It being Sunday, Louisa was in church, doing her best to tune out Pastor Woodbridge’s sermon on morality. Having hidden Memoirs of a Woman of Pleasure in her prayer book, she had far more interest in what was transpiring between Fanny Hill and her numerous patrons, friends, and lovers than anything the curate had to say. Attentiveness, moreover, would only promote feelings of guilt. And why invite shame when she had not the least intention of repenting?
As the minister droned on about chastity and virtue, Louisa returned to her reading:
I, struggling faintly, could not help feeling what I could not grasp, a column of the whitest ivory, beautifully streaked with blue veins, and carrying, fully un-capt, a head of the liveliest vermilion: no horn could be harder or stiffer; yet no velvet more smooth or delicious to the touch…
Louisa tried to imagine what the author described, but could not quite draw the mental picture. From a few pews behind, she could feel Theo’s eyes burning a hole in the back of her bonnet. Much as she longed to turn around, she did not dare with her father so near. Over breakfast, Papa gave her permission to spend the rest of the day at Greystone Hall with Miss Raynalds, and Louisa was not about to tempt fate (any more, that was to say, than bringing his stolen book with her to church). For now that she knew what ecstasies a man could arouse in a woman, she could hardly wait to be alone with her secret suitor again.
Might she persuade him to reveal the object she could not envision?
When at last the service drew to a close, Louisa clutched her book to her bosom and exited the church with her family. Tingling with anticipation, she waited for Theo’s party to emerge. When, at length, they appeared, she endeavored to catch the Captain’s eye.
The moment he saw her, he tipped his hat and came over. “Good morning, Miss Bennet. How well you look this fine day. And what a becoming frock that is.”
The dress remarked upon was one of her favorites. Tea-green silk with a high waist and puffed sleeves, the gown had a wide band of rusching around the hemline.
She lowered her gaze to his trousers, which displayed very clearly the shape of his manhood. “Thank you for the compliment, Captain.”
“Did you enjoy the sermon?”
“I might have…had I paid the least attention to it.”
Mirth twinkled in his sea-blue eyes. “Did you not?”
She leaned closer, her thoughts still on his penis. “Can I trust you with a secret?”
“Of course.”
“I was reading.”
He laughed robustly. “Why Miss Bennet, you shock me. Reading novels in church? What is one to think?”
Her face burned like a struck match as she hugged Memoirs to her bosom. She was sorry now she’d confessed her secret to him.
One eyebrow shot up as his gaze landed on the book. “Is that the offender there?”
“Y-yes.”
“May I see it?”
She held the book tighter. “No.”
Just then, to Louisa’s tremendous relief, his sister joined them. “Dear Miss Bennet. How delighted I am to see you looking so well! And what a pretty dress that is. My brother tells me you are coming home with us this morning. Is he telling the truth?”
Louisa flicked a questioning glance toward Theo. “Did he also tell you the reason?”
“He did,” the Captain replied.
Worried about his sister’s good opinion, Louisa turned back to Miss Raynalds. “I hope you do not think less of me as a consequence.”
“On the contrary, I could not be more delighted.” With a wink, Miss Raynalds added, “Did I not tell you he would come around?”
Louisa blushed and looked away just in time to see two bay hackneys pulling an open landau toward the church. The driver wore the livery of Greystone Hall.
When the conveyance stopped before them, she turned back to the Raynaldses in time to hear the Captain ask his sister to locate Lt. Churchill.
As soon as the girl set off on her errand, Theo opened the carriage door. “We will drop Winnie and Churchill at Greystone before setting off on our own. Do you have any notion where we might go?”
“I thought we might visit the ruins of Buildwas Abbey.”
He grinned at her in a deliciously salacious manner. “An Abbey. How fitting. It being Sunday and all. But must we conduct ourselves piously while touring the ruins?”
She returned his smile with lust in her heart. “Certainly not.”
He laughed and helped her into the landau, taking the forward-facing seat on the right-hand side. She took the one across, as was proper, for only fallen women sat on the left side of a gentleman in a carriage.
A troubling thought struck Louisa as she straightened her skirts. Was she, in fact, a wanton? She strongly suspected she was, given her improper desires. Young ladies of good breeding were not supposed to entertain such feelings. Fortunately, the Captain seemed unaware of her passion for him (or her preoccupation with his “weapon of pleasure”), so her reputation was still safe.
That would change in an instant, however, if they were spotted out together unchaperoned.
“Perhaps we ought to put the top up before we set off,” she suggested.
