Fic: Love Letters (Chap 2: The Fox and the Hounds)
Title: Love Letters
Chapter: 2, The Fox and the Hounds
Author: NoCleverSig
Pairing: Helen/James
Spoilers: None, Set ca. 1910
Rating: Teen for now
Summary: James Watson has been courting Helen Magnus for weeks, but it will take a weekend in the country, a rakish young Lord, and a heated arguement to move their relationship forward. No. 2 in "The Courtship of Helen Magnus"
Love Letters
(Copyright 2011, by NoCleverSig)
Chapter 2: The Fox and the Hounds
Lord Benbrook stared at Magnus throughout dinner. So much so that Lady Harrington looked permanently shocked, Lady Burnham snorted, Lord Burnham consumed only half his usual portion of roast, and young Ruth appeared as though she might burst into tears as did several other women around the long dining table.
Magnus suddenly felt the need to lock her door that night lest one of the girls attempt to choke her in her sleep.
The only person who didn't seem to notice Lord Benbrook's lascivious leer was James, which was more than ironic as Watson noticed everything. He went about his dinner chatting merrily with the intelligent Lady Carlisle and her husband, Sir Terrence, about the latest string of robberies in London's West End. Of course he made a point to bring up the Sanctuary and his work with Helen, introducing Magnus to the Carlisles and certainly adding another member of British royalty to their growing list of patrons.
Helen soon found herself absorbed in conversation with the couple. They were smart, engaging, and eager to learn of her and Watson's work. Lady Carlisle was particularly curious about Helen's education and applauded her tenacity for earning her degrees. By dinner's end, Helen was sure she'd earned a new and valuable female ally.
Lost in conversation, fine food, and drink, Magnus momentarily forgot about the randy Lord Benbrook. Then she heard a faint but rhythmic popping noise originating from across the table.
Helen looked up to see the young Lord, his dark hair draped sexily across his deep set eyes, with his lips pursed, slowly opening and closing them and making a distinct but subtle smacking sound as he did so. She squinted at him, not believing what she was seeing, when he lifted his eyebrows at her and winked.
"Dear Lord..." Helen thought, meaning the one in heaven not the one sitting across the table from her opening and closing his mouth like a cod fish.
Magnus shook her head and turned to James, who continued his conversation with Sir Terrence, completely oblivious to the arduous advances pointedly being made in her direction. Lady Carlisle caught Helen's eye and leaned in, whispering.
"It appears you have a new suitor, my dear. Does your Dr. Watson know?" she smiled, flicking her eyes at James.
Helen glanced at Watson, still in rapt conversation with Sir Terrence, and turned back to Lady Carlisle, frowning. "When it comes to matters of the heart, my lady, Dr. Watson can be quite clueless," she said with an edge to her voice that surprised even her.
Lady Carlisle chuckled. "Don't worry, my dear. They all are."
Helen nodded in agreement, trying to tamp down the irritation she was beginning to feel toward a certain member of the male sex.
"James Watson, intellectual genius indeed. Bloody hell…," she thought, taking a final sip of wine and doing her best to avoid looking at, and listening to, the puckering Lord Benbrook.
With dinner done, the men stayed behind to smoke cigars and drink brandy while the women retreated to the parlor for games, a convention Helen usually balked at. Tonight, however, Helen didn't have much of a choice. When in Rome…
Lady Burnham, predictably, requested she join her for a round of Bridge, but Magnus politely declined, opting instead to gather with a group of women who were playing a game of charades. A young girl named Elizabeth was just beginning her turn when the dining room door opened and all heads swiveled to watch the tall, dark, and handsome Lord Benbrook, brandy in hand, enter the parlor and head straight for Helen Magnus like a hound to a fox.
Lovely… Helen thought, bracing herself for the hunt.
In mere moments Benbrook made his way to Magnus who stood leaning against the far wall next to Lady Carlisle. The older woman snickered in amusement as the young man sauntered up and scooted next to Helen, his cologne heralding his approach.
