one day i came across this little ditty and found myself imagining the following scene between matthew and mary. so i looked up another poem. and another. and another. and then it became far too fun to be just an exercise :) i'll update as i find poems from the time that fit certain scenarios playing around in my head.

this vignette is set before pamuk and definitely before either of them realized that the amount of sexual tension they were generating could power a small city. overall title stolen shamelessly from "passions" by maurice maeterlinck.

XXX

Would you like to sin

With Elinor Glyn

On a tiger skin?

Or would you prefer

To err with her

On some other fur?

He's a bit startled to catch her on her own. He certainly had no desire to spend any more time than necessary with her; every time she glares at him it makes him feel as if she is trying to silently will him to spontaneously burst into flames. But her expression when she spots him is startled rather than murderous. She leaps up at his approach, ever so slightly pink and guilty-looking.

"What are you reading?" he inquires politely after an awkward moment. She adjusts her hold on the book so that her place is marked, but the cover is hidden in her skirts.

"Just a novel," she replies evasively, but her eyes flick nervously to some spot over his shoulder as though she wants nothing more than to bolt. He's rather enjoying her discomfiture; what a nice change, to be the one with the upper hand.

"May I see?" he asks innocently. She glowers at him.

"I shouldn't - " Her knuckles flash white against the book. "I shouldn't think you'd find it very interesting." Matthew grins.

"You might be surprised," he retorts playfully. She regards him for a moment, expression stony, then abruptly flips the title toward him: Elinor Glyn's Three Weeks. Now it's his turn to flush. She stares at him defiantly, dark eyes flashing.

"'Would you like to sin/With Elinor Glyn/On a tiger skin?'" she recites coolly and Matthew thinks her wish for his unexpected death by fire is surely going to come true - his ears alone feel as if they are smoking already. The look she's giving him isn't helping in the slightest; how is he the one strangled with embarrassment when she's the one reading the scandalous Mrs. Glyn? He honestly doesn't know how she manages it, but it's frustrating enough to unravel his tongue.

"Perhaps on some other fur," he quips and her eyes widen to the size of saucers. He nods to her courteously and continues on his walk, shocked and a little pleased at his own daring. It's quite a shame really - had he lingered for a moment longer, he would have witnessed Mary's uncontrollable fit of giggles. Not such a boring solicitor after all.

XXX

naughty little ditty written about elinor glyn, who allegedly based her erotic novel "three weeks" on her affair with lord alistair innes ker. perhaps rosamund snuck it in for her niece to read.