She looked down at their hands, now linked, and gained courage. “I heard men and women—” Cressida swallowed, “meet lovers in this house. That’s not why I came. I haven’t come to meet a lover.” Pulling away her hands, she tried to steady her breathing. “I’m not like that. I just want—”
Ariane’s gentle hand upon her shoulder stilled her. “You don’t know what you want, I think.” She led her to the door and pointed down the corridor. “The entrance is that way. I shall be going in a different direction for I came here to enjoy myself…” A secretive smile curved her lips—“with some friends. You’re very welcome to join us but I think perhaps you’d prefer the safety of your own bed.”
Ariane left her then, and Cressida watched her until she was nearly out of sight. Yes, she should go home. That’s what she’d intended. But Ariane’s enigmatic words had unleashed a world of curiosity that would not be satisfied and, as she disappeared around a corner, Cressida picked up her skirts and quickly followed.
Down twisting corridors and up a shallow flight of stairs she went, through a large, empty space lined with huge, lurid paintings of shocking scenes that made Cressida gasp and avert her eyes. Then finally through a pair of carved double doors and into a room filled with soft music and a strange, unidentifiable scent.
Raising her veil, Cressida tried to adjust to the dimness of her new environment. Strangely, she felt no fear, for there were only women, she saw, and all three, in the midst of a gentle, swaying dance, were smiling at one another as if they were as close as sisters.
Cressida blinked as she tried to orient herself, moving into the shadows behind a huge, luxuriant potted palm as the unidentifiable heady scent filled her nostrils and her eyes adjusted to the light. Two young women, dressed in similar flowing robes of white, swayed gently in time to a soft chant in the background. Their hair, held back by silver fillets, fell in loose ripples around their waists and their smiles were warm and gentle. Even in such an alien environment, Cressida felt a sense of comfort and safety. And belonging. She was amongst other women. Young and beautiful women, full of confidence. They surely did not have fears like hers.
The taller of the two stepped forward, linked her hands behind her partner’s neck and kissed her, ever so softly, upon the lips. Her eyes, slightly unfocused, were the palest blue and she looked so supremely at peace with her world that Cressida longed to learn her secret.
She glanced around her, uncertain if she should step forward and declare herself, yet too afraid. The scene was surreal—two women gently cradling each other before pressing themselves closer to deepen their kiss.
They had come here to give themselves up to pleasure. Two women? Did women do this?
Cressida tried to remember when she had last enjoyed uninhibited and carefree enjoyment. Too long ago to remember, beneath the covers of the marital bed in the warmth of her chamber as Justin’s hard body covered her own and stroked her into wild and wonderful sensations. Since her first night as a young bride she’d never been afraid of the act. For years she’d revelled in the glorious wantonness Justin had managed to stir up inside her, and thrilled to the shattering climax that had preceded the peace and contentedness that had soothed her into sleep, Justin’s warm, loving breath on her neck.
No, it was just the consequences of the act that terrified her.
She drew in a shuddering breath, her body alive, nerve endings prickling the surface of her skin, a desperate throbbing ache building between her legs as she remembered those halcyon days with Justin. If only she could return home tonight and offer up her body to his tender ministrations with no danger of the consequences.
She couldn’t. That was the dreadful, painful reality.
But here she was watching two women enjoying a world full of love and beauty with no pain, no guilt, no terrible consequences. No conception, no pregnancy, no pain.
The women had not broken their kiss. Gently they swayed in time, running their hands over each other’s face and body as if they were the most natural of gestures.
All at once the tempo changed. Alertness pulsed through Cressida and she strained to see what was happening. The faint chanting rose to a crescendo then suddenly ceased, and from a dark corner of the room strode a man of such height and magnificence that Cressida gasped at the sight of something so splendidly not of this world.
The reaction of her companions was the same as they huddled together and gazed at this being who seemed to command such power.
