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Fences I and II	By : alexiscc Category: G through L > The Lost World Views: 2192 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own The Lost World, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Fences I and II
- 1
FENCES part I

By Lex
These characters do not belong to me, but to
Telescene. I am just borrowing them for a while. I am
making no profit from these little stories, so please
don't sue me. I'm poor, anyway.

Instinctively he knew that she would be as
uninhibited, as fierce a lover as he himself was. He
did not delude himself into believing that she was
untouched, inexperienced, butvatevately he determined
that he would be the only lover she would ever know
from that night onward.

Roxton was on his back in her bed in the treehouse and
Marguerite was riding him, her slim, hard-muscled
thighs straddling his hips. He was arching into her,
pounding forcefully, growling with the effort, his
hands on her hips, his breath ragged in his throat.
Her elegant hands rested on top of his, her head and
long neck were thrown back, and her face transformed
by passion. She was moaning huskily, urging him on;
her masses of stormy black hair fell almost to her
waist. Her hands left his then, one reaching back to
caress the juncture where their bodies met, the other
at her own breast. Her smoldering gaze met his, her
eyes heavy-lidded. Roxton thought he had neveen
en
anything so erotic in his life.

"Oh, God ... God ... Marguerite ..." he rasped,
knowing he could no longer hold back. His callused
hands pulled her roughly down to him; he was biting,
then kissing, her pale shoulder, her pink tongue was
in his ear and he groaned gutturally into her neck as
he came.
When they had both regained their breath, and lay
sprawled together, limbs entangled, on the bed, Roxton
wound a hand in Marguerite's hair. He propped himself
up on one elbow and grinned lazily down at her,

"Well?" he said, cocking his eyebrow.

"Well?" she questioned teasingly; he laughed, amused
at the mischief in her gray eyes as she mirrored his
ex pression almost exactly. "Proud of yourself, John?"

He pretended to polish his fingernails on a
nonexistent lapel.

"Shouldn't I be, my love? You certainly seemed to
enjoy yourself!"

" I suppose ... " she said consideringly, looking
coyly at him from under sooty lashes.

He burst out laughing and commanded her huskily,

"Come here ... " and drew her close. He nuzzled
hungrily at her creamy breasts, surprised at the
strength of the desire that was so soon again surging
through him, and was gratified to hear a noise that
sounded almost like a purr emanating from her throat.
"You little tigress," he breathed, "You'll be my most
beautiful trophy yet!" So engrossed was he in loving
her - in her light powdery scent, the feel of her
nipple hardening against his thumb, the excitement of
his other hand brushing lightly at the curls between
her legs - that he did not, at first, notice how
completely she had frozen at his words.

"Trophy ..." The ill-chosen word set off loud warning
signals in Marguerite's brain, and the protective
walls that had only just begun to crumble when she saw
the love in John Roxton's eyes were made strong once
again. She - and her fortune - were no man's trophy.
She would never be that weak, never fall prey to any
fortune hunter! More than one man - and one in
particular - had sought her company, had convincingly
professed his love for her, and had turned out to be
interested only in her money. But surely, surely ...
Roxton was not like that ...Marguerite cast her mind
back to the events of evenevening...

She and Roxton had been the only two left around the
campfire. Summerlee had long been asleep, and Malone
and Veronica were accompanying Challenger on one of
his searches for previously undiscovered specimens ...
or something. (As usual, Marguerite had not paid very
much attention.) The night was very quiet and still,
and, for a change, she and Roxton were not engaging in
their usual bickering and games of one-upmanship.
Marguerite had closed her eyes and rested her head
against the tree behind her, and had lost herself in
dreams of their eventual return to London. Somehow
sensing Roxton's eyes upon her, she had suddenly
opened her own, catching him unaware, as he drank in
the beauty of her lovely face. Her lips parted in ...
surprise? pleasure? For Roxton's heart was there on
display, thinking itself safe from her notice: he
loved her. For once, his cool, mocking look was gone
completely, and in its place was such protectiveness,
such unguarded hunger, such love, that she ached to
see it. Her defenses were overcome at the sudden
assault. And then,