"Lady Carlisle," he purred, reaching out to kiss the older woman's white gloved hand. "Please introduce me to your charming friend," he demanded, eyeing Helen keenly.
Lady Carlisle sighed. "Lord Albert Benbrook, Dr. Helen Magnus," she said matter of factly. Magnus couldn't help but smile at the way she'd proudly emphasized the "doctor" in her name.
"Dr. Helen Magnus," Benbrook repeated. "Of the London Sanctuary fame. Your reputation precedes you." He took her hand and kissed it, purposefully lingering longer than was necessary.
"As does yours, Lord Benbrook," Magnus replied cattily. Benbrook laughed, his teeth a straight line of dazzling white.
"I'm sure it does. And please, call me Bertie."
"Bertie," Magnus repeated. "I do wonder; Why on earth are you here in the parlor when you could be smoking cigars and discussing world domination with the men?"
He laughed again. He really was a dizzyingly handsome young man.
"Britain already dominates the world, my dear, Helen. May I call you Helen?" he asked without pausing and continued, assuming he may. "Besides, there are far more interesting things out here," he replied, his gaze traveling unapologetically up and down Magnus' trim form. The intensity of his perusal, as though she might as well be standing in the parlor naked, made her shiver.
"Last time I checked, charades wasn't the most intellectually stimulating activity," she tossed back, hoping he hadn't noticed her momentary fluster.
"Intellectually stimulating, no. Yet stimulating none the less," he argued, his voice a low growl.
The term 'forward' didn't begin to describe young Benbrook's behavior. Scandalous, shocking, and outrageous, perhaps. Suddenly Helen's mind wandered to Watson, thinking a dose or two of the young lord's sexual bravado would do the doctor some good.
Just then the doors of the dining room opened and the men streamed out reeking of cigars, brandy, and port. Some, those who had overindulged, wobbled. James being James walked straight as an arrow across the grand marble floor directly toward Magnus.
Helen automatically smiled at his approach and noticed out of the corner of her eye that Lord Benbrook frowned. He obviously knew she was spoken for and by whom. The fact hadn't stopped the young man, but now it appeared to have irritated him. She saw how he looked at Watson, a simple stone to be kicked away with his boot.
"Helen," James greeted her, kissing her on the cheek. "Having a wonderful time my dear?" he asked his hazel eyes twinkling.
"Oh, splendid, James, simply splendid," she replied sarcastically. He knew she found the convention of the men remaining behind to discuss "matters of consequence" while the woman were relegated like children to the parlor to play games insulting.
"James, have you met Lord Benbrook?" she said, indicating the now sullen young man at her side.
Watson turned and extended his hand. "Indeed I have. Pleasure to see you again, my lord. Joining us for a bit of shooting in the morning, son?"
Helen narrowed her eyes at James, the "son" reference catching her ear. Had James just subtly dressed down a lord of the realm? Surely not.
"I derive no great pleasure from hunting birds, Dr. Watson," Benbrook replied. "At least not the feathered kind."
Magnus flicked her eyes back to Benbrook.
Watson went on, seemingly undisturbed. "Well, hunting birds can be more perilous than one thinks, my lord, depending upon the species. Pheasants, of course, are not the most intelligent of avian creatures. However many members of the corvidae family, such as the common crow, are known for their cleverness. One must be careful not to be outwitted by them…and other birds, which may not be so common."
Helen flicked her eyes back to James, raising an eyebrow.
"Your point is well taken, Dr. Watson. We must both be careful in our hunts. Best of luck to you tomorrow," Lord Benbrook said, extending his hand. He turned to Magnus, bowing. "Dr. Magnus. I look forward to learning more about you," he hesitated, "and your Sanctuary, of course, in the morning. Sleep well." He turned and walked out of the parlor. Predictably, virtually every female eye followed him in his wake.
"Charming young man," James commented when he'd left. Lady Carlisle, who'd been standing nearby during the short but interesting conversation, grinned.
"Are you ready to retire my dear, or would you like to stay and continue the charades?" Watson asked. She cocked her head and looked at him.
"It's been a long day, James, I think I'll turn in. Will you escort me to my room?"
