As the carriage rattled down the cobbled streets of London Alice thought this was not exactly how she had pictured her first time. It's not as if she'd anticipated her deflowering to be all rose petals and sonnets. Though she had at least expected some pleasure from the experience. Yet as she felt her fiancé probe blindly in the dark confined space, that possibility was looking more and more remote. He bumped his head on the short benchlike seat while struggling with her petticoats. She had to stifle a laugh when his powdered wig tumbled to the floor like a deflated meringue.
Francis mumbled an apology and carried on with his halting thrusts. His motions were awkward and unsure, lacking in both skill and enthusiasm. Perhaps the absence of one of those things could be overcome but clearly not two.
"Is that agreeable to you?" he asked following a kiss that had a bit too much saliva and not nearly enough feeling.
Alice gazed up at the man she was giving her virtue to, trying to reassure him with a weak nod. There was no denying that as a suitor Francis had all the right qualifications; good looks, ample fortune and impeccable breeding. Character wise he was cordial, well-mannered, refined and... and... duller than ditchwater.
When her engagement to Lord Francis Collinsworth III had been announced at the ball earlier that night Alice's friends congratulated her with barely concealed envy in their eyes. Her parents were practically over the moon about the match, especially her social climbing father who saw their union as his first-class ticket into the best social circles. Yet try as she might Alice couldn't bring herself to feel anything for Francis beyond a tepid admiration. Heaven forbid she want something beyond admiration. Not love. She wanted something even more elusive amongst the tight-lipped, cold-blooded British nobility; she wanted passion.
Though Alice looked the part of the prim and proper Regency miss, with her delicate doll-like features and her fine frilly white dresses, she had a scandalous secret. Simmering just beneath the surface of those serene blue eyes and innocent golden curls was a burning desire. A desire for some forceful hero to break through her gilded cage and bring a little spice into her bland life.
Most nights she lay awake, hands buried beneath the covers, fingers seeking the warm aching place between her legs as she conjured up images of her dark and dangerous fantasy man. It was her own small act of rebellion against a stifling society that insisted proper young ladies felt no such passions. But now that she finally had a flesh and blood paramour between her thighs that long sought-after pleasure was nowhere to be found.
Francis was sliding into her carefully as though she were a piece of his mother's prized porcelain. Every timid stroke made Alice's heart sink a little deeper. She had nurtured the hope, however slim, that maybe her betrothed was harboring the same forbidden passions as she. That was why she had insisted they consummate their relationship before the wedding night. Yet with each passing moment it was becoming increasingly apparent that there was no molten hot core hidden beneath Francis' icy exterior. Simply more ice.
She should have known. After six months of courtships, listening to him rattle on about his beetle collection and his disapproval of the current fad of women bicyclists, Alice had never witnessed a crack in his overly starched facade. Worst of all Francis treated her the way everyone else in her life did, as if she was a weak helpless child. She was nineteen now, practically a woman, and still they persisted in handling her with kid-gloves. But Alice longed to be handled in a very different manner. Coarser and with far less civility.
"Am I hurting you?" Francis repeated for the third time.
"No."
But I wish you would
, she thought though she dared not say it. He would surely be shocked to find that his gently-reared fiancé could entertain such sinful notions. If he even suspected it he would probably renounce her on the spot.
So instead she just shook her head and tried to focus on whatever enjoyment she could wring from their clumsy coupling. Shutting her eyes tight, she concentrated on the way the organ inside was stretching her snug channel almost to the point of pain. It wasn't wholly unpleasant. If only its owner would take on a more determined tempo.
Just as she was starting to feel tension building in her core the motion of Francis' hips turned even more erratic and then abruptly stopped. He went rigid for a moment and then jerked on top of her like a fish on a hook. Even his face took on the aspect of a great gasping flounder as he pulled from her and spilled his seed on her thighs. Then it was over, far sooner than she had expected- and hoped.
Francis wasted no time crawling off her. He moved to the opposite bench, plopping the rumpled wig back atop his head and suddenly looking even more sheepish than usual. Following suit, Alice righted herself and worked to smooth down the skirts of her white empire waist gown. Catching her reflection in the carriage window she arranged her slightly mussed ringlets into place around her oval face.
Strange.