“I shall when we reach Greystone,” he said, “though it seems a shame to waste such a beautiful day shut up in the carriage.”
It was indeed a beautiful day. Clear and sunny with a slight cool breeze, on which she detected the scents of wildflowers and freshly cut grass.
Theo said, “Tell me more about this Abbey you wish to visit. Is it far?”
“The ruin is near Ironbridge, which is just over five miles away,” she told him. “Although Wenlock Priory is closer, the likelihood of us being seen together is much higher there.”
They dropped the subject when the rest of their party appeared. After helping Miss Raynalds into the carriage, Lt. Churchill took the seat next to his friend while the young lady claimed the spot beside Louisa.
When they reached the manor, Theo invited Louisa to take her ease while the servants readied the landau for their outing. After enjoying a cup of tea and a slice of honey cake, she followed him outside to the now-covered carriage. He asked her to tell Mr. Bell, his driver, which way to go before helping her in through the right-hand door. Following her with some effort, he claimed the seat beside her.
The carriage lurched as they set off in the direction of the main road. As they bounced along, he scooted closer and set his hand atop hers. The thrill of his touch, even through their gloves, sent a shiver of longing through her. She hoped he would sweep her into his arms and kiss her with passion, but he only asked her to tell him more about the Abbey.
Having grown up in Much Wenlock, she knew quite a bit about the area’s ruins. “What do you wish to know?”
“Well, for starters, which order established it?—and in what year?”
“The French Congregation of Savigny, a hermetic order found on the ideals of St. Benedict, established the monastery in the twelfth century.”
“And it fell into ruin, I suppose, during the Reformation.”
“You suppose correctly.”
He smiled at her and her heart beat faster. “Your interest in the history of the area does you credit.”
His compliment pleased her, but not half as much as the kiss he gave her. Though it was no more than a peck on the lips, she was elated.
“I have wanted to do that since I first spied you in church.”
She batted her eyes at him. “And I have wanted you to kiss me even longer than that.”
“Then allow me to do it in a manner more worthy of our patience.”
Pulling her to him, he devoured her mouth in a way that liquefied her bones. As their tongues enmeshed, he reached into her bodice, withdrew her right breast, and ran his fingertips lightly over the nipple. Instead of protesting as any proper young lady would have done, she delighted in the erogenous tingles his intimate touch produced in her.
Breaking from the kiss, he cupped her breast and moved his mouth toward it. She gasped when he closed his lips around the astoundingly sensitive tip. His mouth was hot and his tongue incredibly soft. As he flicked the tip against her nipple, her sex spasmed delectably.
When he began to suckle, she grew drunk on the thick, sweet port of sensual pleasure. All the while, her fingers burned to explore the enigma between his legs; to feel its smooth texture, bulging veins, and vermillion head. Would she find it wilted or rigid? Lord, what she would give to know.
She moved her hand down the front of his waistcoat. Her heart fluttered as she neared her target. When her fingers brushed the bulge in his trousers, he made a sound that was half-sigh and half-groan.
Releasing her breast with a pop, he cocked his head and looked at her. “What are you doing?”
Her face caught fire. “Is that not obvious?”
“Indeed it is, though I daresay your motives are less so.”
“I have no motives.”
“Then I strongly suggest you refrain from touching me again the way you just did.”
She regarded him narrowly as she tucked her breast back into her bodice. “Then I suggest you refrain from touching me again the way you just did.” With a coy smile, she added, “Even if I did enjoy it immensely.”
At that, they both laughed, easing the tension some.
As the carriage approached the bridge spanning the River Severn, she slid toward the window. “Did you know this is the first cast-iron bridge ever built?”
He leaned over her to look out. “I did not.”
“Well, it is—and was forged nearby at Coalbrookdale, the first foundry in the world to smelt iron. They also make cookware and very fine gates.”
They talked on about foundries and mining—safe-albeit-dull topics—until the carriage stopped before the ruins. Once they disembarked, she took his offered arm and walked with him along the open-air nave.
As they walked, she asked about his upbringing. “Were you fond of your parents?”
“I was fond of my mother,” he said revealingly.
She looked up at him with one eyebrow arched. “Not your father?”
“I cannot tell you how many nights I slept on the floor outside my mother’s room to keep her safe.” He paused to lick his lips. “I know it sounds terrible—and probably makes me an unfeeling ingrate—but I was not the least bit sorry when I received word of his death.”
She squeezed his arm. “I do not think what you felt makes you an ingrate. For I shall shed no tears for my father, either.”