"Yes," she had said softly.
It was the hardest word she had ever uttered in her
life.
He had given her his familiar slow grin, bud bed been
unable to quench the fire that flared in his dark
brown eyes, and taking her hand in his strong one, had
led her into the treehouse.
And now, forgetful of her hands tangled in his thick
hair as he kissed his way down her body murmuring
words of love and sex, she stiffened, as hurt, shame
and rage burned in her. How could she have been so
stupid, so weak!!?? How could she have trusted someone
to this extent - someone who then confirmed her
innermost fears by referring to her casually as his
"trophy?!" She was furious at herself and at him. So
that when he sensed the change in her mood and looked
up at her quizzically, her face was set in her old
look of disdain.

"Marguerite? What ..."

"Get out of here ... NOW," she spat.

The loo his his handsome face was almost comical.

"WHAT?!"

"You heard me. You thought you had me, didn't you,
Roxton? Well, guess what .... I had YOU!" she lashed
out at him.

"Marguerite, what the hell are you talking about?" He
looked at her as if she had gone mad. "God help me,
but I love you ... I'm in love with you, and I
remember you once telling me that we needed each
other."

Marguerite hardened her heart until she felt like her
old invulnerable self.

"Yes, I need you, Roxton, like a cat needs a ball of
string ... to play with."

He drew back as if he had been slapped and stared at
her. Finally he shook his head and said slowly, as if
he didn't much like what he had to say - as if he
didn't much like HER, for that matter -

"I once called you a cold customer. I don't think I
could have imagined just HOW cold." He turned away and
started to dress.

Marguerite's insides were in knots. Oh, God, what was
she doing? She swallowed convulsively.

"John ..." she managed to squeeze out. He turned back
to look at her, wariness in his shadowed eyes, but the
iron bars around her heart, so painstakingly erected
over the years, would not let themselves be breached
by another word, and she could say no more.

Roxton thought for a moment that he had seen something
in her face, something that was calling to him, but
his pride prevented him from speaking. And as she sat
there, she seemed so unapproachable and arrogant, that
he was sure he had been mistaken. Could this really be
the same woman as the one who had just minutes ago
used her slim fingers to caress him, her tempting
mouth to excite him, whose hot breath had fanned his
temple as he kissed her neck? He thought despairingly
that her capacity for deception and cruelty were
remarkable. He loved her; he was trapped like one of
the beasts that he himself hunted, but his captor
seemed to have no heart.

He turned and exited the room, deliberately slamming
the wooden door behind him, and cursed,

"May God damn you to Hell, Marguerite."

Marguerite gave a short, bitter laugh and said to the
closed door,

"Don't worry, John ... He already has."

FENCES II by Lex
"Well, the dinner got a little overdone,"

Marguerite said defiantly, as she slapped down the
plates on the wooden table, each one containing a
charred hunk of unidentifiable something-or-other. Her
tone dared anyone to complain.

"Hell, Marguerite," Roxton said in disgust. "Can't you
even cook a meal? You're bloody useless!"

"May I remind you that it is MY money that funded this
expedition?" Marguerite looked daggers at him. "If it
weren't for me, it never would have taken place. I'd
hardly call that 'useless!'"

"And may I remind YOU that if it weren't for your
colossal greed, that cave-in would never have taken
place, and we would have had a way off the plateau."

"How dare you ..." Marguerite reared up, her hands
clenching, white-knuckled, at the table's edge.

"Now, now ..."interjected Summerlee placatingly.

"Well, he is just insufferable!" Marguerite exclaimed
indignantly.

"Will you two PLEASE stop picking at each other?"
sighedVeronica, exasperation plain on her face. "It's
making everyone else miserable."

