Private Passions

by Felicia Greene

  ‘You planned this.’ The words came out without Selby even thinking about it. ‘You have to have planned this.’

  ‘Is that first in the basket of insufferable things? I do hope it is a very shallow basket.’ Brenda’s glare was withering as Selby came level with her, the effect slightly marred by the soft flush in her cheeks. ‘Why on earth would I arrange such a ridiculous tableau? I am hardly presenting myself in the most becoming fashion, hanging here.’

  ‘... Bound at the wrists, and unbound at the bodice?’ Selby knew it was a deeply improper thing to say, but couldn’t help himself. ‘Do you honestly not believe that gentlemen find women compelling in such a state?’

  There was a short, reflective pause. Brenda stared at him, her grey eyes full of what looked like equal parts shock and embarrassment.

  ‘I see.’ She took a deep breath; Selby struggled manfully against the urge to watch the curve of her breasts as they rose and fell. ‘Is… is this something that Matilda should probably tell me about?’

  ‘Only if you find yourself willing to re-enter the fray when it comes to marriage. In that case, then our new Duchess is certainly the person to talk to.’ Selby hung from the rope by one arm, the other resting on his hip. ‘I am sure she, along with ladies all over the world, have spent considerable amounts of both money and time arranging to be caught in just such a scenario.’

  ‘That, Your Grace, suggests a level of calculation that I am entirely unwilling to partake in.’ Brenda huffed; Selby had to admit it was a magnificent huff. ‘Honestly. It is as ridiculous as suggesting that you somehow orchestrated being discovered in the lake yesterday.’

  ‘Hardly.’ Selby rolled his eyes, obscurely embarrassed. ‘Muddy and wrestling a small, yapping animal? Hardly becoming.’

  ‘Shirtless, damp, and wreathed in flowers. And holding a puppy.’ Brenda spoke quickly, almost thoughtlessly. ‘Ladies have prayed for such circumstances.’

  Selby stared, a sudden shock of new thoughts briefly crowding his mind. Remembering with a jolt exactly where he was, and exactly what he was supposed to do, he reached up to Brenda’s bound wrists.

  ‘It’s a simple tangle. I can release it quite quickly.’ Why did he sound so damned hoarse? ‘When the tension gives, you must cling to me as rapidly and tightly as possible.’

  ‘Oh.’ Brenda’s eyes were very wide. ‘Is… is there some sort of alternative?’

  ‘Yes. Falling to the ground and breaking any number of limbs.’ Selby swallowed, wishing his muscles didn’t suddenly feel so much weaker than normal. ‘Is the idea of touching me so very repellent to you, Miss Hartwell?’

  ‘No.’ The answer came quickly enough for Selby to feel an entirely new sort of shock. ‘No, it is not.’

  There is was again; that odd, bone-deep shiver which suggested something ancient, something powerful, clicking smoothly into place. Selby shook his head slightly, trying to fight a growing feeling of inevitability, as he gently untied the knot that had Brenda’s wrists so tightly bound.

  The rope made a slow, rough sound as it suddenly loosened. With a cry small enough to be termed a squeak, Brenda threw her arms around Selby’s neck as Selby quickly grabbed the rope in his cloth-covered palm. They hung suspended, Selby’s shoulder now complaining in a mute but determined fashion, close enough to one another to hear the twinned, rapid beating of each other’s hearts.

  Cling to me as rapidly and tightly as possible. Selby dimly remembered saying those words, but hadn’t fully considered their import. He had thought about Brenda’s arms around his neck, of course, and her breath in his ear; both of those things were both predictable, and welcoming. What he hadn’t thought about—what he had deliberately avoided thinking about, if he were honest—was the full splendour of her body pressed tightly against his, all softness and abundance and full, joyous curves. Her thigh raised to rest against his hip, her skirts a rustling champagne froth that now enveloped them both in surprising, deeply pleasurable femininity…

  ‘Forgive me.’ Brenda’s voice was small, and breathless. ‘I do not like heights. I imagine you have spent much of your life rescuing people from tall places.’

  Selby had indeed spent many years performing anonymous feats of derring-do. One of his exploits had involved a wounded princess atop the battlements of one of Bavaria’s most splendid castles, complete with snow on the turrets… but even that memory, complete with frost in the air and starlight in the eyes of the onlookers, faded into obscurity compared to what he felt with Brenda Hartwell in his arms.

