Classic Love: 7 Vintage Romances

by Dorothy Fletcher

  “Did you …” Harrison began in a low voice. “Did you fail to sail the ship into port?”

  Henry’s head snapped up. Glowering darkly, he poured more of the clear liquor into his glass, then offered the bottle to Harrison. His friend shook his head, pointing out his own mug of cider.

  “No trouble at sea,” Henry reported. “Good winds, full sail, all that.”

  Scratching idly at his stubbled chin, Harrison made a thoughtful sound. “Came off too soon?”

  Henry hunched over his glass. “No.”

  “Then what the hell was the problem?”

  “I fell asleep,” Henry said. “Things got … queer.” Sighing in resignation, he spilled the whole, sordid story.

  Making good use of Sheri’s birthday gift, Henry had happily rid himself of his virginity with the delectable Kitty. Submitting himself to her tutelage, he’d indulged in hours of bed play and achieved multiple climaxes, each more intense than the last, until, finally, he fell into an exhausted slumber beside his buxom companion. He’d come to abruptly at the sound of Kitty Newman screeching. “Stop! Stop! What are you doing, you disgusting gony? Get away from my slippers! I paid a fortune for those!”

  He’d blinked, surprised to see that he was clear across the room from the bed. Had this been his own lodging room, it occurred to Henry that he’d have been in the exact location of his chamber pot. But he wasn’t in his room. Instead, he was doing something unspeakable to Kitty Newman’s expensive slippers.

  “Just a moment,” Harrison interrupted. “You took the piss on her shoes?” he tilted his head thoughtfully. “Well that’s certainly not the worst thing she must’ve seen in that profession, chap. In fact, I bet she’s gotten any sort of strange request—”

  Henry’s cheeks flamed. He shook his head emphatically. “I didn’t …” He took a deep, calming breath. “That wasn’t it.”

  Harrison’s eyebrows rose, but despite the curiosity on his face, he gave Henry a small, sympathetic smile. The two young men had shared a lodging for some months. In that time, Harrison had retrieved a half-naked Henry from the quadrangle, stopped him from attempting to climb out the window, and prevented several other fiascoes. Harrison always treated Henry’s episodes with care and discretion. Even now, he didn’t pry for more details than Henry was willing to share.

  “I see,” he simply said. A lengthy silence fell.

  “I’m never going to sleep with a woman again,” Henry vowed.

  Suddenly, his mind once more returned to Rudley Court. In his mind’s eye, Henry saw Claudia Baxter’s sweet, guileless face smiling up at him. Her fun-filled schemes never failed to raise his spirits when they were low. A painful yearning pinched his heart.

  I want to go home.

  Harrison rolled his eyes. “Come on, Hen, it couldn’t have been that bad.”

  “It was,” Henry insisted, once more hearing Kitty Newman’s berating voice ringing in his ears, resurrecting all the night’s humiliation. “I mean it, Harry. I will never sleep beside a woman again. I’m broken.” A lump formed in his chest. “Who could ever want me?” he challenged his friend. “Who could ever want this?”