Twice Bitten

by R. G. Emanuelle

  "Your father's book collection is impressive." Rose removed her hat and walked past several shelves, pushing her hair back in place. "I didn't know that this many books existed." She turned around and saw Ursula standing at a large picture window, staring out at the huge hydrangea bush that grew right outside.

  "Ursula..."

  "I spend a lot of time in this study," she said without turning around. "In this room, I can do whatever I please, think whatever I please, be whoever I please."

  Rose remained silent, unsure of why she was saying this. Perhaps she really was ill.

  "In this room, I'm not judged. And I don't feel like a sideshow freak."

  "Why would you feel like a sideshow freak?" She wasn't entirely sure what a sideshow freak was, but she was sure it was something bad. "Ursula, you're a beautiful woman, intelligent, sharp..."

  "Stop right there. That's the point. It doesn't much matter whether I'm beautiful or not. I do, at the risk of sounding conceited, consider myself somewhat intelligent. That's what makes me a freak. There's no place for an intelligent woman in this world. And..."

  Rose waited a moment. "And what?"

  Ursula finally turned to her. So many rainclouds had settled in those heavenly eyes that Rose wanted to cry. She had no idea what pain Ursula was experiencing, but whatever it was, she wanted to be the one to take it away.

  Ursula opened her mouth but she clamped her lips shut, shook her head, and ran out of the study.

  Rose ran after her. Ursula moved so quickly, Rose almost didn't see where she'd gone, but she caught a glimpse of her dress as she rounded the corner of the upstairs landing. Rose began ascending the steps when Mrs. Troy came scuttling in.

  "What's wrong? What's happened?"

  "Nothing, Mrs. Troy. Ursula just wants to show me something upstairs. Thank you, we're fine." Rose lifted her skirts and darted up the steps.

  She had no idea which door Ursula had gone through and briefly stopped in front of each one until she heard the sound of scuffling shoes inside one of the rooms. Behind the door, she found Ursula pacing the floor.

  "Whatever it is, I want to help." She stepped up to Ursula, pulled her arm to stop her pacing. "Please."

  Ursula turned to face Rose and took one step forward, just enough so that the tips of their breasts were a hair's breadth away. She put one hand on Rose's hip and tipped her head in. Her lips softly touched hers, and Rose's limbs went weak. She opened her eyes to see if this was really happening.

  Suddenly, Ursula pulled away. "I'm sorry, Rose! I'm so sorry. I didn't mean..."

  Rose lifted her hands to Ursula's face, cradling it gently but with purpose, and pulled Ursula back down to her. This time, the kiss went from soft and velvety to hungry and demanding. Ursula guided Rose backward, almost as if they were dancing, until Rose's back was up against the wall. Rose slipped both arms around Ursula's shoulders, gripping her tightly. When Ursula's tongue parted her lips, Rose was stunned at first, but she quickly opened her mouth to let her in.

  Ursula's hand moved to Rose's chest and skimmed her breasts, making her shudder. Then it slid downward, slowly, until it reached the warm spot between her thighs.

  Through her skirts and petticoat, Rose could feel Ursula's strong fingers pressing firmly at her center. Even with the fabric bunched up there, the heat came through and she couldn't keep herself from moving her hips in time to Ursula's hand. She had never been touched there before but nothing about this felt strange or wrong. Only good. Very, very good. And while it briefly flitted through her head that this was a woman touching her this way, the thought left her as quickly as her inhibitions did.

  Ursula pressed up against her and nipped her neck. Rose gasped and gripped her shoulders tighter. Ursula ran her tongue, just the tip, slowly down Rose's throat.

  Ursula reached behind Rose and began unhooking the long series of buttons down the dress. Pausing, she leaned over and turned the brass key in the lock on the door, then continued her work. As Ursula unhooked the last button, Rose brought her arms down to allow the dress to fall.

  Then, Ursula's hands stopped roaming, her tongue stopped exploring, and she pulled away.