Theo stopped walking. “Does he ill-use you, Louisa?”
“He does,” she said, turning from him in shame. “Not only by beating me, but also by treating me like an object to be bartered rather than a human being. For I am sure that if he cared at all about my happiness, he would not make me marry my cousin.”
Theo moved in front of her and clasped her arms. “How often does he beat you?”
“Quite often.” She pushed the words past the lump in her throat. “For he has a terrible temper, you see. Sometimes, as awful as it sounds, I wonder if he derives a perverse kind of pleasure from birching us all.” She took a breath and forced herself to smile. “But let us not speak of such dreary topics, for it will only ruin my good mood.”
“I admire your resiliency,” he said as they began to stroll again.
As they stepped into the chapterhouse, she asked how he became his sister’s guardian.
“My mother died while I was away fighting,” he somberly replied. “The letter our pastor wrote to inform me of her passing took several months to reach my ship and, by the time I was able to return to Portsmouth to make provisions for Winnie, she was nowhere to be found. After weeks of searching, I located her in an orphanage, so thin and pale I scarcely recognized the poor creature.”
“How dreadful that must have been.” Louisa’s heart ached for him and his sister. “What did you do?”
“I pulled her out of that awful place and put her in the finest finishing school my newfound fortune could buy.”
Louisa, more impressed with him by the minute, now understood why his sister had the poise of a lady instead of the rough manners of an urchin.
“Do you have any siblings other than Winnie?”
“I did, but none survived childhood.”
As the Captain examined the intricate arches of the ceiling, she said, “My cousin would not inherit if I or one of my sisters had a son while my father yet lives.”
“But only if the child is born in wedlock. Is that not the case?”
“Yes, though, by law, Papa cannot disinherit his grandson, even if he disapproves of his father.”
After a period of silence, Theo said rather sternly, “Do not make the mistake of believing I misunderstand your reasons for telling me this. But know this, Louisa: if and when we wed, it will not be to produce a child to supplant your cousin as your father’s heir. It will be because we love, trust, and respect each other.”
Fisting her hands in frustration, she cried, “I am only trying to find a way to be happy—and all you want to do is impede me.”
He looked at her for a long moment before saying, in a gentler tone than before, “Forgive me, but I must speak plainly. It is not my intent to crush your hopes and dreams; it is just that…” He shifted his gaze to the decorative patch of tiles on the floor. “It is just that…well, I feel as if you are pressuring me when you speak of marriage and children. And, in turn, my distrust of your motives increases. I have come to care for you—more ardently perhaps than I am ready to declare—but I will not propose until I am absolutely certain your heart is true. And your attempts to pressure me will delay that end, not hasten it.”
Though his words cut her, she knew he was right. His reasons for being cautious were understandable and prudent, while her impatience to marry was born of rashness and fear. If she was not more careful, she would kill his growing affection for her—and her only chance at happiness in the process.
“I perfectly comprehend you,” she said, seething with indignity. “And vow to say no more on the subject of marriage in future. But first, I must know what you intend to do if I am forced to wed my cousin before you have gained sufficient confidence in me to do the job yourself?”
“We will cross that bridge when we come to it—and not a moment sooner. Now, have I made my feelings clear?”
Rather than answer, she picked up her skirts and took off in the direction of the river.
* * * *
Theo burned with shame as he watched Louisa sprint across the lawn toward a thicket of trees. Her bonnet had come off and her hair had come loose, making her appear more like a young girl running wild than a woman fleeing the man who had disappointed her hopes once again—all because he could not lay to rest the ghosts of his past.
He had tried. God knew he had. But the fear was still there, gnawing on his innards like maggots. Because of it, he never undressed except to bathe. Even with the whores he paid from time to time to satisfy his needs, he kept on his drawers and stockings.
How, then, would he ever find the courage to bare himself to Louisa? The mere idea of it filled his heart with terror. For if he saw in her eyes the disdain he’d seen in Edwina’s, he was sure he would die. And yet, until he mustered the courage to do so, he would never trust her enough to offer marriage.
The thought twisted in his gut like a French bayonet. Clearly, he was not yet comfortable with the idea of eloping. Yet, if he delayed, he might lose her to a man who would mistreat her. And that, he could not allow. In fact, the very idea of her cousin having command over her made his chest so tight he found it hard to breathe. Did he really want to let the most wonderful woman in the world slip through his fingers because of a few lingering doubts?
Absolutely not. Only an idiot would do anything so imprudent. And he flattered himself he was not such a one.
