Lavinia squelched a giggle as Julius gave her a warning glare over his glass.
“Are you working with anyone in particular? Perhaps I know him?” Julius queried most solicitously.
“Not yet, sir. I had hoped to find a situation in London.”
“Well, if you are at all interested in family medicine, you are welcome to join me—”
Lavinia gasped in excitement. “Really? Oh Julius!”
“I’ve two consulting rooms and more clients than I can handle, really.”
Nicholas was profoundly impressed. “I would be very honored, sir.”
“Come by the office Tuesday for luncheon, Ramsay.” Julius handed his card to Nicholas. “You can have a look around and tell me more about your adventures.” He made a slight bow to Lavinia. “My lady. I hear the music starting and I know how much you like to dance.”
“And how much you hate it,” Lavinia said nostalgically.
“Hate is a strong word, my dear.” His smile shot a familiar heat through her that still tingled as she watched him walk away.
“You’ve slept with him,” grumbled Nicholas.
Lavinia was slightly taken aback by the remark. Nicholas never cared about such things. “It was a long time ago, Nicky.” She took a swallow of champagne. Julius had a unique understanding of women’s pleasure, which made him a very good lover. Seeing him again filled her with giddy memories. “I think I need a dance now, darling. Are you going to ask me?”
That put Nicholas in a better mood. “Yes, love,” he murmured. “Lady Foxley-Graham, may I have this dance?” Nicholas offered his arm.
Lavinia grinned. “Afterward, I promise, we’ll find you a wife.”
* * * * *
Julius could not wait to extricate himself from his social obligations. The second he had laid eyes on Miss Helena Phillips his cock had jolted to full stand. He could barely maintain his composure around the girl, a maddening feeling so very much unlike him. However, the mother proved to be a good diversion, allowing him to show off his usual charming self in front of the object of his desires.
With her auburn hair, hazel eyes, creamy flesh and just a hint of a rosy hue on her cheeks, Helena was certainly the most beautiful woman in the world. But even better, she had that distinction of perfection…
She was a virgin.
Just the thought of her innocence made him once again achingly hard.
And he could not stop thinking about her, or him and her together. And Lavinia’s appearance did not make things easier. Her perfume, the sway of her hips, her ample bosom straining against the deeply cut neckline just reminded him of coition, and then, of course, he could only think about the act…
With a virgin.
Julius dug his nails into his palms as he maneuvered his way through the throng of party guests to the coat-room. He’d get past this obsession. He always did. He’d move on to something more practical, something more obtainable, something less virginal.
He’d have to settle for a whore tonight. It was obvious Lavinia was sleeping with the young Ramsay—a fine choice, he had to admit, a good-looking lad, dark hair, tall, slim build—just like he himself had been when he had bedded her.
Julius took his coat politely from the attending servant and hurried out to his usual brothel.
Chapter Four
At precisely three-ought-four in the afternoon on Monday, there was a knock on the front door to Dr. Christopher’s office.
“Grace Danby. How punctual,” Julius said cordially to the slightly befuddled girl.
“I walked from the King’s Road. You want yer bob back?”
Julius let the disbelief linger only for a second. “No, my dear girl. You keep the money.” Most likely she had walked all the way from the East End and still held on to every penny he had given her. Dirty and disheveled, her appearance spoke volumes about the poverty she lived in. She wore the same tired coat and hat as the last time he’d seen her, although she had on a different dress, certainly not new, a little worn, a little too big, a hand-me-down probably given to her by Dr. Waddington’s housemaid. Julius hoped the poor waif had at least spent some of his money on food.
“Grace, come into my examination room.”
She followed obediently.
Julius pulled the bell cord and, despite her debilities and deafness, the ever-dependable housekeeper appeared directly. “Mrs. Jennings, draw up a bath for our guest. Here, if you please. Use the medicinal tub.”
“And the douching device, sir?”
He paused for a moment. It was why the girl was there, wasn’t it? A hypothesis that needed to be proved? “Yes.”
