When Ichabod, Anabelle, and Masbeth reached the house, it had already grown dark out. The sun had disappeared below the city horizon, and the last fingers of pink and orange were fading from the sky, replaced by the deep blue-black of night. Ichabod was shaking a little as he sat heavily on one of the steps, having tired his knee much more than anticipated. He waved a hand as Masbeth tried to step forward and help.
"No... No, young Masbeth. I'm fine. Please. You... you may go to bed." When the boy had left, Ichabod slowly looked around to Anabelle. "It's too late to get the chaise tonight. You sleep on the one in the library." He shifted slightly on the step, stretching out his leg carefully and setting down the folder and book he carried. "I shall just take a blanket and pillow and sleep on the floor. I will still be nearby, Ana, do not worry."

"No," Anabelle said lightly, shaking her head. "Why don't we just throw cushions about and sleep on the pillows. I've read about that sort of thing before and I'd rather not have you sleeping on the floor," she paused to gaze at the chaise. "Unless you think we can both fit on the chaise," she offered. "I wouldn't be opposed to that option either."
Remembering her little tangent in the foyer of the library, a faint color rose to her cheeks, but this time she did not allow herself to glance away.

Ichabod, too, felt his face go hot as he looked fixedly up at Anabelle. She was willing to sleep on the chaise with him, and it was not a big chaise... But even that would be more comfortable for both of them than anything else. Deliberately, he nodded. His hands tightened into slight fist as he did so, and tried to keep notions of what may happen in that chaise tonight from creeping into his head.
"Very well... We shall both sleep on the chaise for the night," he agreed. "I..." He paused, unsure of how to put this thought towards her. "If I... don't mind your space during sleep, Ana, please wake me up and I will move to some pillows on the floor. I don't want you to feel...uncomfortable."

"The only way I am going to feel uncomfortable is if I know you're sleeping on the hard floorboards while I'm on the chaise like some princess," Anabelle answered with a smile and set a kiss to his cheek. "Which we both know I am anything but..." she added with a low laugh.
She rose to her feet, smoothing out the skirts of her dress.
"I'll go fetch blankets," she offered. "Are you hungry? I don't believe we've eaten..."
She worked over what they had in the kitchen in her mind. Young Masbeth had been simply wonderful to keep running all these errands for her; the lad had even seen to stocking the cupboards. I simply must do something for him, Anabelle though. He's done so much for Ichabod and me...
She caught herself smiling at that thought...
Ichabod and me...
With a shake of her head, she tossed the thought from her mind, sending her dark hair back over her shoulders, little purple marks visible on her neck. She waited for Ichabod's answer.

"I am feeling a bit...hungry, I suppose," Ichabod admitted shyly. Just then, his stomach gave a rather loud grumble that must have been easily heard by Anabelle, who still stood close. "Yes," he said. "Rather hungry, actually. Do you mind if I join you in the kitchen while you cook. I might just...sketch away the time, but if I make you self-conscious... I shall retire to the library to draw instead."

"No, come and keep me company," Anabelle smiled. She pondered some of the phrasing Ichabod had been using lately...to her it sounded like he was trying to discern whether she wanted him around or not. She bit down on the corner of her lower lip before holding her hands out to him, helping him to his feet. She must have exerted more force than she anticipated because she quickly found herself backed against the column that stood opposite the staircase, with Ichabod against her. Her eyes widened in surprise, but she couldn't say she minded this unexpected turn of events.
Anabelle still held both his hands in hers, lacing their fingers as she pulled him even closer. Tilting her chin upwards, she barely touched her lips to his.
"Ichabod," her voice came out in a whisper and her breath warm against his lips, "I love being near you, please don't doubt that. The more time I spend with you, the more time I want to spend with you... And being with you doesn't make me self-conscious...not in a bad way, at least. So, please, don't fret."
That being said, Anabelle, with more gentleness than she knew she possessed, slowly brought her lips to his, pressing softly.

