by Leda Swann
It was gallant of him, she supposed, but hardly necessary. “I am quite used to walking home by myself.” His company was far more dangerous to her than anyone she could meet on the streets.
“Do you treat all your suitors in such a cavalier fashion? Tut, tut, Beatrice, that is no way to catch a man. We men like to think of you women as hothouse flowers, unable to survive without our protection.”
“Then you men are fools.”
“That is harsh.”
“A man should understand a woman’s strengths as well as her weaknesses. And he should prize her all the more for them.”
“I prize you for your compassion and your forthrightness.”
She unbent so far as to place her hand in the crook of his elbow. “Thank you.”
“And for your skill with your hands, too. I swear my arm feels much better since you rubbed the ointment into it this morning.”
“I am glad of it.”
“And for your honesty.”
That was slightly unexpected. “Thank you again.”
“For your honesty which will compel you to admit that, yes, indeed, you would love to accompany me to the London Pavilion music hall this evening.”
She stopped walking and stared at him. “You have bought tickets to the London Pavilion?” She had wanted to go and see the new music hall for weeks now, but such indulgences did not come cheaply and her salary was not extravagant.
“You work so hard, I thought you might appreciate an evening out. We can dine there while we watch the show.”
“Just the two of us?” It would hardly be proper, not when she had still to give Dr. Hyde an answer to his proposal, but how she would love to go.
“You do want to go, don’t you?”
“I would love to see the London Pavilion.” She could not possibly pretend indifference to such an offer. If she could not be a nurse, she would love to be a singer in a music hall. What a life they had—to hold an audience in the palm of their hand as they crooned a beautiful love song, or danced their way through a sparkling comedy. It must feel almost as good as healing the sick, for they, too, healed people in their own way. They healed people by making them laugh, by taking them out of their gray lives for just a few hours and showing them fun and happiness. He had hit upon the one offer that she could not resist.
“Then it is settled. I will wait in Mrs. Bettina’s parlor while you change out of your uniform, and then we can take a hansom cab to the West End.”
Dr. Hyde had never taken her to a music hall, she thought rather morosely, as she stripped off her nurse’s uniform and gave herself a hurried wash in a basin. He had never offered, and she would never ask him—that was not the sort of relationship they shared. If she were eventually to marry him, she might never go to a music hall again. Which made her all the more determined to enjoy the show with the captain this evening.
She riffled through her wardrobe, hastily picking out her favorite dress. Pale green silk, with more frills and ruffles than she usually wore; it had been a gift from her sister, Louisa, who had insisted on buying it for her on her last visit home. She had not worn it before—it was too good for everyday use. But for a visit to the London Pavilion, to eat a fine dinner and watch a show, it was perfect.
She dressed as quickly as she could. It felt strange to think that Captain Carterton was sitting in the parlor just downstairs while she was walking around upstairs in her underclothes. The thought made her nipples grow hard, as if she had just washed in cold water. It really didn’t seem at all proper, but Mrs. Bettina hadn’t seemed at all worried by the idea so it must not be too shocking.
She glanced at herself in the mirror. The dress was perfect, but she couldn’t go out with her hair looking the way it did. She pulled the hairpins out of her bun and shook her hair down over her shoulders. Ah, it felt good to get the weight of it off the back of her neck for a few moments. There wasn’t time to give it the fifty strokes with the brush it needed to make it shine, but no matter. She tied it up into a loose bun and repinned it carefully.
One last look in the mirror. Yes, she was ready.
Captain Carterton had hailed a hansom cab, and it was waiting outside for them. She climbed into it with a growing sense of excitement. The London Pavilion had recently been given a facelift and fitted out with marble columns in the entryway. It looked fabulous from the outside—she could only imagine what the inside would be like. And the show itself promised to be a fine one. The famous tenor Señor Fratelli himself was singing. She had wanted to hear him forever.
Captain Carterton climbed in beside her and called for the driver to be off.
The drive through the quiet streets was mercifully short. The hansom cab was too small for Beatrice to feel comfortable in, not with the captain sitting next to her with his shoulders touching hers and his legs pressed against her own from thigh to ankle. She tried to move further into the corner to put some distance between them, but there was no space to maneuver. In the end, she sat back on the seat and tried to ignore the feelings that his touch ignited deep in her stomach. She was off to see a show at the London Pavilion and nothing could put a dent in the happy bubble of her mood.
The façade of the building was as grand as anything could be. Tall columns of marble stretched up toward the sky, framing a grand entranceway that had to be three or four times her height. Captain Carterton escorted her inside, where they were seated at a table close to the stage.
“We have the best seats in the house,” she sighed happily, as she gave her coat to the hovering attendant.
“Nothing but the best for my Beatrice,” he murmured, pulling out the chair for her so she could sit down.
The table top was made of marble, and cool to the touch. She leaned her elbows on it and looked at the stage. It was still empty and covered with a thick red curtain, but she could sense the excitement building up behind the scenes. She could feel the same excitement buzzing in the pit of her stomach.
The attendant was back again in a moment. “What would you care for dinner?”
