“What is the matter with you?” Beth demands, coming to stand a few feet away. Gwen doesn’t look up, just keeps pacing. “Has something happened with your father?”
“What? No,” Gwen says, shaking her head with only a dismissive glance Beth’s way.
“I’m sorry I had to spend time with Lord Montson. It’s—God, this is why we’re here. You can’t actually be mad at me. If you tried even at all you’d be swarming with suitors, and I wouldn’t be acting like you are,” Beth lets out, frustrated.
Something else creeps up her chest at the thought, but she pushes it away, channeling her anger and disappointment and sadness toward Gwen and her indifference.
“I don’t want this any more than you do, but I have to—I don’t have a choice, and Lord Montson’s not terrible. Gwen, please, I know we sort of made a pact, but I need him, whether I like it or not.”
“He’s not terrible,” Gwen admits, glancing up before turning back to the racks of wine bottles along the walls. “But he’s a dullard. You could do better.”
“How?” Beth exclaims. “If you can’t get one, how on earth am I supposed to?”
“Because you’re beautiful and bright and you can smile and curtsy and look like you mean it,” Gwen spits back.
“That’s—that’s hardly anything,” Beth says, watching in fascination and annoyance as Gwen finally faces her full on. “I’m lucky Lord Montson’s interested and I should—I should be grateful.”
Gwen’s look hardens. “You deserve a hell of a lot more than Lord Montson.”
“What do you want from me?” Beth demands, fisting her hands into her dress. “I’m not going to do better than him and I thought at least I’d have you while I had to accept that.”
“I want you—” Gwen says, breaking off with a hiss.
Something’s changed and Beth wishes she knew what it was. How they went from holding hands beneath the table to... this.
“Want me to what?” Beth insists. “What should I be doing better?”
“That’s not—” Gwen cuts herself off again, glaring at Beth.
“You’ve had three goes at this and you haven’t done it. What am I doing so wrong that you can judge me for it?” Beth demands. “How can you be jealous when you’re not trying?”
Gwen scowls and stalks forward. Beth stumbles back, surprised. Her hoop hits the stack of wine barrels. But Gwen doesn’t stop. She comes right up against her, their stiff corsets nudging together, skirts pushing to either side, breath mingling between them. Her hands bracket Beth’s waist, squeezing tight enough Beth can feel it beneath all the layers between them.
“I’m not jealous of yourbeau,” Gwen mutters.
And then her lips crash onto Beth’s. Beth gasps against her mouth, frozen in shock. Her mind goes totally blank.
Gwen, kissing, wine, jealous—oh.Oh.
Gwen goes to pull back but Beth’s hands shoot out, quite of their own accord, clutching at her waist, anchoring Gwen against her. Beth rises on her toes, pressing their lips back together, the warm, soft pleasure of it trickling through her. This is what it’s supposed to be. This is what it’s supposed to feel like. Swoony and bright and everything.
Gwen sighs against her lips and Beth parts her own, sucking on Gwen’s bottom lip. Gwen hums and Beth’s whole body tingles. Gwen’s waist between her hands, Gwen’s chest pushing up against her, pressing Beth into the barrels behind her—it’s overwhelming and wonderful and so much, so much. Gwen moans softly, dragging her hands up to cup Beth’s jaw, angling her head to deepen the kiss, and Beth goes willingly.
It’s like being lit on fire and doused with cold water all at once. Goose bumps rise on her arms and shoulders. Heat blossoms through her chest and down her belly. She tugs Gwen closer, leaning back to take more of her weight, wanting more than they can have with these stupid dresses between them.
Gwen breaks from her mouth, both of them heaving in air. She trails languid kisses down Beth’s jaw. Beth pants, looking upat the ceiling, the aging wooden beams barely visible in the dim light. It’s just the two of them here, secret against the world. She squeaks when Gwen nibbles on her earlobe, the sound hanging around them.
She didn’t know anything could feel like this. Hot and soft and hard and fierce and beautiful. She wants to stay like this forever, her hands twisted into Gwen’s skirts, Gwen’s stroking at her collarbones.
She groans, turning her head to capture Gwen’s lips again, sucking on her bottom lip before she slicks her tongue across it. They both shudder as Gwen meets her, tongues and teeth and open-mouthed kisses that are all hands and neck and sweet and raw—
Laughter penetrates their bubble and Gwen rears back, turning her head to stare at the stairs up to the lawn. Beth clutches at Gwen’s skirts, unwilling to be parted from her even with the threat of discovery looming around them. She’d let the whole world watch for another minute pressed against these aging barrels with Gwen’s lips on hers.
But no one comes down. Gwen slowly looks back at her and they stare at each other. Her hands are still on Beth’s jaw, both of them flushed and breathing heavily.
Beth struggles to find the words—more,please,soon—can’t explain how desperately, how ardently she wants to stay like this forever. What’s never made sense before—how everything has crystalized into this moment—how they should run away right now, forget the balls and boating and parties and just lie beneath trees in the woods like this forever and always.
“Your mother is probably looking for you.”
