Cheryl Holt (20 page)

“No.”

“Why all the lies?”

“It’s easier to be a widow. Easier to run a business. Easier to give advice and be taken seriously.”

She was correct. Unwed, she wouldn’t be allowed to have accounts at the shops in the village, wouldn’t be able to advertise her services. Men wouldn’t have permitted their daughters or wives to frequent her establishment without a more mature, respected widow as the proprietor.

“I was very rough. I didn’t know. I’m sorry.”

“I’m fine.”

With his ardor subsiding, he was weak, shaky from the exertion, and he pulled out of her. She winced, and he felt like the lowest cad.

“Next time will be better. It won’t hurt.”

“It didn’t this time. Not really.”

“We’ll bathe in the pool, to relieve the tenderness.”

“That’s a good idea.”

She peered at him, her fondness and regard visible. Was she feeling the same connection he was? He’d never been so happy, so at peace.

Why couldn’t this be the circle of his life? Why did his universe have to extend beyond this room, and this glorious woman?

She rested her palm on his cheek. “I’m glad it was you.”

“So am I.”

“Let’s snuggle till the sun crests the hills.”

“I’d like that.”

Nestling her to him, he drifted off. In his dreams, he was certain he heard her whisper, “I love you, Stephen.”

He smiled.

 11 

Kate stood by the fence that separated Anne’s farm from Willie McGee’s. It was very late, and Anne had retired, though with the shenanigans going on in the small bedroom at the rear of the house, Kate didn’t suppose she was sleeping.

Stephen Chamberlin was a sin any woman would gladly commit, and Anne hadn’t been immune to his charms. She was a passionate individual, her nature hot-blooded and emotional, and Chamberlin had easily lit her fuse.

“Good for you, Annie,” Kate murmured to the dark night. Eventually, her dashing Captain would leave, no matter what he might promise, or how fervently she might crave that he stay, and Kate hoped that Anne wouldn’t be too devastated in the end.

She’d have to discover for herself how little value his word held, how strong the pull of his society would be.

Kate adored Anne and had from the day they’d met, when they were both girls. She knew Anne better than anyone, and after Chamberlin was gone, Kate would protect her, would cherish her, and, if there was a babe, would shield her from scorn.

Without a doubt, if Chamberlin planted a seed, he wouldn’t be around to see it grow. But Kate would.

She’d always had feelings for Anne, but early on, she’d recognized that they were different in ways she didn’t comprehend. It was something inside of her, something Anne didn’t share and never would. After much searching, she’d determined that there were others in her predicament, and they agonized over the same deviant urges.

Anne was aware that Kate had once been in love, that she’d had a grand amour, but Anne wasn’t aware that it had been with a female. Kate had had her own aristocrat, an earl’s wife who’d often traveled to Bath on holiday. Kate had been twenty, and her friend thirty years older.

The liaison had lasted almost three years, persisting even after her parents had forced her to wed. Her husband had detected her wicked propensity, and in punishment, had nearly killed her, then shipped her to Bedlam.

Kind, devoted Anne had made her sole trip to London, had used all of the money bequeathed to her by Widow Brown to bribe the guards and garner her release, and she’d hidden Kate while she recuperated.

Soon after, her husband was murdered. The idiot had been bent on earning some fast cash off of Kate’s immoral predilection, so he’d tried to blackmail the earl over his countess’s sexual bent. Shortly, the buffoon had found himself on the wrong end of a highwayman’s pistol.

Kate hadn’t mourned his demise, but in the process, she’d learned an important lesson. She rarely indulged her hunger for intimacy, despite how lonely she became. She had her job, her relationship with Anne, a roof over her head, and food to eat. A woman needed no more than that to be happy, yet she couldn’t stop wishing that she would encounter someone as forlorn as she was herself, that she could have a lifelong companion.

They could reside in the old cottage behind the barn.
Perhaps a widow with children, so Kate would have youngsters to watch over, too. She was at her best when she was caring for others, but she never had the chance. In her fantasies, it was such an appealing picture, of herself, part of a real family.

Footsteps sounded on the path, and she paused, waiting, as Prudence McGee appeared out of the shadows. As usual, she was somberly garbed, as drab as a Puritan at a funeral. Kate was positive that Willie compelled her to attire herself so modestly.

He was an odd duck, a loudmouthed bully, who reminded Kate of her deceased spouse, and she imagined Prudence had endured many tortures in living with him. It was a sad world, when women had to be perpetually tied to such unworthy villains, and in her prayers, Kate always gave thanks for the freedoms she’d been granted. She had her own salary, her own room, and could come and go as she pleased. There was no one to order her about, tell her how to dress, what to say, what to do.

Prudence approached, looking fragile and frightened, which was understandable. Very likely, her resolution to utilize the spa was the only exotic, brave, independent thing she’d ever done. She had to be scared witless.

“I received your message,” Kate mentioned.

“I was so worried that you wouldn’t be here.”

They’d decided that Prudence would send notes to Kate, but that Kate wouldn’t reciprocate. Prudence couldn’t gamble that Willie might intercept any communication, and her adamancy had Kate troubled as to what penalty Willie might be prone to wield should Prudence disobey him. Would he beat her? Starve her? Or might he instigate something even more sinister?

Did her desire to interact with Prudence justify the risk to her safety?

Just then, Prudence smiled, and Kate concluded that any moments they stole for themselves were a gift.

“Your brother is gone?”

“For several more days. The magistrate asked him to transport some prisoners to Portsmouth.”

