Page 15 of Euphoria
“No, sir.”
“Then you value intelligence?”
“I suppose I do.”
He stared at me, his gaze intensifying, and I turned mine to my hands.
“Tell me, Miss Doe,” he began, his tone turning sharp. “What fault do you find with me? All my limbs are intact, and I have strength andendowment.”
I understood what he meant entirely. “Mr. Rochester, pardon my earlier answer. It was only a slip of the tongue.”
He laughed, a peculiar sound I was sure he was incapable of until then, and said, “No, you shall be answerable for it. Am I a fool?”
“Far from it,” I replied. “Would you think me rude if I asked if you were vain? If you required the attentions of beautiful women to feel complete, sir?”
“There,” he exclaimed, pointing at me. “Another thrust with your barbed knife.” He reached for his glass and lifted it to his lips, taking a draft of liquor. “No, I would disagree with your question and say I enjoy the company of beautiful women. They are pleasing in the physical sense, but mentally? Not at all.”
I began to tremble slightly, and I shifted to a more comfortable position. Talking about casual sex with my arrogant yet attractive employer! I’d never been so forward in my life, but it was as he’d implied. Pleasure and mental stimulation had always been exclusive concepts for me.
“You’ve never experienced both at the same time?” I asked, daring to keep the conversation going on its dangerous path.
“I once had tenderness,” he replied, nursing his glass. “Though I was beaten down by it, and now I’m a hard man, Miss Doe.”
I inclined my head. “A common tale of woe?”
Mr. Rochester laughed again, a full sound, which had me inching closer. “Yes, there is something underneath that mask, Miss Doe.”
“I would say the same to you.”
“Do you think I have hope, then?”
I tilted my head to the side. “Hope of what, sir?”
“That I can be transformed from stone back into flesh?”
He’s drunk, I thought to myself. The conversation was becoming quite inappropriate, and I hardly dared to think he was interested in me for more than the duel of words we’d enjoyed thus far. I was attracted to him, there was no doubt, but I was plain little Jane Doe. I had no name, no family, and no wealth. I was no match for Edward Rochester.
“You look distraught,” he said. “Your changing emotions are not so different from mine, yes? On that can we agree?”
“I haven’t disagreed with you, sir. I merely don’t know how to reply to make you feel better.”
At this, he rose quite abruptly and leaned against the mantle over the fire. The light shone upon his face, and he did not try to hide it from me as he deliberated.
“I like it when you call me sir,” he murmured, his voice holding a cryptic note to it. “But please, do not refer to me as Mr. Rochester. It suits me not. The term makes me feel like an old man. Like my father, perhaps.”
“What would you have me call you, then?” I inquired.
“Edward,” he said. “That is my name.”
“But you are my employer…”
“Miss Doe, you misunderstand me,” he said, turning to face me. “I would not treat you as an inferior. You have been good enough to sit here and talk with me, and I do not want you to think that here, right now, I am your employer and you are my subordinate.”
I was struck dumb at his declaration. He held his cards very close to his chest, and I still didn’t know how to proceed.
“What is it?” he asked, lowering his head and peering at me. “Are you dumb? No, I’m quite certain you are not. Is it stubbornness, then?”
“Not at all,” I replied. “If I’d known I was free to leave at any time, I would’ve left you once I returned the book.” I glanced at the carpet, hiding the flush that had risen in my cheeks. “But…”