Ichabod's heart leapt into his throat at the sensations that flooded through him when she kissed him like that. He wanted to love her, be near to her, crumple up and throw away all of the doubts there might have been that he did not care for her. He was pleased to hear her say such things to him; and with all of the same tenderness, he claimed her lips. It was as if he had set a scientific analysis to them, slowly studying her lips with his own. After what seemed weeks of the soft and affectionate kiss, Ichabod pulled away, squeezing her hands.
"I am glad to hear you say such things, Anabelle," he cooed against her lips. "I will no longer have need to worry. Rest assured that I... feel the same way." He smiled, pressing his lips to hers lightly again.

Anabelle smiled into his kiss, simply enjoying the effects his gentle touch had on her. Her breathing was slow and even, her entire body relaxed. She could not ever remember feeling so special, so loved...
There it was again. The one word that kept forcing itself to the front of her mind with increasing frequency. For some reason, however, this time it did not bother her. In fact, she realized something very important there in the hallway...
She loved Ichabod.
Now was not the time to tell him, but it didn't keep her from smiling again against his lips as she gently freed one of her hands from his and ran it through his hair before coming to rest softly on his cheek as he continued to kiss her.

His fingers lingered on her shoulder for a second. Then they tickled down, over what could be seen of her collar bone from the seam of the dress she wore. His breathing slowed dangerously for a moment, his fingers braving further along her neckline and coming to rest just at the lowest point.

Anabelle's breath hitched in her throat as Ichabod touched her skin. His fingers sent shivers throughout her body, but she fought to keep these under control. The warmth from his fingertips felt too good against her flesh and she did not want to give him any reason to suddenly stop and be embarrassed.
Still keeping her kiss as gentle as she could, she tangled her hand in his black hair, pulling him, if possible, even closer.

Ichabod, surprisingly, was the first one to increase the intensity of the kiss now. One hand remained lower, between her breasts, while they other ran up past her ear and into her dark hair. His fingers raked through it, and when it slipped from his fingers, it fell into her eyes, tickling both of their lips. In the next swipe through her hair, Ichabod pulled it back again, into the main mass of her hair.

Although she was trying her hardest to fight it, Anabelle let a small moan escape her lips as Ichabod's fingers tangled in her hair. She took a deep breath, causing the hand he let rest on her chest to rise and fall with her breathing.
Still not wanting him to pull away, Anabelle closed one of her hands around the one he had resting on her chest, simply keeping it there. Her other hand slipped from his hair, gently gripping the side of his neck as she parted her lips across his.

Ichabod felt her press his hand closer to her chest. He smiled; he wanted so much more from her, but the last thing he wished to do was pressure her. His hand left her dark brown locks and slipped under her arm. His fingers trailed lazily down her back, coming to rest just on her tail bone. He did not exactly pulled her closer, just held her there, lips slowly working hers.

The slowness of his lips was driving her mad...She could feel his fingers brushing against the skin of her breasts, even as her own held him there. As his other hand drifted down her back, holding her against him, she felt herself tremble lightly in his arms. Vaguely she remembered something about dinner and his sketchbook, but that seemed days ago now...
They should stop before things got out of hand.
She didn't want to stop his hands...
A loud banging on the door made her jump.

Ichabod stared in surprise. His lips parted from Anabelle's and he stumbled sideways. He would have toppled completely over, had he not been able to catch himself, half on the pillar and half on Anabelle. He let out a low sigh, both in relief at not having fallen, but also as a means to release the odd tension that had built up in him during the kiss. It had almost been as if he had been holding his breath, which, now that he thought on it, maybe he had been. Regardless, now he glared at the door, rather aggravated.
"Yes?" he called, voice cracking a little bit. "Who is it?"

Anabelle's eyes had opened quickly when Ichabod stumbled. Whoever was at the door had startled them both badly.
"Sir, it's Masbeth," came the familiar voice from the opposite side of the door.
Anabelle closed her eyes in relief, leaning her head back against the pillar, her eyes closed. Taking deep breaths, she tried to calm her racing heart...its rapid beating had been caused by Ichabod's touch. She could still feel the touch of his lips to hers and the warmth of his hands. Thinking on it sent a shiver through her.
She felt Ichabod's hand close around hers and she looked up to meet his eyes. Letting him pull her into the hallway, they made their way to the door.
Young Masbeth stood in the glow of the lantern with a strange mixture of nervousness and...was that relief?...on his face.
Anabelle looked curiously from Masbeth to Ichabod then back to Masbeth.
"Sir, the magistrate's dead..."