  ‘I have.’ He cleared his throat, acutely aware of how hard he was becoming. He hoped the volume of Brenda’s skirts would obscure his shame. ‘In fact, I rather like them. More and more, every day.’

  ‘Yes.’ Brenda took another deep breath; Selby bit his lip, wishing he couldn’t feel the soft, yielding weight of her breasts quite so clearly. ‘And… and please disregard what I said about our meeting by the lake. I have been somewhat exercised by the unusual nature of this evening.’

  Exercised was not the word Selby would have used. Unfortunately, none of the other words that came to mind were repeatable. He hung motionless in the air, his shoulder aching less and less as other parts of his body became more worthy of attention.

  ‘Well?’ Brenda blinked. ‘Are we going to go down?’

  ‘Yes. Of course.’ Selby paused, knowing that what he was about to say was at least three steps beyond foolish. ‘But… Miss Hartwell, allow me a small courtesy. Tell me—have you ever considered the idea of destiny?’

  Brenda’s eyes widened; Selby felt a small wave of triumph ripple through him. It wasn’t just him, then; it wasn’t his spying senses sparking away at nothing. ‘In what way? What do you mean, destiny?’

  ‘The idea that some things are destined to occur, of course. That certain people are meant to go to certain places and… and do certain things.’ Selby didn’t know why his shoulder had been aching a moment ago; now he could hang all day, with Brenda’s body tight against his as she clung to him. ‘That however much the individuals in question try to avoid their fate, fate is waiting for them. Has… has anything given you cause to consider such an idea, in recent days?’

  A yes was too much to hope for, of course. As was a sudden, passionate kiss, followed by a sensual attempt at aerial disrobing and an athletic go at debauchery. Options flickered at the core of Selby’s being like any number of candle-flames as he waited, drowning happily in Brenda’s softness and scent.

  ‘Listen to me very carefully, Your Grace.’ Brenda’s voice had a note of seriousness that Selby hadn’t been expecting. ‘Even… even if I have considered the idea of destiny in recent days, that does not mean that I consider destiny the ultimate arbiter of mortal actions. Free will is, as always, of the utmost importance.’

  ‘Quite right.’ It was becoming difficult to breathe; difficult to do anything other than lean closer and simply kiss her. Selby found himself biting his lip again, fighting the need to have her mouth on his. ‘But… but if destiny had begun to pull one person towards another. Pull them strongly. Free will is all very well, but battling against such an enormous, overwhelming force is sure to—’

  ‘Hurt. Yes.’ Brenda’s sigh was infinitely lovely, and infinitely sad. ‘Hurt very much. But it is all to the good, in the end.’

  Well. That had to be the sweetest and most devastating rejection that Selby had ever experienced. With a slow nod, and a smile that was tinged with pain no matter how bravely he did it, he exhaled.

  ‘I see. Well then.’ He looked up at his grip on the rope. ‘Time to leave the clouds.’

  Slowly, not wanting to alarm Brenda, he let his palm slip down the rope. In what felt like far too short a time their feet brushed against the wooden floor of the stage, the air suddenly a little colder. Selby repressed a sigh, waiting for Brenda to move away from him, becoming more and more confused when she did not.

  She was still pressed tightly against him. Her thigh was still raised; her hands were still
clasped around his neck. Selby, looking into Brenda’s eyes with what he knew was a slightly dumbstruck expression, wondered if he had been too hasty in giving his night up for lost.

  ‘Or…’ Brenda’s voice was slightly muffled in his shirt; Selby wished, quite violently, that he was as shirtless as he had been the previous day. ‘Or destiny, such as it is, could be considered temporarily.’

  ‘Temporarily.’ Selby repeated the word, his lips lowering to touch Brenda’s hair. The softness of her curls made his cock feel all the harder. ‘And what would that mean? To temporarily consider destiny?’

  ‘It means exactly what I said, of course.’ The faint air of bossiness in Brenda’s voice only made her seem more attractive to Selby. Perhaps it was the high-handed tone combined with the decidedly base feel of her in his arms. ‘’That free will can be… tiring. Very tiring. While giving into the—to the general pull of destiny, for a little while, could be… refreshing.’