  Rose opened her eyes. Ursula was trembling. And she was watching Rose with that pained look in her eyes again.

  "What's wrong?" Rose said, in between her panting.

  "I'm sorry," Ursula croaked. "I can't." She pulled Rose's dress back up on her shoulders, spun Rose around, and with trembling fingers, quickly buttoned all the small mother-of-pearl buttons.

  Rose was getting pushed, little by little, face-forward into the wall. "Ursula! What's the matter? What are you doing?" She was so confused. Ursula had moved on her with the ardor of a man and she'd shown every sign of wanting her. Why was she acting this way?

  Ursula flew out of the room. All Rose heard was, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

  She stared at the doorway as it swung closed by itself from the force. Should she run after her? Leave quietly? Leave with a fuss?

  This was the second time that day that Ursula had run out on her and she was starting to get angry.

  It couldn't be that Ursula was repulsed by her kiss...Ursula had kissed her first! And she was the one who had begun undressing her. Perhaps that was it. Rose had been too willing to be undressed. She didn't fight Ursula off at all and now, maybe, she saw Rose as a trollop. It was one thing to give in to a man's advances. It was another to give in without a fight.

  But Ursula wasn't a man. Surely, she didn't uphold the same rigid standards for the sexes.

  As Rose debated what she should do, she adjusted the lines of her dress and picked her hat up from the floor where she'd dropped it.

  She pinned the hat to her hair and peered outside the door. She had no idea where Ursula had run off to--again--and she had no desire to encounter Mrs. Troy, or any other servants. She listened for signs in the other rooms. Hearing nothing, she made her way down the stairs and listened there, being careful not to draw any attention to herself. Seeing no sign of Ursula downstairs either, she quickly made her way out the front door.

  Humiliated, Rose walked home, and with each step, tears burned more in her eyes. By the time she reached home, she was bawling.

  She needed to sort this out and find a way to make it work. Before, as difficult as it had been, she could deny herself the possibility of ever being with Ursula. She could walk away, believing that it could never be, that Ursula would never feel for her what she felt for Ursula. But she had felt Ursula's kiss. It was forceful, it was caressing, it was pure desire. And now that she'd had a taste of what loving Ursula would be like, there was no turning back.

  Chapter Thirteen

  URSULA LEFT A flustered Rose behind her. If I were a man, I'd be called a cad for doing that. She raced down the hall and locked herself in one of the guest bedrooms.

  The entire day had been dream-like...unreal and full of distortions. She hadn't taken much notice of Rose before, but ever since that day in Central Park, something had changed.

  It would seem that Rose was not the mousy female she'd thought she was. There was a fire in Rose's eyes and a defiance in her face that she'd never seen before. There was an intensity about her that sparked a flame in Ursula, one that she hadn't felt in a long time.

  Fiona had trapped her underneath that tree and talked incessantly about one thing and another. And while Fiona was an interesting woman...intelligent, attractive, proud...Ursula had wanted to spend more time with Rose. When they'd rented the boats, Ursula had just been about to guide Rose into one when Fiona had beckoned her into another. What could she do? Refusing Fiona would have been outwardly rude and would have raised questions. Questions were bad.

  On the way home from the teahouse, Rose had thought Ursula was ill. It was just as well because she had felt ill but not in the way Rose may have thought. She'd felt sick in her heart, sick in her stomach, and if anyone knew what she'd been thinking and feeling, they'd say sick in her mind. As they sat in the carriage, she ha
d avoided looking at Rose. She couldn't do it. She was sure that the guilt had been etched on her face.

  And then, before she realized what was happening, Rose was in her arms. Rose's hand, glove and all, on her was like a flame licking at her skin. But it went deeper than she could comprehend. Rose's touch, appearance, presence, had entered Ursula and she tried fighting it with everything she had.

  So close, Ursula could feel the heat from Rose's body. Rose's floral scent entered her nostrils and intoxicated her. Despite all her self-control, both self-taught and instilled by her father, she weakened. And despite what she knew about what could happen if she let herself...allowed herself to...

