Once alone, Camille opened her eyes. She didn’t wake, for she’d never been asleep. She merely opened her eyes and sighed, her skin tingling with the memory of Maddie’s kisses.
7
Sundays were a day of relaxation. All the girls were required to attend church, but after that, the day was theirs to do with as they wished. For everyone except Maddie, that meant gathering by the back fence and making eyes at Frederick, the local delivery boy.
Due to the house’s rural location, close encounters with boys were a rarity. In fact, eighteen-year-old Frederick happened to be the only boy who had any legitimate cause to visit the house at all, and so drew an overwhelming amount of admiration. But not from Maddie.
Bored and lonely, Maddie routinely skulked about the house in search of something to amuse her. Sometimes, she’d bake a cake with the cook. Other times, she’d pick a book from the library and settle down to read. The house just wasn’t the same without Camille in it, and on Sundays, Camille usually went out.
It was expected that she’d leave in the early afternoon to visit friends in London—or so the other girls supposed. She’d frequently be gone well into the evening, returning on the last train, and Maddie would lie in bed listening as she ascended the stairs after midnight, singing softly to herself. Wherever she went, she clearly had fun.
Her absence was so typical that to one day see her lounging on a blanket in the garden, enjoying a few moments of solitude under a parasol with a book, caught Maddie quite by surprise. Keen not to waste such an unexpected opportunity, she hurried out and hovered nearby, not presuming to invade Camille’s privacy until she was invited to do so.
“You may sit.” Camille looked up over her book. “I take it you do not wish to gawk at poor Frederick?” She quirked a lopsided, playful smile.
Maddie knelt on the edge of the blanket. “I’m not like the other girls in that way.”
“I’ve noticed.” Camille lowered the dog-eared paperback to her lap. “You are like me, perhaps. Your eye is caught by other attractions.”
She wasn’t wearing her boots, and as she said that, she drew one leg up so that her petite stockinged foot grazed the calf of her other leg and rumpled the hem of her skirts around her shins, baring herself almost to the knees. It was a rare and delicious sight, but Maddie forced herself not to stare.
“Are you unwell?” she wondered, worrying the folds in her satin skirts with the tips of her restless fingers. “Is that why you’ve remained at the house today?”
“Not unwell as such.” Camille laid a hand on her abdomen, her manicured nails freshly buffed and colored pink. “I am afflicted with the onset of my monthlies, that is all. It’s nothing to fret over. A little drop of laudanum does wonders for the discomfort.”
In her naivety, Maddie wasn’t entirely sure why the commencement of Camille’s poorliness ought to prevent her from socializing with friends, but rather than fixate on the matter, she changed the subject.
“What are you reading?”
“Something you might appreciate.” Camille passed the book over.
The title being unknown to her, Maddie read a few paragraphs, shocked to discover that it was the most explicit narrative of intimate love that she’d ever cast her inexperienced eyes upon. Not only that, but men didn’t feature anywhere within its salacious pages.
“You like it?” Camille watched her cheeks color up. “You may borrow it if you wish, but you must promise me that it will remain our little secret.”
Her passions stirred by the erotic text, Maddie discarded the novel and dove for one of Camille’s feet. “Oh, Miss Camille! I want you so!” She crushed her lips to the woven silk encasing the delicate extremity and worked her kisses from the arch to the ankle to the shin, holding the limb reverently, cupping it in her palms like some precious artifact.
“My dear girl!” Camille recoiled from her grasp. “Where’s your sense? Whatever’s got into you?!” She glanced around, making sure the spontaneous display of worship wasn’t witnessed by any of the other girls. Or worse, the maid. “You must control yourself. We could be seen!”
Suitably reprimanded, Maddie blurted a few mumbled apologies, rose from the blanket, and ran into the house, her vision blurred with tears. How could she ever look at Camille again? How could Camille possibly bear to be near her after she’d embarrassed herself to such a degree? Resolving to leave the place immediately, she bolted to her room, dragged her steamer trunk out from under the bed, and began throwing her clothes into it. Not a minute later, Camille breezed in.
