Ariane left her then, brushing past her and into the passage, her companions following, and heading in the direction opposite to that in which she’d pointed Cressida.
Cressida watched her until she was nearly out of sight. Yes, she should go home. That’s what she’d intended. But she’d not found Justin. She’d not begun to understand what might have drawn him to such a place—if there was any grain of truth in Catherine’s words. And Ariane’s own story, and that of Minna, needled her. No, Justin would never come here, but he should know of what went on, and Cressida should make him do something…though changing the world and a judgmental society was hardly something that could be done overnight. However, Justin was in a position of power. He was a man who changed the ways of the world, and wasn’t that what her own papa had grown up lamenting was needed to his unworldly daughter? He always said it was a harsher world with a greater divide between the fortunate and the unfortunate than should be the case.
Justin need not know she’d been here, but he should know what terrible things happened to defenseless women unaided or even persecuted by the law. He should try to do his part to change the society that governed so many cruel attitudes.
Emboldened by an unexpected sense of crusade, Cressida picked up her skirts and quickly followed the young women.
She might not have much experience of the seamier side of life, but as a parson’s daughter, she had not always enjoyed the sumptuous privilege she did now. And her father, a kind and gentle man, had been far less condemnatory toward the few fallen women of their parish than her more ambitious mother.
Down twisting corridors and up a shallow flight of stairs Cressida went, through a large, empty space lined with huge, lurid paintings of shocking scenes that made her gasp and avert her eyes. Then finally through a pair of carved double doors and into a room filled with soft music and a strange, unidentifiable scent overlaying the hint of rosewater.
Raising her veil, Cressida tried to adjust to the dimness of her new environment. When she saw that the room was sparsely furnished and contained only Ariane and her three companions, she felt no fear, and even a great sense of sisterhood, for the four of them were in the midst of a gentle, swaying dance, smiling at one another as if they shared a joyful bond.
Cressida blinked to orient herself, moving into the shadows of a huge, luxuriant potted palm as the unknown, heady scent filled her nostrils and made her head
swim. Ariane and Minna, dressed in their flowing robes of white, did indeed look like a pair of Vestal Virgins in a trance as they swayed gently in time to a soft chant in the background. Their hair, held back by silver fillets, fell in loose ripples around their waists, and their smiles were warm and gentle. Even in such an alien environment, Cressida felt a sense of comfort and safety. Even belonging. She was amongst other women. Young and beautiful women who shared her fears, but at this elemental level, also shared a bond which united them. They looked after one another when they were all similarly vulnerable.
She thought again of Catherine. Catherine was supposed to be Cressida’s closest friend, but there was no sense of shared purpose or sisterly bond between them. Only a veiled desire on Catherine’s part to erode Cressida’s confidence and triumph over the parson’s daughter who had married well.
Now the raven-haired beauty stepped forward and linked her hands behind Ariane’s neck and kissed her, ever so softly, upon the lips. Her eyes, slightly unfocused, were the palest blue, and she looked so supremely at peace with her world that Cressida longed to learn her secret.
She glanced around her, uncertain if she should at least step forward and declare herself, though she had been invited. The scene was surreal—two women gently cradling each other before pressing themselves closer to deepen their kiss.
They had come here to give themselves—to enjoy themselves beyond the realm of men. But did women really do this? Was this giving themselves up to pleasure? Without a man?
Cressida tried to recall when she had last experienced such uninhibited and carefree enjoyment. Too long ago to remember, beneath the covers of the marital bed in the warmth of her chamber as Justin’s hard body covered her own and his kisses and gentle caressing had stirred up within her the most wild and wonderful sensations.
Cressida had never been afraid of the act since her marriage night. She understood that in the dark silence, such behavior between a man and a woman was sanctioned by marriage. As a young bride, she’d tried not to cry out her pleasure. It had seemed wrong and sinful, but when she discovered that her pleasure pleased Justin, she’d relaxed, and those first few years of intimacy between herself and her adored husband were the most wonderful of her life.
