“Well . . .” He paused, his fingers pulling apart the edges of her dressing gown to take a peek down her bosom, “diversion is a fundamental tactic of debate.”
She slapped his hand and sat back. “It won’t work, Henry. I’m on to you now.”
“Oh, very well. Distracting both of us would have been deuced good fun. On the other hand, you are in desperate need of training in debate. Where were we?”
“You were making the preposterous argument that you are somehow entitled, by the mere fact that you are a man, to make my decisions for me.”
“So you feel that I should cede you power and give you the vote because you don’t believe I have your best interests at heart?”
“No! That’s not it at all. Oh, I wish I could make you understand. The power over my best interests isn’t yours to cede or keep, to take or give. You don’t have the right to decide what I want or what’s best for me. Only I have that right.”
“But legally, men do have that right, when it comes to the women in their care.”
“And the law is wrong. Wrong the same way slavery is wrong, and indentured servitude is wrong. I am a human being, with my own soul, my own thoughts, my own opinions, and my own will. Those things do not belong to you, or to my father, or to my brother, or to anyone else, man or woman, and whether you agree with me or not, Henry, my destiny is mine, and the choices that determine that destiny are also mine. They are mine alone.”
He smiled. “Now that, my darling,” he said softly, “is the basis of a sound argument.”
Though her paper might speculate on the naughty doings of others, Irene had never been involved in anything naughty herself, nor had she dreamt she ever would be, but her secret assignations with Henry were so deliciously naughty that they filled her with anticipation when she wasn’t with him, and delight when she was. Perhaps it was a flaw in her character, but she found the whole thing terribly exciting. Henry did not share her view.
He regarded the secrecy of their liaison as a necessary evil. As fond as he was of discretion, he did not like secrecy. Sneaking around and midnight adventures made him very uncomfortable, and the whole prospect of being caught worried him for her sake. She also suspected he harbored some sense of guilt. He must have done, for he was so upright and moral. And yet, in their secret nights together, Irene also began to discover a great deal about the other side of his nature, the dark, sensual one he’d warned her of that night in the library.
From him, she learned that there were an amazing variety of positions in which two people could make love, and that his favorite was to have her on top so that he could see her face and stroke her breasts as she climaxed. She learned how to hold his erect penis in her hand, and how to stroke him until it drove him to the brink. She learned that lying beside him with her head resting on his bare chest was the best thing about the blissful aftermath because she loved the sound of his heartbeat. And she learned that he always reserved a room with a bathtub because he loved to help her bathe, lathering soap over her skin and caressing her, and she learned he’d been imagining that particular activity since the first night in his home when they’d talked about bathrooms.
And best of all, she learned that she could set aside any missish behavior with him, that she could take the lead any time she wanted to. It was humbling and amazing when she learned that his most fervent wish in all of this was to please her, but to her delight, she learned that it aroused and pleasured him if she told him what aroused and pleasured her. He loved hearing that.
“What about this?” he asked, his fingertips caressing the back of her bent knee.
“Hmm . . .” she murmured on a sigh, settling more deeply into the mattress beneath her, pretending indifference. “That’s nice.”
“Nice? Nice?” He kissed her shoulder. “No man can take such lukewarm commentary lying down.”
She giggled. “Henry, you are lying down.”
“Nonetheless, I take issue.” He rose, naked, and moved to the foot of the bed. “I must insist upon a full exploration of this topic.”
She lifted her head. “Exploration?”
“Oh, yes.” He smiled, his gaze locked with hers, and he grasped her ankles. Slowly, he began pulling her legs apart.
“Henry?” She felt a little thrill—anticipation mixed with a hint of alarm for she was completely naked at the moment. “What are you doing?”
“What about this?” he asked, his fingertips gliding up and down the inside of her calves and over her shins. “Do you like this?”
When she didn’t answer, he bent down, pushing her knees a bit farther apart and easing his body between them. “Or this?” He pressed a kiss to the inside of one knee, then the other, then he lifted his head. Looking into her eyes, definite purpose in his expression, he moved his body another notch higher between her thighs and slid his arms beneath her legs.
“Henry?” Her throat went dry. Her tension increased.
“What,” he asked and bent his head, “about this?”
He pressed his lips tenderly to her most intimate place, and the sensation was so piercingly sweet that she cried out. Instinctively, she squeezed her thighs. “No, no,” she wailed softly, shocked and embarrassed and aroused all at once.
He stopped and lifted his head, but she couldn’t look at him. She could only squeeze her eyes shut.
“You don’t like it?” He leaned down again, nuzzling her.
“I don’t . . . I don’t know. I’m sure it can’t be . . . oh, God, Henry, no. That’s wicked.”
She was blushing all over, she must be, for her embarrassment was so acute, she could hardly bear it. This was beyond anything they had done, beyond any sensation he’d given her yet.