"Certainly, darling."
James extended his arm, and Helen took it. They said their good nights and headed toward the upper chambers.
Magnus wasn't sure what had just transpired between James and the young Bertie Benbrook, but whatever it was, she was certain it had nothing to do with pheasants.
A few moments later she was at her doorway, her room situated directly across from James. On the way he briefed her on the conversations he'd had in the dining room. Neither one of them mentioned Lord Benbrook.
"Well," she hesitated, standing in front of her door, feeling suddenly shy. "It was a most...interesting evening, don't you agree?" she finally proclaimed.
"Oh, indeed," Watson nodded. "Dinner was splendid. The Carlisles seem eager to extend their patronage to our efforts."
"Yes, Lady Carlisle was particularly pleasant to talk to."
They were speaking like strangers in crisp, stuttering sentences, not the fast friends that they were or the lovers they were working to become. When had this happened? Magnus wondered. More importantly, why had it happened?
"James…"
"Helen…"
They spoke each other's names simultaneously and laughed. Magnus peered down the hallway. It was dimly lit and quiet. Most of the guests had remained downstairs, having arrived much later than James and she. He'd been driving all morning and hunting all afternoon, she knew he was tired, but she wished that he'd…
Unexpectedly Magnus felt a warmth on her cheek. James pressed the palm of his hand against her face, gently turning her head toward him. With his left hand he reached out for her fingers and tenderly squeezed them. She looked into his eyes. Even in the soft light she could see them filled with desire. He smiled at her, making her stomach flutter.
James guided her to the wall, gently pressing her back against it, moving them into shadow and out of the reach of the soft yellow globes that lit the hallway. He wrapped his arms around her, trailing his hands up and down her back. The feather light touches made her shiver.
"You are…so beautiful, Helen," he whispered, his voice low and shaky. She put her arms around his waist in return, reaching up to caress his back, lingering over the taught muscles under his shirt and coat.
He gazed at her again, smiled once more, and then dipped his head low pressing his lips softly against hers. They were moist and warm and sweet and tasted of brandy and...James. Helen closed her eyes, tilted her head to one side, and parted her lips slightly. His grip on her waist tightened in response, and he pressed his body against her. James opened his mouth wider and traced her lips with his tongue, sending her senses reeling. She opened her mouth fully, and he suddenly swallowed her whole, kissing her so deep and so hard she couldn't breathe, couldn't think, riding waves of pleasure.
Abruptly he broke off the kiss, leaving Magnus breathless and bereft, then took it up again along her neck. He nibbled her earlobe, dipping his tongue in and out of her ear, and then worked his way down her soft, ivory skin to her shoulder and back up again. The warm, wet sensations sent goose bumps up and down her spine and heat to her center. She could feel wetness gathering between her legs, the desire growing inside her womb.
"James," she moaned in his ear, bunching his jacket in her fists, trying to maneuver him toward the door. She tilted her head, and he switched sides, kissing her other ear, working his way down as he'd done before until he found the tiny scar on her shoulder, the one he'd helped clean, the one John had left during one of their final, more violent, encounters.
If she could only reach the door handle to her room, she could open it from behind, pull James inside….
He stopped. As suddenly as he started, James stopped.
Helen's eyes flew open.
Watson had stepped back, his hands resting lightly against her waist. She stared at him, confused.
"James?"
"I'm…you're…we're… tired, Helen," he finally said. "It's been a long day. You should rest. We'll…We'll talk tomorrow. Good night, darling."
He leaned in, quickly kissed her cheek, spun on his heels, opened his door, and slipped inside so swiftly he could have been Nigel as rapidly as he'd disappeared.
Magnus slumped against the wall for a moment, catching her breath and her composure. Her heart was racing so fast she could hear the blood rushing to her head. Every cell in her body was on fire, and James… had left.
Simply left.
What the bloody hell? she wondered angrily.
She would kill him. Kill him or make love to him. No. Make love to him then kill him. Yes, that was it. Either way James Watson was a dead man.