Mrs. Jennings shuffled out.
“Grace, please take off your coat and have a seat. Let’s discuss my plans for you.”
The girl shed her tattered wool sacque and gently untied the frayed ribbons of her faded velvet bonnet, then sat primly in the leather office chair. Not properly pinned, her brown hair sagged to her shoulders.
Julius began to pace, organizing his thoughts. “I am a doctor, a scientist. I treat patients. But sometimes I have ideas about ailments and I wish to study these, to see if my hypothesis is correct.”
“’ipe—what?” She stared up at him with wide eyes the color of dark amber, the color of a memory.
Julius smiled. “Hypothesis. It is like an idea about something. You have the idea, but you don’t know if it is the correct way of looking at things, so you need to test it.”
Grace watched in fascination as Mrs. Jennings returned with a kettle and began boiling water on the small stove while the tub filled with tepid water from the pipes.
“Have you ever seen running water in a house before, my dear?”
“No, sir,” Grace said with wonder.
“Well, before you get into the bath, I will need you to answer a few questions.”
“Yes, sir.” Grace dutifully returned her attention to him.
“Are you a virgin?”
The girl was utterly taken aback. She blushed and looked around confusedly. She lifted her head and bit her lip. “No, sir.”
“And when you were with a man, did you find the experience pleasurable?”
Her face flushed beet red. She glanced over at Mrs. Jennings, who was, as usual, unconcerned about the interview and far more concerned with the temperature of the bathwater.
“I reckon.”
“So, you would say ‘yes’?”
“Yes.”
“Think back to when you were last with a man and it was pleasurable. Was it as nice as the experience with Dr. Waddington’s machine?”
Grace looked bewildered but then began to consider the question put to her. “I think the machine was nicer.”
Julius grinned.
“Dr. Christopher, the bath is ready. I’ll take my leave now.” Mrs. Jennings padded slowly across the wooden floor and creaked out, closing the door behind her.
“Take off your clothes, Grace.”
The girl gave him the most enchanting look of astonishment, then slowly began to disrobe. She knew he was watching, he did not pretend he was not. It seemed she liked the attention, and why wouldn’t she? He was not an unattractive man, although perhaps twice her age. Somehow, she made the act of divesting herself of her shabby clothing in a medical office profoundly erotic.
And when she was utterly nude, she stood unabashed before him, a magnificent specimen of young womanhood in her physical prime.
“Step into the bath.” His voice was unwittingly hoarse with desire. He stripped off his frock coat and rolled up his shirt sleeves, then drew up a chair alongside the tub, adjusting the fullness in his crotch before he sat down.
With the water gently lapping around her beautiful figure, caressing her breasts and startling her nipples to excitation, Grace looked as if she were in sensual heaven. “I never ’ad such a treat before.” She sighed artlessly.
She did not, could not know how intensely she was affecting Julius with her alluring blend of inexperience an
d experience enhancing her youthful nudity. He ran his hand along her thigh under the water, softly stroking the pale skin back and forth. When she adjusted her hips, he knew she had succumbed to his touch.
He reached between her legs and found her plump with desire, sticky with arousal. He inserted a finger, then two, slowly pulling them in and out, feeling her muscles react. She gasped, then exhaled a little mewl.
“Grace, when a man is inside you it is very pleasing, is it not?” His tone was as gentle as his ministrations.
“Yes,” she breathed, gazing up at him with those bewitching yet innocent eyes.
“And can you spend like this? If I were to continue to do this, would you reach your sensual climax?”
Her head fell back to rest on the small pillow hooked to the edge of the tub. “Yes.”
Julius moved his fingers to caress her stunningly erect clitoris. “And if I were to continue to stroke you here, would you also spend?”
“Yes, oh, yes,” was the euphoric answer.
Julius withdrew his hand. “And would the two experiences be the same?”
The look of annoyance from Grace was fleeting before she suddenly remembered why she was there. “No, sir.”
“No? Are you sure?”
“I’m sure.”
