the little building’s threshold. It was a simple structure, perhaps once a two-horse stable, and had the smell of dirt and rusting metal that showed it had been converted over to tool storage. There was a glassless window, which framed the fog-shrouded moon. It was very dark within.
Why did he bring me here? she asked herself…but something deep inside her knew the most logical explanation.
He turned to her, taking her glass, and placing both hers and his on the window sill. “Let us speak frankly. You seek escape?” he said.
Olivia stared. How had he been able to see that she was trying so very hard not to be herself tonight? Was she so transparent as all that?
He’d asked her to be frank, and she chose to comply. Still, it was so dark that he might not be able to tell from how she held herself that there were limits, so she made her accented voice crisp. “Yes. But I am not, how you say? Not a tart.”
He’d been peering out the window frame, but now he turned. It was hard to say, since she could only pick out a single moon-silvered line to give her the notion of his profile, but she thought he moved as though startled. “Nor did I call you one.”
She swallowed. “I zought you brought me,” she glanced around, unenchanted, “’ere to ‘ave a…a tryst?”
And what if he had? Had she hoped for it? A bit of inappropriateness? Or…more? She’d been married. She knew what sexual congress was. So long as no child came of the act, in what way could it harm her? She knew women sometimes had lovers. Why not her? Why not just once? To see if it could be something …more. If she retained her mask, and let him use her body…well, who would be using whom? Surely the night was yet too young, too precious a treat to be let go of already? Such an adventure she was having. Was it to be a much greater, much more thrilling exploration?
He stared at her, and she stared back even though all they could see was the faintest outline of one another. A stranger in the dark, talking to another stranger… She wanted to shock, and to be startled herself. She caught a scent of woodsy soap, and breathed it in deeply. Something about the intimate aroma of a man’s soap made her want to abandon thought. When had she ever even had a chance to misbehave?
“A tryst? Mademoiselle, I don’t know what--”
“I zink,” she gave a throaty little sound that even she wasn’t sure was a laugh. “I zink I just would like you to kiss me.”
He straightened a little, drawing back half a step.
She gave him no more time to think, stepping against him, raising the mask and slipping it over her head. Her hair fell free as she pulled it out of the short domino, and maybe even in the deep dark he could tell her hair was light-colored.
“ Mademoiselle --”
She put a hand on both of his shoulders, coming up on tiptoe, shocked by her own daring but caught up in it all the same. No, there would be no lovemaking, she was not such a fool. But one kiss? One kiss, and she would flee, taking her mask and her gown and herself home, to savor over and over in memory the night she’d dared to be a bit wild and free and irresponsible and careless. It didn’t matter that her head was swimming; indeed, it only added to the moment, only made her more determined to give herself the shocking thrill of an unknown man’s lips on her own.
He remained still for a moment, but then, slowly, he leaned down to her, the minimal light causing him to first find her cheek with his mouth. For a moment she thought that would be the extent of the moment, but she decided it would not and turned her head, causing his lips to slide across her cheek and find her mouth with his own.
For all that Olivia had been married, she’d scarce been kissed. She anticipated a dry peck--not the sliding together of warm, firm lips.
It began a fine enough thing, a salute, but then his mouth pressed hers a bit more fully. It took only a few seconds more before she knew his was not