it prick his ego, his vanity? Would he see it as an affront, an insult to his damnable pride? Would he allow such a thing to go unpunished? She wasn’t sure. But of one thing she was certain; she could not afford to take the risk. She would not let him find out, not ever.
That night, when Charles came to her room, Melody pretended to be asleep as she did on most nights. Eyes closed, she listened to the dull thud of his cane against the floor as he moved across the room, heard him toss his dressing gown onto a nearby chair and kick off the heavy woolen slippers that he wore even on the warmest nights, and then felt the mattress dip as he drew back the covers and settled onto the bed. Within minutes he was snoring softly. She sighed in relief. He hadn’t seemed to notice anything unusual in her behavior at dinner, and now, with him slumbering peacefully beside her, she felt confident that he suspected nothing had changed after today’s visit to the cottage. If she was careful, and she would be, there was no reason for Charles to believe that the situation was any different than it had been before.
But it was different. Everything had changed. She had changed. He had changed her. With his lips, his touch, his body, he had changed her, permanently and irreversibly. For the first time since leaving the cottage, she allowed herself to really think in depth about what had happened between them, and about him. Now, at last, here in the darkness, she didn’t need to push the memories aside. Now she could embrace them. She replayed every moment in her mind, relived every touch and recalled every delicious, mind-numbing sensation. Shameful, unbidden the word entered her thoughts as it had earlier that afternoon, and she asked herself again, was it shameful? Certainly not the act itself she reasoned, that was natural, what their bodies were designed for. But was it shameful to enjoy such intimacies, natural or not, with a man who wasn’t her husband, a man she wasn’t in love with, a nameless, faceless stranger? Perhaps it was, but then again, thanks to Charles, the entire situation was a shameful disgrace. So did it really matter then?
She was married to a man old enough to be her grandfather, a man who obviously cared nothing for her, other than for her ability to produce a child. Was it so wrong then, to enjoy another man’s touch? She hadn’t wanted it, hadn’t asked for it. Charles had forced this situation upon her. Was it so terrible then, to make the best of it? She rolled onto her back staring into the darkness, her thoughts in turmoil, until finally near dawn she fell into a restless sleep.
When Melody awoke the following morning her thoughts were surprisingly clear. She had made a decision. She wasn’t going to punish herself for wanting him, for wanting the pleasure he could give her. If it was wrong, so be it, she no longer cared. She was a good person, she knew that, and she would try to accept the choice she’d made without a guilty conscience. What had happened between them, and what she now hoped would happen again, was magical and incredible, and in her heart she knew that it was not something to be ashamed of. Regardless, she wasn’t going to question it any longer; she was simply going to enjoy it, Charles Cavendish be damned.
Chapter 7
Nearly three weeks had passed since Melody had resumed her daily visits to the cottage. Three weeks since the man whose chest she now lay sprawled across, naked and sated, had permanently altered the course of her life. She was quiet, listening to his heartbeat, steady and strong beneath her ear. So much had changed in such a short time. It was extraordinary and still somewhat bewildering, often seeming more like fantasy than reality. She was falling in love with him, this man whom she would likely never know outside of this dark room. She knew that
That night, when Charles came to her room, Melody pretended to be asleep as she did on most nights. Eyes closed, she listened to the dull thud of his cane against the floor as he moved across the room, heard him toss his dressing gown onto a nearby chair and kick off the heavy woolen slippers that he wore even on the warmest nights, and then felt the mattress dip as he drew back the covers and settled onto the bed. Within minutes he was snoring softly. She sighed in relief. He hadn’t seemed to notice anything unusual in her behavior at dinner, and now, with him slumbering peacefully beside her, she felt confident that he suspected nothing had changed after today’s visit to the cottage. If she was careful, and she would be, there was no reason for Charles to believe that the situation was any different than it had been before.
But it was different. Everything had changed. She had changed. He had changed her. With his lips, his touch, his body, he had changed her, permanently and irreversibly. For the first time since leaving the cottage, she allowed herself to really think in depth about what had happened between them, and about him. Now, at last, here in the darkness, she didn’t need to push the memories aside. Now she could embrace them. She replayed every moment in her mind, relived every touch and recalled every delicious, mind-numbing sensation. Shameful, unbidden the word entered her thoughts as it had earlier that afternoon, and she asked herself again, was it shameful? Certainly not the act itself she reasoned, that was natural, what their bodies were designed for. But was it shameful to enjoy such intimacies, natural or not, with a man who wasn’t her husband, a man she wasn’t in love with, a nameless, faceless stranger? Perhaps it was, but then again, thanks to Charles, the entire situation was a shameful disgrace. So did it really matter then?
She was married to a man old enough to be her grandfather, a man who obviously cared nothing for her, other than for her ability to produce a child. Was it so wrong then, to enjoy another man’s touch? She hadn’t wanted it, hadn’t asked for it. Charles had forced this situation upon her. Was it so terrible then, to make the best of it? She rolled onto her back staring into the darkness, her thoughts in turmoil, until finally near dawn she fell into a restless sleep.
When Melody awoke the following morning her thoughts were surprisingly clear. She had made a decision. She wasn’t going to punish herself for wanting him, for wanting the pleasure he could give her. If it was wrong, so be it, she no longer cared. She was a good person, she knew that, and she would try to accept the choice she’d made without a guilty conscience. What had happened between them, and what she now hoped would happen again, was magical and incredible, and in her heart she knew that it was not something to be ashamed of. Regardless, she wasn’t going to question it any longer; she was simply going to enjoy it, Charles Cavendish be damned.
Chapter 7
Nearly three weeks had passed since Melody had resumed her daily visits to the cottage. Three weeks since the man whose chest she now lay sprawled across, naked and sated, had permanently altered the course of her life. She was quiet, listening to his heartbeat, steady and strong beneath her ear. So much had changed in such a short time. It was extraordinary and still somewhat bewildering, often seeming more like fantasy than reality. She was falling in love with him, this man whom she would likely never know outside of this dark room. She knew that
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