Beatrice could summon little interest in food. “I don’t know. Whatever.”
With an easy smile at her distractedness, Captain Carterton took over and ordered for both of them, checking with her that his choices were satisfactory.
She sat staring at the curtain, tapping her fingers on the table and every so often glancing to the sides of the curtain to see if she could make out any movement.
“Have patience.” He got out his fob watch and showed her the time. “They will not begin for another quarter of an hour or more.”
“I have never been a patient person,” she confessed. “When I see something I want, I want it now. Without having to wait.”
He looked meaningfully at her. “Then we are alike, you and I. For I, too, have little patience when it comes to getting what I want.”
She could not mistake his meaning. It was as clear as the light from the scores of gas lamps that lit up the whole pavilion. He wanted her, and he intended to have her.
She blushed under his scrutiny, not knowing what to say. The attendant bringing out a plateful of oysters for both of them saved her from having to make any reply.
She tucked into them with gusto, wiping her fingers on her napkin. Captain Carterton must have a reasonable income stashed away to afford to take her out to dinner in a place such as this. And he was kind, too. Maybe he would not make such a bad husband after all.
She squelched that thought quickly. After witnessing her sister Emily’s disastrous marriage to a man she barely knew, she had vowed never to make the same mistake. She would not marry anyone until she was quite sure they were utterly respectable, and had no dark secrets they were hiding. Falling in love with a stranger may sound appealing, but she had seen firsthand the results. No, love at first sight was not for her.
Dr. Hyde, she knew, was a good man, who would not beat his wife or be cruel to his children. Charming companion though he was, she was a good deal less sure of the
captain’s temperament.
The plate littered in empty oyster shells had just been removed when a man appeared between the curtains. He swept off his hat and gave a low bow to a smattering of applause. “Ladies and gentlemen, it is my honor to present to you this evening, as the first act in our incomparable show, the esteemed, the enviable, the utterly enchanting, Miss Kitty Feathers.”
Another round of applause, louder this time, as a woman dressed for all the world as a man in tails and spats, strutted on to the stage twirling a cane in her hand.
Beatrice drew a deep breath. Miss Kitty Feathers was a male impersonator. She’d never seen one before, not a good one—only a silly girl who’d wiggled her hips in a suit and looked nothing like a man at all. Miss Kitty was something else altogether. She walked just like a man, and her singing voice was deeper than a woman’s usually was. If it hadn’t been for the obvious femininity of her face, Beatrice would’ve sworn she was looking at a man on the stage.
The male impersonator was followed by a man at the piano who sang a pair of catchy ballads, and then by a troupe of dancing girls.
So intent was she on watching the show that she hardly noticed the food that was put in front of her. She ate distractedly, barely taking her eyes off the stage.
The man at the piano sang a comic song, and Captain Carterton laughed uproariously at his risqué jokes. He was enjoying himself as much as she was. She relaxed into her chair a little more, glad that he wasn’t sitting there stiff and unamused, as Dr. Hyde no doubt would have been.
It was a pity Dr. Hyde was such a stuffed shirt. Going to the music hall was so much more fun than listening to a dreary brass band play horrid marching songs on a dull day in the park.
By the time Señor Fratelli came out to sing, she had laughed so hard and clapped so hard she had little more in her to give. But the music hall had one last thrill to give her. His singing was so beautiful it brought tears to her eyes.
Cutting through the enraptured applause that followed his act, came the finale for the evening—“Land of Hope and Glory.” She sang along with the rest of the audience, Captain Carterton’s fine baritone in her ear.
Surreptitiously she wiped the tears away from her eyes. The London Pavilion had lived up to its reputation, and given her a night to remember.
It was with a sense of regret she accepted her coat back from the attendant.
Their hansom cab was waiting for them a little way down the road as the captain had requested. She took hold of his arm, huddling close to him for protection from the biting wind that had sprung up. “Thank you for taking me to the music hall. I loved every minute of it.”
“It was my pleasure. I enjoyed myself even more watching your pleasure.” He sounded as though he really meant it.
He handed her into the hansom cab and climbed in after her. The streets were dark now, with only the light of the gas lamps to show where they were going. The driver cracked the whip and set his horses off smartly.
In the darkness he moved closer to her and put one arm around her shoulder. “Captain Carterton,” she protested under her breath so the driver would not hear. “That is hardly proper.”
“It is dark. No one can see us. And don’t I deserve a kiss for taking you to the music hall tonight?”
His breath was hot on her neck. If she were to turn her head just a little to the side, she could kiss him and find out just how good he tasted.
He brushed his fingers gently over her cheek. “Do you want me to kiss you?”
“Not at all,” she lied.
“Beatrice, Beatrice. Didn’t I say earlier today that your honesty was one of the things I loved most about you? And then for you to tell such a monstrous fib as that…” He let his voice tail off into a note of ineffable sadness.
She giggled just a little, the happiness at such a wonderful evening having gone to her head. “You are terribly sure of yourself.”
She could feel his answering smile in the darkness. “I’m told it’s one of my best qualities.”
