“Your turn,” Gwen says, reaching out to take Beth gently by the hips and spin her so she can work her way down the row of buttons at Beth’s back.
Beth shudders as Gwen’s fingers trip along her spine, deft and quick. She’d be embarrassed by her own fumbling fingers if Gwen’s fingertips against her skin didn’t send little zips and tingles flitting across her body.
“I love buttons,” Gwen murmurs as she undoes the bottom one and then slides her hands beneath the back of the bodice, wrapping around Beth’s middle and pulling her back into Gwen’s chest. She plants a wet, languid kiss to Beth’s neck, sucking gently on her pulse.
Beth moans, eyes opening wide to take in the picture they make in the vanity mirror: Gwen in her underthings, wrappedaround Beth as her dress slowly falls off her stays. Beth works her arms from her sleeves so she can wrap her hands around Gwen’s arms, leaning back into her and meeting Gwen’s eyes in the mirror.
They stare at each other, curled close, cheeks and chests flushed, hair in ruins already, mouths rubbed raw, smiles on both of their faces. She wants to sear this moment into her mind forever.
“Off,” Gwen whispers, regretfully stepping back to gather Beth’s skirt.
Beth raises her arms, shivering as the satin glides up and over her head, brushing against every heightened nerve ending. Gwen tosses Beth’s dress with equal glee so it lands atop her own. Beth grins, moving immediately to wrap her arms around Gwen’s waist and undo her petticoat and hoop. Gwen does the same. They share a few delighted minutes of breathless kisses and tugging strings, petticoats tossed over their shoulders.
Beth grunts triumphantly as she manages to release Gwen’s hoop first, grinning against her lips as it clatters to the floor. Not to be outdone, Gwen’s fingers make fast work of Beth’s and it follows with a whump, the two of them left standing in the innermost circles of their hoop cages, arms around each other even as their hips remain two feet apart.
They separate and stand straight, taking each other in for the first time. It’s just them in their drawers, chemises, and stays, and Beth feels a change in the air. Gwen holds out a hand and together they step out of their hoops and shuffle close to the bed. Gwen leans in and sips a gentle kiss from Beth’s lips, her fingers slowly undoing the clasps of Beth’s corset.
Beth shivers at each small jerk, the playfulness of the pastfew minutes dropping away to the import of this moment. Gwen reaches the last clasp and gently peels the corset from Beth’s chemise, tossing it onto their pile of skirts. She deepens the kiss, hands immediately starting to wend around Beth’s waist. But Beth’s desperate to keep them at the same level, petticoat for petticoat, stay for stay. She sucks on Gwen’s bottom lip as she roughly tugs open the front clasps on Gwen’s corset, smiling at Gwen’s startled gasp and laugh.
She didn’t know women could be rough together, could be playful together, could be heated and wanting and clutching together until Gwen kissed her at the party. And now, now she’s about to know all the other things they could do together. Where she was content to sip kisses and tug at skirts minutes ago, now she wants them both together on Gwen’s absurdly plush bed. She wants to know what Gwen tastes like everywhere.
The thought startles her as she throws Gwen’s corset behind her. She pulls back and they stare at each other, heady, both of them in their thin chemises and drawers, nothing else between them but two layers of cloth. They teeter there, something crackling between them, and then there’s a knock on the door.
It splits the silence like a gunshot and they wrench apart, stumbling over their skirts. By the time the door opens, Beth’s across the room and Gwen’s leaning against the armoire by the door. They’re the picture of suspicion and the tall, imposing woman who steps into the room with a heating pan and a pitcher of water looks between them with raised eyebrows.
“For the night,” she says simply, handing Gwen the pitcher before striding to the bed to place the pan beneath the comforter. She turns and surveys the mess of their dresses andhoops and clicks her tongue. “You might think of hanging those so they don’t wrinkle and you don’t trip to your death overnight,” she offers before exchanging a look with Gwen and leaving the room.
The door shuts with a firm snick behind her and Gwen and Beth stare at each other. Gwen clutches at the water pitcher, her cheeks stained bright red, while Beth fiddles with her chemise. Could the housekeeper tell? Is it normal to enter and find skirts all over the room, or will this stand out as strange, make people ask questions?
Gwen slowly puts the pitcher on the bedside table and then plops down onto the edge of her bed, looking out at the shambles they’ve made of the room. Beth takes a shallow breath, suddenly desperate for a way to distract herself from her racing thoughts.
She hurries forward and begins gathering up their dresses, spinning with both in her arms for somewhere to hang them. Gwen snorts and stands, guiding her toward the armoire and opening it to hand her two hangers. Together they wrestle the delicate dresses into the armoire and then turn to the rest of their discarded skirts.
They move as a team, sorting their hoops into organized piles by the armoire and picking up petticoats. They lay them over the vanity chair. Such a simple action, but Beth feels like it speaks volumes, their underthings there, together, atop each other.
They stand staring at the pile of their skirts. Beth can feel the brush of Gwen’s chemise against her own, close but not close enough. But where she felt confident a few minutes ago, the appearance of the housekeeper has swallowed up her nerveand she doesn’t know how to return to their little bubble—to banish thoughts of what the housekeeper might think, or Lord Havenfort, or Mother for that matter.
“You’re shivering.”
Beth shudders as Gwen’s hand glides down her back. “Oh,” she says, blinking at her own stupidity.
Gwen merely smiles, guiding her toward the far side of the bed and throwing back the covers. She turns Beth and nudges at her until she sits down. Beth laughs as Gwen pulls the covers over her, tucking her up tight, before scampering around the bed to crawl in on the opposite side.
And then it’s not so funny, both of them there beneath the covers, warmed by the heating pan, nothing but their chemises and the mounds of feathered down to separate them. Beth lies still for a moment, unsure and wanting and nervous, and then Gwen’s hand reaches out to take hers, squeezing. With the press of her fingers Beth feels the surety she felt in the wine cellar, the desperate yearning to follow Gwen and pounce on her—to chase her into the garden and press her into the hedgerows.
And with nothing else to do, and no more graceful ideas, Beth gathers her courage and does just that.
Chapter Fourteen
Gwen
Gwen squeaks as Beth lunges at her there amongst her blankets and sheets and pillows. But the sudden press of her body isn’t at all unwelcome. Gwen happily settles beneath her, accepting her weight and her kiss and making use of their hideaway beneath the blankets to run her hands everywhere, everywhere she hasn’t been able to yet.
Where they were both playful before, now they’re equally desperate, hands and teeth and tongues, grabbing and pulling and squirming against each other frantically, as if there isn’t a single second more and they’re to be ripped from each other in the next moment.
The thought slows Gwen’s pace. They’re safe alone in her bedroom, everyone else asleep, and they’ve nothing but time. As much as the desperate, feverish kisses stir in her belly and warm her from toes to ears, she doesn’t want this to be some fumbling mess between them.
She doesn’t want to think about tomorrow—about how this could be the first and last time they’re together this way. But she allows herself to know that this matters, and they must make the most of this moment, not toss it away in fraught panic.
