Ours Is Just a Little Sorrow (6 page)

"Where have you brought me to?" I could scarce keep the wonder from my voice.

"It's called a
ribaldery
. It's more fun than a gentleman's club or those prissy parlors run by the upper crust."

A ribaldery. I'd heard of them. Ladies don't attend ribalderies. Not unless they are ladies of quite a different nature.

I looked at him in horror. "Ribalderies are illegal, Gideon. They get raided and…and…they are frequented by defilers and bounders."

"Which do you think I am? A bounder or a defiler?" When I made no attempt to answer, he leaned to my ear, his voice low and his breath hot. "Perhaps both?"
He chuckled. "Welcome to my world, Violet."

Music I didn't recognize, with strong beats and amplified sound provided a backdrop for a kaleidoscope of color. So much color. Dresses, feathers,
waistcoats-everything so vibrant I wondered if bits of a rainbow had broken off and landed in this lounge.

A haze of smoke clung to the air, adding mystery and a faint odor of cloves. Laughter punctuated the din, some of it sharp and mirthless, some of it bawdy,
all of it loud.

The shocking gown I wore was the chastest outfit in the room. Women, many of them my age, in barely covered corsets and stockings lounged in men's laps,
laughing and drinking. Some wore men's breeches, some wore stockings in colors and patterns I didn't know were possible. Their hair was done in strange
shapes-braids and rolls so unlike the simple coil I wore. Some of the women wore their hair down, loose and flowing or stick straight, and more color on
their eyelids, cheeks, and lips.

The men's styles resembled Gideon's, mostly formal suits that had been left rakishly disheveled. A few wore the clothes of pirates, or at least like the
pictures of pirates I'd seen on lithographs. Their eyes barely rested on me, and who could blame them? The other females were so much more interesting than
I would ever dare.

An exotic girl stopped in front of Gideon. The epicanthic fold of her eyelids spoke of a highly prized Asian ancestry. Pearls threaded through the shiny
black hair she'd swept over one shoulder. Of all things, she wore a tightly fitted man's blue tailcoat. Her exposed petticoat and corset were more ornate
than many a lady's best gown.

"Minerva," Gideon said as he kissed her hand. I looked at the floor quickly, not sure why. I didn't want to see his reaction to her, I suppose. At the
academy, I was the brazen one, a leader and an original. In this place, next to this girl, I was milquetoast. "How lovely to see you again," he murmured
against her gloveless hand.

"Yes," she said, less than impressed. "It's been all of twelve hours. Don't be droll, who's the chit?"

I wasn't sure if I was feeling more insulted or unworthy of her attention, so I settled for thrusting my hand out like a man and telling her my name.

It seemed better than a curtsy, at least.

Minerva started and then looked to Gideon as if she were wondering if I were serious. After a shrug, she shook my hand, both of us slightly awkward with
the masculine greeting. "Nice to meet you, Violet. I'm Minerva. We don't use last names here." She returned her gaze to Gideon. "Good luck with that one."

And then she was off.

"Are you warm enough?" Gideon asked.

I knew he was teasing. When wasn't he teasing? The pink of my cheeks broadcast my temperature, and yes, it was plenty warm. However, his coat provided me
more than warmth, and I wasn't ready to shed my cocoon just yet. Nor was I ready to ascertain why wearing his coat made me feel safer.

I rationalized that by wearing something of his, perhaps the rakes and cads in the room would understand that I was not alone, thus not fair game for their
shenanigans. But really, if I were going to be honest with myself, it smelled nice, like Gideon. And it felt as if he cared for me by providing it.

Which made me gasp at my own foolishness, so I shucked it off immediately, baring my shoulders and low décolletage. Handing him the jacket, I
straightened my spine.

"There's my girl." Gideon draped the jacket over a chair. "What do you want to do first?"

"Do?" I asked.

He put his arm around me and we wove through the crowd. The colors and sounds were so foreign. A man stopped in front of us with a glass vase of sorts. It
held a murky purple mixture in the bottom and a layer of smoke in the cylinder. "Toke?" he offered.

Gideon waved him away with one hand.

