Yo! I hope you are all enjoying fall. Here is another chapter, freshly edited by my beta, the fabulous Amy.
Re-cap: Gabrielle and Erik finally make it to London for some shopping…
Ch 33 London CallingThe only thing not to like about Victorian London, besides the poverty, disease, and constant rain, was the city's authoritarian morality. Once past these shortcomings, one could enjoy the rich feast of culture and history that made London unlike any other city in the world.
Henri chauffeured Erik and me to the Gare St. Lazare train station. Peering from the window of the carriage, I noticed a heavily bearded man seated in front of the station's glass, stone and steel structure. He had with him an easel and appeared to be painting a rendering of the train station. From somewhere deep inside my memory, a piece of information shot up; 1877 was the year Claude Monet had chosen the newly refurbished Gare Sr. Lazare station as a subject for one of his most famous paintings. Again, I found myself in awe at the privilege of seeing history in the making.
We caught the 9:15 a.m. train to Dieppe then crossed the English Channel by ferry to Brighton; from there we traveled by train to London. The process took an entire day and one night. Eventually our train pulled into Victoria station at 5:12 p.m. Here weary travelers were met by many cabbies waiting to pick up fares. The chap who was to take us to our hotel was in his twenties, with a horse who, unlike the horrific stories in my favorite children's book, Black Beauty, appeared to be well fed and well groomed. The cabbie was polite to us, and glanced only momentarily at Erik's mask before gaining a civil composure and asking us for our destination.
While the carriage rolled along the cobblestone streets of the capitol city, that odd feeling of being a character in my own gothic movie returned. Victorian London ebbed and flowed in the misty gray with her smoking chimneys, carriages, and street sellers. Scores of women and men dashed about wearing elaborate hats and dark high-necked attire. Any minute I expected to spy Mary Poppins floating downward with her trademark umbrella.
I snuggled up to Erik on the bench seat. "This is exciting for me! I was here five years ago, in 2000—oh, that sounds so odd doesn't it?" I giggled, "You know what I mean. My, so much has changed, except for the buildings; many of the same structures are still standing in the 21st century."
Erik gave me a slight smile and wrapped his arms around me, giving me a kiss on my cheek. "You sweet thing, it is good to see you enthusiastic about any part of my world. But you know darling," he said as he tipped my chin toward him, "public displays of affection are frowned upon in Victoria's London. Though they do expect the French to be somewhat vulgar, the most I will do is hold your arm while I guide you through the busy streets," he informed me.
"Got 'cha, no PDA's. I once read that the dour Queen Victoria expected her subjects to tow the moral line in public, yet she was quite the little minx behind closed palace doors. It's the ones you never suspect who are the most randy."
"Indeed," Erik chuckled.
"So, Monsieur, may I have a kiss for the road?"
"Can you not wait until we are properly ensconced behind our bedroom doors, Mademoiselle?"
"Oh hell no," I grabbed his chin with my lace gloved hand and drew his lips down to meet mine. Erik opened up his luscious lips and pressed his against me. We drank each other in like honeyed wine. I heard the cabbie say "whoa" his horse and felt the horse trot to a stop.
Reluctantly Erik and I ended our most splendid kiss. He smoothed tendrils of hair from my face, his eyes blazing into mine, "Until tonight, my dearest."
His inference thrilled me and I nipped playfully at his chin.
"Alright now, behave like a proper lady; we are in London now," he warned.
"Behave, but why? You're French remember, and I am a boorish American!' Misbehavior is expected of us."
"Gabrielle."
"I'm only joshing, Erik."
We were interrupted by the sound of the carriage door opening. The cabbie extended his hand for my departure. Erik followed, paid the man and waited for the doorman to extract our bags from the trunk.
"Ooh Erik, what a grand little place!" I exclaimed when I got a good look at the stylish Lincoln House Hotel. The Georgian style townhouse bore wide marble steps with a beautiful fanlight window over the entrance. A garden of flowers, plants and topiary strategically placed around the entrance and hanging from the balcony reflected Erik's taste for elegant beauty.
