Persuasion (The Wild and Wanton Edition) (34 page)

“For shame! for shame! this is too much flattery. I forget what we are to have next,” turning to the bill. His attention was creating quite a reaction within Anne. If she did not know herself better, she would say it was annoying her.

“Perhaps,” said Mr. Elliot, moving his lips near to her ear and speaking low, “I have had a longer acquaintance with your character than you are aware of.”

Anne jumped back — putting a proper distance between them — with an embarrassed, breathy laugh. “Indeed! How so? You can have been acquainted with it only since I came to Bath, excepting as you might hear me previously spoken of in my own family.”

He stretched his arm across the back of Anne’s spot on the bench, and his scent — an entirely different one from Captain Wentworth’s, but nonetheless pleasant — wafted over her. He grinned so that a dimple showed in one chiseled cheek. “I knew you by report long before you came to Bath. I had heard you described by those who knew you intimately. I have been acquainted with you by character many years. Your person, your disposition, accomplishments, manner; they were all present to me.”

Against her will, Anne felt herself softening to him — to his nearness, his flattery. If the twinkle in his eyes was any indication, Mr. Elliot was not disappointed in the interest he hoped to raise. No one can withstand the charm of such a mystery. To have been described long ago to a recent acquaintance, by nameless people, is irresistible; and Anne found herself leaning toward him, all curiosity. She wondered, and questioned him eagerly; but in vain. He delighted in being asked, but he would not tell.

“No, no, some time or other, perhaps, but not now. He would mention no names now; but such, he could assure her, had been the fact. He had many years ago received such a description of Miss Anne Elliot as had inspired him with the highest idea of her merit, and excited the warmest curiosity to know her.”

Anne could think of no one so likely to have spoken with partiality of her many years ago as the Mr. Wentworth of Monkford, Captain Wentworth’s brother. He might have been in Mr. Elliot’s company, but she had not courage to ask the question.

“The name of Anne Elliot,” said he, “has long had an interesting sound to me.” At this point, Anne realized how close they were to each other. His mint-scented breath fanned over her heated cheeks, and she could practically taste the spice on his words. He dared to lean even closer so that his next words were barely audible. She felt them more than heard them. “Very long has it possessed a charm over my fancy; and, if I dared, I would breathe my wishes that the name might never change.”

Such, she believed, were his words; but scarcely had she received their sound, than her attention was caught by the feather-like stroke of his fingers across her nape. He was using the opportunity of having his arm across the bench to touch her! The physical contact paired with the intimacy of his words jolted Anne fiercely, and she was on the verge of moving away from Mr. Elliot when she detected other sounds immediately behind her, which rendered every thing else trivial. Her father and Lady Dalrymple were speaking.

“A well-looking man,” said Sir Walter, “a very well-looking man.”

“A very fine young man indeed!” said Lady Dalrymple. “More air than one often sees in Bath. Irish, I dare say.”

“No, I just know his name. A bowing acquaintance. Wentworth; Captain Wentworth of the navy. His sister married my tenant in Somersetshire, the Croft, who rents Kellynch.”

Before Sir Walter had reached this point, Anne’s eyes had caught the right direction, and distinguished Captain Wentworth standing among a cluster of men at a little distance. As her eyes fell on him, his seemed to be withdrawn from her. It had that appearance. It seemed as if she had been one moment too late; and as long as she dared observe, he did not look again. However, the moment she moved to look away, she noticed him shift, and she immediately looked upon his face once more, only to feel the anger of his gaze hit her full force. Any amiability that had been in his countenance when they’d talked before was now absent. His looks were dark and furious, and his fuming gaze flicked down from her face to where Mr. Elliot’s fingers still brushed against Anne’s skin.

Now Anne jerked away from her cousin, and she longed to relay some sort of silent message to Captain Wentworth with her eyes, to offer some sort of explanation that she dimly realized she did not owe: but the performance was recommencing, and she was forced to seem to restore her attention to the orchestra and look straight forward.