She didn't look any different. She didn't feel any different either. She had been quite sure that she would feel different in some way.
Francis, however, seemed to look at her very differently. In fact he stared downward, studying the carriage floor, as if he could hardly bring himself to look at her at all. A long, stilted silence followed, which was abruptly broken by the repeated tolling of nearby church bells.
"Oh, botheration. It's midnight!" Francis' eyes grew wide as he doublechecked his pocket watch. "You can get yourself home, I presume, Alice dear? I would hate to risk your father's censure if we were seen together at this time of night before the nuptials. I do have a certain reputation to uphold."
"Of course I can, my lord. You needn't risk your standing for
my
sake." Alice replied in a surprisingly placid tone considering the surge of disgust she felt at her fiancé's complete lack of chivalry. He wasn't even attempting to conceal the fact that he had more concern for his own reputation than his soon-to-be wife's wellbeing. Part of her wanted to call him out for the coward that he was but she'd likely be wasting her breath. Besides, the prospect of getting out of the stuffy carriage and far away from its up-tight passenger suited her just fine.
With a signal to the coachman, the vehicle clattered to a stop. After exchanging a cool kiss Alice clambered out of the safety of Francis's elegant carriage and into the cool dark night. She watched the vehicle drive away. Only when it had disappeared around the corner did she let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding.
Since Alice could remember every aspect of her life had been carefully chosen for her. From her hobbies, to her suitors, to the very shoes on her feet. And it was clear her marriage would be no different.
Fretfully, she toyed with her engagement ring, a large and expensive family heirloom. It felt heavy on her petite hand, like a millstone round her finger. As she gazed into its depths Alice could practically see her future reflected in the facets of the glittering diamond. A ho-hum marriage, a stuffy town house, a brood of anemic children. Prosperous, comfortable, and boring.
Most ladies of the ton would jump at the chance of unlimited comfort and prosperity but Alice was not most ladies. She craved excitement. She longed for adventure, unfamiliar lands, colorful sights. Surely anything would be better than the endless parade of luncheons, concerts and balls that made up her monotonous existence. Or so she thought until she got a good look at her present surroundings...
The East End neighborhood in which she presently found herself was about as far from the silk-encased world she knew as any alien shore. She passed boarded up shops of rough trade, butchers, tanners, fisheries. Each one exuded their own unique odor that mixed with the general stench of the city and gathered in fetid streams along the road sides. The area was ugly, gritty and unsavory and she got the distinct impression that there may be dastardly villains and vicious cutthroats around every corner. Alice couldn't get enough.
Soon the docks came into view. Alice marveled at the row of large ships, craning her neck in wonder at the masts that reached up into the night sky. She examined the finely carved face of a wooden figurehead, wondering how many parts of the wide world the bare breasted siren had seen that she would probably never lay eyes on.
She was so lost in her own gloomy thoughts that it took some time for Alice to realize just how turned around she had become. To get back to her family's ultra-fashionable Park Lane address she would simply have to follow the river west. But which way was west? That way. Wait, hadn't she just come from that direction? Or maybe it was the other way.
Bother.
The slow trickle of hawkers and beggars had dried up and she found herself on empty streets. To make matters worse the fog had gradually crept in like a damp grey tide so that she could hardly see a few yards in front of her, making it impossible to get her bearings.
A shudder of apprehension suddenly ran down her spine. Maybe it was a slight sound or a fleeting motion, but Alice had the feeling that she was no longer alone. Wrapping her gauzy lace fichu tighter around her shoulders, she hastened her step. Her leather boots clicked loudly along the damp flagstone as she went. Her senses were on high alert as she scanned the darkness for the source of her unease. Nothing but shadows. Then one of the shadows sprang to life and shot across her path in the form of a wiry black cat.
The shriek that was poised on her lips turned into a nervous laugh as the cat blended back into the darkness. She shook her head, silently chiding herself for her overactive imagination. "Naughty pussy." She muttered.
"My thoughts exactly," a low voice answered her. A moment later a figure materialized out of the mist. She held her breath as two more figures emerged from either side.
Alice could tell by their size that they were male, rather large males. Yet the haze was so thick that she could not see any further specifics until they were a few yards away. It was only then that she could make out distinct details, a row of shiny brass buttons, a blood red neckerchief, a leering flash of teeth.