  ‘Refreshing?’ Selby couldn’t resist a small, intimate smile. ‘Is that how you think you would feel, Miss Hartwell, after a good dose of destiny?’

  ‘I do not know how I would feel.’ Brenda’s expression was suddenly, deeply arresting. ‘But… but I find myself willing to find out.’

  The time for words, if Selby was any judge, had ended. Now was the time to slowly sink to the ground, Brenda in his arms, and show her exactly what giving into destiny meant. To kiss her, to let his fingers trail over her skin, caressing, teasing, coaxing her into giving up all of the abundant pleasure that he could feel waiting in her body, dormant, begging to be given expression.

  ‘Show me, Your Grace.’ Brenda’s voice had become a low, breathless whisper. ‘Please.’

  Am I giving in to her, or is she giving in to me? In the heat of the moment, Selby couldn’t tell—and neither, to his surprise, did he care. He let his hand move up to Brenda’s cheek, cradling the smoothness of her skin as he moved closer, closer, closer still…

  A loud bang echoed through the room. Selby and Brenda sprang apart as footsteps sounded in the corridor, Grancourt’s gruff baritone filling the still air.

  ‘Where the devil did I put my cigar case… of all the times in the day to crave, really crave a cigar, it has to be when I have left my cigar case on the other side of this infernal house…’

  A small interruption. Nothing, really; at most something to laugh at when more important business had concluded. Selby turned back to Brenda, a rueful smile already on his face, but stopped as he saw her expression.

  Something had changed. It wasn’t just fear in her eyes; there was something harder, a kind of resignation. A determination not to fall into temptation… Selby realised, with a small jolt of surprise, that he was being treated as the greater of two evils.

  He had never been the less favoured option before. In fact, he was more than used to being seen as the winning prize. Selby opened his mouth—to plead, to beg, he didn’t know—but Brenda was already walking away.

  As she brushed past him, her scent filled the air again. Selby, drugged with both the perfume of soap and his own desire, reached out a hand, then withdrew it. She was going, she wasn’t looking back—he had scared her, or Grancourt had scared her, or she had scared herself.

  But that was hardly a problem, was it? He certainly wasn’t looking to seduce anyone. It had been a mistake. If anything, he should be grateful to Grancourt that the whole silly business had been stopped.

  Selby wiped his brow, which was slick with sweat. Yes, he would feel grateful to Grancourt… just as soon as he had overcome the urge to kill him.

  The following afternoon, as clouds scudded merrily over the sunlit lawns, Brenda and her friends were taking tea. At least, they had begun with the intention of taking tea—but now, through what felt like no fault of Brenda’s own, it had become a ferociously-focused discussion group.

  ‘And then… well.’ She swallowed, trying to remove the acrid taste of tea from her mouth as Matilda, Poppy, Isabella and Ellen leaned forward, listening eagerly. ‘I walked away.’

  She had never had to explain an escapade to a group of eagerly listening female friends before. She had only ever been one of the listeners—and even then it had been for practical reasons, not purposes of friendship. Such confessions had only ever seemed useful for adversaries; they always contained such delightfully incriminating anecdotes… now, as the confessor, Brenda saw that information shared between friends was not always unwise. In fact, it was very comforting.

  Not all the information was ripe for sharing, of course. What had happened between her and Selby after they had descended from the rafters was far too raw, too private, for Brenda to share with any other living soul. Fortunately—or perhaps not, given the wide-eyed faces of her friends—even the driest descriptions of the evening’s events seemed to be providing more than enough interest for Matilda, Ellen, Isabella and Poppy.

  ‘Excuse me?’ Matilda’s teacup rattled against the saucer as she abruptly put it down. ‘Are you saying, Brenda, that you did nothing?’

  ‘I walked away. Walked away without a word.’ Brenda looked hollow-eyed at her own tea, wondering if she could summon up the energy required to drink more of it. Matilda, Ellen, Poppy and Isabella looked delicately at one another. ‘You must tell me now, all of you, that it was the correct thing to do. I know it was, after all.’

  ‘Well, yes. It was obviously the correct thing to do.’ Isabella took a sip of tea, apparently mulling over the end of her sentence. ‘Absolutely correct.’

