Disclaimer: CJ Archer owns these characters. By giving them additional scenes to play with, I intend no infringement or disrespect.

Spoilers: Nothing specific. I've read through book 7, The Cheater's Game, and refer in general terms to the plot (mainly, Matt and India's relationship).

Rated M for mild smut and discussion of sexual topics.

Author's note: I was surprised to find no fanfiction for this series. Does any exist? While I enjoy these books, they remind me of crime-solving TV shows (and that's not a compliment). They're heavy on plot, with character development crammed around the edges. Fanfiction seems like a natural step: to tell additional stories, play with possibilities, or simply fill out some scenes that the books skipped, as this story does.

Chapter 1

One evening Miss Glass insisted that Matt and I take more time for wedding preparations. She kept us talking in the sitting room for fifty-five minutes. We continually steered her away from extravagant ideas and toward more simple ones, until finally she let us call Polly to take her to her room with a cup of tea.

Since it wasn't quite late enough to retire, we decided to go to the library.

Just after we entered, I heard Willie behind us. She poked her head around the door, saying, "Is the coast clear? I want to stay well away from Lettie when she's hellbent on frilly, female things."

I was about to object that I would not allow many "frilly female things" at my wedding, but Matt groaned loudly in response. "You have no idea how awful it was to endure." His half-smile showed he was jesting.

"Oh, yes," I said airily, "marrying the woman you love will be such a trial." He simply smirked at me with a lusty gleam in his eyes.

Willie announced she would reclaim the sitting room and play a few rounds of poker with Cyclops and Duke before going to bed.

Matt and I continued into the library where we dropped onto the couch.

I had done a lot of pacing while Miss Glass prattled on. And I must have walked several miles while performing errands earlier in the day. So I slipped off my shoes and leaned back on the couch with a sigh.

Matt sat on the far end. "Here, India. Put your feet on my lap." I did, turning to face him and lifting my legs onto the cushions. He grasped my feet, allowing them to rest on his legs.

He started to massage me through my black stockings. Firm but gentle, his fingers glided over the arch of my foot, kneading softly, then squeezing the heel, and stroking up the top of my foot to the ankle. I glanced once at the door to the library, wondering what would happen if a servant walked in. I was grateful the back of the couch blocked our activities from view.

"Aunt Letitia was in fine form today, wasn't she?" Matt asked. His warm fingers prodded the ball of my foot.

I groaned in agreement. "Did you even know half the people she suggested we invite?"

"By name only. But I think she's starting to realize we want a more intimate ceremony."

We spoke about wedding plans for a few minutes, chuckling (not without frustration) at Miss Glass's extravagant ideas.

I was terribly distracted by Matt's hands. He began sliding them up under my skirts to caress my ankles. Then he stroked along my calves and shins, all the way to my knee. My skin felt hot and tingling. How much farther would he go? Only a few more inches and he would feel the edge of my garters. Would he try to remove my stockings entirely?

I must have made a small noise—whether of restraint or encouragement, I could not say—because he looked up at me. His eyes were dark and glittering, his mouth relaxed and smiling. I shivered as he stroked the back of my knee, his hands buried under my skirts. It was scandalous. I did not want him to stop.

"Speaking of the wedding…" Matt paused, and my eyes darted to his. "Forgive me if I patronize you," he said, "but I don't know what your education has been like for…intimate matters."

Both his words and his roaming hands left me breathless. "Wh—what?"

"I have no reason to doubt your education and intelligence. But I also know that gently-reared young ladies are not always informed of certain matters. What I mean is…" The corner of his mouth curved up. "How complete is your understanding of what, precisely, we will do on our wedding night?"

I gathered my wits enough to respond, "Oh, you have a script already planned, then, for what, precisely, we will do?"

"No." He smiled. His hand stroked slowly up my shin, then down. "I merely thought it considerate to ask whether you had any…questions. Before the need arises."

"I see. Well, I understand perfectly what will happen. That is, in a general, academic sense."

He barked a laugh. "Academic?"

I glared at him. "Yes. From books."

"What sort of books?"

I sighed, sure that I was blushing fiercely. "I cannot concentrate with your hands doing inappropriate things." I glanced pointedly at his hands under my skirts.

He chuckled at my prim tone, looking confident that I was, in fact, enjoying his touch. "Very well." He withdrew his hands and pulled the edge of my skirt back down. "Allow me to start over." He held out his arm, offering me the place at his side.

I couldn't resist. I slid over the couch cushions, cuddling against him as he put his arm around me.

He waited until I'd made myself comfortable. Once my skirt stopped rustling while I settled, the room was quiet enough to hear the faint ticking of the clock on the mantel.

