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What a fool! she thought affectionately, aware that all around them were far more beguiling women, including in far more revealing gowns.
The bosom of the heavily perfumed lady next to her looked as though it might burst from her scarlet gown at any moment! Tightening her corset to the degree required for the childlike waist she sported had likely required not one but two maids pulling on the laces, and each of the lady’s breaths caused her breasts nearly to pop out of the low neckline of her satin gown.
The entire hall, in fact, was full of women whose embellished gowns were the height of fashion, their hair elaborately coiffed.
But he appreciates the mouse.
There was no denying it; not only had their romantic embrace carried them away in the hansom cab, Frederick could scarcely keep his eyes off her. They were only a few minutes into the first piece, C. M. von Weber’s Overture fromOberon, and he couldn’t concentrate on the performance.
The music changed from quiet to nearly silent, the moment filled with peace as she and Frederick smiled softly at each other.
Suddenly, the entire orchestra played a loud chord as one, the musical surprise startling Molly. He slipped his hand over hers reassuringly, his warmth calming her. He shifted his attention to the musicians playing energetically now, but Molly closed her eyes and focused on the sensation of his hand on hers.
It was an eveningfullof sensations, almost overwhelmingly so. The extravagant room alone distracted her from the powerful music…and the man next to her distracted her above all.
Hisardor may have cooled outside when speaking of Berlioz, but listening to Frederick speak of the colors he’d seen in his mind during an earlier concert, Molly was only more enchanted. Like her ladyship, Frederick had a true love for music, and his animation when speaking of it was contagious.
What’s more, a fire burned in Molly now, stoked in part by her review of the pamphlets and books from Lady Clara’s desk.
Her ladyship’s guidance had not been amiss. Some of what Molly had seen and read repelled her as much as the most offensively cloying scents in Monsieur Thibaud’s emporium, while other pages beguiled her, forming images in her mind that not only overtook her when she crawled into her bed in her darkened chamber but invaded her daydreams.
Amongst her treasured tasks as lady’s maid was polishing and lining up the bottles on Lady Clara’s dressing table. The shortest was a stout round jar in deep ruby red glass; the tallest, an elegantly tapered cobalt blue vessel. She and her ladyship both adored the rose-colored bottle for her favorite floral perfume; its elaborate stopper was tulip-shaped and made of sparkling crystal. When she finished the daily task, the reward of their gleam and order satisfied her.
Since accessing the secret materials in her ladyship’s desk drawer, her experience dusting and polishing had transformed from calming and soothing to…something else.
She began as ever, alternating between humming and singing lightly. But the tenor inevitably changed as her polishing cloth rubbed each hard object she cradled in her palm, each taking its turn being the focus of her attentive ministrations, and each required special attention.
By the time she picked up the heavy emerald-colored, ribbed flask of floral water, the third in line, the tune she hummed had switched from airy and high to sultry and low in her throat. Her hips swayed slowly back and forth as she ran her cloth-covered finger up and down each of the twenty-four vertical ridges in the glass.
Her breathing hitched after switching to the brass polishing rag, swiping it around and around the shiny knob atop the bottle.
For the first time in her life, she longed to wrap her fingers around a hard cock…Frederick Vogel’s, specifically.
Sitting next to him in the concert room was part thrill, part torture. The musical ensemble on stage had captured his attention now that the piece called for playing with passionate intensity.
For Molly, the vibrant music was a mere backdrop to the concert inside of her.
What did Frederick’s thighs look like under the dark fabric of the trousers? One of his hands still held hers; he suspended the other right above his trouser leg, moving subtly along with the music. When the music’s mood shifted again, outrageous thoughts filled her; his skilled fingers undulated slowly, beckoningly.
What if his fingers were under my skirts?
Eyes fluttering, she looked away, yet the pulsating feeling at her core persisted. If she were to caress her clitoris now, she knew what she’d find. It felt enlarged, needy, her every restless shift on the wooden bench sending jolts through her lower body.
Frederick’s arousal before the concert had embarrassed him, but she found herself unable to muster shame about her own hidden desire now. The feelings were too precious—even if, for now, they remained unfulfilled and frustrating.
He couldn’t hide his. She supposed as vexing as it was to sit through a concert with swollen lady bits, there were advantages to being able to keep them private.
Molly clapped along dutifully with the enthusiastic applause that erupted at the end of the piece, though the movement of her forearms over her breasts created yet another source of distracting bodily sensation.
Frederick turned to her, brown eyes beaming with appreciation for the music, but within seconds, his clapping slowed.
So much for it being secret!He knows.
Her clapping, too, slowed and fell out of rhythm with the rest of the room’s applause.
They stared at each other as if they were alone, and Molly knew that if it were only been the two of them, he would be kissing her by now.
Making it through the rest of the performances wasn’t a hardship despite the heavy feeling in her loins and her awareness of the unmentionables against her breasts. She felt like the luckiest woman in all of London—nay, in England!
