Improper Relations Read Online Free Page B

fiddled with the stem of my wineglass and tried to think of what I should say.
    “You can be honest with me, Hannah. You’ve nothing to fear, I swear it.”
    “Why?” I blurted out. “Why me?”
    “You intrigue me, that’s why. You give every appearance, on the outside, of conforming entirely to the identity my mother has conferred on you. The drab drudge of a lady’s companion. The poor relation who lives in the shadows. The ghost who—”
    “Stop! Just stop. I know who I am, what I am. I’ve no ambition to be anything more.”
    “But you do. I can see that so clearly now. When I think of the way you responded to me in the library, I know you’re more than that.”
    He was wrong. He had to be wrong. “You mistake me. Boredom has driven me here—that, and simple curiosity.”
    “About what? Come now, Hannah—what are you curious about?”
    “Everything.”
    There. I’d admitted it. I sagged back in the chair and gulped at my wine.
    “Then ask me. Ask me anything and I promise to answer truthfully.”
    The first question was out of my mouth before I could stop it. “How old were you when you first had relations?”
    “Fourteen—nearly fifteen, I think. It was with Betsy, one of the maids here. She was eighteen. Wonderfully enthusiastic.”
    “Did you enjoy it?”
    “God, yes. It was all I’d been thinking about for months and months. Of course, I was so undone by the experience that it was over quite quickly. But Betsy was very kind to me and before long I knew what was what.”
    Another swallow of wine gave me fresh courage. “How many women have you had relations with?”
    “Hmm…I honestly don’t know. I’ve never been one for keeping count of things like that. When I was younger, I’d fuck anyone who looked at me. Now I’m somewhat more discerning. Perhaps five or six different women in the past year?”
    “Who are they?”
    “You want their names?”
    “No, of course not,” I clarified. “I meant—are they generally maidservants like Betsy and Ida? Or are they women from your own circle?”
    “If a maidservant approaches me—as I said, I’ve acquired a reputation here and at my London house—I’m happy to oblige. Within reason. In general, though, I prefer widows. They have a degree of independence, they know what they want, they’re discreet about it and they’re usually unburdened by romantic illusions.”
    “Have you ever harbored such illusions yourself?” He didn’t answer, so I pressed on. “Have you ever been in love?”
    “No. Have you?”
    “No,” I answered honestly. “At first I hoped…I thought perhaps, with Charles. But no. In the end, no.”
    He didn’t look at me as I spoke, and I was glad. Speaking of love, at that moment, was almost unbearable. I ought never to have mentioned it. Best to return to the purely physical plane.
    “When you were having relations with Ida, you did so in an unconventional manner—”
    “When I fucked her from behind?”
    Oh, how I wished he would not use that word. “Yes. Is that because it’s more pleasurable?”
    “I wasn’t parsing the whys and wherefores at the time, but that position has a great deal to recommend it. To begin with, it allows me to keep my hands free. And it does let me fuck a woman that much deeper. So, yes, I like it.”
    “Do you prefer it to the more usual form of lovemaking?”
    “You mean with the woman on her back? Both have their merits. And of course they’re only two of many ways in which the act may be accomplished.”
    Would he ever cease surprising me? He laughed, took another sip of whiskey and ran a hand through his hair.
    “Shall I rhyme them off for you? Let me see…a woman may ride the man, either facing him or with her back to him. She may lie prone beneath him—a variant, I suppose, on what you saw me doing with Ida. He may fuck her while they’re both standing, preferably with a wall or cabinet or something of the sort at her back. How is that to begin with?”
    I