"Maybe you should direct that comment to Miss Krux,"
smirked Roxton, "since it is she, who, on the rare
moments that she deignsliftlift a finger to act as
anything more than a bank for this group, is, more
often than not, the cause of trouble."

"Don't you ever call me that again! Don't you ever
speak to me like that again," she sputtered, enraged.
And reached out and slapped his face as hard as she
could, needing to wipe away that smug look.

"Damn it," Roxton swore, lurching forward with raised
hand, as if to slap her right back.

"Go on, Roxton, do it!" she dared him, her chin thrust
forward. "We'll see who ends up on the floor!"

"Stop it RIGHT NOW!" Ned jumped between them and
grabbed Roxton's arm.

Challenger glanced up from his book, annoyed at the
distraction, and scolded,"Can't either of you control
yourself? I suggest you resolve whatever difficulty
you are having with each other because the last few
days here have been like living in a war zone."
Marguerite kept her eyes stubbornly on the floor,
tapping her foot rapidly, saying nothing. Roxton,
however, was shaking with anger. "You bitch," he
retorted bitterly, his eyes filled with a cold fury. "
I've had enough of you; we all have."

Marguerite's head jerked up at this; to everyone's
surprise, her gray eyes and long black lashes were
glittering with unshed tears. "Do you think I care,"
she forced out between gritted teeth, herce
ce
shaking in an effort to sound unmoved. "Do you think I
need you - any of you?" Impatiently dashing away a
teardrop that had broken away and was sliding down her
cheek, she fled the treehouse.

The others stood in stunned silence. No one could
quite bring themselves to look at Roxton, who stood
with heaving chest, fists balled at his sides.

After what seemed like an eternity, he swore, turned
on his boot heel, and strode over to his room, where
he slammed the door behind him.

Half an hour later, Summerlee knocked at Roxton's
door, and, receiving no answer, entered. He found
Roxton sprawled in a chair by the crude desk, a near
empty bottle of whiskey and an empty glass nearby. He
did not look up. Summerlee, grimacing at the reek of
liquor that pervaded the room, quietly approached
Roxton and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder.

"John," he said gently, "I think perhaps you were a
bit harsh with Miss Krux. She really did try her best
with that dinner ..."

"I don't care about the bloody dinner!" snapped
Roxton.

"I know," said Summerlee kindly. It's the would-be
chef about whom you care, isn't it, my boy?"

Roxton laughed darkly. "Is it that obvious?" He took a
swig of whiskey from the bottle, after which Summerlee
gently removed both it and the abandoned glass from
Roxton's reach.

"Ah ... well, aside from the obviously ... er
...rather incendiary relationship that seems to exist
between the two of you, the other night, I ... er ...
er ...well, it is a small house, John, and the walls
are not thick, you see, and I am a relatively light
sleeper ... and ... well ..." Summerlee was flustered;
his face was a bright red, his hands fidgeting with
the buttons on his shirt.

"And you heard us arguing." Roxton finished for him.

"Yes, among other things," admitted Summerlee wryly.

Thankfully, Roxton ignored the professor's last
comment, and turned to Summerlee, a look of
hopelessness on his face. "What do I do now - just
what the hell do I do now?" he demanded. "I love her
and now she knows it. I had begun to feel as if ... I
thought that maybe she ..." his voice trailed off.

"That she might return your feelings?'

Roxton sighed ruefully. "I don't know - I was
obviously dead wrong."

"Oh, I am not so sure about that," Summerlee smiled
knowingly, "take some advice from someone who has been
on this earth a good while longer than you have: your
love may not be in vain."

"Come on, Summerlee, you see how she treats me, how
self-centered she can be."

