A Study in Scarlett

London, 1888

Scarlett ran, the rain drenching her laced white dress so that it clung to her and molded her figure. She ran from the looming mansion that had been her home since childhood and away from the brother who had abused her. It was a July midnight in London in 1888. She knew she had been ruined; it could not be undone. There was blood on her dress and she was cold, but she ran oblivious to all -- to the rain, to the blood, to the night -- and into the carriage crossing the road. "Watch where you're going, you bloody bunter!" the driver yelled as the horses reared and stopped.

Her heart beat wildly but she was unhurt. As she caught her breath and the driver settled the horses, the carriage door opened revealing the shadow of a gentleman in a top hat. He offered to give her a ride to her destination, but she was running away and she had nowhere to go. She stood silent in the rising storm.

"At least get inside and get out of the rain," the man said.

All Scarlett could think in that moment was that she had to get away, and a carriage would take her faster and farther than she could on her own. She entered the carriage taking the man's offered hand in aid. Her mind registered his cool and steady fingers under hers as she settled opposite him. Then letting go of his hand, she smoothed her skirt and felt his stare that warmed her while it also made her shudder. She didn't look at him and added the happenstance to the surreal occurrences of that night. The man rapped his cane on the roof to signal the driver.

"You're in much trouble and you are not at fault, though not altogether innocent either," he said.

She looked at him then, startled by the precision of his observation that pierced to the essence of her predicament. His face softened with a brief smile.

"I see I am right," he said. "You're running in the rain at a quarter past ten in the evening. Not a time for a lady to be seen unescorted much less without a hat or coat, though you are clearly a lady from your dress and bearing. Your mind is otherwise occupied else you wouldn't have run headlong into the street. That the business is bad can be seen from the blood on the hem of your skirt."

As Scarlett opened her mouth to protest and explain, he raised a hand to silence her. "That you are not at fault," he continued, "is obvious from your despair, which suggests a good intention gone horribly wrong, and the presence of another who thwarted your plan, rather than the concealment of some crime and fear of capture. That you are not altogether innocent, well . . . ." He looked away.

"Well, what?" Scarlett felt compelled to ask.

He looked at her and his deep brown eyes burned through her, but she did not look away. "You are here," he said.

Scarlett smiled, despite her current state, intrigued by this stranger who could assess her and her situation with such accuracy. Of him, she saw a man in his forties, clean-shaven, of average build and average features that assembled to a dramatic countenance. But, she did not have his powers and could not tell more, and moreover, could not account for the certainty she felt that she could trust him with her life.

He took her home -- to 221B Baker Street. When they arrived the fire was lit and the room warm. She was soaked through and her dress wrapped her like a mummy. She stood shivering before the fire and reached out to it to warm her hands. The tall man put up his hat and cloak. He seized a blanket that was draped over the davenport and covered her shoulders.

"You'll catch your death," he said.

She pulled the blanket around her and looked up at him. He was dressed in white tie and tails, evidence of a society evening. "Thank you," she said.

He walked over to the tray with spirits, poured a quarter glass of brandy and brought it over to her. "Here drink this."

"No, thank you, I don't . . ."

"I wouldn't ordinarily recommend it, but it will warm you up and you should get out of those wet clothes." He waved his hand indicating her form. "Here," he said placing the glass on the mantle within her reach. "I'll leave this for you and I'll leave you with the fire while I change." He walked into the small bed chamber and left her alone.

Scarlett took the glass down and drank a sip. She coughed at the strength of the liquor but the liquid filled her chest with warmth and she felt the bloom spread through her body. She took a deeper swallow and the warmth continued. Scarlett put the glass back on the mantle and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand as she turned to take in her surroundings -- a comfortable room with books and charts strewn about that smelled of old leather and boot polish, an unmistakably masculine scent.

She took off the blanket and placed it by the fire, then peeled the wet clothing from her body -- first, her skirt and blouse, and then, her undergarments. All the while she thought of the fight she had with her brother. He had accused her of ruining the family name and refused to let her see their father who lay on his death bed. She recalled how she had grabbed the candlestick and struck him drawing blood and his renewed fury, and then. . . .

Scarlett shook off her reverie and stood naked before the fire until she warmed. Then she wrapped herself in the blanket and laid her clothes around the grate to dry. She took another drink of brandy.

The dark man emerged from his chamber in his robe. "Right," he said and clapped his hands together and rubbed them. Scarlett turned to look at him, and watched as he took in what she had done.

"You can sleep here tonight," he continued. "I feel it's the least I can do for nearly running you down, but you'll have to make do with the divan."

Scarlett did not want to move from the comfort of the fire. She felt that the fire gave her life and made her feel safe. She closed her eyes and tilted her head back abandoning herself to the flames.

The tall man stood behind her and placed his hands on her shoulders. She trembled and dropped her hands from the blanket turning to face him with her back to the fire. He was left holding the blanket up between them. She looked into his eyes—clear, bright, inquisitive and without judgment. He threw the blanket aside and examined her as she stood exposed before him with her hands down at her sides. He put out a hand and touched her neck. She let out a sigh as though she had been burned and closed her eyes. He moved closer, took her in his arms and kissed her deeply.

The heat surrounded her -- from the fire, from within her and from the dark man who held her naked body. She opened her mouth and tasted his lips and tongue. She abandoned herself to the dark room, this dark stranger who replaced her dark thoughts. His hand fell to caress her breast as the other reached between her legs, over her mound to her slit. She shivered again, this time with desire and anticipation. She sighed as he continued to kiss her and his fingers entered her. She was wet and swollen and he probed deeper into her, slipping in and out. She bit his lip and pulled into him, running her hands over his body, feeling his form. She felt his member hard against her skin, large and urgent. She removed the loose bottoms he wore under his dressing gown. His member stood stiff and full. She held the length in her soft hands and it throbbed under her touch. He took off his robe and joined her with his nakedness.

He turned her around to face the fire and gently bent her over. She placed her hands on the chair beside the fireplace. He stroked the head of his member against her exposed opening. Her breathing became heavier, her heart quickened and her body yearned to be connected with his. He entered her slowly and she felt his member ease into her and fill her. She pushed back to meet him until he was completely inside her and she felt his chest against her back. He reached around her waist, embraced her and kissed her neck. He moved one hand to her breast and the other down her firm stomach through the hair on her mound to her clitoris. He circled her nub with his finger as he withdrew and thrust into her.

She moaned with each plunge and he quickened his strokes. As she approached her climax, he removed his hand and slowed his movements to tease her and extended her expectation. When her breathing evened out, he again quickened the pace and then abruptly he withdrew.

She turned to him panting -- lost and disconnected. He took her hand and led her to the divan where he sat and pulled her on top of him. She straddled him and sheathed his member within her, placing her hands on his shoulders. Her need had risen to desperation and she let him fill her until their hairs entwined and she could feel his balls against her buttocks. She ground her hips so that she could feel him stretch her. He kissed and sucked at her breast, rolling his tongue around the nipple. She began to move up and down first slowly and then faster as she impaled herself again and again on his long hard cock until her movements became frantic.

He calmed her, caressing her and kissing her. She slowed and looked at him. He cupped his hand under her head and lay her down on the divan. He plunged into her with slow even strokes as she put her hands on his buttocks and pushed him further raising her body to meet his. She cried out as the release came over her and moved her arms above her head surrendering herself to him completely. He felt the spasms of her orgasm as he spent and emptied himself within her, milking each drop with deep forceful thrusts.

. . . to be continued.