“What in heaven’s name are you doing?” She closed the door quietly behind her. “You surely do not intend to run away? Unpack your things at once. I’ve no wish for you to leave.” She sounded uncharacteristically stern.
“How can I remain?” Maddie slumped on the bed, wiping her wet cheeks on her sleeves. “I’ve offended you so dreadfully.”
“Offended me?” Camille sat beside her and took a firm hold of her hands. “My darling, you’ve done no such thing.”
“But—”
“Listen to me.” She pulled Maddie’s hands into her lap. “I know well what you’re feeling—believe me, I do. I am not offended by your passionate nature. Indeed, I am rather dangerously flattered by it.” She raised Maddie’s hands to her lips and kissed each finger in turn.
“You aren’t cross with me?” Maddie sniffled.
“Not a bit.” Camille shuffled closer. “But what you want from me, you cannot have.” She looked pained. “I am not free to give it.”
“You’re under no vow.” Maddie failed to see the problem, there being no husband to whom she must be loyal.
“That is not my bind.” Camille refused to give way. “Now I shall not discourage you from looking at me as you do—I am too weak for that—but if you wish to kiss me again, you must make every effort to quell the impulse.”
“How?”
“Think of how much damage could be done.” Camille implored her to see reason. “Imagine what harm could come to you or I if your parents were to learn that I’d behaved improperly with you.”
With a groan of frustration, Maddie tore her hands away from Camille and flopped onto her back. “But I am wound to such a fevered pitch.”
“Then you must relieve the pressure.” Camille addressed the problem with absolute pragmatism. “Bring a hand to yourself if that is what it takes.”
Maddie’s eyes widened. “You can’t truly mean … ?”
“You must,” Camille insisted. “Whenever these feelings have a hold on you, you must abate them, as must I, else we shall both become delirious with want of it.”
“I haven’t a clue how such a thing is to be done,” Maddie confessed. “I’ve never …”
“Then I shall show you.” Camille leant over her. “Close your eyes.”
Maddie did as she was told, lying tame and passive as Camille raised her skirts and spread her untouched thighs.
“Use your fingers here.” Camille guided Maddie’s trembling fingertips through the overlapping split in her cotton drawers and to her saturated sex. “Wish that they were mine. The very thought will guide you to that precious peak.”
Maddie howled and clutched at Camille’s shoulder. The delightful pressures she felt then were unlike anything she’d ever known. Camille’s undoubtedly expert touch directed the operation most precisely, teaching her to tickle, pinch, and rub all the critical parts so that, in only a few short minutes, her body stiffened.
“That’s it, my darling.” Camille coaxed her pleasure to crest. “Come for me.”
Maddie held her mouth open, but no sound escaped. She arched her back and her thighs quivered, her insides pulsing. In seconds, it was over, the crisis passed.
“There now.” Camille withdrew. “You are sated.” Her lips brushed Maddie’s forehead, and then she was gone, leaving Maddie in a flustered heap upon the bed.
8
The following weeks passed easily. Maddie counted every smile, her heart lift
ing each time Camille’s eyes met hers. When there was little risk of being caught, there were light touches, furtive glances, and twice they danced alone in the parlor.
“You have such an exquisite figure,” Camille praised her as they waltzed. “It’s a true delight to have you in my arms.”
Maddie yearned for more, but was always disappointed by Camille’s resolute stance on the limitations of their closeness. Until the night she wasn’t.
One Sunday night, Maddie—lying in bed, reading by candlelight—heard Camille’s midnight footfalls on the staircase. They reached the landing, retreated some way down the hall, stopped, hesitated, and returned. They grew louder as they approached her bedroom door, then halted. Would she change her mind? Would she walk away?
Maddie waited with bated breath.
