The sun hit the meadow and sent pink and gold fingers through the clouds. The two stood there in silence for a fraction of a minute before Sam said, "All right Miss. I'll help you." Given the power Miss Lucinda had in her hands, Sam didn't see how she could refuse. And though Sam hated to admit it, she was burning with curiosity about why the girl wanted to ride like a boy.
They agreed to meet in the stable manager's cottage at four the next morning, more than an hour before dawn.
***
"I'm sorry, Mr. Smith, I don't have any trousers," Lucy announced when she arrived in Sam's cottage in the morning.
Sam smiled, "of course you don't, Miss," and held up a pair of her own breeches.
She left the room while Lucy pulled off riding skirt and stepped into the trousers. They hung a bit loose and needed rolling up at the ankles, but fit well enough for her purpose. Now she felt female above the waist but something confusing and exposed below. Lucy noticed Sam trying not to smile when she stepped out in her strange attire. But she pretended not to, trying instead to project confidence in the task before her.
***
After a month of near-daily practice, the stable manager informed Lucy that she had reached a level of competence in riding that should suit any purpose she had in mind.
Lucy was torn. She couldn't help but feel pleased. She knew Sam was right. After that first week of slipping to the left, she'd begun to take to her new seat, if not to Mr. Smith's spare trousers.
And yet, the dark mornings behind Sam's cottage had become her favorite part of the day. Though she was shy and always respectful of Lucy, Sam was also kind and quietly funny. She had taken to offering Lucy a cup of her bitter, black coffee every morning and Lucy had learned to drink it if only to sit across Sam's kitchen table for a moment in the quiet dark.
Whereas Lucy's best friends had always been horses, thinking of Sam, she felt that for the first time in her life, she had a real, human, friend. Sam was unconventional. Sam was not supposed to be her equal. And yet the secrets they shared seemed to draw them closer than Lucy had ever felt to anyone in the world.
Lucy was certain that Sam must feel the same about her. It was a nearly tangible thing, soft and warm in the air between them when they sat in silence together. She could hear it in Sam's fond tone when addressing her; could see it glowing on Sam's face when she caught sight of Lucy for the first time each morning.
And from her seat in the hard kitchen chair at Sam's table, Lucy had to admit to herself that she would never really run away to the mission school. The truth was that these quiet mornings were her adventure. Getting to know Sam was her adventure.
Thus, four days after Sam had told her the lessons could end, Lucy was still coming in the dark to the cottage. In companionable silence now, they went through their routine—Sam bringing the horse, Lucy changing clothes and riding until dawn, following Sam's increasingly unnecessary advice.
On the fifth day, when Lucy came as usual, Sam met her at the door and let her inside, but made no move to fetch Athena, or to give Lucy her breeches. Instead, she poured herself a cup of coffee, and without offering one to Lucy, sat down in a kitchen chair and drank silently.
Lucy looked for a place to sit, but the second kitchen chair held a pile of mending. Sam's narrow bed was only steps away, under the window by the door, but stable dog, Kitt, lay at its foot, a weary eye on her master's visitor. The room Lucy had grown to feel so at home in began to seem alien and unwelcoming in the dim lamplight.
"Mr. Smith?"
Sam rose from the table. In one long stride, she was before Lucy, slightly closer than she ought to be.
Lucy could feel her heart suddenly thumping, and she wondered if the stable manager meant her harm, even as she fought the urge to step forward herself and close the small gap between them.
"What do you want from me?" Sam whispered.
"I don't know."
Reaching up, Sam put a hand to Lucy's cheek. Lucy knew she ought to step away, perhaps say something discouraging. But instead, she found herself grabbing Sam's jacket and pulling her forward until their lips found each other.
Lucy thought she might be melting in Sam's embrace and she gave a tiny sigh of contentment. But even as she did, Sam tore away from her arms in an almost violent motion and stammered, "I'm so sorry, Miss." Then she turned and ran out the back door of the cottage.
Lucy stood staring after her, stunned by her sudden departure. She put a hand to her cheek, tried to catch her breath and still her heart.
A moment later, she left the cottage quietly, the same way she had come.
***
All morning, Lucy sat thinking about the kiss. It had been her first, though the ring Mr. Barrett had given her upon their engagement sat glittering on her left hand.
The thought of Mr. Barrett made her shudder. She could never marry him. She was in love with Sam. And now that she could ride a horse like a man, she could borrow some of Sam's clothes and they could run away together.
Sam must think so too, Lucy was certain. Tomorrow she would find a chance to discuss it with the stable manager and they would plan their escape from Black Fields together. She stood and walked to her window, saw a light on in Sam's cottage and smiled at last, thinking of their future together.
***
It was late into the night after a difficult day, but Sam couldn't sleep.
She still didn't know how Miss Lucinda had found her out, but ever since she had, life had become far too complicated. One secret, then another—Sam's disguise, the riding lessons in the dark, and now this morning's scene—weighed more and more heavily on her usually dispassionate heart.
