Chapter 23
‘And this,’ said Bea, ‘is my chamber. Or chambers, I suppose. I need more furniture for the outer room, I know.’ Probably she was talking too much, and should stop.
Miss Pallant looked about her, smiling faintly. Impossible to tell what she was thinking. Then she crossed to the door of the smaller sleeping closet. She went inside without asking for permission, and Bea followed her.
‘I like this. You can be completely private, if you close the door.’ She suited the action to the words, and they looked at each other in the little space, illuminated only by the tiny window over the bed. Vivienne’s golden hair caught lights from it, and her eyes glistened.
Miss Constantine licked her lips, which were suddenly dry, as was her throat.
Still, it would be possible to go back from this.
Nothing had really happened that could not be explained away.
Bea would not, she would not, make the first move.
Let her visitor make it perfectly clear with no possibility of misunderstanding what she wanted, what she had come for, if indeed Bea herself was not running mad and fancying dangerous things that were not real.
‘Imagine being cosy in that bed, on a cold winter night, while a storm raged outside,’ Vivienne said dreamily, sitting down on the coverlet and looking up at her hostess.
‘You would have closed the door snugly, though, and blown out your candle. Even this little window has an internal shutter, specially made for it – so clever. It’s wonderful; I can quite see why you chose this room. Will you not come and sit beside me?’
Bea was perfectly willing to do so. The soft feather mattress dipped under her weight, and once again, they were thigh to thigh; once again, Miss Pallant’s hand lay lightly on her gown.
But still, everything said and done in this room so far could have an innocent explanation.
Just one step further, and either of them could be crying in indignation, Why, ma’am, I fear you quite mistook my intentions!
I am shocked you should even imagine such an unnatural thing!
Perhaps they were both thinking that, fearing it; how could she know?
Nothing ventured, nothing gained. Enough uncertainty.
‘Miss Pallant,’ she said, aware of that sensual growl underlying her voice again, so unlike her usual tones, ‘did you bring me here to my bed with the intention of seducing me?’
Vivienne laughed musically. ‘Oh, yes, of course I did, Beatrice! I have had that intention since I first set eyes on you over the teacups, blushing so adorably. Are you only now realising it?’
Bea took the girl’s hand from her own thigh, and possessed herself of the other, skin to skin. They looked at each other in silence for a moment, just palms and fingers touching, the air humming with delicious tension.
‘You shall not seduce me, though,’ she told her, and pushed Vivienne down, not especially gently, moving to cover her slight body with her own ampler curves.
If Miss Pallant objected to being crushed in this fashion, she did not say so; rather, she seemed to wriggle closer, to return the delicious pressure.
Their breath was coming fast in the rose-scented shadows.
‘Shall I not?’
‘No.’ And then their mouths were locked in mutual hunger and there was no more talking for a long while. Bea closed her eyes and lost herself in pure sensation.
Vivienne’s best muslin gown was a round one, and so fastened at the front; Bea could not believe that this was accidental, since Miss Pallant had come here with seduction in mind.
She untied the fastenings as they kissed with feverish urgency, and then her hands were on the beautiful, small breasts, so delightfully uplifted and presented to her by fashionable short stays.
With one slightly unsteady finger she traced a circle around an areola, through the flimsy covering of her chemise, and Vivienne moaned in her mouth; she pinched and rolled the taut bud between her fingers, and Vivienne’s leg came up between her thighs, their limbs tangling.
After a little while, she pulled her mouth away and kissed her way down the long, elegant neck to taste the pert little rosebuds, uncovering them with mouth and teeth.
Her hands were free now, and she pulled up layers of fabric impatiently.
She had once been the innocent girl swept off her feet once, the passive recipient – at least at first – of another’s more practised caresses. Not this time.
Miss Pallant, she saw, wore pantalettes, in the modern fashion. They were snowy white, and would have appeared demure, except for the glimpse of golden curls revealed where the central seam was left open. Feeling her gaze, Vivienne spread her legs a little.
‘Oh, yes,’ Beatrice breathed, and lowered her head.
She felt gloriously like a rake, a man who would tumble a girl he’d just met down on a bed and tell her that she had the prettiest cunny he’d ever seen.
And then she felt only like herself, as she applied herself ruthlessly to Miss Pallant’s nub of Venus, to licking and sucking and making her writhe and gasp with pleasure.
‘Tell me,’ Vivienne said as they lay together in the shadows a while later, her head on Bea’s breast, ‘where you learned such shocking and unexpected tricks. I am sure it will make a good tale.’
Bea smiled against her hair. ‘You may judge for yourself what manner of tale it is. A few years ago, in spring, about this time, one of my sister Allegra’s children had been ill, and was recommended a stay at Cheltenham Spa, to take the waters.
Allie’s husband was occupied with parliamentary business, could not easily get away, and so I went with her – in truth, I was glad to have an excuse to escape the Season.
While they took the waters, which were excessively nasty, and had other treatments, I was left alone with just her maid, rather bored, and soon fell into conversation with a lady who was staying at the same hotel.
We began talking long walks together outside the town, which required no chaperonage, naturally.
She was a most respectable woman, a general’s widow, in her thirties.
Her name was Rose; I shall not tell you the other, and indeed, it does not matter. ’
‘Aha!’ exclaimed Vivienne, her hand creeping down Bea’s body, under her gown and petticoats, her fingers beginning to toy idly with the dark, damp curls at the junction of her thighs.
Bea stretched languorously under her caress and said, ‘One day, we were passing along a corridor upstairs, quite alone, conversing idly, Rose and I, and she suddenly pushed me up hard against a wall and kissed me. When I did not pull away, when I made no protest, she put her hands on me. It was so dangerous, so good. Oh, yes, that’s perfect, just there…
And then she came to my room late that night – be very sure that I had left the door unlocked – and every night after, as long as we stayed there…
She debauched me, Vivienne. It was wonderful.
She told me she was going to give me a very thorough course of instruction, and indeed she did.
Things I had imagined, touching myself, and things I had not.
If she had been a man, I suppose you could say that she had ruined me, and then moved ruthlessly on.
We never saw each other again, nor corresponded; there was no suggestion of it on either part.
I cannot doubt she had done the same before, and has again since.
Just think, England must be full of ladies who seem prim and innocent, but have had their eyes opened, and not just their eyes. ’
‘I like you ruined,’ Vivienne said, her fingers moving busily, to some effect. ‘I like you debauched.’
‘Oh, so do I…’