Nicholas recalled his perusal of the medical journals. He himself had thought the same thing. “I don’t understand, Dr. Christopher,” he started tentatively. “If you offer treatment for this illness, what are you treating? And how are you treating it?”
“Don’t worry, my boy,” the doctor consoled him with a touch of amusement. “You have not stumbled upon a quack out to bilk Mayfair’s finest of their jewels. The malady is not some abstruse ailment called hysteria, the malady, as a matter of fact, is lack of sexual culmination. The treatment is not for a strange man in an office to touch a woman in her most intimate of places but for her own damn husband to do it.” Dr. Christopher sucked in air purposefully, as if to calm himself. “In lieu of a husband or other intimate partner, the treatment is for a woman to learn self-stimulation.”
Nicholas was not sure he had just heard what he thought he had just heard.
Dr. Christopher must have read the confusion on his face. “Yes, Ramsay, that would indeed be masturbation.”
Nicholas flushed.
“The lower classes figure it out, of course. There is no code of morality amongst them. But no one ever teaches it to the daughters of the wealthy or the middle classes. Of course, boys of any class don’t need to be taught. But girls are much more mysterious.”
Nicholas was still a tad nonplussed. He cleared his throat. “Dr. Christopher, sir, are you teaching women how to masturbate?” It was strange being a man of science as Nicholas thought he was and not being able to speak about medical matters without a little discomfiture.
“I would like to, I haven’t done so yet. It’s rather complicated, really.”
Nicholas waited for further explanation but there was none. “How so?”
“Well, the medical community is not convinced of my theory at all. They do not see the connection between women’s sexual pleasure and women’s complaints. Sexual pleasure, you see, can only be achieved with penetration, so one theory goes, or semen, according to another. A woman does not need sexual gratification, like we men do. She only experiences it as a by-product of intimacy with a man.” Dr. Christopher looked Nicholas straight in the eye. “Even if Lavinia has been your only lover, which I am certain is not true, you must know that women can and do experience sexual pleasure in the absence of men.”
Nicholas did know that, and not just from Lavinia. “Yes, of course.” He did find it a bit odd that, until recently, he had never realized such a topic was discussed in the medical community.
Dr. Christopher resumed his pacing. “I need to proceed with experiments to prove my hypothesis, to bring forth data and evidence, write a paper, that sort of thing. It is not an idea open for discussion in the Royal scientific societies at the moment. A great many doctors make a damn good living from what is essentially giving sexual gratification to ignorant women. And what is worse, there are devices being invented and sold for such purposes. Really, it is these inventors and the doctors who buy their products who are the quacks.”
“So, what is your course of action?”
Dr. Christopher drew in a deep breath. “In order to achieve my goals, I intend to use the very tools my colleagues use in their quackery. I hope to answer the question whether what a woman experiences with those devices is different from what she experiences with penetration. I have a douching machine and a brand new electro-vibrator at my disposal. And now I have Grace.”
“Good God, man!” Nicholas blurted, absolutely stunned. “That servant girl? You intend to—to experiment on her?”
“She has agreed.” It was said coolly. “She will be compensated and will receive lodging and food for all her work here, whether as servant or subject.”
Nicholas was aghast but still somehow fascinated. “And the part about, uh, penetration?”
“You mean, do I intend to fornicate with her? It would be difficult to keep a clear head during such activity, I admit, to keep a professional scientific separation from the matter.” Dr. Christopher looked queerly at Nicholas.
He felt a twisting in his gut. “Oh no, sir. I won’t. Don’t ask me to do that, sir.”
Julius guffawed. “I was testing you, Ramsay. Of course I would never allow such a thing in my office. I would be professionally censured. As would you.”
Nicholas quietly sighed his relief. “So how do you intend to proceed?”
“I haven’t quite figured that out yet, to be truthful. It would be far easier if she had a young man of her own. I will have to give the scheme some thought. However, I do have an alternative trajectory of experimentation.”
