13. The Sex
The Sex
Blaze
“Will you join me?” The pretentious man asks Jo again, and I can’t help the pit forming in my gut.
When it was just the two of us, it was easy to forget there could be anyone else, but of course she has a GQ-cover Duke after her.
The dude really could be a model too, if he shaved.
It looks like he had mutton chops and instead of shaving them off to start over, he just…
let it all grow–and then flew a kite of keys in a thunderstorm.
It’s been the same thing my entire life. Someone taller, thinner, stronger, richer…I drop my arm and take a step back, forcing a smile to my face. I expect Jo to let go of me, but she doesn’t. Instead, she steps after me and hugs her body to my arm.
“Lynyrd, darling, I don’t believe you’ve met the Viscount yet?” she says sweetly, then turns back to the Viscount before loudly proclaiming. “Lynyrd is my fiancé, and I do apologize, but I’ve promised to dance with him.”
I blink in shock, and nearby heads snap our way, jaws on the floor. Mine might as well be too.
Did she just blow him off to claim me?
Blue eyes meet mine, her eyebrows raised in question. I shake the surprise from my face and take the hint.
“Josephine, shall we?” I gesture with my head to the throng of couples twirling in the center of the room, offering up my hand and praying I don’t make a complete ass of myself.
Her answering smile is blinding as she places her palm in mine, and I wish the sheer black lace wasn’t blocking my ability to feel her bare skin against mine.
“Don’t worry, you can just spin me around enough times to cross the floor. It will look like we’re dancing to get us away from Edwardson, and then we can return to the shadows,” Jo whispers, trotting to keep close as I drag her forward.
“My dear wife,” I coo, “what kind of husband would I be if I didn’t parade you around the dance floor at least once?”
“Blaze!” she protests.
“Lynyrd,” I correct.
“Lynyrd. First, we aren’t married yet, and I would rather not make a complete buffoon of myself again at a Winthrop ball!”
Again? I make a mental note to ask her about that later, but right now, my previous goal of making Eddie eat shit has shifted into knocking Jo’s socks off.
When we reach the center of the hall, I swing Jo in front of me, and when I catch her other hand, I deftly slip it on my shoulder.
I wink as I find her waist and push her into a waltz, easily melting into the movement and blending with the other dancers.
The blues and pinks of the floral decor blur with the dresses of similar colors all around us as the tempo picks up and we twirl faster and faster.
Jo erupts into a fit of laughter, throwing her head back, and I’m suddenly overcome with the desire to learn how soft the skin along her neck is.
It’s like I’m fourteen and not thirty-fucking-three.
Our steps slow as the song fades. “Perhaps we should pause for refreshments? I am parched, and I still have not seen to it that you find food,” Jo pants contentedly, her hand dropping from my shoulder to my chest. When her attention leaves the crowd and lands on me, she blushes, quickly pulling away. I can only nod in return.
The words I seemed to have lost return in a flurry when she leads me to the hors d’oeuvres table Mrs. Dashwood must have been referring to. “Holy shit, look at all those shrimp! And is that a pudding fountain?“ I all but squeal, palming a fistful of shrimp and greedily popping two into my mouth.
“I wish there were crabs—though perhaps, by the way you spoke of them earlier, you won’t feel the same?”
“Earlier?” I ask, covering my chewing with a hand.
“Yes, when you mentioned the ones given to you by Miss Mae, you sounded displeased.”
I choke. “Bertha Mae? Do you—it probably wasn’t called crabs in 1813, was it? Fuck, when did we start calling them STDs? Wait, I think the more accurate term is STIs now, actually—“
“You say the most ridiculous things sometimes. Are you speaking English?”
“Are you telling me you don’t know what an STI—is? A sexually transmitted infection? From having sex?” I’m baffled, but not so much as to neglect the shellfish display and grab another handful without looking.
“Sex? Is that a type of crab?” Her brows knit together, and she tilts her head.
“Oh, for crying in the night. I’m not having the birds and the bees with you at a ball—I might have a word with your mother before I leave about neglecting your education though. What I do want right now…“ I slam an entire fist of shrimp into my mouth.
“We’ll come back to the sex then—my word, you really were starving, weren’t you?” Jo asks in a tone that’s neither horrified nor impressed, but somewhere in between as she watches me chew and swallow.
“No—I mean, yes—but shrimp—“ I interrupt my own words with another shrimp, manners be damned, because these are the best shrimp I’ve ever had and if talking about said shrimp will keep her from asking about the sex, I’ll name every single little pink bastard on this table.
“I love shrimp—all seafood and shellfish, actually. Back home I work—worked? I’m not sure if I’ll still work there when I get back…
maybe I’ll take a break, or at least switch to lake fishing…
Right! I was a fisherman—halibut mostly.
Big trawler; I guess you’d call it a big-ass boat.
We spend a few weeks each summer bringing in hundreds of thousands of pounds of fish. ”
“My word, did you just say hundreds of thousands?“ I recognize Mr. Dashwood’s voice behind me and turn to find him with his own fistful of prawns. He’s got a nice bruise growing on his chin from our little scuffle. “You’re a rather good fisherman then, yes?”
“Decent enough, at least. Do you fish, Mr. Dashwood?”
Jo groans dramatically as her father’s entire countenance lights up.
“George, please. I may have gone easier on you earlier had I known that you were a man with taste, despite your colorful vocabulary.” He claps me on the shoulder.
“What kind of fish did you say? I usually bring in a few sprats on the average day, but with the right bait and a little luck it’s shad I bring home.
We simply must go out on the Thames together.
I’m never too old to learn a few new tricks for the rod. ”
“It would be my pleasure, George,” I agree enthusiastically, excited not just for the prospect of a fishing buddy or the taste of fresh caught shad, but for the fact that my future father-in-law doesn’t seem like he wants my head on a pike anymore.
A tug at my elbow pulls my focus to Jo. “Father, might I commandeer my fiancé‘s attention for a moment? I’d quite like to sneak in another dance before the evening ends.”
“Soon, my boy, I’ll clear my schedule.” George calls after us as Jo drags me back among the swirling bodies.
“Sorry, your brain was probably melting out of your ears back there,” I say sheepishly as we begin dancing.
“Oh, no. Actually, I don’t mind—I just…Other than the few instances I’m coerced onto the floor with the Viscount, I don’t usually dance at these events. It’s a nice change, if I’m being honest. And you’re a good dancer—I did not expect that.”
My cheeks flush, which only makes the heat spread more viciously.
I’m clearly allergic to compliments. “I took lessons with my mom when I was younger. My dad has a bad knee, so some of the spins are impossible for him, and my mom desperately wanted to learn, so I went with her.” I shrug, because it’s not a big deal—we weren’t the only mother and son group there—but the soft smile and gentle sigh from Jo tell me she thinks differently.
“In that case, I apologize now for the blebs you’ll surely have from those shoes, because we aren’t leaving this floor until the carriage arrives.”
Seven. I have seven blisters—blebs, as Jo keeps calling them—on my feet, but I’m not mad about a single one. I’m sitting in a miserably hard chair in my temporary room, bloody socks discarded on the floor, and I’m staring at the wall, complete dissociation, when a knock sounds from my open door.
Jo stands there, her hair back in its nest on top of her head, contrasting with her fine dress. “How are your feet?”
“Swiss, just like the cheese, but they’ll heel,“ I emphasize the last word while giving a little Vanna White hand wave to my foot.
“You are easily the most unusual human I have ever met,” Jo breathes, rolling her eyes as she steps into the room. “I thought it might be good to discuss…things. We’re going to be married in three weeks, and it’s only wise to have some things figured out beforehand. Would you agree?”