Andy broke the kiss, chest surging as she seemingly fought for breath. I let her feet slide to the floor while I tried to calm my hyped system. Undoing me further, she ran her fingers along my hard bulge. “It’s harder than I thought it would be.”
I laughed and it jerked under her touch. “He’s not fully there yet. I’m kinda restricted here.” She looked at me with a glint in her eye. “No, I’m not taking him out. Jesus, Andy. I came in here to borrow a towel. What are you doing to me?”
She untwisted the towel from her hair, the wet strands falling down around her slim shoulders. “Here.”
Christ, she could’ve been a commercial for soft drink. The ones where the chick walks out of the water and holds the cold can against her chest to cool herself before quenching her thirst.
Think about Stewart and his bong.
Think about killer bees.
Think about politics and corruption.
“Thanks.”
She smiled at me and everything else wiped from my brain.
Fuck. “I gotta go. I’ve got a hot date to prepare for.”
“Oh? Who is she?”
“She’s the best person I know.” It was the truth.
Her eyes went soft and the hollow at the base of her throat deepened as she held her breath.
“I’ll see you soon.” I pecked her on the lips and dragged myself away. It was the last thing I wanted to do, but knowing I’d be spending time with her tonight made it easier.
Did I deserve her at all? She was the perfect girl.
And I was far from being able to match that.
Emmeline
Hampshire, England
12th July, 1867
The window seat in the library was my favourite place to sit. The view captured the grounds of my father’s estate, spreading out for miles. A colourfully decorated canvas of nature’s doing providing endless wonderment for my soul. Additionally, the window framed the stables where I could see Sebastian at work with the horses during the day. All the more reason to burrow in to the soft cushions and pretend to read one of the prescribed books on etiquette for girls of my age. Should Father discover that I had successfully procured a copy of Adam Bede by George Eliot, I would surely be banned from reading altogether.
Just this morning, he’d proclaimed the women’s suffrage movement as “the end to rationalism in society.” A mild use of terms given the female presence in the room. His language would certainly have been far more severe and descriptive in the company of his male counterparts.
Mother had continued to sip her tea between savouring bites of dry toast and peaches. I had foolishly hoped my mother had sequestered the petition with the intention of signing it before Father saw fit to destroy it. But of course, what hope was there that she believed women had an equal right to the vote? My mother found no fault with the idea of marrying her only daughter off to a man known to beat women.
I had heard talk of Reginald Fortescue the Third following the Sunday sermon. Word of our upcoming nuptials had spread. The Welsh earl was quite infamous in the area. Apparently he had been trialling the fruits of many women with great hubris prior to his departure to India. He was due to return within the week, according to a telegram we had received from Lady Victoria. The staff were preparing for his visit as I sat here with my nose pressed against the glass, counting down to the end of my life as I knew it.
Sebastian entered the pen where Miss Modesty lay resting. Her tryst with Admiral Caine almost a year ago had indeed resulted in a pregnancy. She was due to foal at any moment. I had observed her taking more rest periods than was customary in recent days. My wish was to be present for the birth. My worry was that the earl would arrive before the foal and I would have to leave without witnessing the miracle. It would break my heart just that little bit more.
This man that I had never met would take away everything that I knew and loved. I hated him with a passion that equalled the level to which I loved Sebastian. They both consumed me whole. One with fire, one with ice. Either way there would be nothing of me left. But with Sebastian, I was reborn from the ashes. With the earl, I would be frozen—a memory easily forgotten as time left me behind.
There was only one thing to do. Closing my book, I took one last look at my love before dashing to the armoire. If I didn’t hurry, I would lose my bravado, for the plan I had formulated was as good as an axe to the heart.
I recovered a satchel and tossed it upon the bed. Ignoring the silk and taffeta hanging from the rail, I searched the shelves for a more sensible offering. Drawers were essential. As was a chemise. I threw two of each over my shoulder, unaware as to their landing place. If need be, I would retrieve them from the floor in due time. The only other items
