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Leaning into each other for support, we try to hide behind a column so no one can see that we have completely lost all decorum and are laughing riotously in the middle of a formal ball. Mary and I have been poking fun of Napoleon’s hat since the first time we saw an image of the French leader. We decided it is a cross between bull horns and a burnt pastry that is three times too big for his head. Now, picturing Napoleon’s signature accessory atop her mother’s head is so absurd, neither of us can maintain control.
Unfortunately, we appear to have drawn the attention of the subject in our comedy, and she is not happy. “Mary! What on earth has come over you? And Ella, you as well? The two of you know better than to draw this kind of attention to yourselves.”
Mary cannot bring herself to look at her mother, clearly imagining her standing there wearing Napoleon’s oversized burnt pastry. I, on the other hand, force myself to do so and attempt to quickly defuse her ire. “I’m so sorry, Aunt. You are right, Mary and I got carried away with our silliness. I think we are just excited about this evening’s gathering.” I step aside so I can make a quick escape and finish with a polite curtsy. “Please forgive me. It will not happen again.” I turn around and scurry along the back wall until I make it to a doorway that leads me away from the crowd, the stifling heat, my mischievous cousin, and her furious mother.
My steps are quick as I continue down the hall. I notice the air growing cooler the further I get from the ballroom, and I decide to keep going in hopes of finding a place to sit down and regain my composure. I see light coming from an open door just a short way down the hall. Approaching somewhat cautiously, I find a room with massive windows that seem to glow with the full moon’s light. The room is filled with gardening equipment and plants of all kinds. It must lead to the conservatory that has a reputation of being one of the most extensive and impressive in all of London.
I find what I’m looking for on the other side of the room, and when I walk through the door, I am not disappointed. My eyes widen as I enter the indoor garden of my dreams. It is enormous, and I am in awe as I make my way down the path that leads me to the center where a magnificent tiered fountain stands at least fifteen feet high. I approach the encompassing pond and sit upon its wide edge. The water is trickling at a steady rate, its sound almost hypnotic, each droplet and stream highlighted by the moon’s light glowing through the glass ceiling.
I stay there for a moment, letting my body relax and absorb the natural essence of this magical place. I may never make it back to the ballroom, it pales in comparison to this spectacular display. Something in the pond catches my eye, and I see there are orange and white fish swimming gracefully through the rippling water. Several appear to be very large, and I wonder if the darkness deceives my eyes. But, as a white one reaches the surface, almost glowing in the moonlight, I see they have not and that these fish are quite large indeed.
I stand up and leisurely spin around in a full circle, taking in all that the dim light allows my eyes to see. I must have a place equivalent to this one day when I have a home of my own. A smile lifts the corners of my mouth as I think about spending my time here instead of practicing the piano or stitching designs so intricate, my eyesight goes blurry and my fingers ache.
There is so much to this garden that I cannot see in the darkness of night. So, I decide to explore, and soon I am happily lost in the maze of paths lined with a variety of plants and trees I could only dream of visiting every day. This is the place I love to be, enjoying the smell of green plants and moist soil—the place where silence has a sound. Further down the path, massive leaves drape toward me, and I stretch my arms out wide, allowing my fingertips to sweep along each one.
It is completely peaceful here, with only the fountain’s trickle sounding in the distance, and the gentle swoosh of my layered skirts as I walk along the manicured trail.
The moment is tarnished by the feeling of guilt that washes over me as I wonder about Mary’s fate and her mother’s wrath. I hope my aunt wasn’t too hard on her. Interrupting my thoughts, an abrupt sound steals what’s left of the tranquility in my paradise.
I follow the noise out of curiosity and annoyance, finding my pace quicken as I search for the distinct male voice, and perhaps another person as well. Instinct tells me I will likely find a gardener working hard to maintain this botanical masterpiece. However, when I make my way to the furthest edge and step off the path, I pull down the colossal leaf of a philodendron, unknowing of the moment my life will change forever.
My heart pounds painfully in my chest, blood swooshing within my ears as I try not to gasp at my discovery. Presented before me, shielded in darkness, yet highlighted by the moon’s pale blue glow stands a man more masculine than I ever knew possible—naked, sinuous, spectacular in a way that makes my stomach ache. He seems herculean, tall, broad, and beautiful. His muscular form is like that of an ancient Greek statue, each muscle flawlessly carved, an extravagance meant for show.
My eyes will not look away. I am fascinated by the harsh shadows cast across his spectacular form. The way his wide chest expands proudly across his upper body then twists and wraps around his powerful shoulders that lead into arms so defined they cannot be real. My stare drifts lower and my stomach tightens as a wave of unfamiliar heat flashes through my body. His torso is sculpted into perfect squares on either side of a center line. Involuntarily, the fingers of my right hand come up to my mouth. I bite down on my lip to stop the terrible desire to touch his chiseled core. The tips of my breasts become painfully hard as I follow the line down to the dark patch of hair framed by more carved muscle, directing me to the one thing I know I should not see.
