“To continue: I believe I stunned him with my forwardness, because he just stood there with his mouth open like a fish. But he gradually recovered, and led me up to his small flat he shared with his parents.”
“You must be joking.”
“No, I’m not. Not everyone lives in a manor.”
“You did it while his parents were there?!”
“Oh! Good heavens, no! They were away at work. Anyway… we commenced, and… it was all over in thirty seconds. I left his flat convinced that all those novels and poems had lied to me.”
Evan stifled a laugh. “Well, that’s what you get for behaving in such an unladylike fashion.”
“I was rewarded amply for my very unladylike behavior this afternoon.”
“Yes, well… you needed
some
compensation for such a ghastly previous experience.”
She shrugged. “It got better.”
Evan looked at her with an incredulous expression – and a sinking feeling in his stomach. “You did it
again
?!”
“I consulted my books and determined that perhaps I had erred in some way – or that Tom had erred – and that more practice might succeed where our first efforts had failed. I especially liked Mr. Franklin’s advice, ‘diligence is the mother of good luck’ and ‘do not fear mistakes; you will know failure, so continue to reach out.’”
“Mr. Franklin, the
American.
”
“Yes.”
“I do not think he spoke those words with Tom the baker’s assistant in mind,” Evan said sarcastically.
She giggled. “Nonetheless, they were applicable.”
Jealousy roiled his insides – a very odd feeling indeed. Of all the women he had ever bedded, he had not really cared what else they did or who else they saw… but this past lover, a simple fool, made Evan want to break out his dueling pistols.
“Then Mother and Father found out,” she sighed, “and suddenly it became quite necessary to spirit me away from London.”
“How did they find out?”
“He really was a foolish boy… he wrote me a love letter and dropped it in the mail slot, but he did not seal the envelope. And he addressed it to Miss Willows, but his handwriting was atrocious, so I can see how my mother mistook it for ‘Mrs. Willows.’ That is what she claimed, anyway. Whether that was the case, or she was spying on me, she soon came to realize that I was not always going to Mr. Powell’s library when I was out.”
“He did not
write
about it?!” Evan asked, horrified and amused all at once. That was the first rule of seduction among gentlemen: never put anything incriminating in writing. Nothing that you or the lady could not bear to have exposed publicly, at any rate.
“Let us just say he was not discreet.”
“And so your parents sent you here to Blakewood?”
“Yes, to good old Auntie Claire and Uncle Clifford.”
“Hm. That didn’t exactly solve the problem, did it?”
“If only my parents knew,” she laughed. “‘Out of the frying pan and into the fire.’”
Evan was silent for a moment. “At least they tried to protect you.”
“Oh, I know they love me… they just… they act like…
ghhh
,” she finished with an exasperated grunt, unable to articulate the trials they had put her through.
Evan smiled. “At least you have parents that care for you.”
She looked at him pensively. After a few seconds she gently brushed a damp lock of hair from his forehead. “I wanted to ask, but…”
“But what?”
“I do not want to tread on painful memories.”
“My mother?” Evan said.
Marian nodded.
“She died when I was six years old, giving birth to Andrew.” His eyes grew unfocused, and he stared into the distance. “I barely remember her now… though I remember that she was wonderful. So sweet and kind. And I remember that my father was a better man, a happier man, when she was still alive… our family would have been very different had she lived…”
Very gently, Marian leaned over and planted the most delicate of kisses on his lips.
He took her hand and squeezed it gently. Neither of them said anything for several moments.
Evan finally broke the silence. “So?”
Marian looked confused. “…so…?”
“What happened with the baker’s boy?”
“I told you. He wrote a letter that scandalized my parents, and I was sent here.”
“No, I mean… once you started… practicing.”
She stared at him with the faintest hint of a smile. “
That’s
what you want to know? After everything we’ve said over the last few minutes, and
that’s
what you return to?”
“I was just curious,” he said defensively.
She rolled her eyes. “We practiced. Things got better.”
