Page 46 of When We Touch

“I’m certain this place is illegal!” Maggie hissed.

Cecilia leaned closer. “That’s a perfectly legitimate dance hall upstairs! Maybe not the Royal Opera, but. . . legal! Besides, relax, I can promise you, there will be no police raids tonight.”

“And how can you guarantee that?” Maggie hadn’t even thought of a raid, but the concept was just dreadful. She could see the headlines: “TAINTED BRIDE OF THE ILLUSTRIOUS LORD CHARLES, VISCOUNT LANGDON, ARRESTED IN BAWDY-HOUSE RAID !”

“There,” Cecilia said.

“There what?”

Cecilia lowered her voice still further. “At the far table. That’s the Prince of Wales.”

Maggie gasped. “No!”

“Maggie, quit staring!”

“But—!”

“Please, everyone is quite discreet here.”

Discreet. She couldn’t help looking at the man in question. He was almost ridiculously dressed in a wig reminiscent of the age of Charles II. His mask was dark leather with a huge nose.

“Maggie, don’t stare!”

She turned back around. She wasn’t sure when the half-naked man had returned to refill her glass, but it was full again. She swallowed it down, wincing slightly, and asked Cecilia, “How do you know that it’s the Prince of Wales?”

“Trust me, I know.”

Maggie stared at her and gasped. “You’ve had an affair with him!”

Cecilia smiled. “Eustace prefers the son. I like the father.”

A plate of oysters was set before them. “Food for lovers!” Cecilia teased, delicately slipping the meat of one down her throat. “I’ll bet that Lord Charles will see to it that they’re served tomorrow.”

“Cecilia, please, the intimate moments between a couple do not constitute the entire meaning of life!”

“Shh! The show is beginning!”

And indeed, it was. The curtain on the small stage was slowly being drawn. A giant shell was present stage center. The gaslights in the room drew very low.

The shell opened. Slowly, to the music of a sitar, a woman began to emerge. Strawberry hair curled over her naked shoulders and down to her thighs as she elegantly rose to stand within the shell. A drumbeat slowly began to throb. Two young men suddenly leapt onto the stage, dancers, yes, their movement that of the very well trained, but they were not the customary figures Maggie had seen at the ballet. They were clad in skintight leggings and nothing more.

A story began to evolve, the first dancer, the darker of the two, attempting to seduce the young woman—Venus rising, Maggie thought dryly. The second then vied for her attentions. Harder and harder the two tried.

Then the first abducted the girl, sweeping her away into his arms. As the second man pretended to search for the lost beauty, the first began his seduction.

It was absolutely, totally indecent. Maggie thought she should look away.

But she didn’t.

The female dancer was flat on the floor, while the male moved above her, touching her, not really touching her, evoking thoughts of all manner of things. His body began to gyrate, and Maggie realized that her mouth was open again as she watched—she had never imagined that someone could so completely simulate the act of intercourse without having it. It was decadent. Total debauchery.

She had to get up and leave immediately.

She was terrified to move. Horrified that anyone would see her witnessing such an act.

She remained in her chair, all but frozen there.

Suddenly, the second man was there, tearing the first from the beauty, his actions showing his fury, and his hunger. And the girl was up, her body rubbing against his, her elegant long legs curling around him in a manner which was surely not natural for the human body.