"So," he murmured, "how did you acquire this 'academic' knowledge? Did your mother tell you what to expect for future married life?"

"Not exactly. She did inform me of…" I kept my voice low, since we seemed to be sharing secrets. "I was about twelve years old when she explained the facts about becoming a woman." My cheeks were still quite warm. I glanced at Matt to find him nodding.

"I'm glad you were informed. I've heard that some, perhaps many girls are not told anything. Can you imagine their fright, thinking they must be dying when their monthlies started."

I gaped at him for sounding so casual. "And how did you learn about them?"

"My parents were progressive and thought my education should be well-rounded. That, and—" He grinned. "My friends talked about a great many things. I lived in a lot of places, you see, and met friends of different ages and nationalities."

I sensed he was warming to a story, and I shifted to an even more comfortable position. His arm around my shoulders felt solid and warm. A fold of my skirt draped over his thigh, and I rested my hand there. Faint lamplight from the street outside glowed on the curtains, while the lamp on the mantel glinted on the clockface and along the spines of books.

"When I was about ten years old," Matt said, "we were living in Italy. One day I came home to my father, astounded by a rumor my friend had told me: that girls and women could bleed without injury, and somehow this gave them the power to produce children. This was before I'd ever heard of magic, but it certainly sounded like magic to me. My father laughed a bit at my wide-eyed tale. First, he made sure I knew how babies are made, that they aren't delivered by the stork, as my younger friends believed. And then he sent me to ask my mother about...about girls. She made it all sound less like magic."

I chuckled at that. Glancing up at him, I caught a faint blush on his face, and he smiled at me.

"I didn't truly understand until I was older," Matt went on, "and after I'd had a couple liaisons. Then, I simply asked out of curiosity."

I was too surprised to be embarrassed. "You've asked the women you had dalliances with about their monthly courses?"

"Yes." He glanced down at me again. "Why shouldn't I?"

That stopped me for a moment. "I didn't think it was a topic for polite conversation. Is it, in America?"

"No. But many of my conversations are not polite." He grinned. "Besides, how else was I to find out more about it?"

He had a point.

"So, when your mother explained those womanly things to you," Matt asked, "is that all she said?"

"I don't recall precisely, but…shall we say she glossed over other necessary facts. I didn't understand them until several years later." I frowned. "After my mother's death, actually."

"How," he asked gently, "did you learn?"

"Catherine's mother." I smiled crookedly at the memory. "She and my mother had been friends. One day when she was at my father's shop, she took me aside and said she had a promise to fulfill. Some years ago, she and my mother had agreed they didn't want Catherine and me to be ill-informed. I don't remember her exact words, but I got the sense that when they were young, they were not educated to their satisfaction, so they vowed to make sure their daughters didn't suffer the same fate."

"Mm-hm?" Matt prompted, his voice rumbling near my ear.

"Mrs. Mason employed a midwife to instruct us for an hour." I blushed and shifted under his arm. "I think Catherine's mother was willing to guide us herself. But she and my mother had probably thought it best to find an expert, as it were. The midwife met us in the Masons' sitting room, where she lectured about the necessary facts, the correct terminology... And she left us a book for the remainder of the week. I think that was only because I asked her to leave it. In case we had additional questions, you see."

"Ah." He smirked. "Your academic book. And did it help you understand the mechanics of men and women together?"

"Mechanics?" I repeated, not sure whether to laugh.

"Yes. Tell me more about this influential text." He pulled me tighter to his side, his voice all mischief.

"There's not so much to tell," I protested. "It was rather clinical, after all. Catherine and I pored over it in one of our bedrooms with the door firmly shut. I remember being horrified by some of it and intrigued by the rest."

"Horrified and intrigued," he mused. "Which parts were which? I insist that you tell me."

"Matt!" I swatted his arm.

"All right…" He held up a hand in surrender. "I suppose I can wait until after the wedding for you to tell me. As long as you don't find any of that to be horrifying."

He looked at me with his brows furrowed in exaggerated worry. Then he quickly raised and lowered his brows in an attempt to look ferocious. It was ridiculous, and I laughed.

He kissed me then, lightly, and when I would have deepened it, he pulled away.

"Would you like a cup of chocolate?" he asked. "We can go down to the kitchen and have something hot to drink before bed." He stood and offered me his hand. "Those beds being in our own separate rooms, of course," he added. "For a little while longer."

I rolled my eyes while he smiled roguishly. Then I slipped my shoes back on and took his hand. He picked up a lamp and accompanied me into the dark hallway, the golden circle of light showing us the way.

-.-.-.

Author's note: I'm not sure the educational book India mentions would have existed in the Victorian era, but I'm using my poetic license to say that it did.