The haze cleared a little, both in Cressida’s mind and in the room. She saw that in the centre was a large bed with carved wooden posts and sheets of crisp white linen. The man stood behind this on a raised dais and he beckoned to the women.
“Which of you lovelies will be first?” His voice was low and mellifluous, the accent slightly clipped, slightly foreign.
“I will be first.” Ariane’s voice, though still softly sweet, was firm. She made her way towards him, rising upon a hidden staircase and the stranger caught her to his muscled chest, sliding one hand up behind her neck, the other slowly contouring her body. With a soft groan, Ariane went slack and he whisked her up into his arms and laid her on the mattress before him.
“I offer myself up to your pleasure,” whispered the girl who had led Cressida to this place as she kissed his feet, her hands twining up the thick muscles of his legs. As she kissed her way higher, the haze in the room and in Cressida’s head cleared more. Ariane shifted position and Cressida gasped to see that this magnificent creature was entirely naked. He held himself like a Greek god, proud and arrogant, while Ariane swept her hands all over him in a manner beyond Cressida’s imaginings. Now Ariane was on her knees, her expert tongue flicking against the backs of his knees, rising higher.
And higher…
The pleasure haze dissipated further. Cressida stepped back, fascinated and horrified in equal measure as Ariane gently cupped the pouches beneath his rampant manhood.
She’d never seen a man naked. Not in eight years of marriage. She’d been gently pleasured in Justin’s warm, secure embrace beneath the counterpane in the darkness of the marital bed, but she had never seen her husband clad in less than his night shift or banyan.
The pupils of the magnificent creature in the middle of the bed dilated and he threw back his head as Ariane, with calculated care, put her mouth to his engorged member and slowly circled it with her tongue.
So apparent was his rapture that Cressida felt her own body pulse with sensation despite her shock.
She put her hands to her face to cover her gasp.
No one seemed to register her. All eyes were on the scene in the centre of the bed—eyes greedy, lascivious, wanting…
Cressida glanced around her in the dark, her terror growing. This was not a sight for a gently reared woman like herself. She had to escape.
In the gloom, she thought she recognised the door through which she’d come and stumbled towards it, turning as the man groaned his pleasure.
A final glance at his glazed eyes made plain that he was enslaved by this extraordinary act.
Cressida turned the doorknob and staggered into a dim corridor, gasping for air. She had spied on a naked man in the throes of passion when she had had no right to. What had she done? Her recent fascination now seemed nothing more than wicked prurience.
She was going to be ill, she knew it. Panting, sweating, she sought desperately for the privy, which, to her relief, was pointed out to her by a motherly looking woman dressed in cerulean silk.
When Cressida staggered back into the passage a few minutes later her saviour was waiting for her, a look of sympathetic concern upon her face.
“My dear, let me take you somewhere private where you can compose yourself.”
The kindness of the woman’s expression, and her thoughtfulness—so different from what she’d expected to find in a place like this—made Cressida want to burst into tears.
With a grateful nod of her head, she allowed herself to be led into a smal
l private sitting room at the back of the house where she was gently pushed down onto an Egyptian sofa. When she looked up, the woman was proffering a handkerchief dipped in Cressida’s favourite lavender water.
“My dear, I think you are out of your depth,” murmured the woman as Cressida cooled her forehead and dabbed the corners of her trembling mouth. “Shall I order a carriage to take you home?”
Go home? Cressida shook her head. How could she go home in this state? She was shaking like a leaf, her mind roiling with images of the naked man she’d just seen, and the ecstasy he’d clearly experienced at the hands of… What was Ariane? A woman of the night? Surely not? She’d said she was ‘just like her’. Like Cressida. Could Ariane be a respectable woman by day, who simply chose to take her pleasure out of the domestic arena—like a man?
“I think you need to take a few deep breaths,” said the woman. “It will make you feel much better.” Her smile took years off her age, her twinkling brown eyes suggesting a depth of insight and intelligence with which Cressida would never have credited a woman who lived in such a depraved setting as this.