"Yes, and also how brave, how intelligent, how loyal
and resourceful. You know, John," Summerlee continued
conversationally, changing tack and pulling up a chair
next to his companion, "Marguerite is rather a
complicated person." He paid no attention to

Roxton's sarcastic snort, and went on, "And she has
led a very lonely, independent life. I don't believe
that she's ever had any practice or experience at any
form of loving relationship at all. From what I know
of her history, her parents showed no interest in her
nor did they show her any affection. The only
attention she has ever received has been due to her
fortune. She has, unfortunately, come to be
distrustful and at least superficially hard-hearted,
since all she has ever been able to rely on is
herself. She most likely has had to deal with
sycophants her whole adult life, who see her hand in
marriage as nothing more than a sound economic
investment, a prize or trophy of some sort..."

"Oh, Christ." Roxton, chagrined, closed his eyes. "I
know what happened ... it was something I said ...
that little idiot, how could she have thought I meant
... where is she now, Summerlee?"

"Actually, I am not sure. She hasn't yet returned, so
Challenger and Malone have gone out to find her."

"She's out there alone, at night? I had better go look
for her, although I sympathize with any raptor who
meets up with that woman. She packs a mean punch," he
tried to joke, despite his concern. He grabbed his
rifle and hurried outside. "Oh, and Summerlee ...
thank you."

"Go and find her, my boy," whispered Summerlee, a
smile on his kindly face. "And bring her home safely
to us."

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Roxton went rapidly through the jungle growth, his
sharp eyes searching for signs of Marguerite's
passage. He started to call her name, but stopped
bemusedly when it occurred to him that, with the anger
she was feeling, the sound of his voice might very
well drive her further off. All of a sudden, the utter
absurdity of the situation struck him, and he couldn't
help but chuckle, worried as he felt. Here he was,
Lord John Roxton, head of one of the oldest families
in England, highly sought-after and titled candidate
for marriage among London's social set, chasing
through the jungle after a woman who had not only
decked him, but who would actually flee at the sound
of his voice!

After his brother's (murder) ... no, ACCIDENT, he
firmly told himself ... Roxton had immersed himself in
one dangerous and wild adventure after another, in
truth not particularly caring if he lived or died.
Until Marguerite. His Marguerite. He had never met a
woman like her. Her beautiful body haunted his dreams
on an almost nightly basis, she could drive him into a
towering rage with her willful stubborness, or evoke a
flood of tenderness in his heart. She had the courage
of a lion, she was intelligent, and, sweet Jesus, was
she sexy!

Of course, he regretfully reminded himself, it had not
always been positive. She was the most infuriating,
ornery, sharp-tongued woman he had ever known, and
sometimes it seemed to him that she fought him at
every turn. One minute she would demonstrate concern
and affection for him, nextnext, she would sear him
with a scathing insult or scornful look. Her moods
could suffer a sea change from moment to moment; it
was as if she had two natures - a warmer human one and
one with an armor plating adapted for protection -
that were at war within her, and he thought that was
probably the key. He was determined to destroy that
armor plating. But he was not used to feeling this
way, and he often found himself resorting to bluster
and shouting, leaving him feeling foolish afterwards.
But despite all this, or possibly because of it, he
had never felt so exuberantly alive.

After their initial fiery meeting, they had forged,
over the months, a relationship, each gradually
letting down their guard a small piece at a time,
their appreciation of each others' company growing.
They had suffered numerous setbacks as their pride and
their tempers had caused the new-made affinity to
faltert sot something had continued to draw them
closer and closer together, and Roxton found that he
had fallen deeply in love with this lovely, vibrant
woman, even as he was often shocked at her greed and
self-interest. But those incidents of selfishness had
become fewer and farther between, and Roxton had begun
to hope that the warm and loving nature he was
confident she possessed was reasserting itself against
the protective coating she had donned.