Willie’s interest in law enforcement regularly occupied him, and Kate was awhirl with calculating how frequently they’d be able to meet in his absences. Would there be sufficient occasion for romance to bloom?

In Prudence, she’d sensed a curiosity, an eagerness to explore, so her complaints of weary bones and sore joints had given Kate the excuse to suggest a therapeutic session. There was no more appropriate tonic than a soak in Anne’s grotto, and Kate suspected that the bubbling water might stir another sort of excitement that Prudence hadn’t known she craved.

She offered her hand, and Prudence grabbed it. Together, they sneaked toward the pond.

Prudence was forty, her brunette locks streaked with gray, but her face was unlined, smooth and supple, so she seemed much younger than she was. She was tiny, thin and fragile as a bird, and beside her, Kate felt like a hulking oaf.

Before venturing out, she’d donned her swimming outfit, a worn, baggy gown that would hug her torso when moistened, but as they tromped through the woods, it billowed around her, making her feel even larger than she was.

She led them to the building she’d constructed, where customers removed their clothes. It was simple, containing benches, shelves, and hooks. While a few of the looser hussies from the city liked to romp in the nude, and proceeded despite Anne’s rules to the contrary, the overwhelming majority wouldn’t dream of being naked.

Prudence hesitated. “What are we doing?”

“You have to change, and I’ve dug up an old nightshirt that you can use as your bathing costume.”

“How very considerate. I hadn’t grasped that it would be required.”

“You oughtn’t be caught lugging one around.”

“No, that definitely wouldn’t be a good idea.” Anxious, she peered into the dark space. “Well then . . .”

Kate went in and lit a candle, the dim glow illuminating the area, and Prudence entered behind her.

“Do you need assistance?”

“No. I can manage.”

“I’ll be right outside.”

Apprehensive, Prudence studied the pool. “Is it deep?”

“No. It’s very shallow, except at the far end, where it would be up to your neck. But we don’t have to go down there.”

“I never learned to swim.”

“And you don’t have to now. You can kneel, or there are places to sit on the rocks. Don’t fret.”

“Will you get in with me?”

“Of course. I wouldn’t let you try it alone.”

Satisfied that she’d be safe, she closed the door. Kate tarried, impatient and testy. Though only a few minutes had passed when Prudence emerged, it seemed to take forever. Kate had judged her size correctly, and the nightshirt fit well, flowing over her frame, and hinting at a shapely figure. Her breasts were small, the nipples alert and poking at the fabric.

Lest she embarrass Prudence, she glanced away.

“Is Mrs. Smythe abed?”

“Yes.”
But she’s not sleeping!
Kate mused to herself.

“Are you sure she doesn’t mind that I’m here?”

“She said it was fine, but that we probably shouldn’t tell Willie.”

Prudence chuckled and evaluated the pond. A sliver of moon was shining, the surface glimmering, and it had to appear intimidating. Kate extended her hand again, and Prudence took it.

“We’ll go slow. Don’t be afraid.”

“I’m not. Not when I’m with you.”

Shy and pretty, she peered down at the grass. Kate squeezed her fingers, then maneuvered her down the carved steps. Kate immersed herself first, then guided Prudence as she waded in to her ankles.

“Oh, my!” she gushed with delight. “It’s so warm.”

“Yes. Come further.”

Kate held tight as Prudence descended. The water lapped at her waist, her feet anchored on the ground.

“Dip down,” Kate instructed. “Go ahead. I’ve got you.”

Prudence went down, and Kate joined her, so that they were on their knees, and face-to-face. The current surged around them, and Prudence giggled. “I hadn’t realized it would be so . . . so . . . refreshing. I’m so buoyant.”

Her bodice was drenched, her bosom molded by the material, which when wet was nearly transparent. Kate fought the urge to gape, or to confide how enchanting she was.

Instead, she stated, “Sink in farther. To your chin.”

Prudence complied, swishing her arms and reveling in sensation. There was a new sparkle about her. “It’s dangerous, isn’t it? The water, I mean.”

“Why would you say so?”

“It makes me . . .” She paused, pondering. “Reckless, I guess. And wild. As if I’m being incited to do something I’ve never done before. Do I sound silly?”

“Many have claimed it has that effect.”

“Do you think I might take my hair down?”

“Certainly.”

“Would you help?”

“Yes.”

Prudence turned, while Kate shifted onto a ledge that served as a seat. She gripped Prudence by the hips, and snuggled her in, so that she was balanced between Kate’s legs as she extracted the combs and pins.

“Lean on me,” Kate persuaded, and carefully supporting
her, she tipped Prudence so that she was on her back. At the odd position, Prudence tensed.

“Relax,” Kate assured her. “I won’t let go.”

Prudence’s eyes were shut, her respiration lethargic, and Kate caressed her thighs, her stomach. Unable to resist, she cupped her breast, the mound soft and pliant as she played with the nipple.

Throughout, Prudence remained at ease, submitting to the tender petting. Kate thought about kissing her, either on the mouth or on the breast, but she was too nervous to push. In the future, there would be plenty of time for more. They didn’t need to rush.

After a protracted interval, Prudence lowered her feet so that she touched bottom. Her bashfulness had vanished, and she brazenly assessed Kate.

“I should be going.”

“All right,” Kate agreed. “We’ll retrieve your clothes, and I’ll walk you home.”

They exited, and on the bank, Prudence stopped to wring out her hair.

“I feel so strange. So invigorated. Is that normal?”