Cressida covered her face and rocked as images of beautiful maidens kissing each other and magnificently muscled men with rampant members chased around her brain.
Her remembered excitement and the dampness at the juncture of her legs made her whimper with guilt.
What had she done? What would Justin think if he knew she’d witnessed such a tableau and…that she’d been excited by it? He’d never look at her the same way. Never touch her…
Enough presence of mind remained for Cressida to understand the irony of such a fear. The way she was conducting herself in this marriage, Justin was never going to touch her.
She had to take matters into her own hands.
But how?
“I think, my dear, you did not understand what it meant for you to come to such a place.”
Cressida opened her eyes and found she was staring directly at a pair of once-elegant dancing slippers beneath a cerulean skirt.
Taking in the faded elegance of the woman’s dress, the grey in her jet black hair and the sympathy of her expression, she questioned her original assumption of this woman’s calling. After all, Cressida was here, in this house, and she wasn’t a…
A what? Her heart seemed to thud to her feet and she looked down.
After what she’d participated in, she didn’t know what she was. She put her hands to her mouth to stifle her wail as she raised her eyes once more to the woman’s kind face.
“Who are you—?” she began, before halting at the rudeness of such blunt questioning.
“A friend of Mrs Plumb’s—you may call me Miss Mariah—and this is my drawing room, where you are welcome to remain for as long as you need to.” The woman rose and came towards her, placing a gentle hand upon Cressida’s shoulder. The sensation was completely different to Cressida’s reaction to Mrs Plumb. Everything about this woman was motherly. Unthreatening.
“Now, perhaps a little medicinal brandy?” Miss Mariah suggested, moving to a small table by a bookshelf. “You’re shaking like a leaf and it’ll be an aid to unburdening yourself of your troubles, if nothing else. You would not be in this house with such a look in your eyes if you were free of those.”
“Thank you,” Cressida managed through chattering teeth as she accepted a glass. Miss Mariah was right. She was out of her depth, amongst a sophisticated, worldly, depraved crowd—with whom she had nothing in common. In this cheaply decorated house of ill repute, witty conversation and good music were enjoyed, and physical attractions acted upon through discreet assignations.
Oh, dear Lord. A fresh tremor of guilt shook her as she was revisited by the sensations that had gripped her when she’d watched the three lovely women. Envy. Envy that they could enjoy gentle loving without fear of the repercussions. But worse was her reaction when she’d watched Ariane pleasure the man on the bed. She’d been speared with excitement and, yes, lust as she’d gazed upon the scene and registered the pleasure with which he received Ariane’s ministrations.
Was it possible such things happened in the intimacy of the bedroom, too? Justin had never indicated in all their private moments together that there was anything else they might be indulging in. Anything beyond the pleasurable, predictable build-up of sensation she felt prior to his plunging into her.
Planting his seed and leaving her with the consequences.
She gasped. Where had such a wicked, disloyal thought come from?
Her companion touched her cheek and, dazed, Cressida looked up into her compassionate eyes.
“Guilt will not help.” Miss Mariah’s look was knowing. “When a woman like you comes to this house she usually has a good reason.”
Cressida thought of all the other people who’d come to this house.
People driven here by their lustful, depraved impulses to find release in sinful pleasures of the flesh. Driven here through…
With devastating clarity, truth limned the conclusion of her observation. Driven here through desperation, when the domestic arena failed to satisfy.
She managed to truncate a sob.
Was it any surprise Justin had felt the need to stray? What pleasures did his wife offer him since she had denied him her body? She’d even stopped being affectionate except in the company of the children, too afraid her overtures may lead to the bedroom.
Cressida was dimly conscious of the clink of glass before a second measure of brandy was placed into her hands. “Would you like to tell me about it?” her friend asked. “Are you looking for someone?”
