Chapter three: Melicent tries to concentrate on her mutton, but her hot husband is distracting her, to say nothing of her wastrel brother, the Feckless Aloysius, and her tyrant harpy of a mother.
Her stomach squirmed with sensuous longing. She wondered what on earth was happening to her….
Better check the mutton, ma’am.
Melicent ruminates upon her crush, which, since this is a historical is called a tendre, which I pronounce with as much nasal pretension as the name of that chick on 90210, Original Recipe, who was played by an actress in her 30’s. You know, Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhnnnndrea. So: taaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhndre is now the word of the moment in my brain.
…for although she had conceived a schoolgirl tendre for her husband on sight, she had never felt this immodest, wanton and reckless lust for him. He caught her eye. His firm lips curved into a smile that promised to fulfill every one of those wanton thoughts.
Whoa! So in chapter 1 she was cold, indifferent to his sexual attentions, and shy. Now she’s a twitching sexpot in an out of date ballgown, squirming over her mutton. Woo damn! Behold the power of writing!
Oh,but Melicent’s trip down the lustful corridor of memory lane has hit a cold moment:
She was no longer the starry-eyed innocent he had married four years before. She had worshipped him when first they were wed, and his cold preference for spending time on the Beaumont estates rather than on her had broken her heart.
On the estates rather than on her? No wonder she turned to erotic writing.
But given the heated glances they’re sharing, they’ll be on each other like a four year old political sticker on a hot car bumper, and sex will smooth the way to repairing their differences. Mark my words.
Wait, was I not supposed to reveal the ending? Oh. Sorry. Maybe it’ll end unhappily! Who knows?!
But soft! What misunderstanding through yonder plotline breaks? It is a conversation with double meaning, and she does not understand the “stimulating writing” to which he refers. Suddenly he’s kissing her ferociously, thinking she’s using an elderly neighbor for help with her writing, and she’s thinking he’s all hot and bothered by architectural manuals. Whoa!
she opened the door of her bedchamber and he kicked it shut behind them. Only then did he let her go, spinning her around, ripping the buttons from her bodice and the neck of her chemise with it.
Does that qualify as bodice ripping? Because if so, HA!
But soft again! What twist on standard operating cliche breaks upon this tender story? The honesty of her response, the heights of erotic fulfillment, the multiple – and I do mean multiple- orgasms, they point to an honesty of character, and he couldn’t believe that she’d possibly been unfaithful.
She was simply a very candid and giving person.
Of course. Who has very candid and giving orgasms, possibly in the double digits by the time the tally is done. But of course, sex clears away the interference that blocks communication, and instead of making things more complicated, makes them clearer and easier to resolve. Hell, given the heights of passion and the depths of the plunging thrusts, I can believe they’d clear the air to get a little more of that action. Lord Alex WALON is quite the accomplished bed partner. Lucky Melicent.