When she could give another glance, he had moved away. He could not have come nearer to her if he would; she was so surrounded and shut in: but she would rather have caught his eye.

Mr. Elliot’s speech, too, distressed her. She had no longer any inclination to talk to him. She wished him not so near her.

The first act was over. Now she hoped for some beneficial change; and, after a period of nothing-saying amongst the party, some of them did decide on going in quest of tea. Anne was one of the few who did not choose to move. She remained in her seat, and so did Lady Russell; but she had the pleasure of getting rid of Mr. Elliot; and she did not mean, whatever she might feel on Lady Russell’s account, to shrink from conversation with Captain Wentworth, if he gave her the opportunity. She was persuaded by Lady Russell’s countenance that she had seen him.

He did not come however. Anne sometimes fancied she discerned him at a distance, but he never came. The anxious interval wore away unproductively. The others returned, the room filled again, benches were reclaimed and repossessed, and another hour of pleasure or of penance was to be sat out, another hour of music was to give delight or the gapes, as real or affected taste for it prevailed. To Anne, it chiefly wore the prospect of an hour of agitation. She could not quit that room in peace without seeing Captain Wentworth once more, without the interchange of one friendly look to assure Anne all was still well.

In re-settling themselves there were now many changes, the result of which was favourable for her. Colonel Wallis declined sitting down again, and Mr. Elliot was invited by Elizabeth and Miss Carteret, in a manner not to be refused, to sit between them; and by some other removals, and a little scheming of her own, Anne was enabled to place herself much nearer the end of the bench than she had been before, much more within reach of a passer-by. She could not do so, without comparing herself with Miss Larolles, the inimitable Miss Larolles; but still she did it, and not with much happier effect; though by what seemed prosperity in the shape of an early abdication in her next neighbours, she found herself at the very end of the bench before the concert closed.

Such was her situation, with a vacant space at hand, when Captain Wentworth was again in sight. She saw him not far off. He saw her too; yet he looked grave, and seemed irresolute, and only by very slow degrees came at last near enough to speak to her. She felt that something must be the matter. The change was indubitable. The difference between his present air and what it had been in the Octagon Room was strikingly great. Why was it? She thought of her father, of Lady Russell. Could there have been any unpleasant glances? Could the slight touch of Mr. Elliot be upsetting him so greatly? He began by speaking of the concert gravely, more like the Captain Wentworth of Uppercross; owned himself disappointed, had expected singing; and in short, must confess that he should not be sorry when it was over. Anne replied, and spoke in defense of the performance so well, and yet in allowance for his feelings so pleasantly, that his countenance improved, and he replied again with almost a smile. They talked for a few minutes more; the improvement held; he even looked down towards the bench, as if he saw a place on it well worth occupying; when at that moment a touch on her shoulder obliged Anne to turn round. It came from Mr. Elliot. His fingers curved around her collarbone, and he cast an indescribable glance Captain Wentworth’s way before leaning down so close that Anne could see every one of his eyelashes. Anne saw Captain Wentworth stiffen as Mr. Elliot spoke to her in a low, intimate voice. He begged her pardon, but she must be applied to, to explain Italian again. Miss Carteret was very anxious to have a general idea of what was next to be sung. Anne could not refuse; but never had she sacrificed to politeness with a more suffering spirit. She could not even bear to look at Captain Wentworth as she mumbled an apology and turned toward her cousin, who seemed to ignore her pointed glance at his hand where it still touched her.

A few minutes, though as few as possible, were inevitably consumed; and when her own mistress again, when able to turn and look as she had done before, she found herself accosted by Captain Wentworth and his formidable glare, in a reserved yet hurried sort of farewell. “He must wish her good night; he was going; he should get home as fast as he could.”

“Is not this song worth staying for?” said Anne, suddenly struck by an idea which made her yet more anxious to be encouraging.

“No!” he replied impressively, “there is nothing worth my staying for;” and he was gone directly.