Ichabod stopped in his tracks, gawking at the young man in the hallway.
"Dead," he uttered blankly. "Dead?" He could barely say anything else. Dumbstruck, he looked to Anabelle. Deep inside, he felt an ecstatic happiness coursing through him at the news, but... what had happened? Was there any danger, immediately, to them? Thinking hard, he looked to Masbeth again.
"What on earth happened? Surely not the..."
"Not the Horseman, no, sir. It's a total coincidence, weird, too. Stupid bloke." Masbeth shook his head. "He got drunk, stumbled out into the road and got hit by a carriage. Well, as you can imagine, the man's so fat he just sort of bounced off of it, but stumbled and hit his head. Got knocked unconscious. He...well, he drowned in a puddle made by some melted snow on the side of the road." Ichabod sighed with relief. It had nothing to do with the case, everyone knew it had only been an accident.
"Well... what other news?"
"Only this, sir; that the mortician is a sort of in a pickle as to what to do with the body. When I left, they were trying to squeeze it into a transport carriage. It was," he paused guiltily, "sort of amusing, really. And to tell you the truth, his wife did not seem all too upset. She wasn't crying, or anything."

A soft snort escaped Anabelle who was desperately trying not to laugh. Someone had just died...granted she never liked the gluttonous mass, but that was no excuse to laugh. She put the back of her hand to her mouth, biting down on the knuckle of her middle finger, holding her breath to keep from bursting out in a fit of laughter. Her shoulders started to shake and her eyes were completely betraying the amusement she was trying so hard to keep bottled up.
That fat cow finally got his...
At least he would be leaving her and Ichabod alone.
She could feel questioning eyes staring at her, and looked up to meet Ichabod's deep brown eyes. She felt a tug at the hand she had to her mouth, his fingers trying to pull hers away. Anabelle stopped biting down on her knuckle long enough to whisper.
"If you pull my hand away, I will not be able to keep from laughing."
Somehow she could tell Ichabod wanted to laugh too. Masbeth hid a snicker in the sleeve of his coat.
Suddenly Anabelle couldn't dam up her amusement anymore. She turned her head into Ichabod's shoulder, her arm wrapping around his waist and laughed until she thought she would cry. Unfortunately this set Masbeth off, and if she wasn't mistaken, Ichabod even joined in softly, his hand wrapping low around her waist.
Finally she managed to get herself under some semblance of control and reached inside her pocket, tossing a small bag to Young Masbeth.
"Rupert, run off to the nearest merchant you can and get us a flask of brandy...a small one...tonight we drown our sorrows for the magistrate. Dinner will be ready by the time you return."
With a theatrical bow and a broad smile, Young Masbeth was off.
Anabelle tilted her chin to meet Ichabod's eyes.
"Don't worry," she put her finger to his lips as he parted them to protest. "You only get one glass."
She watched her finger trail over his lips before softly replacing it with her lips.

Later that evening, Ichabod sat at the table with the company of both Anabelle and Masbeth. They were talking and laughing; drowning their sorrows, as Anabelle had called it. True to her promise, Anabelle had only permitted Ichabod one tumbler of the brandy that Masbeth had fetched. He still had not drained the miniature glass, though Masbeth had poured his second, and Anabelle had finished off one. Ichabod kept caution, not wanting to get himself drunk and put Anabelle in another compromising position. At one moment, there came a short lull in conversation. Ichabod, finished with his meal, leant back in his seat, leg stretched out carefully before him beneath the table. He sighed; it was getting late and he wanted to wake early to take a trip to the city hall. With a glance to the young woman seated in the chair beside him, he cleared his throat.
"I fear we are celebrating into much too late an hour, Anabelle, Masbeth," he addressed them both. "While I am glad the magistrate, the blubbering fool, is no longer a pest, I don't believe we should lose sleep in rejoicing." He smiled, making to stand and leaving his half-full glass where it sat. "Young Masbeth, please, goodnight. I will see you bright and early in the morning. We will visit the city hall tomorrow."