Resolving to face his fears, he hobbled after her. When he reached the grove, he found a sheltered meadow beyond. Louisa was sitting in the middle of the clearing, looking out toward the river. The sun brought out the copper highlights in her hair, which the breeze was blowing every which way.
As he watched her, regret bubbled up from his depths. If he’d made her cry, he would never forgive himself. He limped up behind her, doffed his jacket, and, with the help of his cane, lowered himself to the ground beside her.
“If I gave you the impression my reservations have to do with some lack in you, I sincerely apologize,” he said in a gentle voice. “For that is hardly the case.”
When she turned to him, he saw the tracks of her tears glistening in the sunlight. “Then, what is the reason?”
He licked his lips and pulled on a blade of grass. “I am reluctant to say.”
“If it is because you believe I am being false to you, you are mistaken.”
Her words, though welcome, would never convince him. “I want to believe you—truly I do—but risking my heart again is not a simple matter.”
She set her head against his shoulder. “I am not the girl who jilted you…in case you have failed to notice.”
He looked out toward the river, barely visible through the screen of trees. Through their leaves and branches, he could just make out the movement of barges and boats. “While I have indeed noticed, I am still loath to trust you.”
“Happiness will elude us both until you do.”
He set his head against hers. “I am beginning to realize that.”
The storm had passed, thank the Lord, and they were at ease in each other’s company again. He gazed down at her, struck by how lovely she looked with her hair hanging rather wildly around her face. If he married her, she would look that way every morning when she awoke beside him in bed. It was an alluring idea, made even more so by the prospect of being free to make love to her as often as he could prevail upon her to agree.
Provided, of course, she did not run screaming at the gruesome spectacle of his amputation scars.
They both gazed at the river for several minutes before she asked, “Do you want to take me home?”
He turned to her with a lump in his throat. “No, I want to show you…well, that is to say, there is something I feel you must see…before I can put my heart unreservedly in your hands.”
Louisa fixed him with unquiet eyes. “I do not understand. What could be so important that I must see it before you can trust me?”
“My war wound, Louisa,” he said, his mouth suddenly parched. “For I shall never be easy until you have seen what I fear will kill dead any desire you might feel for me at present.”
Her eyebrows drew together. “Do you really suppose me as shallow as that?”
“Please try to understand,” he implored. “It is not that I think you shallow by any means; it is that I believe myself to be repulsive and my judgement unreliable where women are concerned.”
“Oh, Theo,” she cried. “How it breaks my heart to hear you speak so unkindly of yourself. For I see you in such a different light. And if showing me your wound will help you to see yourself as I do, I will gladly gaze upon it—though I am certain it will have no effect whatsoever on my desire for you.”
He breathed through his fear, determined to carry on. “Showing you will require the removal of my trousers.”
A light came into her eyes he could not interpret. “Are you sure this is not merely a ploy to show me your…weapon?”
“My weapon?” He blinked, thinking she meant his cutlass, which he’d not brought along.
“Yes. Your weapon of pleasure. Your pillar of whitest ivory. Your red-headed champion.”
Understanding dawned in concert with a shockwave of disbelief. Where in the name of all that was holy had she learned such empurpled terms for the penis? “Louisa…I’m…I’m at a loss for words.”
“Have I shocked you speechless?”
She seemed more pleased than ashamed. “A bit, yes.”
“Then I will no doubt scandalize you further when I tell you I wish to see it very much.”
He looked at her agog. “Would you? Why?”
“Because I should like to see that strange and miraculous part of the male anatomy in the flesh,” she said. “And you are the only man I can ask to show it to me.”
He cleared his throat and licked his lips. “I had thought to show you my war wound, not my…er, what was it you called it?”
“Your weapon of pleasure.”
He swallowed hard. “Right. That.”
“Do you not want to show it to me?”
“It’s not that so much as…”
Her bold green eyes bored into his bashful blue ones. “Pray, continue. It’s not that so much as what?”
“I do not expect you to feel the least desire to…well, to be honest, the least desire at all…once you’ve beheld what remains of my leg.”
“I know what you expect, you silly man,” she said curtly. “But you will never know how I truly feel until I see for myself. So, kindly stop nattering on about how you fear I will react and take down your bloody trousers already.”
Theo did not know whether to be amused or offended, so he merely lay back on the lawn and fumbled with the buttons on his drop-front panel. Before he got very far, an anchor of doubt dropped on his chest. He let his hands fall away from his task and turned away from her. “Now that the moment of truth is at hand, I do not think I can go through with it.”
“Then let me,” she offered and took over the task of undressing him.
