“Perhaps I could teach you a waltz.”
“You could certainly try, though I fear I am beyond all help.” Mary looked unusually hesitant. “What ought I do?”
“Here, stand opposite me.” Charlotte adjusted Mary until she was quite satisfied. “Now step back, and forth,” she demonstrated, “and back, and turn.”
“It is the turning I have a problem with,” Mary complained. “And which direction ought I to be facing now?”
“Not me,” Charlotte said, trying not to laugh. “In a group of four, you ought to now be looking at the partner who was on your right. Let us try it again.” They practiced for a while, until Mary had grown used to the repetitive moments. “There,” Charlotte said. “I’m rather proud of my pupil. You have improved greatly and are now fit to be seen at any dance you please.”
“I’m quite sure that is a result of the quality of the teacher.” Mary stepped closer, winding her arms around Charlotte’s waist. “I would much prefer a dance that required only two people. Then I might gaze into your eyes and forget the rest of the world entirely.”
Charlotte tilted her head to gain better access to Mary’s neck, finding the spot which made her lover shiver with pleasure. “That does sound capital.”
She could not keep her hands off Mary. She wanted always to be touching her, caressing her, kissing her, orbiting her as the moon did the Earth. However, her actions were not simply driven by lust. She had never felt such fire when Mr Collins had touched her, or kissed her. There had been eagerness on his end, and vigorous action on certain occasions, but the whole process had left her feeling empty. She knew she had been supposed to enjoy making her husband happy—and she had tried to—but Mr Collins had never really paid attention except to ask if he was hurting her, in the beginning. She’d never watched him across the room and wanted to pin him against a wall, nor felt his every glance fan a flame inside her. She had never felt as if she would drown if she did not get another mouthful of him.
And yet that was not all it was, with Mary. There was a blaze, certainly, but there was also tenderness, a delicate fragility that she had touched with wonder and had seen that same wonder reflected back in Mary’s eyes.
“The way you look at me undoes me entirely, do you know that?” Mary smiled, her arms snaking around Charlotte’s neck.
“I still find it hard to believe.” Charlotte kissed her, softly, sweetly, still marvelling that there existed a spectrum of kisses she had never known about before, like discovering an entirely new language.
“You look exceedingly pretty in that dress, Charlotte Lucas,” Mary murmured, “But I’d like to take it off now if I may.”
“Please do.” Her breath hitched. “I still cannot believe that you want me.”
“Darling,” Mary said, peppering a line of kisses down Charlotte’s jaw, “I want you more than anyone I’ve ever known.”
The words did something queer to her heart, making it feel as if a hand had grasped it and was squeezing tightly. Mary’s eyes were half-drunk cups of fierce joy, her lips two blunted blades ready to slit Charlotte open from stem to stern. Flesh, hot under her palms. Jutting hips, pressing hard enough to bruise. Fingers exploring, creating bursts of rapture inside her body she hadn’t known another person was capable of conjuring, far less maintaining.
They made love long into the night. Charlotte had never before known that she was capable of such passion, such desperate need. Every touch kindled a new flame, and the climaxes were so delicious that one had barely receded before she found herself desperate for another. If this was how women generally felt about men, then it was no wonder Lydia had run away with Mr Wickham.Do not even dream of doing the same, the little voice in her head warned, once Mary had slid into sleep, snuggled against Charlotte’s side as if she had been born to fit there.You have obligations to your family. They supported you even when it was thought you would never marry. You owe them a great debt, and you ought to repay it by not causing a scandal.
Charlotte stared into the darkness, her head aching with the weight of unshed tears. She had no idea where she would find the strength to leave Mary, but she had better unearth it soon, for both of their sakes.
Chapter Twenty-Four
The day passed in a haze of lovemaking, and after a beautiful dinner of spiced lamb, they retired to the drawing room, where Charlotte begged Mary to play the pianoforte. Mary did so reluctantly at first, then warmed to her task, playing first a song which Charlotte recognised as being from Bach’sThe Well-Tempered Clavier, followed by a piece that Charlotte did not know.
“It is better that you do not know Haydn’s original,” Mary said, when Charlotte asked who the composer was, “for my rendition is so flawed and slow that it might as well be a different tune entirely. Come and show me your version of my piece, now—the one you improved upon in the parsonage.”
Charlotte seated herself beside Mary, planting a kiss on her lover’s cheek, and soon they were playing together in time. The room was candlelit, the curtains drawn, and with the rest of the house in silence, Charlotte felt once more like they might be the only two people left in the world.
“I find myself entirely fed up of reading and work. Shall we play cards instead tonight?” Mary suggested.
Charlotte agreed, closing the lid of the pianoforte, and they seated themselves at the small table in the corner, which had lain unused for the entire time Charlotte had been present. Maryspent the first hour teaching Charlotte to play piquet, which seemed rather complicated and required the memorization of many rules, though she picked it up as best she could. By the end of the hour, she had somehow managed to beat Mary twice.
“What say we make this a little more interesting?” Mary suggested.
“In what way?’ Charlotte arranged her cards neatly in her hand, planning her next move.
“How about…if I win the next game, you will permit me to do whatever I want to you.”
Charlotte stared across her cards, feeling a sudden urge to drop them and leap over the table. “And what if I win?”
Mary leaned back in her chair, smirking. “Then you may do whatever you want to me. Fair is fair, after all.”
Charlotte was blessed with an excellent hand, and though she could see her path to triumph clearly, curiosity overwhelmed her desire to emerge as the victor. “Well, it seems you have bested me,” she said, laying down her cards. “What now?”
Mary rose, offering her hand. “Come.”
