Chapter 13

"You know, I admire your stubbornness," James said as they walked through the dimly lit corridors of their home. "But you can admit now that you have no idea where I am taking you or what it is we are about to do."

He could see the gentle jerk of her head as she looked away from him in an effort to hide her confusion. He really meant what he said. He did admire her stubbornness. She obviously got lost in her own thoughts for a moment but continued the conversation bravely, falling deeper and deeper with each confirmation until it was too late to get out of it.

"I don't know what makes you say that," she retorted simply and sweetly, her voice almost a chirp in the darkness. He almost burst into a boisterous chuckle, but he managed to resist the temptation to do so.

"All right then," he teased her. "What is it you are supposed to help me with?"

"I don't have anything to prove to you," she said, turning to him. That stubbornness burned in her beautiful eyes, daring him back.

This time, he laughed loudly, more freely than he had ever before with her. The more he was getting to know her, the more he liked her fiery spirit. He had no idea how on earth she ended up in a nunnery. He doubted that such a free spirit could ever follow those strict rules. He also wondered how she handled it all. But it seemed like something too personal, something she might not be willing to share with him yet. So, he reverted to playful teasing once again.

"Well, I will tell you then," he said. "Grandfather urged for a great-grandchild, and I am taking you to my bedchamber, so we can start on it."

She stopped immediately, letting go of his arm. She turned to him, her eyes wide and doe-like in shock as the silvery glow of the moonlight spilled through the adjacent window.

"W-what?" she asked, barely managing to muster.

"Yes," he nodded, going to great lengths to remain grave looking. "Grandfather is very serious about great-grandchildren, you know. He wasn't just saying that in jest."

"Wait, I… I wasn't listening," she finally admitted. "I… I didn't think we're going to do… that…"

Once again, he burst into a mirthful laughter, unrestrained and completely without control. It took him a moment or two to calm down, and then he smiled softly.

"Finally, you've confessed," he teased her. "And don't worry, Grandfather wasn't talking about that. Although I could make a safe bet that he is looking forward to the pitter patter of little feet running about the manor house. But not even he is that indiscreet."

He could see a tidal wave of relief wash over her then she smiled back. "That was really mean of you, you know." She said it without any reproach, and with a hint of a smile.

"I had to get you to admit it somehow," he smirked. "I asked nicely at first, didn't I?"

She pouted a little, and he felt a sudden desire to kiss her again. But he felt that something else was happening between them. They were getting closer in a way he wasn't expecting. A kiss might change the flow of the magic, and he wanted it to continue in the way that it was heading.

"You did," she admitted.

"All right," he replied. "Since you've confessed that as well, I will tell you. Grandfather was talking about a hobby of mine which is clock repair. And you, Penelope, just told him that you are also knowledgeable on the subject and that you will help me repair an old pocket watch which is a family heirloom."

"Oh, no!" she gasped, pressing her hand to her lips. "Did I really say that?"

"Not in those exact words, but yes." He laughed so loudly that his voice reverberated through the old, forgotten corridors.

"Goodness me," she wailed playfully. "You mustn't let me touch that pocket watch. I will ruin it!"

This time, she laughed as well. "Don't worry," he assured her. "I wouldn't dream of it. However… I could show you a few tricks, so Grandfather can't tell that you know nothing of watch repair."

"Can you really?" she asked as they continued walking slowly.

"Of course," he nodded. "There's nothing to it, really. You just have to be really patient and attentive to detail. The watch tells you itself what's wrong with it."

She frowned. "How can it tell you anything if it's broken and not ticking?"

"Well, now you are just being nitpicky," he teased, much to her delight. He noticed that throughout their entire conversation, she was smiling, and it made him strangely hopeful. "I was merely saying that it's not something that can't be learned."

"But you were trying to be philosophical about it, I see," she replied equally playfully.

"Something like that," he grinned, stopping in front of a door. "Well, here we are."

* * *

Penelope had to admit that she actually believed him for a moment. But then, she realized how odd that would be. To have his grandfather talking about great-grandchildren, urging them at the same time to go and start on them. It was all rather silly, but he caught her believing it for a moment.

Now, he was urging her into a room that seemed to hold a special meaning to him. As she stepped inside, a sense of awe washed over her like a gentle wave. She found herself enveloped in a world of intricate beauty and timeless craftsmanship. Her eyes darted from one marvel to the next, each piece telling a story of skill and dedication.

The soft glow of lamplight illuminated the room, casting a warm ambiance that danced across the walls adorned with shelves of antique clocks. The air was heavy with the scent of polished wood and aged brass, mingling with the faint ticking of the timepieces that filled the space.

