What Was I Thinking? (26 page)

Huh! I wondered if I would be the first to
invent wearing “tennis shoes” for casual wear. I knew that was what they’d been
called, before sneakers, and long before running shoes or cross-trainers.

The three of us had never really settled on a
decision about limiting the damage from time travel. If Bert even thought about
time travel these days, he hadn’t mentioned it.

When necessary, we talked about my journey, or
my home, or my other life without mentioning that the journey was across time
rather than the globe. I told Augusta about my other life, but we were careful
not to be overheard, and she assured me she had no plans to patent inventions
from my stories. We couldn’t do much about the risk of altering history by
killing butterflies or stepping on flowers, so we just ignored it.

I thought, though, that if I did things that
were a little out of the
ordinary,
or just a couple
years ahead of their time, I probably wouldn’t cause much trouble. After all,
Marie Curie was already a famous scientist. There were women working as
doctors, dentists, and architects. They were widely considered odd and
unfeminine, but they existed. I wouldn’t be single-handedly changing history if
I figured out a way to make a living. I’d be just another weirdo. I could live
with that. After all, I had survived middle school.

Having a sense of purpose helped, as did the
feel of getting back into shape, however slightly. I still didn’t know what I
was going to do for work, but planning helped. The campaign for Bert’s
attention was going nowhere, though. He was polite enough, and joined any discussion
I started at the table, but it was clearly
only
politeness. He wasn’t really engaged and he never sought me out, except for our
routine dates Friday evening and Sunday afternoon.

Not quite a week after I had stirred things up
by wanting a job, I decided I couldn’t do patience anymore. It was Sunday
afternoon and Bert and I had taken a sedate bicycle ride out into the
countryside with a picnic basket. We spread a checked tablecloth on the ground,
all alone in a field, and set out a simple lunch of bread, cheese, and wine.

We talked quietly of nothing in particular and
began watching the big slow clouds move across the sky. Without quite planning
it, we both lay down on our backs to get a better view, pointing out funny
shapes to each other.

And then he propped himself up on an elbow,
leaned over, and kissed me. I kissed him back, putting a hand up to his cheek.
When his tongue teased my lower lip, I opened to him and felt myself go
boneless with pleasure. In moments, we were pressed up against each other for
our whole lengths, kissing passionately.

I stroked that curl I liked at the back of his
neck, and then ran a hand down his strong back. He lifted his head a moment,
smiled down into my eyes, and then kissed just below my jaw line, cradling my
head in a big hand. I shivered and arched just a little as he planted little
kisses all down my neck, to the opening of my collar in the front, where my
pulse beat in the little hollow V.

I sighed into his hair and moved against him,
loving the feel of his strength and his need, all pressed to me.

And he sat up. My head thumped on the ground as
he pulled his hand away. What the hell?

“I’m so sorry,” he said, averting his eyes. “We
should go back. I’ll look away while you tidy yourself.”

“I’m plenty tidy,” I said, shortly. “Let’s go.”

I got on my bike and rode away, leaving him to
gather up the remains of our picnic. I was too put out to be helpful while he
dithered around apologizing. This was ridiculous and it was going to stop. I
didn’t know exactly what I was going to do, but what I wasn’t going to do was
go on without a normal sex life.

We avoided each other the rest of the day, and
had the ordinary, pointless conversation during supper. When he excused himself
to go up to his private apartment, saying he had scientific articles he had to
catch up on, I suggested we all take coffee up there and have a chat about the
latest research. He nixed it and left.

Augusta noticed me looking after him with
annoyance, but said nothing. After a moment, I sighed, and told her I thought I
would make an early night of it as well, as I was out of sorts and would make
poor company.

She agreed readily enough and went up to her
own rooms, which were at the opposite end of the hall from my little guest
room. We shared a bathroom, of course, one bathroom per floor of a house being
a wild extravagance, and private, en suite bathrooms unheard of, but she had a
nice suite, which I’d been invited to visit now and then. In addition to a
large, airy bedroom, she had a dressing room and an upstairs sitting room.

The house was sturdily built, so we rarely
heard one another moving around at night. I took an early bath, hoping to wash
off some of my irritation and the sweat from the bicycle ride, but it didn’t
help. A bath, however chilly or efficient, just can’t do the job of a cold
shower.

I went back to my room cleaner, temporarily
sweat-free, but even more on edge with sexual frustration. I paced around the
room, worrying that my pacing was disturbing Augusta, and trying to decide what
to do. I knew I could take care of the frustration by myself, but I didn’t want
to. I wanted to make love with a man—my man—and no substitute or half measure
would do.

Dammit, Bert had fallen in love with a modern
woman, and he was going to learn what that meant.
All
of the accommodation couldn’t be on my side.

With decision, I put my long bathrobe and soft
slippers back on, and eased out of the door, trying not to make any noise. I
made for the stairs, hoping anyone who heard me would think I had gone back to
the bathroom, which was close to the head of the stairs.

And then I went up, as soundlessly as possible,
and tapped on Bert’s door. He opened it, looking annoyed and unwelcoming. I
ignored his mood and slipped past him into the room.

This was all new for me—I had never been the
initiator before, always preferring to be pursued. But dammit, Bert had been
pursuing me for ages now and he was damn well going to catch me. “It’s time we
had a talk about our relationship,” I said, firmly. What the hell was I saying?
That wasn’t even a good opening line for
ending
a relationship. It sure wasn’t going to turn him on. I was really, really bad
at this. But he answered and saved me from further thought.

“That may be, but we will talk tomorrow after I
return from work. It is completely improper for you to be in my private
apartment.”