One night, he had inadvertently slipped up, and had
allowed her to witness the strength of his feelings
for her, and then, unbelievably, they had made love.
Just thinking of that brief time together made him
hard, and his eyes darken with passion. He recalled,
with a jolt of desire, the absolute abandonment, the
unequaled ecstasy, he had experienced as she knelt
gracefully in front of him and took him in her mouth.
His hands had stroked her face and tangled themselves
in her luxuriant hair as her soft lips engulfed him.
The tickle of her hair at his thighs, the musky scent
of her arousal perfuming the air, had excited him
tremendously; he had helplessly moaned her name over
and over, intersticed with incoherent and erotic
exhortations, so blunt and lust-filled that he was
sure he would be mortified if he ever remembered
exactly what he had said. Later, as he had thrust into
her slick, warm inner passage, he had almost come
right then, she sheathed him so tightly and felt so
sweet. When they finally climaxed together, he could
only describe what he felt as delirium. He had never
dreamed it could be like that and he told her so. Her
wide eyes and a seldom-seen look of uncertainty and
wonder on her face had told him she agreed.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Now he at last caught a glimpse of her; she was
tugging at her long skirt which had caught on a mesh
of branches. She was cursing, richly and profoundly;
she could avail herself, when she wanted to, of the
foulest language that Roxton had hea heard a lady
use. She looked so mad, stamping her foot like a ld, ld, her face flushed and tears of rage filling her
eyes, that his heart went out to her. As he
approached, he felt a stab of pity for her - her
sterile and solitary childhood, the years of
discipline at the cold convent schools, for the inner
sensitivity that she tried so hard to hide from
everyone ... and then she turned, saw him coming,
hauled off and punched him squarely in the jaw.

"HEY," he yelped, shocked out of his warm reverie,
"What the hell is wrong with you??!!" He was so ... so
... he didn't know WHAT he was. His mouth opened and
closed, open and closed again, but no words came out.
A part of his brain detachedly thought that he must
look rather like a fish. He glanced wildly around and
raked a hand through his dark hair; this woman would
drive him to insanity. He was sure of it.

Marguerite, having successfully freed her skirt,
looked at his stupified face. Her hurt and anger
ebbed. Two qualities, she realized, that she could not
ascribe to Roxton were cruelty and skill at deception.
She had to admit to herself that she had acted in
haste and wild self-defense, starting with the quarrel
of the other night. And now, well, the look on
Roxton's face was priceless, she thought. He was
turning such a lovely shade of red. The corner of her
mouth twitched, once and again, and she desperately
suppressed a giggle. But not for long. She tried in
vain to control herself, to stifle the laughter rising
inside her, but it finally burst forth and she bent
almost double in her mirth.

He looked completely taken aback by her laughter. "You
are the most infuriating woman ..." he finally got
out, when the rest of his words were silenced by her
lips on his. Christ, he thought to himself, what's
next, a knife between my ribs? But even as he thought
this, he was kissing her back, gripping her slender
form so tightly that later she would show him the
bruises on her waist and shoulders, ramming his knee
in between her legs and his tongue into her open
mouth. She moved against his leg, stroking herself
against the muscular thigh and breathed an apology -
an apology!! Marguerite!!! - into his ear, her hands
tearing at the buttons on his shirt.

Roxton's head was spinning. With an iron will, he tore
away from her lithe and welcoming body and gasped out,
"Wait ... no, I mean it, just wait." He steppeck
ck
with Herculean effort.

She gazed at him with smoky eyes and a wicked smile.
"What's the matter, John? Glass jaw?"

He looked determinedly away from that gorgeous mouth,
wanting to clarify things between them. "Look,
Marguerite. I think I know why you ... well, what
happened the other night. I am srry rry that I used
the word that I did, and that it hurt you or caused
you to doubt me, but you must know how I ..."

She scowled, and interrupted, "I don't want to talk
about this."

"But I do, and for once you're going to listen to me
without an argument. I mean it, Marguerite," he
cautioned, as he saw her m ope opening to object, "be
quiet." He exhaled loudly. "Marguerite. I want to make
it perfectly clear that the feelings I have for you
are in no way influenced by your money or any other
self-interest. You can't have known me all this time
and still believe that I am capable of that sort of
treachery, even if others in your life HAVE been. At
least, I hopu cau can't. Can you actually think me so
low?" He tried to look directly into her eyes, but she
avoided his questioning gaze by averting her face. So
he held her chin and forced her to look at him. "Can
you? Do you find me such a bastard as to make love to
you for any other reason than that I adore you?"