Whether he'd die a happy one was up to him.
(to be continued)
Chapter: 2, The Fox and the Hounds
Author: NoCleverSig
Pairing: Helen/James
Spoilers: None, Set ca. 1910
Rating: Teen for now
Summary: James Watson has been courting Helen Magnus for weeks, but it will take a weekend in the country, a rakish young Lord, and a heated arguement to move their relationship forward. No. 2 in "The Courtship of Helen Magnus"
Love Letters
(Copyright 2011, by NoCleverSig)
Chapter 2: The Fox and the Hounds
Lord Benbrook stared at Magnus throughout dinner. So much so that Lady Harrington looked permanently shocked, Lady Burnham snorted, Lord Burnham consumed only half his usual portion of roast, and young Ruth appeared as though she might burst into tears as did several other women around the long dining table.
Magnus suddenly felt the need to lock her door that night lest one of the girls attempt to choke her in her sleep.
The only person who didn't seem to notice Lord Benbrook's lascivious leer was James, which was more than ironic as Watson noticed everything. He went about his dinner chatting merrily with the intelligent Lady Carlisle and her husband, Sir Terrence, about the latest string of robberies in London's West End. Of course he made a point to bring up the Sanctuary and his work with Helen, introducing Magnus to the Carlisles and certainly adding another member of British royalty to their growing list of patrons.
Helen soon found herself absorbed in conversation with the couple. They were smart, engaging, and eager to learn of her and Watson's work. Lady Carlisle was particularly curious about Helen's education and applauded her tenacity for earning her degrees. By dinner's end, Helen was sure she'd earned a new and valuable female ally.
Lost in conversation, fine food, and drink, Magnus momentarily forgot about the randy Lord Benbrook. Then she heard a faint but rhythmic popping noise originating from across the table.
Helen looked up to see the young Lord, his dark hair draped sexily across his deep set eyes, with his lips pursed, slowly opening and closing them and making a distinct but subtle smacking sound as he did so. She squinted at him, not believing what she was seeing, when he lifted his eyebrows at her and winked.
"Dear Lord..." Helen thought, meaning the one in heaven not the one sitting across the table from her opening and closing his mouth like a cod fish.
Magnus shook her head and turned to James, who continued his conversation with Sir Terrence, completely oblivious to the arduous advances pointedly being made in her direction. Lady Carlisle caught Helen's eye and leaned in, whispering.
"It appears you have a new suitor, my dear. Does your Dr. Watson know?" she smiled, flicking her eyes at James.
Helen glanced at Watson, still in rapt conversation with Sir Terrence, and turned back to Lady Carlisle, frowning. "When it comes to matters of the heart, my lady, Dr. Watson can be quite clueless," she said with an edge to her voice that surprised even her.
Lady Carlisle chuckled. "Don't worry, my dear. They all are."
Helen nodded in agreement, trying to tamp down the irritation she was beginning to feel toward a certain member of the male sex.
"James Watson, intellectual genius indeed. Bloody hell…," she thought, taking a final sip of wine and doing her best to avoid looking at, and listening to, the puckering Lord Benbrook.
With dinner done, the men stayed behind to smoke cigars and drink brandy while the women retreated to the parlor for games, a convention Helen usually balked at. Tonight, however, Helen didn't have much of a choice. When in Rome…
Lady Burnham, predictably, requested she join her for a round of Bridge, but Magnus politely declined, opting instead to gather with a group of women who were playing a game of charades. A young girl named Elizabeth was just beginning her turn when the dining room door opened and all heads swiveled to watch the tall, dark, and handsome Lord Benbrook, brandy in hand, enter the parlor and head straight for Helen Magnus like a hound to a fox.
Lovely… Helen thought, bracing herself for the hunt.
In mere moments Benbrook made his way to Magnus who stood leaning against the far wall next to Lady Carlisle. The older woman snickered in amusement as the young man sauntered up and scooted next to Helen, his cologne heralding his approach.
"Lady Carlisle," he purred, reaching out to kiss the older woman's white gloved hand. "Please introduce me to your charming friend," he demanded, eyeing Helen keenly.