Why Sam had kissed Miss Lucinda—against all wisdom—she could not decide, however she examined herself. She had planned to tell her that the riding lessons were over and not to come back again. She had meant to be very firm about this. Kissing the girl had been an act of pure insanity.
It wasn't that Sam had always entirely abstained from women—or girls at least. There had been a few when she was younger. But they were fleeting affairs with barmaids or dockworker's daughters. They had come in the dark and gone before dawn. If they had known that the man they'd seduced was an invention of his own sheer will and scraps of harness leather rather than Mother Nature, they had been pleased enough not to let on. But as she had grown older and wiser—and accumulated more to lose—Sam had learned to keep youthful lust in check and developed a quiet solitude.
And she had grown convinced that this solitude was her stability, her safety—and Sam's.
***
The very next night, Sam was up late, cleaning her boots, when a knock came at her cottage door. Opening it, she found Lucy looking frantic.
"Miss Lucinda—" Sam looked behind the girl for any sign from the house or stable that someone might be watching. Seeing nothing obvious, Sam ushered Lucy inside and pulled a second chair up to the table where her boots stood, black with new polish.
Lucy sat down. "I don't know what to do. The wedding is two weeks away. I've got to stop it." Sam listened, surprised by the sense of calm that came over her in the face of Lucy's distress. She didn't say anything, but picked up her polishing cloth and focused intently on wiping it across the toe of her left boot.
"You know I can't marry him." Lucy looked at Sam's downcast eyes, willing them to meet hers. Sam resisted returning the gaze, but carefully folded the cloth and laid it on the table.
Picking up the right boot and seeming to ponder her reflection in its toe, Sam said steadily, "Of course you can marry him. He's a good man, and a rich one. The wedding will be lovely, you'll see."
"Sam—" Lucy's voice rose, "stop talking nonsense! You know why I can't marry him. I don't love him! I love—"
Sam put her boots on the floor. Her voice was steadier than ever as she cut Lucy off. "Miss, I'm no expert on marriage but from what I've seen it isn't usually about love. Not among ladies and gentlemen, anyway. Mr. Barrett is a good match. He's got a stable fu
ll of beautiful horses. He can take care of you; set you up in the world. You feel you can't marry him now, but after you've done it, you'll get used to it. It's what your parents—"
Lucy's face grew angry. "Stop speaking to me as if I were a child! I know how I feel and none of it will change after a wedding."
Sam finally returned Lucy's gaze and found her expression defiant, in spite of the tears that were beginning to well quietly and slip down her nose.
Sam couldn't stop herself from reaching out and pushing one back with a rough thumb. "Please don't cry."
Lucy caught Sam's hand before she could pull it back. "Let's leave here," she said. "Cut my hair—dress me in your extra clothes—we'll take Orion and Athena and go."
Sam didn't know what to say. It suddenly struck her how very strange it would seem to anyone who happened upon them to find Sam Smith and the young heiress of Black Fields sitting at a kitchen table at midnight, chatting as intimately as schoolgirl chums.
"Of course we can't do any such thing Miss," Sam said. "Of course we can't. I have a job. You have a family. Your father trusts me. I can't steal his horse and ride off with his daughter. It's not possible."
"Of course it's possible!" Lucy said. "We can leave tomorrow night after everyone is asleep. We'll ride as fast and far as we can and hide by day." Lucy's eyes dared Sam to refuse her.
Sam's heart raced with unexpected temptation. She couldn't possibly be considering Miss Lucinda's suggestion. She took a deep breath. "No," she said. "It isn't a thing we could do. Even if we really wanted to."
"I really want to." Lucy met Sam's eye. "And so do you."
Sam called Kitt to her side with a small gesture and laid her hand on the dog's head as she said, "It's late Miss. You ought to be getting to bed." She rose from her chair and moved towards the door.
Lucy watched Sam put a hand on the doorknob while Kitt stood by her side, tail wagging slightly. "Please..." Her voice was very small.
Sam said nothing, and Lucy rose and went to the door. Sam opened it and Lucy stepped back into the night alone. Thunder rumbled distantly as she made her way back to the house.
***
By the time Lucy got to her room, the thunder had grown closer and lightening was flashing. She lit a lamp and undressed clumsily to her corset and chemise, dropping her dress on a chair beside the wardrobe for Meg to put away properly later. Then she pulled on a dressing gown and unpinned her hair.
The loose shutter banged as a gust of wind rose and rain came pouring into the room. Lucy stepped to the window and fought with the storm but couldn't close the shutters against it. She gave up and closed the windows, pulling the heavy drapes across them. As she did, she looked out past the stable yard and saw the small light go out in Sam's cottage.
Her heart felt as if it were going out too.
***
Sam watched Miss Lucinda disappear into the darkness; watched her window until the faint glow of lamplight appeared; watched the glow until the rain started.
Then Lucy was at the window, struggling to close the shutters in a small halo of weak light. It was Miss Lucinda through and through—soaking herself in the storm rather than calling for help. A girl like that would never be happy with a man like Barrett.
Sam put out her lamp, told Kitt to stay, and ran barefoot into the rain.