“Can you explain it?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Well, is one better than the other?”
“They’re…I dunno, they’re just different. Like with a bloke, it’s just nice ’aving ’im there, you know? ’is body an’ such. Maybe ’e’s warm an’ ’e likes to mug a bit. But with meself, I can think about anyone I want.”
“By yourself?” Julius was flummoxed. “You mean when you masturbate, er, frig yourself? So, men don’t touch you there?” He placed a firm finger on her clitoris.
“No, sir. I touch meself there. I mean maybe a gent or two’s found the spot. But they really don’t know what to do with it.”
“Do you touch yourself often?”
“Well, I don’t rightly know—”
“Every day? Every week?” Julius tried not to sound too enthusiastic.
“Well, not when I’m ’aving me courses. An’ not every day. But more ’n just once a week.”
“And why do you frig yourself, Grace?”
She looked at him with curious confusion. “’Cause it’s nice,” she admitted softly.
“Not because you’re feeling poorly or upset or frustrated?”
“Well, then I think I might want to ’ave meself a good cry instead. Or a drink o’ gin, donchya think?”
Julius grunted his concurrence as he considered this information. The girl admitted that the stimulation of her clitoris was a purely sexual act—that statement alone went against current medical assumptions. She achieved sexual satisfaction with men and also alone with herself, each experience, by her own admission, different from the other. He would need to determine if the girl ever suffered from anything resembling so-called hysteria or if she was able to fend off such feelings of frustration. And did she need the company of men to maintain a level of satisfaction or could she manage on her own?
His frustration mounted as disorganized thoughts bombarded him. He needed a bit more time to structure his study, develop his methodology. But at the moment, he had a very lovely young woman nude and aroused in a tub before him. Science would have to wait.
He dragged over the douching device already filled with warm water.
“Spread your legs, Grace. Put one over the edge of the tub. Yes, that’s right.”
She lay spread before him. He placed the nozzle of the douche in the tub and turned the machine on. Bubbles from the force of the jets formed in the water. Julius moved the nozzle to hover over Grace’s clitoris.
She jerked with a yelp when she felt the contact of the jet on her sensitive nub.
“Shh, shh,” he calmed her, “let me. Just feel it.” He once again positioned the jet near her clitoris.
She closed her eyes, taking in the sensual assault, rocking her hips, then pushing them closer to the intense flow of water, moaning at the heightened sensation. Her whole body writhed, splashing, her fingers gripping the edge of the tub.
Julius was rock hard. He squeezed his cock with his free hand.
Her moans turned to cries, drowning out the humming of the machine. He moved the jet closer until the full force of it was directed at her clitoris.
Grace thrust her pelvis against the jet and let out a long wail. A moment later, she lay panting in the lapping water.
Julius turned off the device and removed his hand from the tub and the girl. His other hand released his tormented prick.
“And would you like such a bath whenever you wanted, Grace?”
“Yes, sir,” she said with a relaxed smile. “If you please, sir.”
“Good.” Julius swatted her thigh. “You stay here as long as you need. Relax, clean up. I’ll have Mrs. Jennings bring you some tea.” He left to go frig himself in the water closet.
* * * * *
“Very fine luncheon, Dr. Christopher,” remarked a sated Nicholas as he leaned back in his chair. “What did you call it again?”
“Vegetarian,” the doctor said with pride.
“Ah, yes. I have heard of that movement.” Nicholas glanced over at the servant patiently waiting against the dark oak wainscoting of the dining room. Grace, as she was called, was rather pretty, young and timid. Somehow not what he had expected Dr. Christopher to have as a maid. He had learned a lot about the doctor during lunch and found him rather particular and exacting. The type of man who would have a cantankerous former schoolmistress for a servant instead.
“A bit radical for some in our profession, Ramsay. I keep a small garden with some produce specific to our climate.” He sipped his coffee in a manner as refined as the gilded decoration of his French porcelain demitasse. “I’m sure you have seen wonderful gardens in your travels?”