Lady Carlisle sighed. "Lord Albert Benbrook, Dr. Helen Magnus," she said matter of factly. Magnus couldn't help but smile at the way she'd proudly emphasized the "doctor" in her name.
"Dr. Helen Magnus," Benbrook repeated. "Of the London Sanctuary fame. Your reputation precedes you." He took her hand and kissed it, purposefully lingering longer than was necessary.
"As does yours, Lord Benbrook," Magnus replied cattily. Benbrook laughed, his teeth a straight line of dazzling white.
"I'm sure it does. And please, call me Bertie."
"Bertie," Magnus repeated. "I do wonder; Why on earth are you here in the parlor when you could be smoking cigars and discussing world domination with the men?"
He laughed again. He really was a dizzyingly handsome young man.
"Britain already dominates the world, my dear, Helen. May I call you Helen?" he asked without pausing and continued, assuming he may. "Besides, there are far more interesting things out here," he replied, his gaze traveling unapologetically up and down Magnus' trim form. The intensity of his perusal, as though she might as well be standing in the parlor naked, made her shiver.
"Last time I checked, charades wasn't the most intellectually stimulating activity," she tossed back, hoping he hadn't noticed her momentary fluster.
"Intellectually stimulating, no. Yet stimulating none the less," he argued, his voice a low growl.
The term 'forward' didn't begin to describe young Benbrook's behavior. Scandalous, shocking, and outrageous, perhaps. Suddenly Helen's mind wandered to Watson, thinking a dose or two of the young lord's sexual bravado would do the doctor some good.
Just then the doors of the dining room opened and the men streamed out reeking of cigars, brandy, and port. Some, those who had overindulged, wobbled. James being James walked straight as an arrow across the grand marble floor directly toward Magnus.
Helen automatically smiled at his approach and noticed out of the corner of her eye that Lord Benbrook frowned. He obviously knew she was spoken for and by whom. The fact hadn't stopped the young man, but now it appeared to have irritated him. She saw how he looked at Watson, a simple stone to be kicked away with his boot.
"Helen," James greeted her, kissing her on the cheek. "Having a wonderful time my dear?" he asked his hazel eyes twinkling.
"Oh, splendid, James, simply splendid," she replied sarcastically. He knew she found the convention of the men remaining behind to discuss "matters of consequence" while the woman were relegated like children to the parlor to play games insulting.
"James, have you met Lord Benbrook?" she said, indicating the now sullen young man at her side.
Watson turned and extended his hand. "Indeed I have. Pleasure to see you again, my lord. Joining us for a bit of shooting in the morning, son?"
Helen narrowed her eyes at James, the "son" reference catching her ear. Had James just subtly dressed down a lord of the realm? Surely not.
"I derive no great pleasure from hunting birds, Dr. Watson," Benbrook replied. "At least not the feathered kind."
Magnus flicked her eyes back to Benbrook.
Watson went on, seemingly undisturbed. "Well, hunting birds can be more perilous than one thinks, my lord, depending upon the species. Pheasants, of course, are not the most intelligent of avian creatures. However many members of the corvidae family, such as the common crow, are known for their cleverness. One must be careful not to be outwitted by them…and other birds, which may not be so common."
Helen flicked her eyes back to James, raising an eyebrow.
"Your point is well taken, Dr. Watson. We must both be careful in our hunts. Best of luck to you tomorrow," Lord Benbrook said, extending his hand. He turned to Magnus, bowing. "Dr. Magnus. I look forward to learning more about you," he hesitated, "and your Sanctuary, of course, in the morning. Sleep well." He turned and walked out of the parlor. Predictably, virtually every female eye followed him in his wake.
"Charming young man," James commented when he'd left. Lady Carlisle, who'd been standing nearby during the short but interesting conversation, grinned.
"Are you ready to retire my dear, or would you like to stay and continue the charades?" Watson asked. She cocked her head and looked at him.
"It's been a long day, James, I think I'll turn in. Will you escort me to my room?"