Nicholas was utterly intrigued. The crowding in his crotch made him realize he was unwittingly becoming aroused by the frank discussion. “Oh?”
“One way to prove that women do not need penetration for sexual gratification is to find a woman who maintains a level of satisfaction with mere clitoral stimulation without devolving into feelings of frustration. Of course, my detractors would claim that somehow memories of male penetration were surfacing, perhaps in a dream state. So really to prove this vein of my hypothesis, I will need a virgin.”
“Oh God.” Nicholas sank in his chair. “And where do you intend to find a virgin?” he inquired meekly.
“It is a horrible matter, really, but they can be bought at the better brothels. Again, it would be a situation of maintaining a young woman, having her live here with me, that sort of thing.”
The whole conversation was partly disgusting, partly intriguing, partly arousing, partly exhilarating. But Nicholas remembered his place. “Dr. Christopher, you would like me to come join you so I can treat the more straightforward cases and leave the more curious for your own analysis and cure, is that right, sir?”
“Yes, Ramsay, that is correct. I think your qualifications, training and manner make you well-suited to take over the practical aspects of my practice.”
“Very good, sir. I think I shall like to take a bit of time to think this over. Not that I have any other offers, but your practice is rather unconventional.”
“Yes,” agreed Dr. Christopher. “Take all the time you need.”
What Nicholas needed at that moment wasn’t time. It was Lavinia.
* * * * *
It was a quiet, late afternoon staying in for Lavinia, a rarity during the Season for one of London’s most well-known and sought-after widows. But she needed time to rest, to relax, to catch up on the week’s newspapers that the butler, Mr. Sims, had stacked neatly and perfectly on a low table by the sofa in the library. No one was expected, and Sims had been instructed to take calling cards. The lady was simply not “at home”.
For several hours she read her papers, the most recent first, stretched lengthwise on the sofa, bolstered by wonderfully plump pillows, shamelessly un-corseted and stocking-free, unconcerned with the drape of her dress, probably exposing an ankle or calf. Such unladylike behavior would surely shock most of her acquaintances, she laughed to herself as she picked up the previous Thursday’s Morning Post and turned to the section on the Imperial Parliament.
She raised her head at a commotion growing slowly beyond the library door. Sims was talking very sternly to an unwelcome and assiduous man on the front steps.
“Oh bother, what is it now?” she said aloud as if someone could hear her. She sat up.
The door to the library crashed open.
Nicholas stood there, holding his hat in his hand, his dark hair wild, his brown eyes black with desire. And when he tossed his hat on the library table, she could see the expectant bulge in his pants.
All Lavinia could think was that she had not inserted her Dutch cap.
“Nicky? I didn’t expect you until tonight,” she gasped. “I thought you were with Julius this afternoon.”
He said nothing as he came toward her, tearing off his jacket and loosening his tie.
Oh God. What debauchery did Julius introduce you to?
Nicholas pulled her up to standing, took the Post still in her hand, folded it and placed it neatly on the ta
ble. One hand cradled the back of her head while the other arm snaked around her waist. Her insides fluttered as they always did when he took control.
She looked up beseechingly. “Nicky? Darling?”
His mouth crushed down on hers, their tongues tangling before he plundered her depths even further. She steadied herself against him, gripping his shoulders, her body weakening under his demanding desire.
He came up for air, panting as if exhausted. “I need you,” he murmured. “But…but I need to pleasure you first.” He seemed uncharacteristically abashed, perhaps even a little ashamed.
“Yes, of course.” What else was she to say to that?
He drew her to the sofa, laying her back against the pillows, then pushed up her skirts. His hand reached inside the split in her drawers, tickling her delicate flesh. The earnestness on his face contrasted with the gentleness of his touch.
“You’re wet,” he said as if he hadn’t expected her to be. He eased her legs open, licking his lips as if she were a treat before him, then bent over and began his ravishment.