By all that is holy. How is that possible? His manhood is thick and long, protruding from his body like the sturdy branch of tree. Its form is like nothing I have ever seen, its details on obvious display as the light reflects off its shiny surface.Is that even real?I wonder to myself, perplexed and fascinated all at once. My body ignites from within as he reaches down and takes the massive appendage in his hand to slowly stroke it from base to tip. I swallow the gasp threatening to escape, then squeeze my legs together as another wave of sensation travels directly to my most private place where heat, wetness, and a strange pleasure are forming.
His deep voice startles me out of my trance. “Ye look lovely tonight, lass.” My breath lodges in my chest at hearing the richness of his voice.Surely, he wasn’t talking to me. When I pull the leaf all the way down, I see a woman bent over the half wall of a planter. She is completely unclothed, her smooth pale skin ghostly white compared to his. She responds to his compliment, but her head is turned away from me so I cannot hear what she said. However, her body translates the meaning as her legs spread further apart and her hips rise upward, causing her backside to move toward him in silent invitation, one that he accepts without pause.
I should leave. It is not my place to spy upon them, and it is so improper I fear I may have to pray for a month straight to release me from this sin. Not only the sin of watching them, or the sin of finding pleasure in simply staring at him—watching his sculpted body move, each muscle flexing and relaxing, bunching then stretching—but for the sin of jealousy. I don’t want him to touch her. I don’t want her to enjoy his touch. But why? I don’t know him. I don’t want to know him. Yet my body is alive with a need so intense; I could mistake it for something that is achingly familiar—as if my body is haunted by the feel of his touch.
I watch him reach forward and touch her most intimate place, her own sound of pleasure echoing around them. My teeth grind together and my jaw clenches. I want him to touchmejust like that. A heavy surge of envy lands in my chest where it mingles with a confounding mixture of fear, curiosity, and shame. The voice in the back of my mind tells me to leave now, but I see her starting to move. It’s as if she wants more contact than he is already giving her, causing more desire to expand through my core. Her moans intensify as his touch becomes more aggressive. My heart races faster and I start to sweat as a strange pressure starts building between my legs.
I need to run away, but I can’t. Not yet.
Without warning, he pulls his hand out from between her legs, his fingers shiny and wet, then rests it against her backside. He rubs her gently before drawing back his hand, fingers spread wide, smacking it against her just as he brings his stiff manhood to her entrance, driving it in with a brutal force. She screams out in erotic pleasure, and my knees become weak as an unbearable sensation takes over where the wetness is secreting from my body. I pant as I watch him thrust in and out, hard and fast, grunting and straining. The muscles of his legs and backside are taught from exertion, his body glistening with sweat.
Please…please!the voice inside my head screams. To stop? For more?
A cry escapes his partner as her head is thrown back in what is either intense pleasure or terrible pain. My hand involuntarily reaches down to put pressure between my own legs. I am desperate for some kind of relief, ready to beg him to help me find it or else I will go mad.
As if he read my mind, a fierce growl escapes him as he pulls himself out of her body, taking his hardness in hand and milks himself, allowing his essence to spew out across her naked back.
I am unable to hold in the sound that escapes me as the pressure that was building between my legs releases into a throbbing pleasure so intense, my body curls forward, my head bows, and my breath gets caught in my chest.
I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe.
My God! What have I done?
As the sensation dissipates, the pulsing continues, and I’m overtly aware of what has happened. Shame engulfs me as I rest my hands on my knees for support, trying to steady my breaths as my body returns to normal. Tears build behind my eyes, I must leave. Now.
With caution, I straighten my posture, trying not to make a sound. I raise my head and almost choke on the cry that has been clogging my throat. Between the long stems of the philodendron that I thought kept me hidden, I see fierce eyes locked on mine. My heart stops as I am momentarily stunned, not only by the fact that he knows I am here watching him, but by how devastatingly handsome he is. A burst of energy blasts through my body, bringing me back to the path where I run as fast as I can to the main entrance on the other side of the conservatory. I don’t stop, not even once I’m through the doors and back into the ornately decorated hall of the corridor that leads back to the ballroom.
Before entering, I find a private settee and take a moment to rest, hoping to calm my breaths. I simply cannot be seen in this state. I retrieve a handkerchief from my sleeve and blot the perspiration on my neck and face. I wish I could just go home and forget this night ever happened.
I don’t know what came over me, why I didn’t walk away, why I stayed to watch him, or what happened to my body. A lump forms in my throat as the confusion of emotions overwhelms me. I allow only one tear to escape before regaining my composure. If I walk into the ballroom red-eyed and weepy, the rumors will be flying around town before breakfast is served tomorrow morning.
After ten more minutes of calming breaths, I’m ready to put on a cheerful expression for the crowd that awaits. I stand to shift my skirts and adjust my sash, then turn for the door. It is then that I hear the steady cadence of footsteps against the marble floor of the hallway. The commanding echo triggers my heart to pound once again as my stomach flips, and gooseflesh forms across my entire body. It’s him, I know it is, and I cannot bring myself to turn around and face the man that I have seen fully unclothed performing the most carnal of acts.