He had regaled Dr. Christopher with stories of his exotic journeys and the state of medicine in foreign lands. “Oh yes. A stunning variety of fruits in the Near East. Have you also been?”
“I have. I was a bit younger than you are now. I do agree that travel opens the mind to new possibilities, new methods of living, new ways of seeing the world. Really, every scientist should make an effort to see as much of the world as possible. The Grand Tour should not be just for artists.”
Both men chuckled.
“And now we are finished,” Dr. Christopher rose from the dining table, “I should like to take you to the examination rooms. I have done some rearranging on account of your possibly joining me.”
“You make me feel like an honored guest rather than a colleague, sir.”
As they passed the servant the doctor murmured, “Thank you, Grace,” with a touch of affection. Nicholas glanced at the girl again and saw her blush. Clearly she was not just a servant. The revelation was a little surprising. Dr. Christopher also seemed the type to have an erudite and refined mistress. Someone like Lavinia.
They walked downstairs to the offices on the ground floor. One examination room was next to the stairs but Dr. Christopher led them into the opposite room. “It’s larger than the other, not by much,” he explained. “This will be your office.”
Nicholas looked around, marveling to himself at every turn. There was a padded table for patients, a dressing area behind a folding screen, a children’s corner with toys and books, a magnificent carved oak desk, ample cabinets and counters. Every surface was polished and spotless, every object in its proper place.
“This is too much, Dr. Christopher, sir,” Nicholas stammered.
“Nonsense, Ramsay.” Dr. Christopher patted Nicholas on the back. “To be frank, if I may, if you’ve been taken under Lavinia’s wing, then you must be a very studious, responsible and loyal young man.”
Nicholas shifted on his feet nervously. It was the first time Dr. Christopher had brought up their mutual friend.
“You needn�
�t be embarrassed, my boy. I know you’re sleeping with her.”
The admission was more than a little shocking. “Did she tell you this?” If she had, Nicholas would have to have a talk with her about discretion.
“Good God, no! She’s an impeccably discreet woman. However, you are just her type and she would not be wasting time with such a handsome young man if she were not bedding him. I dare say you could not do better.”
“Thank you, sir.” Nicholas did not know how else to respond.
“And what are her intentions for you?”
Nicholas was under no illusions that he was the first protégé in Lavinia’s life, but it was disconcerting that Dr. Christopher knew so much about his relationship with the lady.
“My career, sir, to get me established in London. And,” he lowered his voice, “to find me a wife.”
That brought a grin to Dr. Christopher’s face. “Good! Very good.” He seemed genuinely pleased. “You’ll learn quite a bit about wives working here.” He indicated a chair by the desk. “Have a seat.”
Dr. Christopher paced slowly, his head down, stroking his goatee before he steepled his hands under his chin to collect his thoughts. “Most of your patients will be young mothers with ill children. The children may not be terribly ill, but these young women have absolutely no idea how to handle such things. They’re practically children themselves, some of them. It’s basic care, you’ll know what to do in no time.
“Some women will come to you with ailments of their own. Some of these will be quite obvious—a disease, a boil, a cough. Again, you’ll apply your basic knowledge or use my research library upstairs. But treatment will be straightforward.
“Then there will be the women who come in for themselves, or their pubescent daughter, complaining of very vague symptoms. They will use words they’ve heard or read in magazines like ‘malaise’, ‘melancholia’, ‘ennui’, ‘nervousness’. They won’t be able to describe the problem in definite terms.” He stopped pacing and faced his pupil. “This is the type of ailment I specialize in.”
Nicholas was intrigued. “What do you mean? What is it, this ailment?”
“Doctors as far back as Celsus and Galen have called this affliction ‘womb disease’. Today we commonly use the term ‘hysteria’. The treatment has been the same for a thousand years. We use it today, in fact. Generally, it is manual stimulation of the genitalia until what is called ‘the hysterical paroxysm’ is reached. It is, of course, a completely ridiculous malady with an equally ridiculous treatment.”
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