Chapter 3
Chapter Three
“The fair lady laid herself bare,” he read aloud, and Phoebe was immediately hooked, despite her better intentions telling her to flee, to not listen to a single word. “She raised her arms above her head, but the man above her was already prepared to lay worship upon her skin…”
Her breath caught as his voice began to fluster her.
He continued to read. His voice caressed each syllable, causing Phoebe to be simultaneously riveted and uncomfortable.
She despised herself for staying; yet she also cheered herself for being bold enough to remain.
She was acting wildly out of character. Never before had she allowed herself to embody so many contradictions at once. Phoebe knew she ought to stay in a place where she was both entertained and discomforted, but she could not bring herself to stray from the spot.
As the words the gentleman whispered filled her ears, Phoebe smoothed her hands down the folds of her red dress and felt…
Magical.
She recalled Genevieve’s advice earlier in the evening.
Find something magical.
She lounged a little on the seat, allowing her pose to mimic the graceful nonchalance of the gentleman across the divide exhibited. Then, she perked up her ears as he continued reading about the wanton woman and the man who desired her.
I think I have found something special here, in these close quarters. That deep, soft voice is reading to me the things of my dreams, the fantasies I have envisioned in secrecy, yet here, all is out in the open.
Her head began to spin as his voice grew with intensity. He whispered the hero’s words through gritted teeth and moaned softly when the hero inserted himself into the female.
Phoebe’s pulse stuttered and skipped a beat when the man in the story heatedly released himself inside of the heroine. Phoebe’s breathing grew heavy, and she panted as the couple reached their climax together.
“Having spent all her energy, the fair lady collapsed and laid her head back against the pillow. The man drew her into his arms and held her there until sleep overtook them both.”
The reader paused at the conclusion of the scene. Then, in a rough and beautiful voice he asked simply, “What did you think of the story then, my sweet, anonymous listener?”
She did not know what to do.
Her words did not come for a moment. Instead, they tangled up in her throat, leaving her utterly breathless as she processed what she had heard.
Finally, she found her voice and managed to say, “I have read romance books before, but none so… so…”
“So enthusiastic?”
“So blunt,” she corrected, still embarrassed at her own breathlessness. “Not with this sort of… content.”
The silence lingered. Through the latticed panel between them Phoebe swore she saw the lift of a grinning mouth beneath a mask, just on one side, tantalizing and torturous for she did not get to see his full face.
All she saw was a curtain of auburn hair that hung over his face as he bent over the book.
But, even in the light, the stranger with the beautiful voice would still be unknown to her.
“I see,” he murmured, “and how hearing this sort of blunt content read aloud make you feel?”
Phoebe breathed an embarrassed laugh. Heavens, why did her face flush so hot even when she couldn’t be seen?
“Do tell,” the man purred when she did not answer straight away. “A hesitant answer is the best sort, I believe. It means there is truth to be weighed, a truth to be found within a potential lie.”
“I will not lie,” she countered, laughing breathlessly again. “I am merely embarrassed.”
“And that is also one of the best headspaces for answers. Embarrassment can be overwhelmingly honest, so let yourself be honest with me. We cannot see one another clearly, so where is the harm? I do not know your name, nor do you know mine, so there is no shame, no judgement, and no eyes on you.”
He was correct, and that made Phoebe bold, but she still muttered, “It is improper… the way the book has made me feel. Heavens, the book itself, is improp—”
“As I said,” he interrupted, confident but gentle, as if he regretted interrupting her, but still wished to make his point, “there is no place here for propriety. There is a reason we keep to the shadows, even as guests. There is a reason nobody knows Lord Spencer’s true identity, either.”
“I see,” she murmured.
“There is profound respect here, certainly, but not… not judgement. There are ladies and gentlemen of the ton who rule over the rest of us with an iron fist. But those people are not invited to soirees hosted by Lord Spencer.”
“Here,” he continued, “we can simply strip away our worries and be ourselves. Even though we must respect one another’s anonymity, I find it oddly liberating to sit in this room with you, a stranger, and have a conversation like this one.