After an agonizing silence, there came a knock so faint that it could well have been mistaken for the old house’s nightly protests against the wind, or the contracting of the aged wood as it cooled from the day’s heat. Then the door opened a crack.
“May I come in?”
“Please.” Maddie slid her book onto the nightstand and pulled the bedcovers up to her shoulders. She’d taken to sleeping in her chemise on the most sultry nights, since it was a much lighter garment than her nightgown, and she felt obscenely exposed.
“Are you shy?” Camille closed the door and approached the bed, the deep neckline of her red silk and velvet gown displaying her ample charms.
Maddie had never seen her in proper eveningwear before. She blushed at the sight and let the covers fall away from her shoulders. “If you wish to look at me, you may do so, though I haven’t nearly as much to show.”
Camille’s rapt gaze fell to her chest. “I thought I ought to check on you.” That weak excuse—no doubt conceived moments earlier in the hallway—was the only explanation she offered for her late night visitation. “How have you been feeling these past weeks?” She alighted on the edge of the bed. “You are much more contented in things now, I hope.”
Maddie nodded. “To some degree.”
“Only some?” Camille raised a perfectly tweezed eyebrow.
Maddie shrugged. “It pains me often. Some days, I feel I simply must kiss you else I might die for want of it. You walk by me in the hall and your presence chokes my breath. My heart pounds so heavy I feel it might burst.”
“Oh, my darling.” Camille scooted closer. “I do not wish for you to be made unwell by these passions.” She leant forward and kissed the top of Maddie’s head. “Have you been tending to yourself as I taught you?”
“Every morning and night.” Maddie exaggerated only a little.
“And does it not relieve the ache?” Camille moved closer still.
Maddie smelt liquor on her breath and suspected that, in her noticeably elevated state, she might well be incapable of maintaining the moral fortitude she’d taken so much care to nurture during the course of their chaste flirtations. On the heels of that suspicion, the seeds of a mischievous notion took root.
“A little,” she answered coyly. “But no pleasure since has ever compared to the pleasure I achieved when you were here with me.” She paused, preparing to take advantage of Camille’s impaired judgment. “Perhaps if you stayed awhile tonight, so that I might look upon you and feel you near me in the midst of the endeavor, my relief may be greatly enhanced.”
It was a bold move—bolder than she’d ever been before—and she punctuated the suggestion by letting the covers slip further from her body, baring the full outline of her breasts to Camille’s freely wandering eyes, her nipples stiffening directly.
“Will you watch me?” She wriggled onto her back, posing the question just as she had that first time at the lake—and every time thereafter.
It had become a private ritual between them. Before removing her clothes, she’d turn to Camille and ask, always receiving the same affirmative response. And true to her word, Camille never once looked away. It was as though the other girls were no longer there; they faded into the background while she stood in the fore.
“Will you?” Maddie urged her. “Like you do when I swim.”
“If you want me to.” Camille gave way, hitched up her skirts, and maneuvered onto the bed. “I shan’t take my eyes off you, I promise.” Her breathing quickened as she eased the covers down to Maddie’s thighs. “Do it for me just this once. Give yourself a pleasure.”
In a flash, Maddie’s hand disappeared under her chemise. She teased the needy flesh of her most feminine parts with the tips of her fingers, and the room filled with her sensual sighs, the air thick with the perfume of her arousal.
“How does it feel?” Camille gazed on.
“It’s gushing.” Maddie whimpered. “It always does when I think of you.”
“Let me see.” With a visible tremor in her hand, Camille pinched the hem of Maddie’s chemise between her fingers and inched it up, bunching it over her belly. “That’s it, darling.” She cast her eyes directly on the operation and saw the first shiver of impending climax ripple through Maddie’s young body. “You’re close now.” She laid a hand on the teen’s naked thigh, opening her wider, causing the petals of her glistening sex to bloom.
Maddie’s hand worked feverishly. “Oh, it comes! It comes!” She threw her head back, her paroxysm erupting with a profusion of amatory juices, Camille’s name whispered on her lips.
