“That was quite bold of you, Miss Storme,” Doctor Marsden whispered as he drifted over and stood behind her sofa.
“I had to do something to put life into this evening,” she responded in an equally low voice without taking her attention from the speaker.
“That effort is commended, for I nearly fell asleep until you took the stage, so to speak.”
She allowed a small grin. “Then it was fortunate I came tonight.”
“Indeed.” Doctor Marsden leaned his forearms on the back of the sofa and put his lips near her ear but kept his focus on the speaker. “Over the course of my education and the ability to delve into various ancient texts, I’ve learned a few erotic poems myself.”
“Oh?” Her heartbeat accelerated, as much from his words as the warmth of his breath that skated over her cheek. How exciting it must have been to see those aged books and either translate their meanings or have someone there who could.
“Shall I tell you one?” The fine tenor of his voice sent awareness tingling over her skin.
“Yes.” She didn’t wish to turn her head and look at him for fear William would shuttle her out of the room.
“And that seductive laugh, which sets
the heart to flutter in my chest
For when I glance your way, my words
Dissolve unheard.
Silence breaks my tongue and subtle
fire streams beneath my skin,
I can’t see with my eyes, or hear
through buzzing ears.
Sweat runs down, a shiver shakes
Me deep—I feel as pale as grass:
As close to death as that, and green,
Is how I seem.”
“It’s beautiful.” This time she did look at him and caught the wicked glint in his eye. “Who is the poet?”
His quiet laugh echoed in her ear, his breath warmed her neck. “Her name is Sappho. She was a Greek lyrical poet and an aristocrat born between 630 and 612 B.C. It’s said that Plato placed Sappho among the divine Muses.”
“How interesting.” He was so close that she couldn’t help but stare at his mouth. What would those sensual lips feel like against hers?
“For many years, intellectuals and poets alike have deliberately—it’s assumed—said the speaker in the poem is a man talking of his jealousy while the woman he is enamored with is speaking with another man.”
Isobel nodded. “It certainly sounded like it.”
“However, there are those in some academic circles now who have put forth the idea that even though Sappho was a female and was married to a rich merchant, she had a female lover, and that’s who she was speaking of in the poem.”
The words were titillating enough and spoken in the doctor’s whispered tones they sent shivers down her spine. “Would that I could know more.”
“There are many intriguing things life holds if one is but open to receive them.” Polite applause went through the room at the conclusion of the next reading. “Next time you think to cause a sensation, Miss Storme, always be aware there are others with more shocking subject matter.” With a grin, Royce straightened.
“Touché, Doctor Marsden.” She kept her attention on the next reader who stood before the company, but her pulse fairly raced through her veins and excitement buzzed at the base of her spine. “Does this mean you’re not averse to creating a bit of scandal?” Though her words were whispered, they sounded overly loud in her ears.
His soft chuckle sent gooseflesh racing over her arms. “That depends.”
“On?” She could scarcely breath from waiting for his answer.
“What you have in mind.”
Oh, merciful heavens!Without looking at the doctor, she said, “I’ll arrange to walk my dog at eight o’clock in Hyde Park tomorrow morning. Meet me?”
“I’d be delighted, Miss Storme. It’ll be a pleasant distraction before I go into the clinic.” His fingers brushed her shoulder as he moved away. “A morning constitutional is most welcome exercise, don’t you agree?”
She absolutely did, especially if she could walk with a handsome man with mischief in his eyes.