Thomas jogged up the steps to Percy and Jane’s house, feeling an unfamiliar sense of excitement. He would have thought, prior to spending time with her, that he was far beyond such basic reactions, but now he knew he was capable of pleasant anticipation, and the simple warmth of an excellent and unexpected companion, and of course there was desire and passion all mixed into it as well.
The door opened as he was raising his knuckles to knock, and there she stood, looking like a beautiful summer breeze, dressed in a simple evening gown that accentuated her figure and her coloring.
“I heard you so I—” she said, gesturing to the door.
“So you let me in,” Thomas finished, smiling down into her face as she stood aside to let him enter the house. “Very wise of you, leaving me on the doorstep would cause comment.”
Her cheeks pinkened, and all he wanted to do was kiss her.
Well, that wasn’t all he wanted to do.
“Thomas!” Percy called, striding toward them. His hair was even wilder than usual, meaning he must have been working, and he was wearing what appeared to be random clothing that had gotten caught in a very strong wind. Or a person who was practicing folding garments into tiny packages.
Of course, wrinkles and wild hair just made Percy look even more like a Romantic poet.
“Have you been rolling through the house?” Thomas asked, gesturing to Percy’s clothing.
“What? No,” his friend replied, a confused look on his face.
“I think he was napping,” Jane said in a stage whisper.
“I was not!”
“It’s a good thing I am taking your sister out, and not you. I don’t think you’d be let in anywhere, not looking like that.”
Percy struck a proud pose, his chin lifted and his hands outstretched. “As it happens, I am busy this evening.”
Jane nodded in confirmation. “He’s going to Lavinia’s house to be the best uncle ever.”
“Ah, so that explains your attire. Wise not to wear anything you care about—or that anyone would care about, honestly—with a baby in close proximity.” He glanced at Jane. “Are you ready to go?”
“Yes,” she replied with a smile.
“Keep her safe,” Percy said in a more serious tone than usual.
“I promise.” Thomas suppressed a wince at the thought that he’d already broken a promise to Percy—Neither of you is allowed to fall in love with the other. And here he was, completely and entirely smitten.
Though he couldn’t reveal that to either of the two siblings.
“And I will keep him safe,” Jane added.
“Go on. Have fun. You’ll be a somber married man soon enough.”
“Soon enough,” Thomas echoed as he opened the door. He tried to keep his tone light, but he felt the weight of the words catch in his throat.
She stepped past him, and he caught her scent, as light and fresh as her appearance. He wished he could bury his face in her hair, forget about everything but her.
But if he did that, he would be the most selfish person ever, threatening his parents’ ability to survive, Alice’s freedom, and also making Jane aware of his deeper feelings when she herself had promised not to fall in love with him.
All he could do was enjoy this time with her, make certain she came out of their agreement a stronger, prouder, more confident woman. Which he had little to do with—but that she was able to satisfy her curiosity safely and easily was something he did.
He took her arm as they began to walk down the sidewalk.
“No hackney?” she asked. “I can pay, if you need.”
He snorted. “I am not completely impoverished.” He paused, then added, “Only partially.”
“So we are going somewhere nearby? I have my evening slippers on, I won’t be able to travel very far, at least not comfortably.”
He stopped walking to scoop her up into his arms, the froth of her gown spilling up into his face as she laughed.
“Put me down, you idiot,” she said, whacking him on the shoulder.
“You mentioned not being able to comfortably walk. I am merely solving the problem,” he replied in a matter-of-fact tone. And getting to hold you.
“What if one of your young ladies sees you?”
He felt his jaw tighten and he hesitated, then lowered her back to the ground. He couldn’t say what he wished—that if they saw him, then they’d know he wasn’t sincere. Likely none of them would treat his attentions with any more seriousness than they had in the past two years. And he would be secretly relieved that he’d exposed his true feelings because then he wouldn’t have to live a lie.
