Page 22 of A Kiss Gone Wylde
“I’ve never been in a more beautiful room,” she whispered. “It’s perfection.”
“There is every sort of book here imaginable,” he explained. Sweeping his hand towards one shelf, “Novels. Some classics. Some quite lurid. There’s an entire shelf devoted to gothic novels by Mrs. Radcliffe and others.”
“I love gothic novels,” Benny admitted.
Payne grinned at her. “I thought it might. There are other books on art, the ancient world, biographies, science and mathematics, agriculture… if a book can be written about a topic, it’s likely in this room. There’s also a section of rather naughty books.”
Benny’s breath caught. “Naughtier than Mrs. Radcliffe?”
He laughed then. “Oh, yes. Have you noticed that in Mrs. Radcliffe’s works, she always tells you that something incredible is happening and yet never manages to convey precisely what it is?”
There were two things in his statement that resonated with Benny. The first was that he was quite right about Mrs. Radcliffe’s work. Even before she’d been introduced to carnal relations, as it were, she’d known the authoress was referring to them… and while she understood that the heroine was overcome, she hadn’t really known what being overcome entailed. The second salient point in his statement was that he’d read those books. “You read Mrs. Radcliffe’s novels?”
“Of course. I love a good book. Of any variety,” he answered. “Is that so shocking?”
“Yes,” Benny replied, utterly perplexed by him. She settled on one of the many chairs placed about the room. “My father detested my reading of them. And being wallflowers, as my sister, cousins and I were, we had the benefit of overhearing many conversations. People think nothing of saying truly horrid things in front of us. In truth, I do not think our presence was even registered! But nearly every gentleman made some disparaging remark about either the novels themselves or the women who read them.”
Benny watched him as he moved toward her. When he stopped, he was standing directly before her chair. He leaned forward, placing his hands on the arm of the chair, caging her between them. His face was only inches from hers when he said, “I am not most men, Benny.”
“I think I am beginning to understand that,” she replied somewhat breathlessly. She wasn’t afraid of him, but there was no denying that in that moment there was something almost predatory in the way he looked at her. And the very last thing she wanted to do was get away.
“Do not move from this spot,” he said.
“And if I do?” she challenged.
“Then you won’t get to see the surprise I have for you. Close your eyes.”
It was anticipation that kept her in that spot. Eyes closed, she waited. Expecting a kiss, or a caress, or some other sensual delight, it was a shock when the weight of a book was deposited in her lap.
Opening her eyes slowly, Benny looked down. If being presented with a book was shocking, then the contents of that book were simply beyond her comprehension.
There were no words on the pages before her. Only illustrations. Very detailed illustrations. Of things that she had a much better understanding of than she might have had even two days prior.
With her face flaming, she looked up at him. “What is this?”
“It is a modern, and by modern I simply mean in the last fifty years or so, tribute toI Modi, the Sixteen Pleasures. If you turn the page there is a corresponding sonnet in Italian. And then an English translation along with a… very detailed description of the illustration.”
Benny didn’t want to look, but she also didn’t want to look away. The ink drawings were impossibly detailed. Why anyone would need a detailed description of what she could see in the picture was simply unfathomable to her.
“Why?” She asked.
“Why did I show you the book?”
“No. Why are descriptions required? The illustrations are quite clear.”
He laughed. “Looking at those illustrations can be… titillating. Don’t you agree?”
Benny glanced at the drawing. “I would certainly call it evocative.”
“Reading about the act, gives one a more complete understanding. While the illustration depicts only one moment of what has occurred between that couple, the text examines it from beginning to glorious end,” he explained.
She swallowed convulsively, now trying to resist the urge to turn the page. “Did you do this to shock me?”
“No. Well, not entirely,” he admitted. “You are at a disadvantage, Benny. I know the things I like. I know all the things that I would like to do with you. But you do not have the benefit of that knowledge. So that book… it is rather like fashion plates at the dressmaker. You choose what you’d like and I will do my utmost to replicate it.”
Benny’s eyes widened in surprise. Had he really just offered her the opportunity to choose her own method of pleasure? “This seems… well, I can’t imagine that this is something that is done frequently.”
“I think that is a fair assessment,” he concurred. “Many men feel threatened by a woman’s pleasure… they think that if a woman finds pleasure in the marital act then she will be inclined to stray.”