“But I don’t really want you to kiss me. It would not be wise.” She hated having to be wise all the time.
“I can understand your feelings on the matter. I know how difficult you find it to control yourself when you are around me. I can understand you would not want to embarrass yourself.”
“Do not misunderstand me.” She crossed her arms over her chest defiantly. “That is not the reason at all.”
“You mean you are confident you will be able to keep a lid on your passion? Even if I were to lean over and touch my lips to yours?”
“Of course I can.”
“Excellent. Then I see no reason not to kiss you.”
He pulled her close to him and kissed her gently. The motion of the hansom cab made judging distances difficult, and he bumped his nose against hers. “Damn cobblestones,” he growled. “They were designed by old Puritans who never tried to kiss their sweethearts in a light carriage.”
He solved the problem by pulling her onto his lap, where she sprawled, half sitting, half lying on top of him. “Much better,” he murmured, wrapping his arms around her. “Now I can kiss you without worrying I will accidentally break your nose.”
She opened her mouth to protest against the indignity of being plastered against him in the cab, and he took advantage of the opportunity to claim her lips with his own.
Laudanum—that was what he was to her good sense. One taste of him and she forgot all her principles, all her morals. She was no better than an opium addict, a poor soul who would never be cured of her cravings. A single taste of him was all it took to send desire flowing through her body so strongly she could not resist it.
She opened her mouth to his, letting him taste her. What did she care that the hansom cab driver was sitting up behind them on his seat? His eyes ought to be on the road, steering them past the hazards of the London streets, not on what his passengers were doing. And even if he could see them in the gloom, what did she care? No doubt he had seen many a worse things in his travels over the streets.
The captain was not content with plundering her mouth. His hands stroked her thighs and then tugged up her skirts until her boots and stockings were exposed.
They passed a group of revelers on the corner who hooted and catcalled at the glimpse she afforded them of her stockinged legs through the quickly fogging window of the carriage, but the hansom quickly passed them by.
He kept on kissing her while his hands crept up her thighs, making their way unerringly to the slit in her drawers. His fingers had felt so good on her pussy when he had kissed her in the hospital that she had no will to stop him from touching her there again.
Her whole body quivered as his hands brushed over her curls. When he parted her folds and slipped one finger inside her, she thought she would faint with the pleasure.
Dr. Hyde had never touched her in this way. She couldn’t imagine him fondling her in such a public place. She couldn’t even imagine him fondling her like this in the privacy of their marital bedroom. A quick fumble under her nightgown, maybe. That would be all the pleasure she’d get from such a dry stick.
Just then the hansom cab pulled up outside the boardinghouse where she lived. She tried to push him away and sit up, but he wouldn’t let her. “Drive on,” he called to the driver. “Take us to St. James’s Park.”
“But…”
He hushed her with his mouth against hers. “I haven’t tasted nearly enough of you. In the quietness and seclusion of the park we can snatch a few more moments of privacy so you and I can get to know each other better.”
To tell the truth, she didn’t want him to take his finger out of her pussy quite yet. She would agree to anything he suggested as long as he continued to stroke her into oblivion.
The park was dark and deserted, just as Captain Carterton had hoped. The driver pulled up and let the cab come to a stop. The captain scrabbled in his pocket for a couple of guineas and handed them up to the driver. “Take yourself off for a while
. I’ll call you when I want you to come back.”
The driver whistled between his teeth as he took the money. “Sure thing, guv,” he said, as he clambered down from the box and headed off into the darkness.
The captain watched him as he wandered out of sight behind some trees.
Perfect. They were alone now, and he could get on with his task of seducing Beatrice into his arms. It was a pity he hadn’t ordered a larger, hackney cab, rather than the smaller, two-wheeled hansom cab. There wasn’t enough room in the hansom to fuck her properly, and the wind was too cold to make lying on the grass a very pleasant prospect.
Next time he took her out, he would order a hackney cab and then make love to her under cover while the driver took them around the streets of London.
For now, he would have to improvise.
“There, now we are all alone,” he whispered. It wasn’t quite true—he could see the eyes of the hansom cab driver glinting in the trees not far away. He was standing in the shadows, watching them, but Captain Carterton didn’t care. The driver could watch all he wanted, but no man but he was going to touch Beatrice’s body. Knowing he had an audience just made him all the more determined not to fail in getting her where he wanted her to be.
His finger was still in her pussy. She was wet, too, and getting wetter. Slowly he withdrew it a little way and then pushed back into her. “Mmmm,” he murmured into her ear. “That feels so good. Do you like it, too? Do you like knowing my finger is inside you? Do you like being fucked by my finger?”
Her cunt had a virgin’s tightness and he had to push hard to get his finger more deeply inside her. Her muscles clenched around him in protest at the invasion. She gasped a little as he thrust harder and wriggled her hips against him. “Yes, I like it.”
He withdrew his finger all the way then, and teased the little nub at the top of her pussy. It was as hard as a pebble, and she moaned as he flicked it. “Or do you want me to stop?” He had no intention of stopping for long, but he would at least give her the illusion of choice.
