Christopher hastened to explain. “It's a wholly respectable group. No young
lady who attended would need to fear for her reputation, and we have several who come regularly. Everyone takes turns ferreting out new works to share.
We've hit on a writer who might… well please is the wrong word. It's terrible stuff, but it might just incite some interesting conversation.”
Her nerves eased. “I would enjoy that. I do like poetry.”
“It's not for the faint of heart,” he warned, wondering how she would react to
the Browning.
“I'm ready for anything.”
Christopher grinned at her words. In another woman's mouth, they might
have been seen as a flirtation, even an invitation, but Katerina's obvious innocence showed she meant the words literally; that she liked poetry and was willing to listen to it.
“Famous last words, Katerina. Now then, my dear, here we are at the
balcony.” Sure enough, the arched, wood-framed doors appeared before them.
“What would you think if we… stepped outside on it?”
Her breath caught, and her heart sped up. “I scarcely know. I've never been…
taken to the balcony before.”
“Would you object?” he asked, and his expression looked suddenly
vulnerable.
“I don't think so.” She felt hesitant but could not disguise the note of curiosity in her voice. I hope I don't sound too eager. It won't do for Christopher to think me a hussy.
He swept her out the door. Far from the partial warmth of the drafty parlor,
the chilly wind teased her through the thin fabric of her gown and disarranged her hair. Instantly freezing, Katerina suppressed a shiver as best she could.
A sliver of moon, like the clipping of a fingernail, peeped between the naked
branches of the trees that rose from the garden below. She looked up at Christopher, wondering what was next.
“Do you know why men take women to the balcony, Katerina?” he asked
her, and the intensity in his voice had bled to heat.
Can he really mean what he seems to be saying? Her heart began to beat faster. “Yes.”
“And do you fancy trying it?”
She swallowed but did not speak.
Tell me how you want this done, love,” he urged.
“What do you mean?” she whispered.
“I'm offering you a kiss. Do you dream of being kissed, Katerina?”
Oh, Lord, he does mean it, and he's such a handsome man, and so kind.
What a magnificent opportunity. “Yes.” Oh, how I want this, and I do like Christopher so. He's perfect.
“How?”
She didn't know how to answer the question. She didn't even know how to ask for clarification. She gazed into his eyes, silently begging him to explain.
“Do you want my hands on you?” he asked.
Her breath caught. “Yes.”
“Where?”
“Around my waist.” She mouthed rather than spoke the words. He embraced
her, his arms wonderfully warm.