Yes, for years she’d reveled in the glorious wantonness Justin had managed to stir up inside her and thrilled to the shattering climaxes that had preceded the peace and contentedness that always soothed her into sleep, Justin’s warm, loving breath on her neck.
No, it was just the consequences of the act that terrified her.
She drew in a shuddering breath, her body alive, nerve endings prickling the surface of her skin, a desperate, throbbing ache building between her legs as she remembered those halcyon days with Justin. If only she could return home tonight and offer up her body to his tender ministrations with no danger of the consequences. If only she could surrender herself to his sweet touch, enjoying to the full his expert exploration of her body as he whipped up within her the shattering sensations that stunned her with their intensity at night but which could shame her by day if she thought too much upon the fact that she, a matron with so many children, should long for bodily sensations so divorced from the realities of procreation.
She couldn’t talk of it with Justin. That was the dreadful, painful reality.
Now here she was watching two women enjoying a world full of love and beauty with no pain, no guilt, no terrible consequences. No conception, no pregnancy, no pain.
The women had not broken their kiss. Gently they swayed in time to the rhythm of the faint music, running their hands over each other’s face and body, caressing breasts and hips as if they were the most natural of gestures.
All at once the tempo changed. Alertness pulsed through Cressida as she recognized the sudden tense awareness of the women as they stepped apart, and she strained to see what was happening. The faint chanting rose to a crescendo then suddenly ceased, and from a dark corner of the room strode a man, splendidly built, she observed, as a faint light burnished his statuesque silhouette. Cressida drew in her breath in the shadows, surprised and a little ashamed at her own response to the muscled physique and confident bearing of someone seemingly so splendid. Her hands felt clammy and the back of her neck prickled, but she was thinking of Justin and how she would feel if it were he advancing toward her.
The awe and admiration of her companions was similar as the four drew together, arms linked as they gazed at this being who seemed to command such power.
The haze cleared a little, both in Cressida’s mind and in the room, though her head still swam with a sense of unreality. One of the women—Minna, she saw—broke away and disappeared into the shadows, returning to place three lighted candles on either side of what Cressida now saw was a large bed in the center of the room, adorned with carved wooden posts and sheets of crisp, white linen. The man stood behind this on a raised dais and he beckoned to the women.
“I have returned.” His voice was low and mellifluous, and as Cressida strained to see more, she recognized him as the man who’d frightened her in the corridor. Ariane’s husband.
“Yes… Come to us at last.” Ariane sounded breathless and her face was shining as she pushed back her flowing golden hair. She made her way toward him, climbing what Cressida assumed must be a set of stairs hidden behind the bed, and the stranger caught her to his muscled chest, sliding one hand up behind her neck, the other slowly caressing the contours of her body. With a soft groan, Ariane went slack, and he whisked her up into his arms and placed his mouth upon hers.
“I offer myself up to your pleasure,” whispered the red-haired siren, and she moved forward and up the stairs, kneeling to kiss his feet, her hands twining up the thick muscles of his legs.
Cressida remained rooted to the spot in shocked fascination. What was happening? The man was kissing Ariane while the other beauty was kissing his feet. No! Shock galvanized Cressida. This must be a dream. A lust-crazed dream for—Good God—the haze was clearing, and for the first time, Cressida saw that this man was completely naked, and that while he was kissing Ariane, Persephone was kissing his feet, his ankles, the backs of his knees.
Gently the man placed Ariane upon the mattress before him, rising in tandem with Persephone, locked in a swaying embrace as she twined her arms about his neck, nuzzling his earlobe while Ariane began her own slow progress of pleasuring her husband from his feet upward.
Cressida glanced at the door. She should not be here, witnessing such a sight. The fog in her brain was clearing, highlighting the wrongness of being in the midst of a scene of such a sexual nature.