Nancy registered only two things in her sleep-addled brain. One, that she was at St. James on a chaise. And two, she was not exactly awake, nor exactly asleep.
A tall, graceful shadow was watching her from the other seat by the fire. Nancy felt great affection for that shadow, and nuzzled further into the cushion to sleep.
"Nancy," Isabella said softly. She reached out to touch Nancy's cheek and gently eased her awake. "Come to bed."
Nancy reached up to grab her wrist and pressed a soft kiss to her fingers.
"No," she rasped, thick with sleep. "I should get back to Greek Street." She did not relish this thought.
Isabella tipped her head to one side and pursed her lips.
"Stay with me tonight," she implored again.
Nancy finally opened her eyes, letting them rest on Isabella. She had changed into a chemise and robe, but the robe hung loosely on her shoulders, casual and somehow elegant at once. She wanted to stay. But they both knew the look on her face said she would not.
Isabella opened her mouth, and closed it again. Finally, she says, "I do not please you."
Nancy snorted. "You please me."
"Then come to bed with me. I cannot state my wanting any clearer."
Bet you could, Nance thought, letting the idea linger.
"I must get back to Greek Street." She said instead.
Isabella gathered her robe about herself and climbed into Nancy's lap before the woman could get away.
"They cannot spare you for one night?"
Nancy let her hand slide up Isabella's side, very aware of how it made the hem of her chemise rise, aware of how her laces were undone, her breasts all but on display. Nancy loved this version of Isabella, the unrefined, unmade, unbound version of her. It was a treat to see.
In truth, nothing would be happening at Greek Street. Nancy had come calling after all the culls were gone, and no work was to be done. She'd crept in without knocking and found Isabella by the fire, in their usual spot, waiting with a cup of tea. She used to set out gin instead, knowing how Nancy enjoyed it, but they found it made her dozy after a long night working. Nancy, wanting to have more hours with Isabella, didn't comment when the switch happened. As per usual, she'd fallen asleep on the chaise, and Isabella hadn't the heart to wake her for some time. Nance had lingered in that in-between sleep, at once aware and not that Isabella was watching her.
Nancy felt at ease here, with Isabella, and yet uncomfortable. The chaise was stiff, the fabric scratchy. The furniture too perfect and unused. She always felt like she was sullying the place with her presence and scrubbed vigorously before coming. Even still, she often checked she wasn't leaving boot prints where she walked, or dirt on anything she touched. Even if she could bring herself to follow Isabella up to bed, she wasn't sure she would sleep.
Not that sleep was what she wanted.
Nancy quickly banished that thought.
"Not tonight, dove," she said. She took Isabella's hand one more time and kissed it softly, her eyes on Isabella's. She was hurt. And yet still understanding. If not of the reasons, at least of the fact that Nance had reasons, even if she could not or would not articulate them. Isabella rested her forehead against Nancy's for a moment and sighed. Being surrounded by Isabella's warmth was intoxicating. Her hair fell around Nancy's face, and her body was soft, pressed close. After a moment, she kissed the end of Nancy's nose and stood, offering a hand to help Nance up as well.
Isabella walked her out, as always and Nancy lingered in the doorway, as always. Isabella hadn't let go of her hand, and Nance didn't have the heart to make her.
"I will come to you at Greet Street tomorrow night," said Isabella.
"No," Nancy said, surprising herself. "We'll go to Russell Street. I have a house there. Don't think you've seen it, yet."
Isabella smiled gently. "It's a date," she said, and Nancy's heart fluttered. Dipping her head, Nancy kissed Isabella's hand. She turned on her heel to leave with all the dignity she could muster, but her head was full of Isabella.
Nance tapped her birch cane on every root and stone on the way home, and blessed the darkness and the late hour. It would not have done to let anyone watch her float along so easily, so happily.
It started innocently enough. They were in Nancy's house on Russell Street. Nancy liked to pretend it was because her whole self was in that house, but the true reason she kept up with it was for private moments like this. Nance had made tea, and they were sitting at the table talking. Only, instead of sitting across from her, Isabella sat next to Nancy on the bench. Isabella kept looking at Nancy's hands, kept touching her gently. Leaning in when she laughed.
Nancy couldn't help but think of the Lady Isabella Fitzwilliam who had walked into Greek Street for the first time more than a year ago. That woman was timid, armored in a high wig, wide skirts, and glittering jewels. She had been skeptical of them as Nancy had been of her. But much had changed since then. The woman sitting next to her now was reserved and calculating in her words and actions, but didn't carry that same weight that year-ago-Isabella did. Nor did she carry that same shame. She often forewent the finery of her station and dressed more comfortably when they were alone. She smiled genuinely, laughed easily, and teased as good as she got. It was refreshing and intoxicating.
It was only tea, but Nancy felt drunk. Felt light, like her head was full of a pleasant buzz. She hadn't even thought of the why when she leaned in to kiss Isabella. It had just felt good. Isabella felt good. Her lips were plush and warm, and they curved into a smile against Nancy's own. Her hands were soft-one was on her cheek, the other covered her own in her lap.
It was soft and sweet, the two of them warming each other, breathing together in that small space, until suddenly it wasn't. Isabella's tongue traced Nancy's lip, begging entrance. And Nancy obliged, eager for the taste of her. Nance felt like she could just swallow her up. She pressed forward, gripping Isabella's waist as their kissing became hungry, teeth scraping, tongues questing, hands searching. Something feral stirred in the pit of Nancy's stomach, and she wanted to bite that plush bottom lip. Nancy gripped Isabella tighter and felt as though she could break that woman with her hands, could bite into her and crack her porcelain flesh with her teeth.
