Her Morning Star: A Lesbian Regency Romance (Ladylike Inclinations Book 1) by Violet Cowper

Author:Violet Cowper [Cowper, Violet]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: anonymous
Published: 2022-09-14T23:00:00+00:00

Chapter 9

‘This place seems … a little deserted,’ Melanie said when they stepped beneath the great stone folds of the Maronite monastery of Aleppo. It felt queer to feel the cloth of her old travel dress around her instead of the harsh white cotton of the Turkish garb.

‘It is not for long,’ she said to herself. Now that they were in possession of funds again, they would be able to procure local clothing in no time at all.

Wait. Did she really have to soothe herself that the return to ordinary, modest manner of dress was not for long? What had this journey done to her?

Nothing, Melanie reasoned, but convinced me that some situations call for a European dress and others for a Turkish shirt, just as one would not wear a ballgown for a morning bout of riding. Nothing but that. Nothing at all.

It felt even stranger to see Evelyn changing into her own gown in the enclosed murk of their tent. Melanie did not want to admit it, but she found herself watching her and painting pictures in her mind with her words. How would she have described her older companion’s body had she been called to do it for some reason?

Her carriage, iron-straight – except that sounded silly; iron could be moulded into whatever shape one wished, provided it was hot enough.

This iron was cold, then.

Her skin, grown rugged and – oh, the scandal – tanned under the merciless Lebanese sun that covered Melanie’s face with unseemly red splotches. Instead of looking vulgar, the golden-brown tint set Evelyn’s raven locks off.

Her hair, freed from the prudent prison of the pins and hanging down to her waist, dark like the depths of the storm-lashed sea.

Her breasts, ripe and firm as pomegranates, the heavy nipples peeking slightly through the shift.

Melanie imagined Evelyn’s breasts were firm, but she would have o touch them to know.

And she couldn’t touch them, much as the notion robbed her of breath.

Melanie had never had such wanton thoughts about the beaux who courted her half-heartedly during her first season, years ago. She thought of them as sweet companions, good friends, possible providers of her future, and marks of her honour as a debutante – but never carnal objects of desire.

Evelyn never did anything half-heartedly. Had she been able to court her the way she was able to waltz with her, she would have swept her off her feet.

Melanie remembered their last evening with the Ruwallah, the evening of a great feast with a slaughtered lamb. She was not vain enough to imagine the reason for the magnificent dinner had anything to do with their guests; it was merely a celebration of a felicitous arrival in Aleppo, where they could sell the wool and the carpets woven by their women and buy medicines, armaments and Turkish cigarettes, as well as hear the recent news from the world beyond the deserts.

The mutton was dripping with fat, and although the Ruwallah ate with great decorum, there was no mistaking their hunger.

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