“How
much
better?”
She grinned. “You’re jealous.”
“No I’m not.”
“Yes you are!” and she launched herself upon him and smothered him with kisses.
He fought her only for a second, then kissed her back.
When she had stopped, he finally asked, “…well?”
“Well what?”
“You know very well what I mean!” he said, and hid the irritation in his voice poorly.
“It was serviceable.”
“‘Serviceable’? What does that mean?”
“It means that before, I had scraps of bread and water… until this afternoon, when I had my first feast.”
“Of what, pumpernickel and tea?” he pouted.
She laughed.
“Of lamb…” she whispered, then kissed his ear.
“…and beef…”
She kissed his neck.
“…and quail…”
She kissed his jaw.
“…and wine…”
She kissed his chin.
“…and cherries…”
She kissed the tip of his nose.
“…and scented ices, flavored with honey and sugar…”
She kissed his lips and lingered there for a very long time, until she lifted back her head and stared into his eyes.
“…and pumpernickel and tea,” she giggled.
“You!” he exclaimed, and wrestled with her playfully, sucking her nipples and making her gasp with delight.
After a moment, though, he broke off. “But seriously…”
“Yes?”
“…did you…”
“What?”
“Did you enjoy it?”
She sighed. “I see the books are right.”
“What do you mean?”
“Men are fragile creatures who detest the thought of having to compete with even the memory of another male.”
“That does not answer my question.”
She looked at him mockingly. “He was nowhere near as handsome as you.”
“Good.”
“And he was nowhere near as tall.”
“And?”
“And nowhere near as strong, or smart, or dashing.”
“All well and good, but – ”
Her hands stroked his member, and he grunted with pleasure and surprise. It was one of the things she did that he loved most – her lustful curiosity and shamelessness in matters of sex.
“He was not nearly so impressively endowed as you,” she purred.
He felt himself spring to life in her hand.
“Good,” he groaned.
“And he was not one tenth as talented as you in giving a woman pleasure,” she whispered.
“Good,” he whispered back, and kissed her deeply.
She broke it off. “Although I must say, he was also not nearly as obsessed with my former lovers as you are.”
He attacked her, tickling her up and down her sides, and had to smother her giggles with a pillow.
“That is because he had no former lovers to worry about,” Evan growled.
She gave him a coy look.
“What?!” he asked in shock. “Where there others?!”
“No!” she snapped playfully, and hit him with the pillow. “Just the one.”
“Thank God,” he said as he settled back on the bed.
“You are one to talk,” she said, poking him. “I am sure you have had lovers by the score.”
“No,” he said defensively, though not so believably.
“Confess it – you are like all men, demanding your women be virgins, while you yourselves are whores.”
“That is incredibly unfair and entirely untrue.”
“Mm-hm. And how many women have you had, Mr. Blake?”
“None. You were my first.”
“Liar!” she laughed, and hit him again with the pillow.
He wrestled with her until he pinned her arms to the bed, his face inches from hers.
“Tell the truth – how many women have you loved?” she asked.
“I have bedded some, tis true…”
He stared into her eyes.
“…but I have never loved a woman until you.”
Her eyes moistened the slightest, and they kissed long, slow, and tenderly.
Afterwards, she whispered, “Who was the one you came closest to loving?”
Evan lay back and thought. “I suppose the first.”
Now it was Marian’s turn to sound jealous. “And who was she?”
“A courtesan in Venice.”
She looked taken aback. “How old were you?”
“Seventeen. I had just finished school, and my aunt wished me to travel rather than go to university, which she called a den of vice and iniquity. She offered to pay my expenses if I would travel abroad for two years.”
“So you went to a den of vice and iniquity in Venice, instead,” Marian smirked.
“Something of the sort.”
“What was her name?”
“
Donna
Francesca Di Sandro.”
“Was she a
cortigiana onesta,
or a
cortigiana di lume
?”
Evan was impressed. “You know your Italian.”
