CarnalDevices Read Online Free

you graduated from
the school, what did you see for yourself?”
    “Freedom. But my freedom was taken away when my sponsor
died. The scholarship fund died with her and so did my hopes. I was barely
seventeen.”
    “Tell me in concrete terms what you planned to do after
graduating.”
    I pause, suddenly uncertain.
    “Because scholarship students do not marry wealthy
gentlemen. They do not join the ranks of high society.”
    The words are rowels digging into my skin. “Had I completed
my studies, I would never have heard of Silverton Square.” I pin him down with
a glare.
    “True. But let me be honest with you, India, perhaps
brutally so. After finishing school, scholarship students become governesses or
ladies-in-waiting. These occupations offer very little in terms of freedom.
Even finding a gentleman of a lower class to marry you—a woman without a family
or a dowry—would have been difficult, most likely impossible,” he says bluntly.
“Do not misunderstand me. Compared to the workhouse and Silverton Square,
finishing school was a blessing. But it did not truly offer you the freedom you
dreamed of. That freedom was an illusion.”
    I glower at him, wishing my stare could set him aflame.
However, he speaks the truth and it slides between my ribs like a whetted
blade.
    “You are eighteen years old, correct?”
    I nod.
    “You are a grown woman. Focus on what you have now. Turn
your gilded cage into an open sky where you can spread your wings and soar.”
    When I speak, I sound disgruntled, irate. “So I should shut
the door to my past?” Yet in my heart I recognize the necessity of doing so, of
relinquishing the dream, letting it fly off into the aether. My future would
never have been the glamorous one that I dreamed of, where a handsome
aristocrat kneeled before me and asked for my hand in marriage.
    “The past can never be regained. We live in the present, and
we plan for the future. That is all we can do.”
    My lips stretch into an imitation of a smile. “Do you also
have a degree in philosophy, Mr. Felter?”
    He chuckles. “Please, call me Phineas.”
    “Phineas.” The name is as soft and serene as the blue of his
eyes.
    “Take a look at yourself.” He takes me by the hand and
positions me before my full-length mirror. “What do you see?”
    My bustier pushes my breasts into creamy, caramel-colored
mounds. Beneath the long, transparent organza that constitutes my skirt, my
black undergarments peek through, as do my garters. Too much rouge highlights
my cheekbones and my lips are a vivid, vermillion shade. “A common whore.”
    Phineas sighs. “You are stubborn, India. Do you know what I
see?”
    He stands behind me, both hands gripping my upper arms. His
touch is firm, and it awakens a longing in me. Why? Why does he have this
effect?
    Because he is first and foremost a man of intellect and
physical considerations are of secondary importance to him. Yes, it makes
sense. He appeals to my mind, unlike other men I have encountered who are of a
baser nature. How refreshing.
    And titillating. Often, I shrink at a man’s touch or simply
tolerate it. Seldom do I welcome it. I lean back, pressing my body against his.
Phineas responds by wrapping his arms around my waist.
    “I will tell you what I see. A woman with infinite
potential. A woman who can reinvent herself and become whoever she wishes.
Create your own identity, India. Who do you wish to be?”
    He makes it sound like a simple task, as easy as donning a
new gown for a masquerade ball. “Honestly, I do not know. For so long, I have
thought of myself as a whore, a prostitute, a woman of ill repute.”
    “Unacceptable.” His hands slide down to my hips and stop
there. Most men would have gone directly to my rounded buttocks.
    “Look at the beauty beneath the rouge and the prostitute’s
common apparel.” He snaps one of my garters, and I start. “For example, you can
use your heritage to your advantage.”
    “My heritage?” What a tactful