Tewkey POV, Autumn 1889

Just as she had agreed, Enola appeared in the same dimly lit hallway just over an hour later. The ensemble she had been wearing at dinner – a bottle green evening dress, simple updo, and black fan – had been replaced by a softer, more girlish look of a cream wrapper that was covered in tiny violets, with her hair in rag curls, and a chamberstick in her hand. The simplistic beauty that Tewkey had almost never seen in Enola was enchanting.

"I am sorry for being late," she explained, as she eyed him curiously, "Julia read for a half hour before she blew out her candle, and then I had to sneak out of the room without waking her"

"Enola Holmes, always the rebellious miscreant." He teased, taking the arm she wasn't using and leading her further down the hallway."

"Viscount Tewkesbury," she mimicked his teasing voice, "I believe you are the miscreant as; one, this was your idea, and two, you also had to sneak out."

Eventually, Tewkesbury found a door and pulled Enola into the room, shutting the door behind him. He was about to tell Enola he had no need to sneak out as he wasn't sharing a room when she interrupted him.

"The ladies' retiring room?" She asked, almost laughing.

He looked around noticing that yes, they were in a retiring room. "I had honestly thought it was a parlour," he explained, "This corridor is only really used when the Earl throws a ball, so we used to play in here as boys."

Enola really laughed now, probably picturing Tewkey and Hamish at 10 years old fighting with wooden swords, up and down the corridor. Tewkey ignored her laughter and took the chamberstick from Enola's hand, placing it on a table by the privacy screen. She quieted and watched him, assessing the situation as he walked back to her.

"Your lips look lovely and kissable tonight, my sweet." Tewkey purred once he was close enough to smell her dainty perfume. It smelt of jasmine and something citrusy, but not powerfully enough to hide the soft smell of her milky skin.

"I thought you always thought my lips looked kissable?" Enola asked impishly, making an exaggerated pout with her lips.

That was the closest he was going to get to Enola saying ' Just kiss me then' without actually grabbing his tie and pulling him down to her (again), so Tewkesbury took the chance, pressing his lips to hers while she cheekily presented them to him. She tasted of tea and the whisky he had given her. He wound his left hand around to the top of her shoulder blade, and his right to the small of her back, far lower than he would be allowed if he were dancing with her. Enola followed his lead, placing one hand on his shirt collar and tangling the other in his hair. She seemed to like playing with his hair, not that Tewkesbury minded in the slightest.

He deepened the kiss, moving his lips against hers, tracing them with the tip of his tongue. Enola sighed softly at the attention, pulling him close enough that he could feel her heaving chest against his own. Close enough that were they not separated by layers of stiff cotton fabric, she would be able to feel the evidence of his desire.

Tewkesbury wondered whether that was a blessing or not while they fought for control of the kiss, thinking she had beaten him until he teasingly nibbled her bottom lip, making her chest arch up slightly. Sure, the first time she noticed his desire was extremely embarrassing, but the second time Enola had experimented rather devilishly with the contact.

She broke him from his reverie by placing her hands on his chest and pulling away from the kiss. Her face was pink and her breath was shaky.

"Are you alright Enola?" He stammered through his own hastened breaths, "Did I do something wrong?"

Enola giggled a little at his concerned face, "I am fine Tewkesbury, just a little warm is all."

"Warm?" He asked dumbly, relaxing his shoulders back to the natural position.

"This silly gown is much better suited to cooler nights," she explained huffily, "And certainly not one's where one is engaging in heated amorous activities."

Tewkesbury couldn't help but smirk. He wanted to tell her she had no idea of the full extent of heated amorous activities, but settled for saying – in a tone that could only convey hidden lewdness - "Where is that fan when you need it?"

Enola, being the more pragmatic of the two simply answered, "My dressing table," as she started to undo the frog closures on her wrapper, "Though I think just losing the gown would work faster."

Oh lordy, he thought as she undressed in front of him again. In less than a year she would be his bride and he would have to watch as she undressed fully before him without turning into a spluttering boy, or having a heart attack. Closing his eyes for a moment he settled himself by noting that she would probably be wearing the same shift she was wearing when they were locked in the warehouse, or the floaty type of nightgown his mother used to wear when she snuck into the nursery to see him.