Are you not having fun, my lady? You may be yourself here without worrying that I should ever venture to know your true identity. ”
Phoebe bit her lip, falling silent as she considered his very logical point. She could shed her insecurities, for nobody would know it was the youngest Tripleton sister beneath the fox mask. She was merely Miss Vanessa Delamere.
Or perhaps, she did not even have to be that fictional creation.
There were plenty of people, present company included, who had not been introduced to her yet. And she did not need to pretend or adopt a fake name in this room.
Her companion did not care who she was without the fox mask. He did not ask anything of her except to share her honest thoughts.
He wished to hear her express herself.
But what do I want?
Phoebe knew why she had come tonight—truly. She had been scared when Genevieve had gifted her the red gown. She grew even more terrified throughout the journey to Lord Spencer’s home. With all those feelings swirling inside her mind, no one would have blamed Phoebe for staying at home.
But that is not why I came here.
She had been too frightened to admit as much before when Genevieve prompted her, but now, sitting alone in a room with a man, listening to him implore her to tell him her honest opinion, Phoebe recognized that she had given herself this one night of indulgence after a lifetime of grueling, awful treatment.
She knew not what would happen once she left this place, but for tonight, she longed to embrace the boundless possibilities.
“I’m here to be fearless,” she whispered to herself.
“What was that?”
“Nothing,” she quickly answered.
“Then I shall ask again,” he said. “How did the passage make you feel?”
Phoebe swallowed hard, trying to find the words. “Curious,” she finally said. “But that curiosity led me to a place of embarrassment.” She giggled lightly. “At some points, I almost felt guilty. It was as if I had walked in on the scene itself and stood there watching the couple.”
“Hmm… Interesting. What happened to you while you were watching the couple? How did their passion make you feel physically? What did it stir within your body?”
Phoebe took a stilted inhale, realizing what he meant.
“I… I cannot say.”
“Why not?” She heard the smile in his voice, and she leaned closer to that latticed barrier.
“It is… it is not the thing one shares with a stranger,” She whispered through the partition.
“And yet I have shared the passage with you.” He leaned a fraction closer to his side of the divide. “We have come this far together, my lady. Will you indulge me just a bit further?”
“How so?” she countered.
“Tell me what the passage made you feel,” he urged.
She hesitated. “I do not…I cannot…I am not sure I know what you mean.” Anxiously, Phoebe flexed her fingertips. “When you were reading, my palms started sweating.” She did not like the stammer she had developed and fought to edge it out of her voice as she continued. “Is that what you mean?”
Another low chuckle came through the screen. “That is a good start. But I wish to know how you felt when the hero took the lady into his arms. When his lips brushed over her ample bosom, what happened to you then?”
Phoebe gulped. “I am not sure I can describe the way my body reacted.” She twisted her gloved fingers together, focusing on the sensation to regain a sense of stability. “What should I have felt?”
When Phoebe looked up, she could see a hint of a smile gracing the gentleman’s face. He slowly lifted his hand and ran his fingertips through the soft auburn tresses that tipped over his forehead.
“I imagine a young lady like you felt something building low in your stomach.” He removed his hand from his hair and pressed it to his abdomen. “Here. The sensation that overcame you created a burning curl right there. Did you feel it?”
Phoebe’s instinct told her to shake her head, to protest no, but she could not deny that she did.
So, in an exhale, she admitted, “I…I do. Err…I did.”
“The feeling lingers still?” the stranger murmured. “Good.”
He leaned so far forward then that Phoebe imagined reaching out and brushing her fingers over the wispy locks of hair covering his forehead.
She yearned to know if the tresses were as silky as they looked, but she resisted the urge and merely prodded herself to listen more closely to his words.
“That heat will travel upward first. You may feel a pleasant warmth flood your chest, your neck, making your skin flush a delicious shade of pink.” His tongue flicked out as he licked his lower lip. “Tell me, do you feel flush with anticipation?”
“Yes,” Phoebe murmured. “Suddenly, I feel almost overheated.”
“Wonderful,” the man purred.
Phoebe scooted forward further on the bench, then lifted one hand and used it to fan her face. “But…the heat in my cheeks. That’s not all I feel.”