"I am please that you approve. The propriétaire d'hôtel is a dear friend of Monsieur Mangeot's. I often stay here if Eugene cannot accommodate me. As much as I adore his children, five of them can try my patience."
"No kidding," I had to agree.
Erik took my elbow in his hand and ushered me up the stairs and into the hotel lobby.
A soft yellow lamplight glowed from wall sconces and an ornate crystal fixture hung from the high ceiling. Behind a long marble desk stood a middle-aged man with blondish hair and round glasses; he looked in our direction when he heard us enter the lobby.
"A fine evening to you, Monsieur DuPuis. I have readied a suite in your name for the next two days," said the blonde man cordially when Erik approached what I assumed was the check-in desk.
"Very good, Monsieur Fitzgerald" Erik replied while he removed his leather gloves.
"It has been a long while since we have had the pleasure of your company. You are well I take it?"
"Never better, sir. The lady and I will be leaving on Friday. Eugene should have arranged for a suite for two days and two nights' stay at your lovely establishment."
The innkeeper smiled and nodded to Erik, "Our ever conscientious friend had taken care of your arrangements, Monsieur DuPuis. Please sign the register; here is your key my good man."
While Erik signed the register Monsieur Fitzgerald scrutinized me with polite curiosity. He smiled and let his gaze flit from me to Erik and then back again. I returned his attentions with a demure smile.
I hooked my arm in Erik's and said sweetly, "I am simply exhausted from our journey darling. Would you mind terribly if we could retire for a nap before supper?"
"Whatever you wish, dear," he answered stiffly. I stole a peek at Monsieur Fitzgerald's face; his expression was just what I had hoped for, one of surprise and envy.
If Erik had patronized the inn often, he had done so alone. I thought it good to have Erik's acquaintances see that he was a man to be desired by women.
With key in hand and a bellboy on our tails, we headed to our third floor suite.
The suite was roomy and clean, with handsome beige and white accents, a queen-sized bed and two armoires and a vanity table in the bedchamber. The parlor area consisted of a large desk for writing, two armchairs and a love seat. There was a closet sized room with a commode and washstand. I'd noted from a bronze plaque displayed inside the hotel's doors that it had been built in 1860; therefore the facility was new enough to have private plumbing. A large vase of yellow roses decorated the top of a large mirrored table. As a girl, I had pored over a book on flowers that explained what the color of roses meant, so that when I received my first ones from that special someone I would know his intentions. Yellow roses meant friendship, delight, and promise of a new beginning.
Their lush fragrance perfumed the air. I went to the vase to admire their scent, "These roses are gorgeous, Erik—is it a European tradition to place flowers in the rooms?"
"Not really, I simply thought you might enjoy their beauty. I know how you adore my summer rose garden," he answered nonchalantly.
"You are a most thoughtful man, Monsieur DuPuis." A suggestive smile touched my lips, "Come closer and allow me to thank you."
Erik stood still in the middle of the room and allowed me to wrap my arms around his middle. I held myself against his elegant form. Within seconds I felt his sex grow solid against my belly. An unplanned moan slipped from my throat when I pressed into him.
"Could you be eager for my attentions darling?" Erik purred seductively, while returning my embrace. We ended up in the bedchamber loving one another until the sun dropped low over the smoky rooftops of London.
Erik was up and fully dressed when I awoke. He sat on the loveseat in the parlor area reading some sort of newspaper.
"How long did I sleep?" I said.
Erik folded the paper neatly and smiled while allowing his eyes to roam over my chemise clad form. "Not too long, dear. But night has come and brought with her the essence of London in the spring—a light misting of rain."
I padded over to the window to check out the street below. "Ah yes, the last time I visited London, electric lights lent a false illumination to the night, but these gas lamps give a ghostly aura to it."
I turned back to Erik. "When is supper? I am hungry and in desperate need of a bath. Traveling has made me sticky."
"The travel and nothing more darling?" he smirked.
"Erik!" I grabbed a small pillow from one of the armchairs and threw it at him.