We squeezed through more people than should have been in such a small space until we came to the center. On the stage, three women mesmerized the crowd
with a choreographed dance number. They wore short ruffled pantaloons and their breasts near overflowed their laces. Their dance titillated the audience,
drawing cheers and hollers. I was witnessing my first burlesque and it made my heart pound extravagantly.

And then I realized all three of the dancers were men.

"Where have you brought me, Gideon?" My eyes must have been as big as saucers.

He laughed and the sound of it jolted me back into reality. Gideon never laughed. Not really. He chuckled and he teased, but his humor was always tinged
with a dark shadow.

The entertainment on stage was finishing up, so I reluctantly watched their finale, entranced by how seamless their performance was. The young man on the
end was far prettier than I ever hoped to be, and I felt a little like I'd been squandering my femininity.

"You're frowning," Gideon said.

"I feel out of place," was the simple answer. He didn't need to hear that I didn't feel pretty.

Gideon led me further into the abyss. A man stopped me, separating my hand from Gideon's shirt sleeve. Gideon didn't notice and kept going, no longer in my
reach.

"Drink on the house for the lovely lady," the man said.

I blushed and stammered a thank you, but as I brought the glass to my lips, Gideon plucked it from my hand and sent a look of warning to the man that sent
him scurrying like a schoolboy. Gideon tipped the glass upside down, pouring the contents onto the floor.

"Do us both a favor, sprite, and don't drink anything unless I give it to you," he said, as if I were trying his patience.

"Why not?"

He looked side to side, as if to make sure nobody was listening, and then he bent to my ear. "Some of the gentlemen here aren't as trustworthy as I am," he
said in mock seriousness.

I rolled my eyes at him. Trustworthy, hah. "I still don't understand."

Gideon frowned. He didn't like to get serious, but apparently, I was forcing him to dire straits. He put both hands on my shoulders. I tried not to shrug
him off, despite feeling very vulnerable and, well, bare.

Gideon looked very deeply into my eyes. "I won't let anything happen to you. You understand that, right?"

I nodded.

"Violet, you're a very pretty girl and the people I associate with are reprobates. I know this because that's why I like them. They won't touch you if they
know you're with me, but I'm still not inclined to trust them. There are tinctures floating around this place that would render you unable to make good
decisions."

"Spirits? I'm not likely to become inebriated from one drink."

He shook me, just a little. "Not regular spirits. The tinctures are more powerful than that. Please, just promise me."

"Fine, Gideon. I promise I won't drink anything unless you give it to me." My voice conveyed my incredulity. "When did you become such a teetotaler?"

His turn for eye rolling. "As you well know, I don't abstain from much, Violet. And if you would like to get intoxicated, I will be happy to help you with
that." His smile turned carnal, and I shivered, just like he wanted me to do. "But I'd rather not have you poisoned, so let me know if you're
ever…thirsty."

My pulse stumbled over the inferred offer of quenching my thirst. It seemed that even if he weren't doing it on purpose, I found double entendre in
everything he said.

"Are you?"

"Am I what?" I answered, wondering if I'd missed a question during my ruminations.

"Thirsty?" He asked innocently, with an indecent spark in his eyes.

I shook my head vehemently.

Gideon chuckled. "Come dance with me, Vi."

He pulled me into another room, a ballroom of sorts, where several couples had begun what looked to be a promenade.

"But the music-" The music was pulsating and thrumming with too much percussion.

"It's not what you're used to, but you can dance to it. I promise." Then he paused. "You can dance, can't you?"

Like a marionette to his strings, I answered his taunt just the way he wanted me to, letting my pride ruffle and overtake my good sense. "Of course I can
dance. Dancing was part of the curriculum at the academy. In fact, I'm a very accomplished dancer. Probably better than you."

"I'll endeavor to stay off your toes."

I shot him a glare. I'd seen the way he moved. Graceful like a cat-or at least a cat burglar. My toes were in no danger, but I doubt he'd promise me safe
from anything else.

We took our place for the Grand March. And I felt the distance between us keenly. The other dancers moved differently than I'd ever seen, making each step
uniquely their own, despite the dance being the same as performed in all the parlors of New Geneva. As they strut, their hips and shoulders rolled in an
imitation of intimacy. As if there were no inhibitions.

"What kind of music is this?" I asked when we met in the middle to promenade down the alley of dancers.