How quickly the tears flowed. Wiping her face with the back of her hand, Cressida cursed her frail nerves. The past few months seemed to see her lurch from one emotional episode to another.
“My husband,” she whispered through her fingers as she hunched over, covering her face. “I heard he attends Mrs Plumb’s salons and that he’s—” she sucked in a shaky breath—“taken a mistress.” What did it matter that her dreadful fears were revealed to this stranger? A kind stranger with a motherly touch. Cressida was too distraught for caution. “At first I didn’t believe it. No.” She drew herself up straight. “I don’t believe it. Not my husband who’s shown me nothing but kindness, respect and affection since we met. And yet—”
The spectre of what the unknown man in the room beyond had come for, and why—taking his pleasures like an arrogant young god—returned to haunt her. Was that what the men who came here indulged in? Did it really give them pleasure? Cressida had never touched her husband intimately with more than a fleeting, half-accidental caress. She’d allowed him to take control and although their lovemaking had been intensely pleasurable she’d never in a million years dreamed of taking the initiative in such wanton exploration.
The idea made her squirm with embarrassment at the same time as she felt her body burn with a slow, intense heat, accompanied by another gush of wicked moistness in that mysterious part of her that no one talked about.
She shifted position, unable to look Miss Mariah in the eye.
“You must love your husband very much to come to a place like this if you are the innocent you appear to be,” remarked her new friend. “I think you are very brave.”
“Or very stupid,” sniffed Cressida. “If I’d been a better wife he’d never have strayed, would he?”
“How like a woman to blame oneself. If your husband has strayed, who has committed the sin?”
Cressida stilled. She’d never thought of it in these terms. Then guilt, a far more loyal companion than she was a wife, washed over her and she blurted out the truth of their failing marriage—her fear.
What catharsis it was to voice that which she could not even hint at to Justin because it branded her such a failure.
“Mama died giving birth to my brother, her sixth child. I’ve had five children in less than eight years…” She’d started so well but now she could barely get the words out as she hunched over, speaking between sobs. “Ea
ch year I have another child, and each time it’s been harder. I cannot bear it any more. I need a rest, yet until this moment I couldn’t even put my fear into words. No wonder he’s hurt and confused and—” She gulped, “needing diversion.” For as she said the words she allowed in just a little more doubt. Justin was the kindest of men and she had no doubt he loved her, but men needed physical release in a way women did not. Would it be so very surprising if he had come to Mrs Plumb’s seeking what he could not get at home? Had Cressida any right to despise him if he did? After all, she was hardly honouring her side of the bargain. As part of their marriage contract, she was obliged to fulfil her conjugal duties, yet not once had Justin persisted in an act that clearly was distasteful to her these days.
She glanced at Miss Mariah, disappointed, though not surprised, to see the shock on her face.
So this woman thought Cressida gravely remiss, too. Quickly, she rose. “I’m wicked, I know! You have every right to look at me like I’ve failed my duty. I know what I must do now. I have to win him back. I have to be the wife he wants and needs.” She only realised how hard she’d been shaking when the woman put her hands on her shoulders to push her back down in her seat. Cressida welcomed the comfort in the gesture, the soothing smile. Closing her eyes she whispered through clenched teeth, “Even if it kills me.”
Her companion’s words had the comfort of a caress as she deflected blame away from Cressida, letting in hope like the sun into her dark, dull mind. “My poor child. Surely you don’t think I condemn you for such an understandable fear. If you only knew how easy it was to be helped, and yet women like you are kept in ignorance. Truly, you may hold your husband in thrall, or submit, or whatever it is that makes you feel you’re doing your duty, but please understand there is no reason for you to make sacrifices.”
In all her life Cressida had never discussed the intimacies of marriage. To do so now felt like a great weight had been lifted from her shoulders. She raised hopeful eyes. This woman didn’t think Cressida a disloyal wife? No reason to make sacrifices?
Lady Lovett's Little Dilemma Page 4