He was a man possessed.
Lavinia closed her eyes to concentrate on the momentary well-aimed flicks of his frenzied tongue, his lack of focus confusing her senses. She moaned her appreciation, smoothing his hair in encouragement, soothing him until he slowed his pace. His fingers dallied deliciously in her folds to uncover her clitoris before he sucked the pearl into his mouth, the tip of his tongue frantically stroking the sensitive spot, his pointed attentiveness sending her into spasms of vexatious ecstasy. As her body writhed against him, he followed her every move, digging his nails painfully into her butt cheeks, not wanting to let her go.
She cried out his name, grabbing handfuls of his curls as she thrust her crotch against his mouth, his smug chuckle vibrating against her as he feasted. He was relentless, he was determined. She felt the buildup, the coiling of energy deep in her belly, the tingling in her toes, the anticipation hovering in the air, waiting…
He sucked harder, his tongue tormenting and teasing until she—
“Oh God! Nicky!”
Lavinia opened her eyes and tried to calm her shallow breaths. She had never spent so hard. He had never pleasured her with so much enthusiasm.
But he wasn’t finished yet.
With one hand he pulled her from the couch, urged her across the room and thrust her against the door, all while his other hand worked his buttons to free his cock. He was rampant, the prepuce already cowled below the glistening purple head. He bunched up her skirts and impaled her with a satisfied groan.
His movements were slow and even at first. Her body, sated and weak, found new resolve with the changed erotic assault. She clenched his shaft, sending tingling thrills through her, then released him with a tilt of her hips demanding he repeat his invasion. His thrusts picked up with determination until he was slamming inside her, meeting every moan with a vigorous lunge, holding her tightly as her arms and legs limply clung to his taut form.
His breathing grew ragged, his rhythm changing to a syncopated beat. He was going to spend.
She wasn’t prepared.
She unwrapped her limbs and squirmed against him, her struggles eliciting startled protests. He let her go, pulling out, dejected annoyance clouding his face. She dropped to her knees and swallowed his wet, engorged cock.
Nicholas let out a curse as his hands slapped against the door for support. In mere seconds, her skillful mouth brought him to orgasm, his warm ejaculate spurting down her throat.
The sounds of his heavy breathing filled the silence of afterglow.
“Vinny,” he panted hoarsely. “Did I pleasure you?”
Lavinia swallowed, still slumped on the floor. “Yes.” Why is he asking this?
“Both times?”
“Yes.” Something’s wrong.
“And was it…was it the same?”
She understood. “No, Nicky. It’s different. The feelings are different. One is not better than the other. They are just different.”
“Then you still need me?”
“God, yes, Nicky.” She reached up and grabbed his hand. “I still need you.”
Chapter Five
Sophia had explained to Lady Banbury that she wasn’t quite sure anything was really wrong but Lady Banbury had noticed her friend was subdued. “In a funk,” she had said. “Nervous.” Then she had enthusiastically recommended the services of Dr. Julius Christopher and handed her his card, insisting she would not take no for an answer.
So now Sophia sat in Dr. Christopher’s cozy waiting room, and if she hadn’t been exactly nervous before, her hands were trembling—with anxiety or anticipation, she wasn’t quite sure—now. She did not like going to the doctor’s much, even when Helena was ill as a child, and she especially hated waiting. At least there was a selection of women’s magazines and a sliver of sun shining through the window.
Her stomach tightened. It wasn’t being at the doctor’s office that was inciting her nerves, it was being at this doctor’s office. After her brief conversation with Dr. Julius Christopher at the Wrexham ball, she had imagined him doing things to her only one’s husband should be allowed to do. At first, she had felt alarm, but once realizing no one would ever know, she calmed.
Or would no one ever know? The thought made her a bit lightheaded. The man was a doctor, a man of scientific knowledge and perspicacity, a man whose job it was to uncover a patient’s problems with a brief examination, perhaps a test, and in Dr. Christopher’s case apparently, with simple conversation.
