Cressida's Dilemma by Beverley Oakley Page A

mother.
    Down twisting corridors and up a shallow flight of stairs Cressida went, through a large, empty space lined with huge, lurid paintings of shocking scenes that made her gasp and avert her eyes. Then finally through a pair of carved double doors and into a room filled with soft music and a strange, unidentifiable scent overlaying the hint of rosewater.
    Raising her veil, Cressida tried to adjust to the dimness of her new environment. When she saw that the room was sparsely furnished and contained only Ariane and her three companions, she felt no fear, and even a great sense of sisterhood, for the four of them were in the midst of a gentle, swaying dance, smiling at one another as if they shared a joyful bond.
    Cressida blinked to orient herself, moving into the shadows of a huge, luxuriant potted palm as the unknown, heady scent filled her nostrils and made her head swim. Ariane and Minna, dressed in their flowing robes of white, did indeed look like a pair of Vestal Virgins in a trance as they swayed gently in time to a soft chant in the background. Their hair, held back by silver fillets, fell in loose ripples around their waists, and their smiles were warm and gentle. Even in such an alien environment, Cressida felt a sense of comfort and safety. Even belonging. She was amongst other women. Young and beautiful women who shared her fears, but at this elemental level, also shared a bond which united them. They looked after one another when they were all similarly vulnerable.
    She thought again of Catherine. Catherine was supposed to be Cressida’s closest friend, but there was no sense of shared purpose or sisterly bond between them. Only a veiled desire on Catherine’s part to erode Cressida’s confidence and triumph over the parson’s daughter who had married well.
    Now the raven-haired beauty stepped forward and linked her hands behind Ariane’s neck and kissed her, ever so softly, upon the lips. Her eyes, slightly unfocused, were the palest blue, and she looked so supremely at peace with her world that Cressida longed to learn her secret.
    She glanced around her, uncertain if she should at least step forward and declare herself, though she had been invited. The scene was surreal—two women gently cradling each other before pressing themselves closer to deepen their kiss.
    They had come here to give themselves—to enjoy themselves beyond the realm of men. But did women really do this? Was this giving themselves up to pleasure? Without a man?
    Cressida tried to recall when she had last experienced such uninhibited and carefree enjoyment. Too long ago to remember, beneath the covers of the marital bed in the warmth of her chamber as Justin’s hard body covered her own and his kisses and gentle caressing had stirred up within her the most wild and wonderful sensations.
    Cressida had never been afraid of the act since her marriage night. She understood that in the dark silence, such behavior between a man and a woman was sanctioned by marriage. As a young bride, she’d tried not to cry out her pleasure. It had seemed wrong and sinful, but when she discovered that her pleasure pleased Justin, she’d relaxed, and those first few years of intimacy between herself and her adored husband were the most wonderful of her life.
    Yes, for years she’d reveled in the glorious wantonness Justin had managed to stir up inside her and thrilled to the shattering climaxes that had preceded the peace and contentedness that always soothed her into sleep, Justin’s warm, loving breath on her neck.
    No, it was just the consequences of the act that terrified her.
    She drew in a shuddering breath, her body alive, nerve endings prickling the surface of her skin, a desperate, throbbing ache building between her legs as she remembered those halcyon days with Justin. If only she could return home tonight and offer up her body to his tender ministrations with no danger of the consequences. If only she could surrender herself to his