* * * *
Though Louisa mildly resented Theo’s lack of faith in her, she was determined to pass this test with flying colors. Every nerve in her body tingled as she devoted herself to the task of unbuttoning his trousers. When she finished, she left him covered and walked around to his feet to remove his boots. With considerable effort, she pulled off one, then the other.
Now for the main event…
She seized the legs of his trousers and, as she pulled them off, she met his gaze across the length of his body. “However I might react, I swear to you my desire for you is not only genuine, but considerable as well.”
He blinked and perhaps colored a little, but made no verbal response.
The stab of shock she expected did not come. Despite the warmth of the day, he wore knee-length linen drawers and woolen stockings.
As relieved as she was disappointed, she asked, “Pray, what should I do next?”
He sat up and peeled off the stocking covering his prosthesis. The part she could see consisted of two pieces of wood carved to resemble a calf and foot connected by a ball at the ankle joint. Nothing about it repulsed her in the least.
Next, he loosened the casing at the base of his drawers and drew the linen up as high as it would go. This revealed to her the top of his false leg and a portion of his bare thigh, which was covered in golden down. The severed end was encased within a leather sleeve that laced up in the manner of a corset. The sleeve connected to a ball that acted as his knee.
As he began to untie the laces, he flicked a glance at her. “I caution you, what you are about to see is far from pretty.”
“I should like to see it all the same…if for no other reason than to prove you wrong.”
“Wrong about what, pray?”
“Both of us. For I believe we are each worthier than you are inclined to believe.”
He said nothing as he continued to work and, when the false leg was off, he set it aside. There was a sock of sorts covering the end of what remained of his right leg. As she knelt beside him, she felt afraid. What if it was more terrible than she imagined? What if she swooned at the sight? While she might be able to disguise revulsion, she could hardly hide fainting away.
Heart pounding, she braced herself for the worst as he pulled off the sock. To her horror, she expelled a laugh born of nerves and relief.
“Do you find something amusing?” He sounded hurt—the last thing she wanted.
“On the contrary,” she told him. “I find what I behold quite…unobjectionable.”
She spoke in all honesty. The sizeable patch of milky scar tissue was somewhat unsightly, but hardly what she’d call repulsive. To prove to him how unbothered she truly was, she lowered her face to his thigh and pressed a kiss to his disfigured flesh. Lifting her gaze, she cocked her head and looked at him, sure she saw gratitude and awe in his fine blue eyes.
“You see, it is just as I said. You are just as desirable to me now as you were before I removed your trousers.”
Relief stole across his features and slowly dawned into joy. “Then come here and prove it to me.”
Without hesitation, she came down beside him. Meeting Theo had opened a hidden door somewhere inside her. A portal through which all the yearnings forbidden to respectable young ladies crept in. And now, they were wreaking havoc with her formerly steadfast sense of propriety. Or maybe it was the devastating prospect of marrying Charles that had brought the change about. Either way, she liked the new, daring Louisa much better than the old, downtrodden one.
She waited for Theo to make the first move, but, to her vexation, he just lay there, doing nothing. Then, he let out a laugh, giving her a mild start. “You will have to come to me, darling. For I am rather like a turtle on its back at present.”
“Would you like me to help you put your prosthesis back on?”
“I would,” he said. “But first, give me a kiss.”
She moved over him and brought her mouth to his. He locked his arms around her and held her so tightly against him, she could feel the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed. Parting her lips, she swiped her tongue against his.
As the kiss intensified, he set a hand atop the one of hers on his chest. Slowly, he guided it downward. Shivers of excitement swam through her. Not only was he going to show her his “weapon of pleasure,” he was going to let her play with it!
He directed her hand through the opening of his smallclothes and pressed her fingers against the object of her fascination. It was indeed as hard as horn and yet velvety smooth. Her heart beat faster as she explored with near-scientific interest. When she found the knob of flesh at the top, she teased it with feather-light strokes.
He groaned and arched his back, driving the tip against her fingers. His reaction surprised her, for she had almost forgotten there was a man attached to the curious creature in her hand.
“Do you like what I’m doing?”
“Mmm.”
She glided her fingers down the underside of his erection. It did indeed sprout from a nest of hair. But golden rather than black.
She located the queer little pouch containing his testicles. It was cool-yet-clammy and soft. She had, of course, seen the same on dogs and horses, but had never quite believed human males actually carried a pair between their legs. Then, amazed by her own courage, she moved back up a little and gripped his penis firmly round the middle. When he groaned and thrust into her grasp, desire fluttered low in her womb.