"I feel like I'm in another world," she gushed, turning to him. He smiled back, but he didn't say anything. He just watched her as she took in the sight in front of her.

Her gaze lingered on a vintage clockmaker's lathe nestled in one corner, its gleaming brass fittings catching the light in a mesmerizing display. She couldn't help but reach out to trace the delicate contours of the tools, marveling at their craftsmanship. Moving further into the room, Penelope felt a sense of reverence wash over her as she approached a majestic grandfather clock standing tall against the wall. Its intricate carvings told a story of centuries past, each detail a testament to the skill of its maker.

"How did you discover… all this?" she asked, intrigued.

"It all started when I was just a boy," he began. "I… I needed a place to myself, to calm down and think in peace."

He didn't want to tell her yet about his father, especially not what had happened. He didn't want to ruin the magic of the evening.

"I remember finding a broken pocket watch by the creek," he reminisced. "I asked my grandfather about it, and he showed me some books on watch repair. I drank in every single word of those books, fascinated by the intricate workings hidden beneath their polished exteriors."

Penelope listened intently, her eyes alight with curiosity as James recounted his journey into the world of clock making.

"There were long afternoons spent poring over dusty volumes in the library, studying the art of horology. I wanted to know everything there was to know, every little detail," he continued as he got lost on the path of memory. "Then, one day, I felt ready. I repaired the pocket watch I found. It turned out to be a simple task but one that filled me with a sense of accomplishment unlike anything I had ever experienced before."

He turned to a small, intricately carved wooden box sitting atop a shelf in the corner of the room. He reached out and carefully lifted the lid, revealing a treasure nestled within — a simple pocket watch with a polished silver casing, its surface adorned with delicate engravings that glinted in the lamplight.

"This," he said softly, his voice filled with a mixture of pride and nostalgia, "is the very first pocket watch I ever repaired."

Penelope's eyes widened in wonder as she gazed upon the worn timepiece, a sense of reverence washing over her. She reached out tentatively, her fingers trembling slightly as she traced the contours of the watch with a gentle touch.

"It's beautiful," she breathed, her voice barely a whisper.

James nodded, a fond smile playing at the corners of his lips. "It may not be the most ornate or valuable piece in my collection, but it holds a special place in my heart. It was the catalyst that ignited my passion for clockwork, the moment when I realized that I had found my calling."

In the hushed intimacy of the clock repair room, James and Penelope stood close, their gazes locked in a silent exchange charged with unspoken longing. The air between them crackled with anticipation, each heartbeat echoing the rhythm of their shared desire.

With a tender yet determined resolve, James closed the distance between them, his hand finding the curve of Penelope's waist as he drew her nearer. Their breath mingled in a sweet, anticipatory dance, their lips mere inches apart as they surrendered to the magnetic pull between them.

As their lips finally met, it was as if the world around them faded into oblivion, leaving only the fiery intensity of their kiss. He touched her with gentle possessiveness, his lips conveying a passion that defied words. Her entire body trembled, and she still held the pocket watch in her hand, her other hand free to wrap her fingers around the back of his neck and pull him close.

The kiss was a symphony of longing and surrender, each movement a testament to the unbridled passion that burned between them. Time seemed to stand still as they lost themselves in the intoxicating whirlwind of sensation, their souls intertwining in a fervent embrace. She felt his hand gently touch her swan-like neck and travel down her exposed collar bone to the soft mounds of her breasts.

He cupped them tenderly, and she moaned against his lips. She was melting in his arms while his manhood was yearning to ravage her right then and there. Then, she remembered her condition. A whole year. How on earth was she to handle being without… this an entire year? She couldn't imagine a single second without his lips and hands on her body.

Just as she was thinking about how much she wanted him to continue, he did exactly the opposite. He just pulled away. She almost gasped with displeasure, blushing and doe-eyed as she stared at him in disbelief that he dared to break their kiss.

"I'm sorry," he said playfully. "I am not honoring your conditions."

She knew that he wanted that kiss to continue as much as she did. Their bodies fitted so perfectly together, just as their lips did. Yes, he refused to grant her silent wishes, choosing instead to torment her. Fire burned inside of her, deep and raw, and she knew that nothing apart from more kissing would satiate her. But he seemed content seeing her like this, burning with desire.

"I… yes," she said, taking a step back and clearing her throat as she did so. "Thank you."

He smiled as he turned around. "Now, would you like me to show you the pocket watch we will be working on together?"