"Certainly, darling."
James extended his arm, and Helen took it. They said their good nights and headed toward the upper chambers.
Magnus wasn't sure what had just transpired between James and the young Bertie Benbrook, but whatever it was, she was certain it had nothing to do with pheasants.
A few moments later she was at her doorway, her room situated directly across from James. On the way he briefed her on the conversations he'd had in the dining room. Neither one of them mentioned Lord Benbrook.
"Well," she hesitated, standing in front of her door, feeling suddenly shy. "It was a most...interesting evening, don't you agree?" she finally proclaimed.
"Oh, indeed," Watson nodded. "Dinner was splendid. The Carlisles seem eager to extend their patronage to our efforts."
"Yes, Lady Carlisle was particularly pleasant to talk to."
They were speaking like strangers in crisp, stuttering sentences, not the fast friends that they were or the lovers they were working to become. When had this happened? Magnus wondered. More importantly, why had it happened?
"James…"
"Helen…"
They spoke each other's names simultaneously and laughed. Magnus peered down the hallway. It was dimly lit and quiet. Most of the guests had remained downstairs, having arrived much later than James and she. He'd been driving all morning and hunting all afternoon, she knew he was tired, but she wished that he'd…
Unexpectedly Magnus felt a warmth on her cheek. James pressed the palm of his hand against her face, gently turning her head toward him. With his left hand he reached out for her fingers and tenderly squeezed them. She looked into his eyes. Even in the soft light she could see them filled with desire. He smiled at her, making her stomach flutter.
James guided her to the wall, gently pressing her back against it, moving them into shadow and out of the reach of the soft yellow globes that lit the hallway. He wrapped his arms around her, trailing his hands up and down her back. The feather light touches made her shiver.
"You are…so beautiful, Helen," he whispered, his voice low and shaky. She put her arms around his waist in return, reaching up to caress his back, lingering over the taught muscles under his shirt and coat.
He gazed at her again, smiled once more, and then dipped his head low pressing his lips softly against hers. They were moist and warm and sweet and tasted of brandy and...James. Helen closed her eyes, tilted her head to one side, and parted her lips slightly. His grip on her waist tightened in response, and he pressed his body against her. James opened his mouth wider and traced her lips with his tongue, sending her senses reeling. She opened her mouth fully, and he suddenly swallowed her whole, kissing her so deep and so hard she couldn't breathe, couldn't think, riding waves of pleasure.
Abruptly he broke off the kiss, leaving Magnus breathless and bereft, then took it up again along her neck. He nibbled her earlobe, dipping his tongue in and out of her ear, and then worked his way down her soft, ivory skin to her shoulder and back up again. The warm, wet sensations sent goose bumps up and down her spine and heat to her center. She could feel wetness gathering between her legs, the desire growing inside her womb.
"James," she moaned in his ear, bunching his jacket in her fists, trying to maneuver him toward the door. She tilted her head, and he switched sides, kissing her other ear, working his way down as he'd done before until he found the tiny scar on her shoulder, the one he'd helped clean, the one John had left during one of their final, more violent, encounters.
If she could only reach the door handle to her room, she could open it from behind, pull James inside….
He stopped. As suddenly as he started, James stopped.
Helen's eyes flew open.
Watson had stepped back, his hands resting lightly against her waist. She stared at him, confused.
"James?"
"I'm…you're…we're… tired, Helen," he finally said. "It's been a long day. You should rest. We'll…We'll talk tomorrow. Good night, darling."
He leaned in, quickly kissed her cheek, spun on his heels, opened his door, and slipped inside so swiftly he could have been Nigel as rapidly as he'd disappeared.
Magnus slumped against the wall for a moment, catching her breath and her composure. Her heart was racing so fast she could hear the blood rushing to her head. Every cell in her body was on fire, and James… had left.
Simply left.
What the bloody hell? she wondered angrily.
She would kill him. Kill him or make love to him. No. Make love to him then kill him. Yes, that was it. Either way James Watson was a dead man.
Whether he'd die a happy one was up to him.
(to be continued)