When it was over, she rolled onto her side and buried her face in Camille’s décolletage, dropping a flurry of kisses on the upper swells of her confined breasts. “Thank you, thank you, thank you,” she whispered, her voice muffled in the older woman’s bosom.
Enervated by the intensity of her crisis, she lay still, recovering her breath. The hand that’d presently been employed in the most delicious of pursuits rested limply on the seat of her womanhood, her wetted fingers draped over the rich thicket of dark hair adorning her motte. She saw no reason to cover herself.
In a moment of weakness, Camille snatched up that hand. She smelt the musk of Maddie’s sex and sucked those fingers into her mouth, devouring every drop of the precious dew that clung to them. “You taste divine.”
She tried to get up then, but Maddie held on.
“Stay,” the teen begged, gripping her waist. “A little longer. Please!”
“I cannot.” Camille pried her arms away. “I dare not.” She clambered off the bed with as much grace as she could muster in her rather inebriated condition. “I must retire.”
Before she could get too far away, Maddie lunged for her. “Whatever you feel for me, do not regret this in the morning.” She flung her arms around Camille’s middle. “I should hate myself for it if you did.”
“My darling, I regret it already.” Camille extricated herself from Maddie’s clutches once more. “But I’m afraid I would do it again just as fast.” She cupped the teen’s cheeks, tilted her head up, and pecked the tip of her nose. “Sleep well, my sweet angel.”
With that, she slipped away, retreated to her own room, and collapsed upon the bed. Lacking the patience to undress, she drew her knees up, brought a hand to her saturated core, and gave herself the most intense spend, biting down on her lower lip to stifle a series of lewd cries that threatened to rouse the whole house. In the wake of it, she lay in the dark, panting.
9
Maddie was racked with guilt. She’d tempted Camille when her faculties were not at full strength, knowing that she lacked the ability to resist. It was a wicked thing to have done, and now she, too, had regrets. The very thought that Camille, in the sober light of day, might look upon the memory of that night with anything short of sheer contented bliss made her sick to the pit of her stomach.
At a loss as to how she might properly apologize for her selfish behavior, she penned Camille a heartfelt note and slipped it into her study one night. Nothing short of a love letter, the eloquent missive proclaimed that the intimacy they’d shared—however brief and improper—was something she’d always treasure. She confessed h
er inexperience in such matters, said she understood that Camille—surely a veteran in the complexities of sapphic love—would find nothing too much of interest in an ingénue like herself, but that she simply couldn’t bear to be married without ever having known even an ounce of true pleasure.
The very next Sunday, the profound effects of that letter became apparent. While the other girls were mooning at Frederick over the back fence, Maddie happened by Camille in the hall. She was fixing pins in her outing hat as the house’s private horse-drawn carriage waited for her in the driveway, ready to whisk her off to the train station for her weekly disappearance.
“Ah, Maddie! There you are!” She beamed. “I’m engaged to meet some friends in London. Might you like to accompany me?”
A trip? Alone with Camille? The invitation required no contemplation. Maddie ran up the stairs, grabbed her own outing hat, and joined Camille in the carriage, not giving a single thought to where precisely they were headed. It didn’t matter. For the first time since their latest indiscretion, things felt easy between them. There was no awkwardness. Camille was relaxed, jovial, and swiftly put Maddie out of her misery.
“You did nothing wrong,” she said, slapping a tight lid on the matter. “The transgression was entirely mine. Let’s not agonize over it.”
And so they didn’t. When they arrived in London, Camille steered them to a western part of the city that Maddie found entirely unfamiliar. Not that she considered herself anything more than a tourist in any quarter of the capital, but this one was particularly foreign to her.
The streets were filled with women of all varieties, and a good many of them seemed to recognize Camille. They wore brightly-colored feathers in their hats—if they wore hats at all—and held their skirts a few inches too high as they walked.
The Ruin of Us Page 3
