A Change of Pace

Chapter 1

With tears of laughter cascading down her cheeks, Miss Georgina Pace ran down the cobbled street, grateful that she had pulled her breeches on before climbing out of the first-floor window of her lover’s town house.

She clutched her other garments to her naked breasts, concealing them from the curious eyes of the late-night London revellers.

What a disappointing end to an otherwise delightful evening. She lamented having to leave the soft warmth of the lady’s embrace, yet the inopportune arrival of a husband had made her presence rather awkward.

Panting for breath, Georgina slowed down as a rather prim lady—-a large black plume curling from her elaborate coiffure—came around the corner.

From her raiment, the lady may have just stepped out of Almack’s, one of London’s finest theaters.

She gasped in astonishment, and on impulse, Georgina exposed one rounded nipple at her and winked.

The lady shrieked and hurried away, leaving Georgina chuckling.

Her sides hurt from laughing at the absurdity of her own behaviour.

She had only been back in London for a few short hours, and already she courted a scandal.

Her friends would think it most typical of her to be making mischief already; Sarah would lament her want of conduct, while Coulthurst would likely encourage her efforts, spurring her on to greater nonsense.

Georgina slipped into the shadows of a dark alley and shrugged into her shirt. She had scrunched her coat and shoved her cravat into one of her boots; now she unwrapped her makeshift bundle and dressed herself.

She tied her cravat loosely, wishing she had a mirror to make it more respectable.

Never mind. Her next destination would not be fastidious about her attire.

For now, she needed to track down her groom, Buckby, and have a word with him about his failure to keep watch for returning husbands and wives.

This kind of mad dash from peril would not do at all.

A proper dressing-down, and then she would ask him to escort her to Mem Lavigne’s.

***

One of Georgina’s hands, adorned by a heavy signet ring, cradled a glass of port.

The other hand massaged the fleshy hip of the lass seated on her lap, a beauty with long, strawberry-blonde locks, named Lottie.

Some hours had elapsed since Georgina decamped without warning from the arms of her lover.

Her plans for an evening of light entertainment had gone to pieces.

Since arriving at Mem Lavigne’s establishment, Georgina’s performance at the card table had deteriorated.

Her bloodshot eyes, heavy with alcohol and fatigue, scanned her opponents for signs of weakness.

She sipped her drink, waiting for the next round of cards to be dealt.

This would be her final game, she promised herself, knowing she had already extended well beyond the resources she’d intended to gamble with.

Of all the houses of iniquity, Georgina favoured Mem Lavigne’s enterprise the most. Not only was it located conveniently in the heart of Pall Mall, but it also offered the perfect blend of opulence and discretion.

Anytime she came, they warmly welcomed her.

Shutters and heavy damask curtains darkened the room and protected Mem Lavigne’s guests from the scrutiny of the public milling by.

Whilst many patrons opted to while away the hours shrouded in plumes of smoke at the gaming tables, equal numbers came to enjoy the alternative entertainment.

Georgina often enjoyed both. Beautiful bodies, in varying states of undress, wandered amongst the patrons to be touched and enjoyed, and small alcoves allowed couples or groups to retreat for more intimate exchanges as desired.

The dealer presented the cards, and Georgina winked up at Lottie and squeezed her bottom, signalling for her to get up.

The comely maiden had promised to bring Georgina luck.

Not only had she failed to do so, but the constant wiggling of her hips against Georgina’s lap dragged her thoughts repeatedly away from the game.

“Wait for me over there, Lottie.” She gestured behind her. “I shall not be long.”

With a giggle, Lottie retreated, letting her flimsy, diaphanous negligee slip open just enough so that patrons could see the shape of one ample breast before she took herself out of view.

Georgina appreciated this tactic periodically employed by the house to distract its sponsors from card play. The house always won in the end, but at least it made the losing pleasant.

Her eyes tried refocusing on the cards, as reds, blacks, spades, and diamonds blurred amongst clubs and hearts; her head pounded like an insistent drum, thrumming along to her heartbeat.

Georgina had enjoyed some good fortune earlier in the evening, but now that Lady Luck favoured the house, she knew it was a fool’s game to continue.