But that would deny his family their lives. It would place her under more scrutiny. It would mean he’d have to acknowledge what he wished he could do.
Selfish, selfish, selfish.
“It’s just up there,” he said, pointing to a narrow building on the next block.
“Oh good,” she replied. “I am looking forward to seeing whatever it is you wish to show me.”
His mind raced with all kinds of images at her words, and then she gasped as she too caught the potential meaning. “Oh my goodness!” she exclaimed. “That sounds so salacious! Not that I wouldn’t look forward to seeing all of that, but that is not what I meant!”
He burst into laughter, and she joined in, leaning against him as she laughed.
He had never laughed with a lover before. Usually, he split his amusements so his laughter was shared with friends such as Percy, and the lover-like behavior was with his lover, naturally.
He had never thought of it before, but having both possibilities wrapped into one package—her—was even more alluring.
Plus she could, and would, debate him on his character, their daily lives, and seemed to question all the norms.
Perhaps the result of not doing what was expected of her.
They were merely giggling as they approached the front of the building—deliberately nondescript, its windows were covered with dark curtains, and the house itself was nothing out of the ordinary.
But what happened inside was.
“Mr. Sharpe, welcome,” the doorman said. He was a large, muscular man who exuded menace. Thomas hadn’t seen him ever have to actually use his size and form, but the threat was always there.
A good thing, given what risks people took in visiting the establishment.
The door opened, and they stepped inside, Thomas smiling as he heard her surprised intake of breath.
The hall was lushly and extravagantly decorated, the walls covered with burgundy silk and pictures everywhere, while gold chandeliers dangled from the ceiling every three feet.
The hallway was wider than the average London house, allowing for visitors to settle themselves before deciding on their choice for the evening.
Thomas usually chose for his partner, but he knew how important choice was to Jane, so he was going to explain everything, and then let her decide.
Already his body was thrumming in anticipation of what she might choose.
And the intoxication of telling her just what people got up to behind closed doors. Some of which she knew about firsthand already.
“What is this place? A gambling establishment?” she asked as he took her hand and escorted her to one of the gold chairs rimming the edge of the room.
“It can be,” he replied. He sat next to her, drawing his chair close.
A door opposite to where they sat opened, and one of the proprietors entered, a servant girl following behind with a tray of beverages.
The proprietor held her hand out as Thomas stood.
“Welcome,” she said, glancing between the two of them, “I am Mrs. Rochford. I believe I have seen you here, sir, but this is your first time?” she said, addressing Jane.
“It is.”
Mrs. Rochford nodded. “Well, then, let me assure you that everyone who works here is choosing to do so. The house takes a percentage of their earnings, but we are not like some other places.”
Jane’s eyes were round. “Like those other places? And what do the workers do?” she asked.
“I will explain what happens here,” Thomas interrupted. “If you can spare a menu?”
Mrs. Rochford’s lips curled in a faint smile, and she held out a menu printed on sturdy paper. “Everything is available this evening except for the dungeon. Water leak,” she explained.
“The dun—?” Jane said.
“We are not here for that, thank you,” Thomas said swiftly.
“I will leave you, then. Sarah will leave refreshments should you desire any. I believe I have your information—you can expect a bill tomorrow morning.” She nodded toward Jane. “A pleasure,” she said. “I hope you find yours here.”
And then she left as the maid began to place a variety of drinks on the table to the right of Jane’s chair: a full tea service, two wine glasses, a carafe of some sort of alcohol, and another carafe of water.
The maid nodded, then left also, leaving them alone. Thomas got up to pour two glasses of whatever the alcohol was and brought them back, handing one to Jane, who took it with a raised eyebrow.
“Looking forward to seeing me choke again?” she asked, eyeing the liquid.
“You’re a woman of the world now, Jane,” he replied. “I have every confidence you will be able to swallow anything that is given to you.”
And then he gulped from his glass himself because the images those words brought to mind made his mouth go instantly dry. And his body feel as though it had been shocked with an electric current.