Anabelle walked Masbeth to the door. Although dinner had been quite a fun event, she was getting rather tired and the idea of curling up with Ichabod on the library chaise sounded more and more inviting as the minutes progressed. She waved to Masbeth as he headed off towards his lodgings. With a small sigh she closed the door, placing her palm flat against the center and leaning her forehead against her hand. Quietly she muttered a phrase she learnt long ago from her mother, recalling with a smile how the woman used to say this each night when the family was all finally home. She stepped away from the door with a small smile on her lips and headed towards the kitchen when movement in the library caught her eye.
Ichabod is certainly managing to get around with more ease, she thought as she watched him set blankets on the edge of the chaise before turning to see her.
"If you'll allow me a moment or two, I'll have the dishes finished," she said, fiddling with her ring.
Her hand was stilled by another softly enveloping it and she looked up into irresistible deep brown eyes that clearly told her the dishes could wait.

"Come rest and sleep, Ana," Ichabod whisper, looking down at he with gleaming eyes. He was in a rather good mood, but knew sleep would do them both a world of good. "Today was a busy one; you did quite a few things... Now it is time for bed. The dishes are not an urgent matter, so let's save them for the morning. Come." He pulled her towards the chaise gently.

His tone was so warm, so inviting...Anabelle couldn't help but smile and do as he asked, letting him pull her toward the chaise and then gently down beside him.

Ichabod encircled her waist with his arms, pulling her onto his lap quickly and setting a soft kiss to her neck. His hands inched down her shoulders again; one slid low onto her back, while the other, more bold, brushed over her collarbone and chest. He looked down at her bosom, heaving, as her corset constricted which direction her chest and lungs could expand. A frown replaced the weariness on his face, his head shaking in disbelief.
"That must be horrid to sleep in," he said, his voice just over a whisper. "Would you prefer to..." He rested his hand on the corset stays, looking her full in the face and fighting the blush that started to take over his cheeks again.

Anabelle closed her eyes and rested her forehead against his, holding his face in her hands.
"Only if you wouldn't mind," she answered, her own voice hushed. "Otherwise it's not so unbearable. I don't lace them that tightly."
She could feel his fingers begin to tug gently at her corset strings. Anabelle slipped her arms very loosely around his neck, resting her head in the crook where his neck met his shoulder, taking several deep breaths.

"A useful bit of information to have," Ichabod said before he could stop himself. He offered her a slight smile as the last tie of the corset was loosened. Slowly, he worked the strong garment up and over her frame, setting it aside, taking in what lay beneath. For a minute, Ichabod could only stare at her form through the thin chemise she wore. His breathing was slow and steady, but his eyes, those dark brown eyes, were alight with emotion. He leaned in, placing a soft kiss to her lower lip and then one to her chin. Then he sat back and slid down, lying on his side against the single arm or the chaise, patting the space beside him.
"If, during the night, you get uncomfortable with...anything, wake me. I do mean it, Ana."

Anabelle pressed a kiss to his lips with a little more pressure than her kiss usually held. Then she followed his lead, lying back against the chaise, pulling close to him. His body was so warm, making her feel so relaxed and comfortable.
She felt his arm wrap around her, lightly holding her to him. Anabelle let out a low laugh.
"If comfort is the case, I doubt I shall have any reason to wake you," she teased him, trailing her fingers across the arm that held her close. "In fact, I think you will have a difficult time trying to get me to quit this chaise in the morning."

Ichabod laughed lightly, his grip around her waist tightening as he pulled her closer to him.
"That's not necessarily a bad thing," he replied, smiling still. His head tilted forward, so that his forehead rested against her shoulder. "We all deserve a sleep-in once in a while, if not every day. Well, almost all of us..." He chuckled. "I do wonder who will get the job as magistrate now. With luck, he will be considerably more competent."

"Judging by the last person they chose, that should not be a difficult requirement to fulfill..." Anabelle murmured as her breathing began to level off with sleep. "And preferably less of a drunkard, but perhaps that is too much to be wished for..."
She shifted in his arms, causing the hem of her chemise to push up exposing a portion of her skin along her abdomen. She felt Ichabod's fingers lightly brush over her skin, causing her to emit a small noise and a sleepy smile to grace her lips as her eyelids fell closed.