“Improper, my Aunt Fanny,” I said, advancing on
him. “We’re in love, we’re engaged, and we are going to be together.”

“Addie, really!
I don’t think you understand
the risk you’re running here! You are completely unprotected. You don’t
understand what a man might be tempted to!”

Oh, for God’s sake. What was I going to do with
him? I took off the bathrobe and stood there in my ridiculously demure
nightgown, all ruffles, lace, and long sleeves.

“Addie, really!
I could pull you into my
bedroom right now and have my way with you!”

“That’s what I’m counting on,” I said, grabbing
the front of his shirt with one hand and using the other to pull his head down
for a deep kiss.

He put up a good fight, I had to admit. “Addie,
you mustn’t! We mustn’t! You don’t understand what you’re doing—what you’re
tempting me to!”

I kissed him again, not relinquishing my hold
on his shirt-front, and slid my other hand down his back and into his
waistband. He groaned and grabbed me to him. All right, then!

We kissed standing up for a very long time, and
it was wonderful, but balancing was getting more and more difficult. He kissed
down my neck again, this time unbuttoning the top of my gown, and kissing down
to the tops of my breasts. I groaned and dug my fingernails into him. If he
stopped and apologized again, I wouldn’t be responsible for my actions.

Sure enough, he pulled back. His hair was all
tousled, his face was flushed, and his lips looked bruised, but he was still my
gentleman. “Addie, are you
sure
?” he
asked, searching my face.

I nodded. “I’m sure, Bert.”

With that, he picked me up and carried me to
his bedroom. It was wonderful. It was incredible. It was such an enormous
relief!

It was a wonderful, wonderful night. When at
last I fell asleep beside him, I was happy in the knowledge that we really did
have a future and he really was the man for me.

And then morning came and my sexy, insatiable
frog turned back into a goddamned prince.

Instead of waking to fabulous, hot, morning
sex, or at the very least, languorous kisses, I was shaken awake by a fully
dressed, weekday Bert.

“Addie, Addie, my dear. We have slipped most
dreadfully and now we must decide how to remedy it.”

“What?” I asked, pushing hair back out of my
face and sitting up. I didn’t have anything on, and when the sheet slipped
down, I thought my rosy breasts looked rather fetching in the morning sun,
especially with my long, dark blonde hair tangled around my bare shoulders.

Apparently Bert disagreed. He turned his back
and reached behind himself to hold my gown out to me. “Addie, what are you
thinking? I have despoiled your innocence, but that is no reason to behave like
this.”

Oh, lord, not this again. I would put my robe
back on because having a fight while stark naked seemed a little exposed, but I
was not going to put up with this innocence nonsense anymore. I brushed past
him into the study to get the robe from where I’d dropped it the night before,
saying over my shoulder, “Bert, don’t be ridiculous.”

“What? How could you? Whatever—” he spluttered
out.

“And you can turn around and face me. I’m all
covered up, like a proper lady.” I didn’t bother to hide my disgust.

He started to turn, saw I was in my robe and
not in forty-three layers of petticoats and stays, and turned away again.
“Addie, really!
Surely you—”

“Oh, for the love of God, Bert, be a big boy
and face me,” I snapped.

He faced me then, but he looked absolutely
horrified.

“What on earth are you carrying on about? We
had sex. It was great. That’s how it should be. Why are you making a fuss
again
?” I asked, with heavy stress on
again
.

His mouth snapped open and shut a few times,
and then he finally answered, stiffly. “I am making a fuss because we did
wrong. I am ashamed of myself, and not a little ashamed of you, and appalled by
your wantonness. I took your innocence—your precious virginity—and instead of
showing shame, justly rebuking me, or agreeing to discuss our plight, you abuse
me with curses and crude remarks.”

Crude re—what?
Oh, my God, what
was
I going to do with this man? I took
a deep breath and spoke slowly, hoping for inspiration to catch up with me. “I
apologize for cursing. That is offensive to many people even in my time, and
it’s a very bad habit, so I’m sorry.”

He nodded, but didn’t look any less upset.

“As for crude remarks, I’m not even sure what
you mean.” His mouth started opening and shutting again, but I didn’t stop.

“And as for all that nonsense about innocence
and virginity—” he looked completely stunned now, and I did stop.

“Bert, surely
you’re
not that innocent yourself?” I asked gently. “You couldn’t
really have thought I was…have
you
ever had sex before?”

He winced. Apparently it was the word “sex”
that was the crude remark. Oh dear.

“I have had relations with a woman, yes,” he
said very stiffly. It seemed less like disapproval this time, though, and more
like he was about to expire from shame and embarrassment. And then he went on
and my dawning sympathy disappeared. “A man has needs, you know, and I am no
better than most.”

A man has needs, my Aunt Fanny! I just barely
managed not to roll my eyes. Instead, I asked, “then you must realize I was far
from virginal and there is no reason to feel you have done anything to hurt
me?”

He looked away, made a grimace at the blameless
wall, and then looked back at me. “I had never been with a virgin before, so I
assumed that what I had been told about them—about the difficulties, you know…I
assumed last night that I had been told wild stories.”

“Oh.”

We looked at each other for a while. At last he
said, “It never in my wildest imaginings occurred to me that you were not
pure.”

Oh boy. I didn’t care if he had a hundred years
of culture to catch up on—I had had all I could take.

“Bert, let’s go sit down on the sofa. We need
to talk.”

“We have no time, my d—Addie. I must go to work
and you must see my mother about hastening the wedding.”

“You own the company. You can be late one day.
Come into the other room, and
sit down.
”

He looked very angry, but he followed me into
his study, and sat.