She tried to jerk her chin away but his hold was
unrelenting, so she straightened her shoulders and
faced up to him. "I ... I don't know," she admitted
with difficulty. "I don't think so but ..."

"Oh, God - Marguerite, oh, come here, love." He held
her closely. "You are the only woman I have ever loved
and I can't live without you - of course, sometimes I
feel like I can't live WITH you either," he jested,
trying to coax a smile out of her. He was rewarded
when she gave him a small grin and rolled her eyes. "I
love you for yourself." He cradled her head on his
shoulder. "And to prove it, you could donate all your
money to charity and I still ..."

"WHAT? Give away all my money?!!" came an outraged
squawk from the head resting on his shoulder. "Are you
crazy? I'll try to believe you without resorting to
such drastic means, John!"

"Oh, my dear, I do cherish your greedy little heart,"
laughed Roxton. "And I'll make you mine even WITH your
money! Feettertter?" he asked fondly.

She grinned up at him and said flirtatiously, "We'll
see, John, we'll see," and pulled his head down to
hers.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

The next morning, Roxton arose very early but found
Marguerite already gone from the treehouse.

Looking outside for her, he saw by her footprints that
she was heading for the pond. He followed her, annoyed
. The woman was utterly exasperating; there was a rule
about venturing off alone to bathe in the pre-dawn
hours, when wild animals were most likely to come to
drink, but this rule, like almost everything else that
crossed her will, was apparently being blithely
ignored. He saw her approach the pond's edge and look
furtively around. Roxton, who had intended to confront
her, could not help himself from stopping, concealed,
just to watch her as she undressed. Her blouse and
camisole discarded, she unbound that glorious hair,
and bent to slide her skirt down over her hips. In his
mind, Roxton traced the line of her shapely back with
his tongue, while she writhed and purred underneath
him. (He just melted at that satisfied little sound
she made when they were together and he was pleasing
her.) She stepped decisively into the cold water; no
hesitation, no one-bit-at-a-time for his Marguerite!
Fascinated, he watched as she crouched to wet her hair
and then tossed it back in a shining arc over her
shoulders.

She stood with her back to him, waist-deep in the
opaque water, as he came silently up behind her.
Running his lips along her neck, he reached around to
cup her breasts.

"Why, George," Marguerite said demurely, stepping
back, deliberately coming in contact with Roxton's
groin.

"Who??!" barked Roxton, spinning her around. Seeing
the teasing smile on her face, he half-growled at her,
half-laughed - and impulsively pushed her completely
underwater. She came up choking and gasping for air,
pushing the masses of heaair air from her eyes.
Concerned, he moved closer to her, only to be
instantly dispatched on his own sub-marine journey.
But he did manage to pull her down with him. When they
surfaced, they were both laughing and Roxton said,
pulling her against his hard chest, "You'll be the
death of me yet, woman."

She sobered instantly. "Don't say that, John." And
then in a lighter tone," I would miss you if you
weren't around." She ran a finger along the line of
his jaw, loving the feel of his skin.

"Marguerite, I will always be around to look after you
and care for you ... even though I know, of course,
that you don't need looking after," he added hastily
as he sensed her imminent objection. "Anyway, you may
drive me to the madhouse, but you complete me, and
make me happier than I have ever been. I love you."

... ... I ... " she licked her lips nervously, unable
to bring herself to say the words he wanted to hear -
years of training were hard to break - but Roxton,
looking at her expressive eyes, already k Her Her face
said it all. He drew her head to his shoulder and said
tenderly, "Never mind, love. You'll tell me when
you're ready," and kissed her hair.

Marguerite smiled gratefully against his broad
shoulder and thought to herself that one day soon she
might, just might, tell him that she loved him too.

END
- 1
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Fences I and II