Nancy parted from Isabella, standing suddenly. "I'm sorry," she said. "I forgot myself." Nance cast her eyes around the room and wondered what made her think she could take Isabella to a place like this. This was not a decent place. Certainly it was no place for a lady.
Isabella looked up at her from her place on the bench, and Nance tried not to make eye contact. Something about her staring up from just about waist height, dark hair ruffled, the front of her dress undone.
Isabella's annoyance turned into a smirk, and she stood, making sure to catch Nancy's eyes. She reached up and took Nancy's tricorne, placing it on her own head before dancing out of Nance's reach.
Nancy made a half-hearted attempt at retrieving it, but had to admit that it did look quite good on her. Or perhaps she just liked the thought of her own clothes on Isabella.
"Why do you always do this to me? You always stir me up, and never give me release." Isabella was admiring herself in a mirror, adjusting the tricorne hat just so.
Nancy didn't have a good answer for that. Her own inadequacy made her uncomfortable and she deflected the question. "You don't want nothing to do with me. You're too high class for this place," she said jokingly.
"Tease." Isabella accused.
"Strumpet."
"Harridan."
Nancy barked a laugh. "And you want this harridan touching you? Kissing you?"
"And more," Isabella said with a devious look.
She sat on the end of the heavy wooden table, laying across it lengthwise. She was almost too tall for it. One leg was propped up, the other dangled off the edge. She never let Nance look away for a moment.
"Are you sure that was tea you were drinking?"
"You must find me unpleasant to look at." Nancy rolled her eyes. They both knew it wasn't true. As she watched, Isabella took Nancy's hat, placing it over her chest. Nine years she'd had that hat, and never once felt anything but affection for it. Now? Now, Nancy was very jealous of that hat. She watched as Isabella trailed it down her body, bringing it to rest at the crux of her thighs. "Are you going to tup me yet, Nancy Birch?"
"Tup yourself."
"Is that what you want?"
When had the lady grown so bold?
Isabella lifted her skirt ever so slowly, revealing her smooth, stocking clad legs. "I'll just have to think of you while I do it."
She had changed very much from the frail, timid woman who first appeared at Greek Street full of fear. The woman currently languishing on Nancy's table was anything but fearful. Her pink tongue traced her bottom lip, and one hand was hiking her skirts up further, but her eyes were focused on Nancy, unblinking. It was a game. Isabella was daring her to look, to follow her hands between her legs and watch what she was doing there. Suddenly, it was as though the air had grown very hot in the dining room.
Isabella's eyes slipped closed and she sighed, her hips rising to meet her own hand. Her teeth worried that lush bottom lip, and a moan escaped her. Nancy could see in her mind's eye what those long fingers must be doing to her, how they would be dipping into that silky wetness, probing. Teasing.
Nancy gulped a breath. She let her eyes rove slowly down Isabella's body, tracing the rumpled silk of her dress, pulled up almost to her waist, the smooth lines of her arms, dainty wrists, delicate fingers.
Nancy scoffed. Isabella indeed had one hand between her legs, but the other still held the tricorne, a spiteful barrier to what Nance had been hoping to see.
"Cheeky bint."
Isabella smirked, an expression she rarely wore a year ago. She wore it well.
"Were you expecting a show for free?"
"You're no harlot, Isabella."
"I don't want your coinage."
"What do you want, then?" Nance stepped around the table to stand between her knees.
She wanted nothing more than to run her hands over those legs, to scrape her fingernails over them. Nance imagined biting and sucking the pale ivory of her thighs until they bore the bruises of her lust.
"What do you want, Isabella," Nancy repeated, her voice low and demanding.
Isabella leaned up, propping herself on one palm, the other hand still shielding herself from Nancy's gaze.
"Stop looking at me like I might shatter."
Nancy's lip curled into a feral grin. She looped an arm behind Isabella, pulling her toward the edge of the table, closing the gap between them.
"Do you want me to be rough with you?" Nancy let her nose trace over the smooth plane of Isabella's neck, her words ground out hotly against her skin.
"Yes," Isabella whispered into her ear, her chest rising and falling hard.
"Do you want me to bite you? To bruise you?"
"Yes," came her answer again.
"Are you going to let me pin you? Spread your legs? Take you so hard you feel me inside of you tomorrow?"
"Yes!" Isabella pleaded, "Nancy!"
Nancy reached down between them and plucked the tricorne from where it still sat, flicking it somewhere behind her. She lifted one of Isabella's legs over one arm, and thrust the fingers of her right hand into that silken heat she so craved, wrenching a moan from Isabella. She was wet, as Nance had expected, and her fingers sank deep. Nancy did not wait, she did not ease. She withdrew her fingers and thrust them again, driving them deep with her own hips again and again, drawing more moans from Isabella. The sound of her was addictive, tight and keening. Nancy was relentless in her attentions until she felt Isabella begin to tense around her.
She burrowed deep, stopping to curl her fingers forward and relish in the shiver it caused.
"Don't torture me so!"
"Would you like me to let you come?" She ground her palm against Isabella's sex, spreading that pleasurable pressure so as not to concentrate on the spot she knew Isabella craved. "Say it," she directed.
"Nancy, I want to come," Isabella ground out between desperate breaths.
"Say please."
"P-Please!"
Nancy decided she had punished Isabella long enough. With a few more hard strokes she brought Isabella to a quaking orgasm, crashing her lips against Isabella's, stealing her ecstatic moans.
"Is that the release you wanted, Bell?"
Isabella draped her arms over Nancy's shoulders, leaning to touch their foreheads together. Her sigh was so satisfied, so soft, Nancy felt something of her own tension release as well.
"Take me to bed, Nancy Birch."
A contented smile formed on Nancy's lips. This was certainly not year-ago-Isabella. She had transformed.
She wore it well.