Spring 1889, Enola POV
Enola sat down on the dusty couch by the unlit fireplace, "How long do think we could hide up here," she tapped the seat next to her, "Before Sherlock, or your mother, or worst of all Mycroft finds us." Tewkesbury thought for a moment as placed the chamberstick on the mantle, "I'd say until early tomorrow morning," he smiled, "Sherlock is telling everyone that we both sipped too much champagne and he sent us to our respective beds to sleep it off." Enola gawped at her brother's (brilliant and helpful) lies to which Tewkey smiled and shrugged as he sat down rather closer to Enola than she had expected. His kind eyes asked her for the truth. "Those girls called me a whore," she admitted, "That's why I got so angry." Tewkey blushed at the association, having been exposed to one by his uncle, like many boys of his age. "You are many things, Enola; beautiful, smart, and wildly fierce," he thought of the vulgar woman he had run away from, and shook his head "But you are no whore." Enola thought for a while, "Then why do I want you to kiss me?" she looked down at where she guessed her feet were under the dress, "Wouldn't a good ladylike girl know better than to be alone in a room with you?"
Enola's admission took Tewkey by surprise, but he hid it with a cough, "You can feel however you want about me while still being ladylike and good," he consoled as he rubbed circles into her hand "Society cares more for the appearance of morality than whether actions are moral or not." Even in the candlelight Enola could see the light blush form over Tewkey's cheeks. "Would you kiss me then?" she asked nervously, then tried to cover her words with her usual forthrightness, "Or would that be immoral of…" Enola didn't get to finish her question before Tewkey's lips were on hers, warm and soft, but insistent. She turned her body to face him and placed one hand on the part of his neck not covered by the starched collar, and the other in his long hair.
Sighing, Tewkey moved his own hands to Enola's corseted waist and held her steady while he turned the kiss from small polite pecks to longer languid presses of their lips. They both felt warm and dizzy and emboldened by the sudden contact. "Trust me?" Tewkey asked sweetly as he wrapped his closer arm farther around Enola's waist, and placed the other on the outside of her knee. "Mm-hmm," she responded, closing the distance between their lips again as Tewkey carefully lifted her onto his lap. Enola gigged nervously in surprise at how close she was to him, unwittingly opening her mouth to the viscount's ministrations. At once he was running his warm tongue along the very inside of Enola's lips and then lightly nibbling on the lower one, eliciting a sharp intake of breath from her throat.
The young detective tugged on her fiancé's hair instinctually, making him groan and press his hips upward towards the side of her leg. Tewkey cringed immediately when the girl on his lap broke away from the kiss and looked at him like a deer in the coach lights. He rushed to stand up, awkwardly rolling Enola back onto the couch. "My apologies Miss Holmes," he confessed in a tone more panicked than he usually used when calling her that, "I seem to have gotten carried away and acted ungentlemanly toward you." The young viscount stood awkwardly before Enola, indirect contract to his usual relaxed nature, which confused her more. Questions flooded Enola's brain; 'How was this ungentlemanly, other than kissing me alone in a dark room?', 'Why did you just throw me at the couch?', but most pressing of all: "What on earth was that?"