In Consequence: A Retelling of North and South Read Online Free PDF Page B

would experience the bliss of being in such close contact. A shudder of longing passed through him as he reveled in this sweet intimacy and dreaded its surrender. How he yearned to claim the right to always hold her thus!
                       When they reached the drawing room, she helped him to the sofa and, perching herself next to him, began at once to gently wipe the blood from his wound with her handkerchief.
                       Leaning toward him attentively, her face mere inches from his, Mr. Thornton stared at her, enraptured by her nearness and the look of concern in her expression.
                       She felt his eyes upon her. Her heart beat wildly in her breast as she studiously avoided his gaze and continued to tend to him.
                       Mr. Thornton’s chest ached with emotion as he watched her lavish her care upon him. When he could bear it no longer, he grasped her wrist to stop her.
                       She brought her gaze slowly to his, and drew in her breath at the tenderness in his clear blue eyes. Mesmerized by his stare, she remained motionless as she watched his eyes drop to her lips, which quivered almost imperceptibly in response. She could scarcely breathe. Her own gaze moved helplessly to his mouth which edged ever closer to hers.
                       The sound of rustling skirts and quickened footsteps burst into the room.
                       Margaret jolted upright and took a step back, her pulse racing.
                       “John, what has happened?” Mrs. Thornton called out in consternation as she and Fanny emerged from their hiding place.
                       “Johnny, you’ve been hurt!” Fanny shrieked, and stifled a cry as she fluttered her hand before clasping it over her mouth in frenzied horror.
                       “He took a blow to the head,” Margaret explained weakly, unable to stop the effusion of blushes that rose to her face. She cast her eyes to the floor, mortified at the thought of what his mother might have seen.
                       Mrs. Thornton glanced at the girl warily as she rushed to her son’s side. Margaret stepped aside.
                       “It’s all right, Mother. I am well recovered,” Mr. Thornton assured her, standing up to prove his words. His mother worriedly ran her hand along his head and fondly stroked his cheek as she assayed to discern for herself the nature of his injury.
                       Mr. Thornton chaffed at such motherly affection in the presence of Miss Hale and broke from his mother’s grasp. “I must talk with the police and see after the Irish,” he proclaimed as he began to take his leave, his nerves still tingling with the thrill of the intimate moment that had been interrupted.
                       “I must go as well ... my mother will expect my return,” Margaret faltered, eager to make her escape. Her cheeks burned with shame and excitement, and her body fairly trembled in his presence.
                       “No,” he exclaimed in dismay, his eyes flashing briefly. He noted that her white skirts were smudged with dirt — the battle scars she wore for coming to his aid. “The streets may yet be dangerous. I will arrange an escort for you. Please wait. I will return shortly,” he declared in low tones as he turned to go once more.
                       “John ... wait! You are not properly dressed,” his mother pointed out, her eyes fastened on the open collar of his shirt.
                       Mr. Thornton colored, touching his fingers absently to his throat in surprised confusion.
                       Mortified to find Mr. Thornton’s cravat still clutched in her hand, Margaret hesitated. With