  But she did it anyway. She kissed Rose, and every thought, every fear, every ounce of elation she knew she would have, manifested in those few, short seconds.

  To her surprise, Rose did not stop her, but when she felt Rose's mouth and body responding, Ursula had to pull away. She had often thought about it and at night, when she lay alone in bed, craving

  Rose's touch, she dreamed about it. But now that Rose was in her arms, she had to put a stop to it.

  Ursula hadn't been with anyone like that since school, but as she kissed Rose, the memories of the intimate moments she'd shared with one other person had come flooding back to her, filling her brain and senses. Her fingers had moved with the memories, too. As if they'd done their work only the day before, they moved with the excitement of passion and lust.

  Even as Ursula's fingers popped each button and her lips traced the curves of Rose's jaw and chin, she couldn't help but wonder what in hell she was doing. Her actions could have dire consequences. Rose seemed to be caught up in the moment of passion, too, and was not discouraging her from touching her, kissing her, or removing her clothes. But how would she feel about it tomorrow? For that matter, how would she feel about it the moment their caresses ended and their passion was...perhaps...sated? Would Rose walk out the door repulsed? Frightened? Would she tell her parents what had happened? Tell them that Ursula had forced herself on her?

  Or would she fall as madly in love with me as I am with her? Rose's hunger had seemed as fierce as her own.

  Ursula forced her mind to stop traveling to the place where she so desperately wanted to go with Rose. It wouldn't do. She cared for Rose too much to drag her down into the storm that would surely ensue if they pursued this. She wanted Rose to be happy and live the rest of her life without the stigma of unnatural activity on her.

  She'd wanted to just bolt, but she knew that Rose would be unable to button up her dress on her own. What could she do? Call Mrs. Troy? How would Rose explain to the woman how her dress had become undone?

  Ursula had never imagined it would go that far. Only in her dreams did she taste Rose's soft lips, feel her body against hers, feel the fabric of Rose's dress slip through her fingers. But now that she'd actually experienced all this, she knew it was a mistake. She couldn't allow to happen to Rose what had happened to Emily two years before.

  Ursula's heart still broke whenever she thought of that poor girl. Neither one of them had known that going to college would change their lives. Ursula's original intent was to learn. That's all she'd ever wanted. Emily had wanted that, too. They had talked so many times about it, about the things they would love to do with their lives if only given the chance.

  Well, it wasn't going to happen again. Not to Rose. From now on, she would keep her distance, not get too close. And not ever let Rose think that there could be anything more than friendship between them.

  Chapter Fourteen

  ROSE SAT IN the blue French colonial chair in her room and set the new journal she had purchased on the table in front of her. This one was red embroidered leather, similar to the first, but this one had a little lock. She kept the tiny key in a small, hand-carved wooden box that her uncle, an importer, had brought her from his trip to Bali. She loved this box because to her, it represented an exotic world that she would probably never see. She had always treasured this trinket box, which had some sort of bird carved on the top. As a young girl, she'd often wished that she could turn into that bird and fly high and away.

  Nightfall approached, and she lit a candle. The house had plenty of oil lamps and parts of the house had even been wired for electricity, but Rose liked using candles. They illuminated without casting the entire room in harsh light. She liked semi-darkness. It felt safe and she could pretend she was hiding in her own private world, a cave maybe, where no one would find her. Her mother had begged her to stop using candles, insisting they were dangerous, and she'd tell Rose the same story about how her sister had almost set the entire house on fire when they were girls because she knocked a candle over. Rose suspected that her mother's opposition to her candles was more about appearances. Everything in the house had to be new and up-to-date with the latest inventions. That was proof of their status in society...having all the modern inventions. With the advent of gas lamps and electricity, candles were going to be obsolete. Her mother was old-fashioned in her beliefs but outwardly, she wanted to always maintain the appearance of a modern woman. She'd never get rid of her candles, though. She bought them when she wasn't with her mother and hid them, her own secret rebellion against a life she'd grown to resent.

