“Father’s father bought this place almost seventy years ago. It was one of the first homes built along the square,” Gwen rattles off. Beth turns her head, trying to take in each massive portrait and painting. “Father doesn’t like to spend any longer here than he needs to, but as I understand my mother enjoyed being in London more than at our country estate, and his mother was much the same.”
“But it’s so crowded here,” Beth says softly, stumbling as they clear the first landing. The artwork is just so massive.
“Harder to see friends though, when you’re away in the country,” Gwen says with a little shrug. “I’ve never minded, but it could get lonely.”
“I suppose,” Beth agrees, following her up the next flight of stairs. She hadn’t truly appreciated how tall the townhouse was from the outside, preoccupied as she was with the true nature of this visit.
That thought settles heavy in her stomach as they come up on the second landing and Gwen begins to lead her down a long broad hallway full of closed doors and landscapes. This must be her... wing.
Gwen’s arm slips from hers and her hand trails down to catch Beth’s fingers, squeezing. They come to a stop at the last door on the hall and Beth wonders if Gwen can hear the slam of her heart.
“This is me,” Gwen says, opening the door.
Beth hesitates there at the threshold, eager to move forward, terrified too. She peers into the room, smiling at the clutter and the few petticoats and sets of gloves scattered all about.
Gwen tugs gently on her arm and Beth shuffles forward with her into the room, staring around as Gwen softly shuts the door behind them. Their beds are so similar—white and piled high with a comforter and blankets and a mass of useless pillows. Gwen’s four-poster curtains are green, while Beth’s are blue, but there’s something comforting in the familiarity.
The rest of her furniture is a pristine white—vanity, armoires, and even a small bookcase stacked high with books andknickknacks. There are pieces of clothing just about everywhere, though Beth can tell someone’s been in by the pile of folded skirts and petticoats sitting out on the armoire.
“It’s messy,” Gwen admits, stepping close, their hands still clasped.
“It’s lovely,” Beth counters. It’s lived in, she thinks, smiling as she turns to meet Gwen’s look.
Gwen’s sucking on her cheek, face a bit pink, and looking about as awkward and unsure as Beth feels. “I can have Mrs. Gilpe set up the guest room if you’d prefer, but you’re—”
She’s not sure why she does it, or from where she gets the gumption, but the door is closed, and they’re alone, and she will absolutely not spend the night—their only night?—sleeping down the hall.
Instead, she leans in and presses her mouth clumsily to Gwen’s, using her free hand to cup her cheek and pull her in. Gwen startles, but recovers almost instantly, deepening their kiss and releasing her hand to take Beth by the hips and pull her closer so they’re pressed up against each other, a clash of lace and tulle and hoops at awkward angles.
Beth smiles against her mouth and turns them, backing Gwen into the door. Gwen laughs and Beth grins, arching onto her toes to apply a little pressure. It’s not a wine barrel, but it will have to do for retribution, even if since Beth’s the shorter of the two it’s not quite so domineering, especially with all the skirts between them.
Gwen allows it anyway, sighing as Beth breaks from her mouth to lave kisses down her jaw and throat, like Gwen did days ago to her. She’s soft and warm against Beth’s lips, her perfume pervading her senses. Beth skates her lips around tothe other side and moves up to nibble on Gwen’s ear. She’s been thinking of it all week when she lies in bed—the feeling, the sounds, the press of hands and lips and teeth.
“So you don’t want the guest room, then?” Gwen asks, breathless.
Beth pulls back to meet her gaze. “Did you invite me over to put me in the guest room?” Beth asks, surprised by the strength of her voice. Her whole body feels like melted chocolate.
“Not on your life,” Gwen says, yanking at her hips to pull her close before she pushes them both further into the room. “There’s more than enough bed for both of us.”
“Good,” Beth says, tugging her down with the hands she has cradled around Gwen’s jaw until they’re kissing again in the middle of the room. It’s heady and splendorous and the longer they kiss the better it gets, like they’re both learning and advancing and chasing the same inexorable pleasure.
“God, get this off of me,” Gwen mumbles into her mouth.
Beth pulls back, laughing and stunned. Gwen’s lips are plumped and red, her cheeks flushed, blond hair falling from her elegant updo to frame her face in whisps. She looks beautiful and a bit debauched, and Beth finds her hesitance sliding away altogether. Gwen is letting Beth see her this way—make her this way. Everything beyond this room tonight no longer matters. It’s just them together, and Gwen’s right, the skirts absolutely must go.
“Spin,” Beth says, smiling as Gwen grins at her.
She turns in Beth’s arms and Beth tries to make quick work of undoing her eyelets, but her hands are shaking. She takes a deep breath, trying to steady herself. This is Gwen, beautiful,funny, kind Gwen. She needn’t be nervous. But damn, these things are small.
“Jesus,” she mutters as she fumbles at another clasp.
Gwen snorts. “Do you need more light?”
“I’m perfectly capable,” Beth says, managing two eyelets in quick succession before getting stuck on the third. “How much do you like this dress?”
“Do not rip it,” Gwen says on a laugh, her body quaking beneath Beth’s hands. “Honestly.”
“Fine,” Beth says, bending down to peer at the clasp and work it until she’s able to separate the hook from the seat and make her way to the end of Gwen’s bodice. “Success,” she crows, helping Gwen slip her arms from the capped sleeves and then lift the bodice and skirt up and away from her hoop, petticoat, and corset. Gwen tosses them toward the vanity, where they land in a heap. They both giggle.