***
A hailstone hit the window, and another. Lucy rose to investigate the weather, tears blurring her sight. Just as she pulled the curtains away, another stone clattered. It wasn't hail but a pebble, thrown from the stable yard below.
Lucy opened the windows and the rain blew in again. The lightening flashed and there was Sam standing in the yard, a dozen feet below. She was looking toward the window, preparing to throw another stone, but Lucy leaned out into the rain, calling her name.
At this, Sam grabbed hold of the iron drainpipe running down the corner of the house and scrambled her way to the window. Lucy reached out to help her inside, dripping water all over the floor as she made her unconventional entrance and pushed the windows shut again behind her.
She was like a wild bird that had flown down the chimney, standing on the Turkey carpet in muddy bare feet, a wet linen shirt sticking to her shoulders, glancing around the room in nervous haste. She pushed Lucy backwards toward the couch, where they fell together in a wet tangle.
"I'm sorry...Miss...I—"
"Kiss me, Mr. Smith."
Lucy had been kissed by Sam before, but not so possessively, so promisingly, so fearlessly. The stable manager did not pull away this time. She did not try to apologize again, and Lucy felt a boldness fill her own frame.
She reached to unbutton Sam's shirt, but Sam caught them in her own, pushed them down and held them without pausing from the kiss.
"But your shirt is soaked," said Lucy.
Sam shook her head and sat up, pulling Lucy with her. "You are soaked yourself from fighting with those shutters." She pushed the dressing gown back from Lucy's shoulders and Lucy let it fall away.
"Too cold?" Sam ran her hands down Lucy's bare arms.
Lucy shook her head.
Sam fingered a lock of Lucy's hair. Her voice came this time in a low growl. "Turn around."
Lucy asked no questions, but did as she was told.
Sam loosened Lucy's stays, planting warm kisses on her neck all the while. At last the corset fell to the floor and Lucy turned, took Sam's hand and kissed the palm. Sam reached up and pulled a finger tantalizingly down Lucy's throat and across her chemise to the tip of her nipple, hard beneath the delicate linen. "So beautiful..."
There she stopped, looked Lucy in the eye and led her silently to the bed. Lucy lay back against a pile of pillows, but Sam stood, waiting for something more.
"Tell me you want this."
"I want it." Lucy took Sam's hand again and pulled her down beside her. She had only the vaguest notion of what might happen next, but she knew she wanted something—she wanted something very much. The throbbing between her legs was growing unbearable and she longed to be touched. She pulled her chemise over her head and bit her lips, suddenly shy.
Sam put one hand on the bed just behind Lucy's hip and slipped the other gently up her thigh and through the slit in her drawers. Lucy breathed sharply in and pushed her hips forward to meet Sam's hand.
But Sam drew it away to unfasten her own trousers and find the part of her she had fashioned years ago as a blacksmith's apprentice. Moving slowly over the girl, Sam whispered in her ear, "you must tell me...if you don't like it." And she slipped inside of Lucy as tenderly as she could manage, kissing her softly as she did.
Lucy had never imagined that anything could be so sharp and so sweet at the same time. She wrapped herself around Sam. "I like it," she whispered into Sam's ear, "I like it so much, Mr. Smith."
They rose and fell together, gently at first, but soon Sam's breathing became faster and shallower and she panted raggedly in Lucy's ear, "let go of everything but me...let go."
At this, Lucy thrust her hips forward as hard as she could, crying out in spite of herself, as a flood of warm pleasure filled her whole body. Sam's hand went to her mouth to silence her. "Quiet Miss..."
Lucy's voice trailed off to a sigh. Sam held her arms to the bed, pushed into her deep and hard and held steady there until Lucy felt new desire well up and she began to squirm.
"Don't stop..." she whispered. "Please don't stop yet."
At this, Sam pulled herself out of Lucy to the girl's misery. But her voice came, reassuring. "I'm not finished with you. But you must do as I say."
Lucy would do anything. She nodded quickly, a barely audible "yes" on her lips.
"Turn over."
She turned.
Sam reached a strong arm under her waist and pulled up hard until Lily was crouched forward on her forearms, knees on the bed, exposed bottom in the air. "Open your legs," Sam commanded further. But she did not wait for compliance. Instead she shoved Lily's legs wide and thrust herself back into the
hot wetness she had only just left.
Lucy could only gasp as she tried to comprehend the hot, sharp sensations racing through her body. It felt something like pain—if pain were an ecstasy. It felt something like being burned—if fire were a bath of pleasure.
Sam took a handful of Lucy's hair and pulled it gently—just enough to bring the girl's face back to see Sam in the corner of her eye.
"I have wanted to do this to you ever since that morning," she said quietly, the steady control returned to her voice. "You wanted it too. I saw it in your face—that morning at the window. You wanted my cock, without even knowing what it was."
"Yes..." oh yes. Oh yes... Lucy shuddered and cried out again. Sam dropped her hair, pushed her hips down and fell atop her, still filling her up inside so that Lucy wasn't sure if they were finished.
Victorian Passions: The Complete Collection of Four Stories under One Cover Page 6