Jealousy of Mr. Elliot! It was the only intelligible motive. Captain Wentworth jealous of her affection! Could she have believed it a week ago; three hours ago! For a moment the gratification was exquisite. But, alas! there were very different thoughts to succeed. How was such jealousy to be quieted? How was the truth to reach him? How, in all the peculiar disadvantages of their respective situations, would he ever learn of her real sentiments? It was misery to think of Mr. Elliot’s attentions. Their evil was incalculable.

Over her shoulder, she heard Mr. Elliot try to regain her attention once more, but this time, Anne flaunted propriety. Captain Wentworth’s long stride was quickly taking him out of the room, and she could not bear to let him go without trying to allay some of the tension between them. Without a word of excuse to her cousin, Anne launched to her feet and walked quickly in Captain Wentworth’s wake.

She was walking so quickly that those she passed were turning to stare at her, but she paid them no mind. It took all of her fortitude not to call for him before she reached the door, but shouting his name in the midst of a concert hall would only exacerbate matters.

However, this slipped from her control as soon as she reached the Octagon Room once more. She spied him at the opposite side of the completely empty room; he was reaching for the door.

“Captain Wentworth!” She cringed as the desperate twinge to her cry echoed around the empty room long enough for Anne to regret the rashness of her shout.

As though he had expected her to follow him, he immediately changed course, dropping his hand from the doorknob and whipping around on one heel in a moment. He stalked toward her almost faster than she could track, his face an impenetrable mask.

Instinctively, Anne backed away, even though she knew he would never hurt her. But he was an oncoming force to be reckoned with, and Anne was not sure she was ready for whatever was about to come.

He walked forward faster than Anne retreated backward, and soon, they were nose to nose. Captain Wentworth gripped Anne by her upper arms, and she was startled to feel her feet leave the floor. He walked perhaps two more steps before she felt her back meet a wall, surprisingly gently for how he had charged and grabbed her. He crowded into her, and she was pinned between his unforgiving front and the tapestry-covered wall at her back.

Every delicious inch of him was pressed into her. The buttons of his waistcoat pressed into her ribs, and he shoved his lower body between her legs, forcing her to all-but-straddle his thigh.

She sucked in a startled breath and prayed for enough control to keep from moaning. A dim, barely functioning region of her mind recognised that she should not
enjoy
being handled thusly, but enjoy she most certainly did. The pressure of his firm thigh at the apex of her legs was too much, and she could not prevent herself from rocking forward and rubbing herself against him.

He groaned harshly and switched his hold on her in an instant. One hand fell to her hip, gripping roughly and staying a repetition of her movement. The other hand gripped her wrists and forced her arms above her hand. That was the moment Anne realized her hands had wandered to his chest where they had been stroking the planes of muscle most indecently. “Hold
still
,” he ordered with a desperation that claimed her attention. “Anne, please.” His voice broke, and Anne froze.

“F-Frederick?”

At the sound of his name, his eyes squeezed shut, and she felt a shudder go through him. “It is happening again. Just as it did last time.” His words were low and dripping with pain.

She tried to free her wrists from his hold, the desire to somehow touch him, to soothe his hurt, overriding his command to be still.

His hold tightened, but remained gentle. “They are persuading you again,” he said in a near moan. “Anne,
think
for yourself! For God’s sake!”

Anne’s shock forced her head backwards, but instead of thumping her head against the wall painfully, the back of her head met with Frederick’s hand. As his fingers, the ones that had been gripping her hip, stroked into her hair, Anne realized he had intentionally shielded her head from harm. However, now he was cradling her head, and their lips were a breath apart.

Anne sighed brokenly. “Freder — ”

His lips crashed down upon hers. Her lips parted exultantly, and his tongue swept into her mouth, affording her no choice but to return the favour. He finally —
finally
— released her hands so that he could cradle her face with both of them, and as he tilted her head farther back and deepened the kiss, Anne was able to touch him as she wished.

Her fingers combed through his hair, trailed down the flexing muscles of his jaw, and stroked the column of his neck, wrenching a groan from him that vibrated against her lips.

He broke the kiss for only a moment to whisper, “Never stop touching me,” before kissing her once more and allowing his hands to roam as hers were.