The house dispatched Georgina one final time, and she let out a resigned sigh, folding her cards in defeat. She thanked the dealer for their game and drained the rest of her port before going to find Lottie.

Seeing her companion waiting patiently nearby, Georgina snaked an arm around her waist and led her in search of a free alcove set off along the side of the suite.

Guests already occupied several of these chambers, some with shades securely closed to maintain their privacy.

The primal grunts, groans, and squeals coming from behind the feeble barriers whetted the imagination of anyone wandering past. Other guests, meanwhile, did not even bother to shield their activities with a curtain.

Georgina suspected this formed part of the amusement for many people.

That spectators were watching their lustful pursuits was exactly what drove such patrons wild with hunger.

She did not indulge in this whim herself, though she basked in the openness and freedom that Mem Lavigne’s establishment offered to those of such tastes.

Few places could rival the liberal and diverse service offered here, and Georgina enjoyed being able to do what she wanted without judgment.

Lottie unfastened the silk tasseled cord that held back a thin curtain. The drape tumbled free, protecting them from prying and voyeuristic eyes.

“You are looking well,” Georgina said, allowing Lottie to remove her midnight-blue coat from her shoulders.

Lottie tossed the jacket aside and drew Georgina farther into the room. “It’s been a while since you left town. Why did you not come back after Christmas like you promised?” She pushed Georgina down into the thick-satin chaise longue and straddled her legs.

“A necessary change of plan, my dear.” Georgina blinked blearily at the large bosom confronting her face.

Lottie placed a trail of kisses along her temple and brow, and Georgina closed her eyes. Lottie’s lips were full and moist against her skin, yet her best efforts were failing to haul Georgina from her inner reverie.

“What’s amiss?”

Georgina should have known Lottie would be too astute to allow her mood to pass without remark.

She also knew her fair friend would doggedly inquire until she received a satisfactory answer.

A sour taste seeped into Georgina’s mouth.

“My visit to Cornwall over Christmas did not go as anticipated, and I needed to rusticate in Yorkshire for a while … removing myself from society while the dust settled.”

Lottie froze, leaving her luscious breasts pressed against -Georgina’s face. “Was it another woman?”

Georgina dragged herself away from the succulent bosoms and smirked up at her. “The sweetest auburn-haired debutante you have ever seen.”

Lottie’s eyes flashed.

Georgina chuckled. Her relationship with Lottie was, and always had been, a mutually pleasurable one, free of the emotional drama that plagued so many connections.

She remunerated Lottie handsomely for her companionship, and this served them both well.

Whenever Georgina referenced other women, Lottie would admonish her for disloyalty, then promptly recover with the offer of a sovereign or sparkling trinket.

Georgina appreciated the token gesture of jealousy, but Lottie knew not to extend it too far.

“I thought you only ever reserved your romantic interest for married women, widows or … girls like me.” Lottie had stopped kissing Georgina and placed her hands on her hips, as though awaiting an explanation.

“You said that young ladies were impressionable and often mistook a flirtation for warmer feelings.”

“True. Typically, I recoil from such entanglements. However, this Christmas, they brought me to point non plus. It was a monstrously dull affair, and there was no one else to dally with.”

“You could not resist, then?”

Georgina yawned. If only she had fallen in love. Then the penance she served in her freezing cold Yorkshire estate would have seemed justified. Sadly, she only had herself to blame. As usual. She was incredulous at how a small misdeed had escalated into such a spectacle.

“More that boredom overtook me. It was reckless. And regrettable.”

“Why? You cannot have left the lass with child?” Lottie’s argument held merit.

That would have been a simpler fate to reconcile herself to, Georgina thought wryly. “No, but she expected everlasting love and marriage.”

Lottie released a peal of laughter, which, while warranted, grated on Georgina’s nerves tonight.

“So, the notorious Miss Pace fled to the country to escape a scandal, like a scared little mouse running from a cat?” She scurried her fingers up Georgina’s belly and over the landscape of her breasts, mimicking the movements of a rodent.

Georgina shrugged away from her hand. “Yes, I dragged my father away from his friends and rushed at breakneck speed to Yorkshire as though the devil himself pursued me. There, I waited, freezing to the bone, for four God-awful months, hoping she might forget the interlude.”

“And did she?”