But this wasn’t his time to choose. Nor would he choose anything she wouldn’t also choose herself.
Thankfully, she didn’t seem to notice his reaction, too engrossed in looking around the room and sipping from her glass.
It was sherry, as it turned out, a remarkably ordinary beverage for such an extraordinary place.
He drained his glass and drew the menu between them.
“This is The Center for Delightful and Unusual Events,” he explained. The name was printed across the top of the menu, and the various items were listed in three columns as though it was offering a soup course, a fish course, and a meat course instead of a sapphist course, a convivial society course, and a godeminche course.
“What is ‘tipping the velvet’?” she asked, her finger pointing to the phrase. “And what is ‘horizontal refreshment,’ and why would we want to watch anyone doing that?”
Well. He’d brought her here, he was going to have to explain . . . everything.
Which would make her a far more knowledgeable lady than she was before. She’d asked him to “show her things.” So he would show her things. And do things that would show her things. And so on.
Until they inevitably parted when he achieved his goal.
Jane felt a frisson of excitement as she sat in the remarkably opulent room sipping her sherry. First, there was how his eyes had glittered with a predatory anticipation when he’d picked her up. Then, how his expression had changed, just now, as he was about to explain whatever was on the menu to her.
She did not think this was a restaurant. At least, not a restaurant for food.
Which meant it would be delightful, enormous, and delicious fun to hear him explain it all to her.
And even more fun when she got to choose what she wanted.
“There are a few things that are not worth considering here,” he began, scrutinizing the paper between them. “The dungeon, because of the leak, the sapphic play, because—well, it’s just not an option here, and the fellatio fellows for the same reason.”
She didn’t think she had ever seen him blush, and yet there he was with heightened color on his cheeks. This menu was something indeed.
“So the horizontal refreshment is either participatory or observational,” he continued. He ran his finger around his collar as though it was too tight. “Which means we can have the privacy to do whatever we want, or we can watch as someone else does those things.”
Jane’s eyes immediately widened. She knew precisely what he meant, thanks to his instruction.
“And tipping the velvet,” he said, “is when kissing is applied to a vagina.” He cleared his throat as she sharply inhaled. She had no idea. “When I would kiss my way down to your pussy and lick you until you orgasmed, to be specific.”
His color had returned to its ordinary hue now, even though his words were absolutely not ordinary. Extraordinary, certainly; exciting, yes; incredible, yes also.
“Why not both?” she blurted before she could allow Lady Jane the Meek to respond. “I’d like to watch, and then I’d like to do. Or have you do that.”
“Tipping the velvet?” he asked, his voice lowering to an intimate tone.
“Yes.” She lifted her head as she replied, meeting his gaze so he could see her confidence, her passion, in her eyes. Or at least she hoped he’d see that.
A slow, sensual smile spread across his lips. And her heart fluttered in response.
Not to mention the response of her breasts, which felt heavy and tight, and her pussy, which felt as though it needed to be stroked.
“And later you can explain all these other things,” she went on. She might as well get all the education she could until he was engaged.
Which, if the party was a success, would be in a little over a week.
Her heart sank.
“What is it?” he asked, his tone changing. He put his fingers to her chin and lifted it—she hadn’t even been aware she had dropped it.
“It’s nothing,” she replied, shaking her head to emphasize her words. “I’m just—”
I’m just mourning the loss of you in my life, she thought. I expected to spend time with someone who would educate me on things young unmarried ladies are not exposed to in their normal course of life. I didn’t expect you to be so sensitive, so attuned to what I might want, so respectful of who I am. Of who I hope to become.
What was she going to do when this all ended? When she could no longer spend time with him?
“Jane? Talk to me,” he urged.
But he was here now, and so was she, and there were horizontal refreshments to be enjoyed, and velvets to be tipped.
“I am fine,” she replied, reaching out to take his hand. “Let us continue my education.”