“Why not?” he asked, grinning. “Are you afraid that I will see what is inside?”
“No, it is mine, and it is private.”
“Do not tell me that it is a guide to poisoning your husband,” he joked, opening it to where she had placed her ribbon.
His hand almost flew to his mouth as he read the page.
“His fingers trembled as they brushed against her bare waist,” he read aloud. “She shuddered beneath him, pleading with him not to stop. He relished in it, before lowering his hand to her–”
“Stop! Please, do not do this. I told you, it is mine.”
“And it is quite a story,” he nodded, eyes scanning the page still. “Isthiswhat you and your friends discuss at that club of yours? It may be of interest to me after all, if that is the case.”
“It may or may not be. In any case, it is no business of yours.”
She reached out for the book, but he took advantage of her short stature and held it above her head, just out of her reach.
“Tell me the truth,” he asked.
“The irony of it,” she huffed, before sitting down in defeat.
“I wish to know,” he continued. “I do not wish to admonish you, but it is fascinating that this is what you ladies do when gentlemen are not looking.”
“You would not believe half of what we say and do,” she laughed nervously.
He sat beside her, looking at her with sincerity. He did not want her to think that he was disappointed. If anything, her taste intrigued him greatly. It seemed that she came to understand that, as she sighed and looked at the ceiling, she was not able to meet his eye.
“Yes, it is what we read,” she confessed. “We always have, though Theodora claims we are above it.”
“But why? You are an intelligent woman. Why do you not spend your time with the many books in the library about literature, or perhaps science? Why this, of all things?”
“Why do gentlemen frequent brothels when they have ladies at home?” she asked, half-accusingly. “It may not make sense, but it is what we do.”
“That is not a reason.”
“Then why do gentlemen do that?” she asked. “Surely there must be a reason for it?”
“It… it is for the adventure, I suppose. I cannot say for certain, for again it is not something that I have ever done, but from what I have heard, it is the thrill of someone new.”
He should not have been discussing the matter with her. It did not matter that she was his wife; it was an improper topic, and he never should have broached it.
And yet, with how she was sitting, he could not keep his eyes away from her cleavage, which rose and fell as she took her steady breaths. She was tempting, terribly so. What would she do if he spoke even more improperly? If he told her what he sought in a woman?
“And here we women remain, confined,” she sighed. “We have nowhere to go, nobody to see, and so we find our thrills in our books. Otherwise, we shall all be left feeling…”
Her voice trailed off, and if Spence was uncertain before, he was then positive that she had realized how improper their conversation was. He could tell then, by her blush, that she had not known another man, for if she had, she would not be so averse to discussing it with her own husband.
It only made him want her more.
“How does it leave you feeling?” he asked, moving closer to her.
“I should not say.”
“Whyever not? There is no shame in expressing your feelings to your husband, after all. You have wanted me to come home, and I can only assume it was to talk to me, if not for more spirited antics.”
She inhaled sharply at that, as though considering it, and he felt a slight thrill at the effect it had on her.
“It leaves us feeling unsatisfied,” she admitted. “We should be treasured, as my dear friend is by her husband, and yet we remain alone. When we have nothing else, we have words, and when I read them, I can– I should not say.”