His long fingers snatched it from the air. "The water closet is at the end of the hall on the right; there you will find bath sheets. Do not tarry; we dine at 8:30."
"Not to worry, my hair doesn't need washing so I'll be quick, promise."
I retreated to the bedchamber to unpack my gown for the evening, grab some toiletries and throw my wrinkled day dress back on for the trek down the hall to the water closet.
The suite was deserted when I returned from my bath. "Hmm," I mused aloud, "Erik must have gone out for some necessary item."
I went into the bedchamber to complete my toilet for the evening. After drawing in the laces of my corset to the pass-out stage, I stuffed myself into a snug lavender taffeta gown, added a touch of make-up and swept my hair up in a lose chignon. I spritzed my neck with what remained of my favorite 21st century scent, and inspected my reflection in the vanity mirror
I hope Monsieur DuPuis is pleased with what he sees. This was to be our first official outing and I was both thrilled and nervous. The hallway door clicked open and closed.
Erik's back, I thought, time to rock and roll.
He stood by the writing desk with his back to me wearing his black cloak and hat. At the sound of my footsteps Erik turned around. Following a recent suggestion of mine, he had replaced his white mask with a less obvious flesh toned one.
As long as I lived I would never meet another man more dashingly regal than Erik. His impeccably elegant mode of dress, striking figure and brilliant jade eyes never ceased to take my breath away.
Erik swept his hand toward me and dipped his head in a gesture of gallantry, "You look stunning my dear."
Was that a blush I felt warming my cheeks? "Oh Erik, you just like the way this tight bodice makes a spectacle of my chest. I feel like a courtesan."
"Mademoiselle, you do not resemble one. You are lovely. Now, let us depart for supper; I am ravenous."
I plucked my cloak from a hook from the tiny hall closet. Erik moved swiftly to assist me with it. We swept through the hotel lobby and out into the London evening.
Erik hailed a hansom and we settled into the carriage for the short ride to our destination.
Nightfall had shrouded the city in darkness. Lamplight cast distorted shadows on the passing buildings and cloaked figures huddled together against the damp mist as they hurried about.
Suddenly, Erik's hand appeared in front of me. He closed the velvet curtain over the carriage's small window.
"Hey you, I was sight seeing!" When I turned to protest further I found myself promptly pulled into a passionate kiss. Our tongues met and explored the moist warmth of our mouths. Erik slid an ungloved hand through the front of my cloak and into the bodice of my dress. His fingers tickled my décolletage while he felt around for a few seconds; then he withdrew one of my breasts, which he began to lovingly fondle.
"God, I adore these," he murmured against my mouth.
Yep, definitely a breast man.
Rendered helpless to do anything more than respond to Erik's will, I moved against him. Before I knew it, both of my breasts were exposed, and Erik was nibbling on the nipple of one while gently running his finger around the areola of the other.
The tingling between my thighs grew in intensity and I began to quiver with anticipation. The man was causing my mind's eye to venture into a forest of forbidden thoughts: Erik and I were naked. His body nestled between my legs, the muscles of his smooth butt flexing and releasing each time he thrust himself fervently into me while I greedily rubbed my hips against his. Waves of pleasure surged over me as I silently begged for more…
Reality shoved its way into my brain when the carriage rocked to a stop. Erik didn't seem to pay it any mind—he was still preoccupied with his mammilla obsession.
"Erik, stop it before the cabbie opens the door and gets more of a tip than he bargained for!" I re-situated my breasts and straightened up my skirts.
"Then I would have more money in my pocket," he teased.
Glowering at Erik only caused him to throw his head back and roar with laughter.
When the door to the carriage did swing open, he was adjusting the clasp on my cloak.
"Here we are, Monsieur, the Restaurant des Gourmets--Madame?" The driver extended his hand to assist me in disembarking.
Erik followed behind to settle up with. I paused in the cobblestone street and drank in my surroundings. "London 1877, unfreaking-believable," I breathed.
- o -
Much excitement is on the way. Again, I shall beg you to shoot a review my way. Thank you for your reviews. It keeps me rolling – Leesa