He shook his head to dislodge the thought, but it just rattled around.

So when the object of his affections came to the door and asked him if he needed any help with anything—of course he did. What he needed help with wasn't something that he was going to let her help with. But the words didn't sound like an offer for help, whether with his work or with... other things.

It sounded like an invitation.

He'd felt his resolve crumbling, and he'd had to refuse quickly, or not at all. When the door was closed, he knew that he'd been rude. Perhaps even hurtful. None of it mattered, because he'd done the right thing and she'd thank him in the end.

He didn't sleep that night; couldn't sleep. Even when he closed his eyes and turned over, it seemed like when he closed his eyes, she was there waiting for him. Their bedrooms were on opposite sides of the building, but he was acutely conscious of hers. He could have pointed to it, like a hound.

He couldn't bear it. The strain of trying to resist was too much. He needed to speak to Mr. Stump, as well. He'd assumed that Mary would know something about the situation, and she had known a bit. But now he needed ideas for who might know more.

It seemed as if Oliver was the only other person who would know it all, but he would be... indisposed to explaining. If anyone else could be put on the list, it was the man who had overseen his hiring, after all.

A few hundred kilometers between them would help to cool both of them off. Mary was grieving for her father, and he was going mad from their proximity. If they had a few days apart, then things would be back to normal.

He had his bags packed already. It made things easy for him in the morning. He would have to walk into town, which would be a hassle, but then he'd be able to get a cab back out when he returned in a couple days' time.

He didn't know why he had assumed it would be that easy, though. When Mary stormed into the room, he thought he could see a hurt look on her face that must have been his imagination. If it weren't his imagination... that worried him more. Couldn't she understand that he was doing all of this for her?

"Mr. Poole! What is going on here?"

"Mary," he began. He could already hear a hundred different retorts, each one more convincing than the last, but he continued anyways. "I have to go into London for a couple of days. I need to speak to your father's solicitor, and I should check on my flat, as well. I'll only be a few days."

She looked at him, her jaw clenching and unclenching. He watched her, trying to keep his distance. The first few days, he had been unnerved and frustrated by her temper, but now he saw that she could be quite pretty when she was angry. He blinked and tried not to be attracted to her, but he knew it was useless.

Then something in her face changed. For a moment he nearly felt relieved, but he knew better than that now. She was not a woman for whom things didn't work out, and if she wanted something then she was going to get it. It was only a matter of time. If she had decided to accept his decision, it wasn't because he was getting what he wanted. She'd figured out a way around him.

"Very well," she said, making a show of giving in. That sealed it, he thought. "I suppose I'll just have to go to London as well."

There it was. "No."

"I don't think you'll be able to stop me, Mr. Poole."

She made it sound almost apologetic, but he knew better than to believe that. He could see the triumph on her face, in the smile that she tried to turn down at her cheeks. He turned the problem over in

his mind, trying to see it from all angles. What he saw was that she was going to get her way in the end, like it or not.

She was right, he wouldn't be able to stop her, short of bodily tying her to a chair for the next three days. If she decided to follow, she would follow. Her family was not as well-off as they had been only twelve months ago, but she could easily afford a train ticket. She had won, he decided. With a sigh, he looked into her eyes.

"You're right. I can't stop you, Mary. I still think you should stay."

"You're entitled to think whatever you like, James, but I'm coming."

His name sounded strange when she said it, and he couldn't put his finger on why. He wanted to hear it again to make sure.

When she came back with a small bag packed and wearing a dress that would be decidedly uncomfortable for a several-kilometer walk down the road, he asked her about it.

Apparently, he'd been wrong. They had a horseless carriage after all. It kicked and sputtered beneath him, but it ran first try.

The train ride itself was agony. They had been put into the same sitting room, and James hadn't been able to bring himself to protest it. It was getting harder and harder to resist his desire to be with her, and he could tell that it was chafing for Mary as well.

It was the right thing to do, to leave her alone. He tried to take some confidence in that. What did his feelings matter in that?

Her perfume, which seemed to fill the seats and created an intoxicating haze, begged to differ, and he struggled to think clearly. More than anything, he wanted to have her, and have her right there. He had to grip the seat of the bench so hard that it seemed as if his fingers might snap themselves in half.

But somehow, he managed to make it through.

They came out of the train, having spoken no more than a dozen words between themselves. James would be in London for a couple of days. Until then, he would do what he could to put as much distance between himself and Mary Geis as possible.