  ‘Correct, and in keeping with the lofty ambitions that you have set for yourself.’ Ellen nodded, her voice slightly hollow. Brenda couldn’t help but see the hint of a smile on her face. ‘Correct on ever-so-many fronts.’

  ‘I agree.’ Poppy, a little younger than all of the other ladies sitting around the table, couldn’t effectively conceal the slight waver in her voice. ‘Of course I agree.’

  There was a short, heavy pause. Brenda, looking anxiously into the faces of her silent friends, felt a sudden burst of irritation that made her quite short of breath.

  ‘Oh, for goodness’ sake! You all clearly object to my conduct, even though it was scrupulously correct!’ She pushed her teacup away, gritting her teeth as she suppressed a ruder exclamation. ‘Please tell me the—the source of your objections! Not least because I feel objectionable myself, and wish to know why!’

  The tension in the room abruptly broke as Ellen burst out laughing. Brenda scowled as Matilda, hand over her mouth, began to giggle as well.

  ‘Forgive us.’ Ellen wiped away a tear of laughter as her shoulders shook. ‘But bound at the wrists, in your nightgown, in a candlelit theatre at night? How on earth is such a series of circumstances possible?’

  ‘It would have taken days for the pleasure-house to have organised such an affair!’ Matilda’s eyes shone with humour. ‘However did you manage it?’

  ‘I did not manage it! None of it was in the least bit managed!’ Brenda sighed, shaking her head. ‘His Grace said something very similar. Honestly, if you had all seen him by the lake the other day—’

  ‘The lake? You never told us that you had seen His Grace by the lake.’ Matilda’s smile was positively catlike. ‘What an unusual omission.’

  ‘Yes. Very unusual.’ Poppy leaned forward. ‘Why would we all have wished to see him by the lake?’

  By now Brenda could easily sense that she had made an enormous tactical error. With another, deeper sigh, she haltingly told the story of coming across both Selby and puppy in the water. By the time she had relayed the base facts of the event, both Poppy and Matilda had their hands covering their mouths.

  ‘Shirtless?’ Ellen’s mouth had fallen open. ‘Covered in lilies?’

  ‘Yes, Ellen. You needn’t labour the point.’ Brenda sniffed, wondering why she felt the sudden urge to cry. ‘It seemed like an enormous series of coincidences, to say the least. But it happened. Just as the ridiculous accident in the theatre occurred.’

  ‘How ve
ry unlucky you both are.’ Matilda’s voice suggested nothing of the thought. ‘To keep finishing in these wildly romantic scenarios, with only the other to see it.’

  ‘Matilda, you are not helping.’ Brenda fought the urge to rap the table with her fist. ‘You are beginning to sound like His Grace. Talking of—of destiny.’

  ‘He spoke of destiny?’ Poppy’s voice was suddenly very dreamy. ‘He freed you from your bonds, and held you in the air, and spoke of destiny?’

  When put like that, the events of the previous evening had an enchantment to them that even Brenda could not pretend to ignore. ‘… Yes.’

  A soft, united sigh came from Ellen, Matilda and Poppy. Brenda, knowing that she was blushing, busied herself with removing some imagined speck of dust from her skirt.

  ‘And as I said, I walked away. I simply walked away from him. After telling him that destiny, while important, was in no way paramount when it comes to deciding the particulars of one’s life.’ She paused, biting her lip. ‘And… and it was the correct thing to do. When one considers the steps I have taken, and the promises I have made, to be better in all aspects.’

  ‘Yes.’ Ellen sounded decisive. So decisive, in fact, that Brenda wondered if she wasn’t simply pretending. ‘Of course.’

  ‘Quite.’ Poppy sounded even less certain than she had before. ‘As we said before, dear. Whatever you think best.’

  ‘Oh, really.’ Matilda rolled her eyes. ‘Must I honestly feign happiness at how myopically you are ignoring destiny?’

  ‘Yes. You must.’ Brenda looked at her imploringly. ‘Please.’

  ‘... Oh, alright.’ Matilda’s face showed entirely too much pity for comfort. ‘Ignore it, dear. It will probably fade away to nothing if unexamined.’

  ‘Quite. That is what I thought.’ It wasn’t what Brenda thought, not at all, but she buried that rebellious idea away with all the others. ‘I am glad that we are all in agreement.’