A cold sweat broke upon her brow and Sophia fished her handkerchief out of her handbag. He would know, right? He would have to know. He’d be able to see her thoughts, sense her needs, then elicit essential information with pointed questions. Of course he’d know.
Sophia drew in a long breath, then exhaled her worries. That Julius Christopher would know why she was there was a comfort indeed.
* * * * *
“Really, my dear, it is nothing,” Lady Banbury said to Helena. “I just felt a sudden need for air.”
They exited through the French doors to the side terrace of Viscount Roxton’s home, the setting for the day’s entertainment, a musicale of voice and piano given by the just-presented twin daughters of Lord and Lady Roxton. Lady Banbury had patiently waited for a break in the performance to request Helena escort her outside. Helena was just glad to be out of earshot of the wretched noise. It appeared several of the guests had the same idea.
“I can call for your carriage to take us home, Lady Banbury.”
“No, no, dear. I just need to spend some time in the out-of-doors. I need a little rejuvenation from the sun and breeze. We can go inside again once the refreshments are served.”
Helena breathed in the fresh scents of spring, closing her eyes briefly to listen to the late-afternoon twitters of dulcet birds, desperate to erase the memory of the past hour. She would have been mortified had it been her talents up for assessment in such a bald manner.
“Perhaps if I had a chair whilst I took in the soothing air, my dear.”
Helena looked around and spied an unoccupied ornate iron chair not far away in the shade. She went to retrieve it and found it much heavier than its filigree would suggest.
“Might I be of assistance?”
She looked up to find herself face-to-face with the handsomest man in the world. Him. The man from the Wrexham ball, the man Lady Banbury had said was not of high enough rank for her, the man who had unknowingly already broken her heart. Sun glinted off the waves of his thick mahogany-brown hair—unfashionable in its natural state and slightly tousled from the gentle breeze—and filled his brown eyes with golden glittery specs. Brown. They were brown. Rich brown. Like hot chocolate on a winter’s morning, soothing, comforting, warming her very insides, the deliciousness spreading all over, rousing the tender flesh bound tightly under her stiff corset, settling and coiling voluptuously below her belly—
She had to stop looking at him.
> “Yes, please.” Her breath hitched in her lungs, but found relief when she turned her attention to the chair. “It’s for Lady Banbury, sir,” she managed to say.
“Lady Banbury?” He looked over at the older woman, shook his head with a wry smirk, settled his hat atop his glorious hair and handily picked up the wrought-iron chair.
“My lady,” he said as he placed the requested seat before the countess.
“Oh! Thank you ever so much, Doctor…Doctor…”
Doctor?
“Ramsay.” He lifted his hat and bowed.
“Yes, yes. Pardon me, please. I am feeling a bit overcome by the closeness of the music room.” She sat down with a wheezing puff.
“Is there anything I can do to make you more comfortable, Lady Banbury?”
Oh! How very gracious and kind! Helena’s heart skipped a beat.
Lady Banbury waved her hand and shook her head with just a touch of dramatic flair. “Thank you, Doctor, no. I’ll be fine presently.”
The breathtakingly handsome Dr. Ramsay nodded and forced a smile with his lusciously full mouth, then stood beside Helena.
Despite the warmth of his closeness, Helena froze. They hadn’t been properly introduced. Should she say something? But he should be the first to speak, right? She shifted on her feet, struggling to quell the turmoil within, and even with a refreshing breeze, forgot to breathe. She swallowed the dryness in her mouth, a sound that apparently was loud enough for Lady Banbury to hear.
“Oh my dear, I am much remiss in my duties as chaperon.” The countess had whipped out her fan and was using it with vigor. “Dr. Ramsay, may I introduce you to Miss Helena Phillips?” She waggled her fan in their direction. “And likewise. Oh this heat.”
Helena curtsied to the handsomest man in the world.
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