Gideon glanced at the musicians. "It's from the 20
^th
Century. They called it Rock. It's a favorite here."

I faltered in my steps. "20
^th
Century…from Earth?" How extraordinary and old fashioned. "Why are they plugged in?" The aether tubes were
not connected to all the instruments, just the mandolins.

"It amplifies the sound."

Before the next dance began, we all took places in two lines, the men facing the women directly across from our partners. I kept my spine rigid to hold my
dress up, but I would have preferred to shrink into the corner and hide. All the dancing I'd done had been in gray, drab gowns-everyone in the ribaldery
shone like polished gems. And Gideon, the rake, was never more dashing.

I feared no tincture was necessary to inebriate my already addled senses.

He bowed deeply. I curtsied, not as deeply, in order to keep my feminine figure all the way inside my dress. He blinked at me lazily, his eyelids hooded as
if he were slowly wakening from a slumber.

Even with the unfamiliar music, I was able to keep up with the steps I knew by rote. I began to feel a bit foolish clinging to the proper form when all
around me shimmied and dipped, undulating their hips and making the dancing unique. Each time we met in the middle, Gideon would smirk or arch a brow or
stare at my bosom. I let him fluster me for the first half of the song, but by mid-tune I actually giggled.

A part of me cracked with the giggle, allowing the scents and sounds and visions around me to absorb into the fissure. My heart pounded with a new rhythm
and the dance ceased to be the polite exchange of manners I'd learned at the academy and instead became a game of dare. As we wove the intricate patterns
of the dance into the floor, I focused much less on my feet-or even my body-and became more interested in my partner. His gaze felt like a stroke so that
even when Gideon stopped a breath away from touching me after a turn around the other couple, my skin felt the rush of him everywhere.

No longer content to let him push and pull my feelings without retribution, I practiced a coy look at him over my shoulder as the dance dictated another
pattern of movement away from each other. His eyes darkened at my attempt of flirtation, and I suddenly felt more powerful than a goddess.

The music, strange as it was, stirred me deeply. As the last pattern ended, I curtsied as low as I dared.

I'd never seen such a hungry man.

The air was charged with our mutual taunting. I should have known better than to play a game with Gideon, for we were unfairly matched. But it didn't stop
me. I wet my lips and he smiled-not a witty or encouraging smile. One that meant to disarm me.

A waltz was next and before I had a chance to deny or encourage, Gideon pulled me too tightly to him and moved us around the floor as if we were one. I
scarce had time to breathe. I should have pushed him further away, it wasn't proper for him to mold my body to his. Instead, I was trapped in his gaze like
a hunted animal seconds before the shot.

"Relax," he intoned. His voice, gravelly and low, came from someplace deeper inside him than usual. "For one night, Vi, just forget who you are and who I
am. Forget the academy and the Colonel. Nobody knows you here, and if they did, they wouldn't care. Tonight, you're the sprite that haunts my dreams. Let
yourself have this one night. Let us both…can you?" His fingers dug into my hip. "You've come this far, you may as well let it all go."

His words filled my head until there was no room for anything else. And so, to make room, I had to let some things go. Things I'd held on to so tightly.

Prim
was the first to leave from my head, as I let the rigidness of my body relax, allowing more freedom-my first taste of it. Gideon had an amazing command of
our flight. We whirled and dashed and it was more exhilarating than anything I'd known. I greeted the rush of air and sound with giddy abandon.

Proper
was the second thing I released, as I pushed further into him where our bodies touched, delighting in the fierce intake of Gideon's breath and the ignition
of a dangerous light in his eyes. I became the sprite he taunted me with.

Sense
was the last to leave, emptying the space so that Gideon had full command of my every thought.

A new ache took residence over my body, but what I coveted, I wasn't sure. I only know that when the night ended, I wasn't ready to let go. The ride home
on his whyrlygig gave me time to process my own behavior in relative peace. I wouldn't have recognized myself in that ribaldery. Perhaps it was a harmless
flight of fancy, but I feared what would become of me after such a taste of decadence. Just as one spoonful of trifle at Thornfield ruined me forever for
going back to the pasty gruel served at the academy, I wondered if I would ever be able to don my gray dress and not remember what it felt like to fly
while wearing a silk one.