“I know scandalous stories,” she smiled.
“A
cortigiana di lume
. So… a lady of the night, yes, but far more respectable than most you would find in London.”
“And what was so wonderful about her?”
“Other than I was seventeen years old, and she was the first woman I had ever touched?”
“Yes, other than that.”
“She took a particular liking to me, and I came to her every night for two weeks,” Evan said as he kissed Marian’s neck.
“And?” she asked, her own voice betraying her jealousy.
“She initiated me into a great many secrets of manhood,” Evan continued as he kissed down her neck.
“And?”
Evan slowly began to lick, with soft and sensual little flicks of his tongue, from Marian’s breasts, to her belly, and down even further.
“She had several requirements, though.”
Marian seemed to have trouble keeping her mind on the conversation. “…which were?”
Evan went lower. Marian looked down in surprise as he forcibly parted her legs with his hands.
“She demanded that if she were to provide me pleasure, I must give her equal pleasure.”
He used his tongue to trace the insides of Marian’s thighs. She began to breathe harder.
“…and…?”
Evan brushed his lips across the damp curls of Marian’s thatch – just lightly enough to tickle them, but no more.
“I was an inexperienced boy, though. I knew nothing of pleasing a woman.”
“…and…?”
Evan took the tip of his tongue and drew it ever so lightly across the bare skin where her thigh joined her body.
She breathed in with a sigh.
“
Donna
Francesca taught me the secrets of a woman’s body…”
His tongue lightly, lightly touched on the bare flesh of Marian’s nether lips. She gasped.
“…and a dozen ways to please a woman…”
His tongue pressed slightly harder, slightly wetter, licking up one side of her pink flesh, all the way to the apex.
Marian whimpered.
“…and how to make sure that I give you…”
He licked his fingers, then slowly, slowly inserted them inside Marian’s body.
She writhed on the bed as he continued to run his tongue over her pink lips, especially the swollen little bud at the very tip.
“…as much pleasure as I possibly can.”
Marian groaned and grabbed Evan’s hair as he filled her with his fingers, stroked her innermost secret parts, and caressed her ever more firmly with his tongue.
She was only able to say one more thing before lapsing into unintelligible moans:
“Then thank God… for Donna Francesca…”
They continued that way for weeks, meeting each other in the deserted rooms of the east wing at night, enjoying each other’s bodies until sleep or the dawn intruded. The secrecy of their affair made each rendezvous all the more delicious.
Passion gave them extra life and energy, but eventually the late hours – and her heavy workload during the day – took a toll on Marian. Evan began to insist that she get her sleep. She would argue and beg to still meet at night, but often she fell asleep as soon as she lay down on the bed. Evan would watch her slow breathing, marvel at her beauty… and then he would drift off into slumber beside her, holding her in his arms.
When she woke she would be angry that she had wasted even a minute with him on something so mundane as sleep, and they would frantically make love before she had to creep back to her room.
Occasionally he would surprise her during the day. She would be going about her chores, yawning and thinking of their next assignation, when a pair of hands would encircle her waist and hug her tight, or steal to her breasts and fondle them lasciviously.
The first time he did it she screamed in fright, and Evan had to hide behind the armoire when another maid’s voice called from the hall.
“Good heavens, what’s the matter?”
“Nothing!” Marian called as she poked her head out of the door. “I thought I saw a mouse, but it was only a bit of dust!”
The other maid shook her head, clucked, and continued on her way.
After that, Evan would clear his throat when he entered the room. She would know it was him and not turn around, and when his hands slipped around her and his lips planted kisses on her neck, she would sigh and clutch his arms.
Often that was the extent of it until their nightly meetings – though there were times when he could not wait. After locking the door, he would push her roughly up against the wall. She would tease him and deny him, until he lifted up the sides of her dress and gently caressed her between the legs, at which point she would turn to jelly. He would hoist her into the air and take her against the wall, and she would have to bite his shoulder not to scream as spasms of delight thundered through her body.