Beguiled by Paisley Smith Page B

her presence. I didn’t know what was happening to me. Tense, I walked to the door but stopped. “Pa broke his leg a couple of years ago. I think there’s a crutch in the attic. I’ll see if I can find it for you.”
    * * *
    As soon as Belle left the room, Alice dropped onto the side of the bed and blew out a sigh. She lifted her hand to rake it through her short hair but stopped at her lips. Closing her eyes, she pressed her cream-coated fingers to her mouth, breathing in the scent and flicking her tongue over the digits to taste Belle.
    Alice knew from Belle’s passionate reaction that she would go all the way with her, and the knowledge that the prim, proper southern lady would spread her legs for another woman drove Alice mad with desire.
    Her mouth went cotton dry at the thought of Belle lifting all those frilly petticoats and then beckoning her to touch her—taste her. Alice tried to swallow but couldn’t. She’d seen the look of desire in Belle’s eyes. The curiosity to explore, to not only be touched but to touch as well.
    Alice’s clitoris throbbed and ached. God, she’d go mad if she didn’t appease this raging lust. She inhaled. The house was quiet. No one would know if she touched herself. Her pulse accelerated as she reclined on the bed and worked her fingers under the waistband of her pants.
    She jolted as soon as her fingers found her eager, swollen clit. Belle…
    Her lashes descended, and in her mind’s eye, she saw Belle’s face. Belle’s lips. Belle’s head disappearing between her thighs and then—
    Alice gritted her teeth to keep from crying out as she began to massage her cunny. Fleeting, erotic images of Belle’s lips and tongue teasing her to ecstasy flooded her thoughts.
    Every muscle in her body tensed, and she shuddered as she found bliss at her own touch. She hissed a sharp breath through her teeth and stilled when the last jolts of pleasure ebbed.
    Footsteps echoed on the attic stairs, and Alice shot upright. Her lust—at least temporarily—assuaged, common sense rushed back. It was wrong and unfair of her to pressure Belle for more. Alice knew it full well, but she couldn’t stop herself.
    Her heart sank. It was happening all over again, and she felt powerless to prevent it. While other women pretended , for Alice, being with a woman was all real. Utterly, frighteningly real. She could fall in love with a woman. She could spend the rest of her life with a woman. And goddamn it, she could get her heart broken by a woman—again.
    The best thing to do would be to keep her hands off Belle. After all, Belle’s husband was away fighting. He’d eventually come home, and where would that leave her, Alice?
    She wiped her fingers on the coarse fabric of her breeches and steeled herself. She would not touch Belle again. She could not.
    * * *
    That night, Uncle Hewlett played a reel on the fiddle while we all clapped and tapped our feet. I hadn’t felt this carefree in a year. Even though it meant having to share our rations, I enjoyed having a full house of laughing relatives again.
    But when Alice appeared at the parlor door, leaning on the crutch I’d found her and clad in my husband’s shirt and breeches, everything came to a screeching halt. Literally.
    Uncle Hewlett’s bow scratched across the strings, and he lowered the instrument.
    My cousins gaped.
    I leaped to my feet. “Alice, come in. Join us,” I said, smiling as I took her hands and coaxed her into the parlor. The feel of her fingers lacing with mine caused my heart to flutter. I hoped no one else saw the blush coloring my cheeks.
    I introduced her to all the cousins and to my aunt. They greeted her suspiciously. But when I made the introduction to Uncle Hewlett, she offered to shake his hand. I gulped. Uncle Hewlett stared. His gaze flicked to mine before he gingerly took her hand and shook it.
    “What is your last name, sir?” she asked.
    His dark brow furrowed. “You may call me Uncle Hewlett.”
    She shook