  Once again, she thought about her last journal. Why couldn't she find it? Where would it have got to? She couldn't wait any longer for it to turn up, either. There were so many things filling her head, confusing her and taunting her, that she had to write them down. She had no one to talk to, no one she could confide her feelings to. She had few friends and of those, none could be trusted with what she was going through. Where Ursula was concerned, her journal was her only confidante.

  She picked up a pen and stared at the paper. What was most pressing? Ursula or Fiona? She could write about Ursula endlessly, but Fiona warranted a few words these days, too. She caused emotions in her she never thought she would have, including hatred.

  Hatred was not a natural emotion for her. Everyone had a redeeming quality, as far as she was concerned. But then, Rose had never been in love before, and thus had never been threatened with losing that love. Until Fiona.

  The hatred she was willing to deal with. It was the other feelings Fiona elicited that Rose couldn't stand, including the maddening desires to touch her along with resentment that she could probably never compete with her. Ursula and Fiona seemed to have courage and confidence in common. Those were things Rose didn't have, and to her detriment.

  Unlike Ursula, her education had consisted of lessons in charm and grace, music, reading and basic arithmetic. Since no intellectual pursuits figured in her life, she spent her days embroidering, reading books, and playing the piano. She did her social duty as a woman, but she longed for so much more. She'd often thought of doing rebellious things, but she knew that when it came down to it, she'd remain the obedient girl her mother had raised her to be. And that, she hated as well.

  It wouldn't be so bad, she figured, if she was like other women. She wasn't. She knew she was different from other women, and she was always careful to hide her thoughts and feelings. The only time she ever expressed them was when she wrote in her journal. And now that was missing.

  If anyone ever finds that diary...

  Whenever she read the entries back to herself, she was always astonished at the depth of her feelings. She couldn't understand it. Ursula was a woman. She wasn't supposed to be feeling things like that for another woman. But she couldn't help it. Ursula elicited thoughts and emotions in her that no man ever had. Oh, the thoughts. If people went to hell for thoughts, she'd burn in its fiery ovens at bone-obliterating temperatures.

  ...the entire family would be scandalized.

  What had started out as something to do out of boredom, had turned into something she'd never expected. She tapped her pen against the paper, thinking.

  Her cousin, Johanna, had moved back to New York from Newport with her family two years before. Johanna was the social butterfly Rose wasn't, a
nd she dragged her to various functions. At first, she had dreaded it, but then she decided that it was better than spending time with her mother at church functions or staying home alone doing her needlepoint. So she accepted Johanna's invitations and though she was never overly excited about them, they did allow her time away from home.

  One day, her attitude changed. As Rose waited for Johanna in her parlor, she heard an unfamiliar voice in the entry hall. Johanna came back into the parlor, ushering in another woman.

  "Ursula, I'd like to you meet my cousin, Rose Godwyn. Rose, this is my dear friend, Ursula Lundberg."

  "Pleasure to meet you, Rose." Ursula extended her hand.

  "How do you do?" Rose shook her hand but was unable to stop looking at Ursula's eyes. They were a shade of blue that was both light and intense at once. A sky blue that can never be duplicated in paint, cloth, or thread. They were like heaven. Set against her golden locks, and with her tall frame and fine features, Ursula was the epitome of Nordic beauty.

  But it was the way Ursula carried herself that had truly caught Rose's attention--bold and confident but not smug or arrogant. It was almost the stance of a man. Men had that sense of purpose, that belief that they had a place in the world. Women merely glided through it, looking pretty. But Ursula had something other about her. It was this otherness, this inexplicable air that surrounded her that Rose was drawn to.

  Rose had begun eagerly asking Johanna when they would be going to a show again, or the symphony, or even a charity event. And one way or another, she'd find a way to ask if Ursula would be joining them. When Ursula couldn't join them, Rose would barely be able to hide her disappointment.