As she began to stroke, she felt his hand come under her skirts. His fingers brushed her stocking and garter before finding the naked flesh of her thigh. This time, as he inched his way toward her sex, she raised no objection.
Apparently, her silence was not consent enough because he paused inches away from his objective. “Is this all right?”
“Of course,” she said. “For what is good for the gander is also good for the goose, is it not?”
He laughed softly as his fingers stroked her maidenhair. When they burrowed inward, she released a shuddering sigh. He went straight for the spot she’d discovered last night. Clearly, he knew his way around the female anatomy—a fact that inspired in her more jealousy than pleasure. Unlike a man’s, the source of a woman’s pleasure was hidden and mysterious. Knowing where things were and what to do could only come from practice.
A great deal of practice.
Not that his experience should come as any great surprise. He was in the Navy, after all. He’d traveled the world and probably had lovers in every port. Surely, she had no expectations of being his first.
Determined to please him at least as much as the women he’d been with hitherto, she pumped his manhood more purposefully. His breathing grew ragged and he shuddered periodically, but (God bless him) his finger never ceased circling that thrilling little nerve-center between her legs.
Just as she reached her moment of crisis, he had a fit of sorts. His back arched, his body shook, and his member pulsed in her hand. Then, something warm and viscous flowed over her fist.
Astonished, she let go. “Heaven and earth! What just happened?”
He looked at her strangely. “You drove me to raptures, darling. Was that not your intention?”
“I had no intention,” she said, ashamed of her ignorance. “I was only…exploring.”
He laughed. “Did you really not expect me to…spill myself?”
“Is that what you did?”
He laughed. “That is what happens when you touch a man the way you were touching me.”
She realized then what she’d done. Her caresses had brought on the “ecstatic gush” described in Memoirs of a Woman of Pleasure.
Embarrassed by her ignorance, she hid her face in the crevice between his chest and his arm. “Until now, I have only read about what a man’s body does in the throes of ecstasy.”
“Read about it?” He pushed up on his elbows. “Do not tell me such things are described in your romance novels. For, if that is true, I shudder to think to what vulgarities my sister’s innocent eyes have been exposed. And right under my nose, no less!”
She lifted her head to find him frowning at her. “Do not trouble yourself on that score. For amorous congress rarely occurs—let alone is described—in the romance novels your sister and I enjoy reading.”
He trained his gaze on her. “Then where did you come by your information?”
A blush scorched her cheeks. “Well, if you must know…I stumbled upon some books belonging to…my father.”
His eyes were stormy and full of suspicion. “And just where, pray, did you happen to stumble upon these volumes?”
Her face burned hotter as she looked away from his gaze. “In a locked secretaire in his library.”
“I knew you were too bold for your own good, but never did I dream you were capable of breaking into cupboards…or reading filthy books—in church, no less.” He shook his head and chuckled softly. “And, truth be told, I like you the more for your daring.”
“Good,” she said. “Because I do not intend to change…for you or any other man.”
He smiled at her. “I do not want you to change, you lusty wench. But I would very much like to know what you read.”
She dug Memoirs out of its hiding place in her corset and set it atop his waistcoat. “There. You can see for yourself what I’ve been reading.”
Taking up the book, he perused the blank red cover before opening to the frontispiece. As he read the title to himself, his lips compressed and his jaw muscles tensed.
“God in Heaven,” he said after perusing a few pages. “This book is banned in this country.”
“Is it? Why?”
He looked stupefied. “Because it is pornography, dearest.”
“Well I thought it rather amusing…as well as instructive.” She sat up and looked off toward the river. “Tell me something, Theo. Do you believe women feel the same passions as men?”
“I do,” he quickly replied. “Not as savagely perhaps, but certainly no less fervidly.”
“Why do men’s passions make savages of them when women’s do not?”
He released a small sigh. “Because women are more civilized creatures on the whole.”
Still gazing at the river, she asked, “Are you a man of savage passions?”
“I have passions, certainly…but I do not know how savage they are anymore.”
Pricked by jealousy, she turned to look at him. “Did you feel that kind of passion for the girl who broke your heart?”
He looked very grim as he said, “What I felt for her was more akin to blind worship than passion.”
Turning back to the river, she worried her lip as she gathered the courage to ask the question pressing upon her heart. When she felt brave enough to weather whichever answer he might give her, she asked, “And how do you feel about me?”
There was a frightfully long silence before he said, “More passionately than I’ve allowed myself to feel for some time.”