Suffragette in the City (16 page)

“The door,” he said, his mouth closing over my breast, suckling hard at my nipple until I almost came off the floor.

“Yes, yes! The door, oh, Griffin, the door!”

“The door is beautiful,” he murmured against my other breast, teasing it with sweet nips that turned all the fires within me to raging infernos. One long finger sank within me, causing my hips to arch beneath his hand. “I have never seen such a beautiful, luscious door in all my life. It is soft as silk, and so hot it burns me. I want the door. I crave the door. Let me have the door, Cassandra.”

“It’s all yours,” I shrieked as something inside me exploded into chaos, a wondrous chaos of joy and ecstasy that had its beginning and ending in Griffin.

His fingers slid from my body as I lay panting on the rug before the fire, one side of me warmed by the flames, the other scorched by Griffin. I heard the rustle of cloth against skin, and then he was over me, nudging my legs wider, his chest hair teasing my aching nipples.

“Tell me you want it, too,” he said, his eyes molten with passion. “Tell me you want it as much as I do.”

“I do,” I promised, kissing his beautiful throat. “I want it more than anything I’ve ever wanted. Give it to me, Griffin.”

He groaned as my fingers sculpted the contours of his back, then he was pressing against me, nudging his way into my body, entering me in a way that suddenly had me worried.

“Um. Griffin?”

His head sank to my shoulder as he kissed my neck, nibbling on me while the surprisingly solid length of him pressed slowly inside. He was hot and hard and filled me, stretching me until I squirmed beneath him. He groaned again, mumbling something about me not moving until he caught his breath.

“Griffin, I think I’ve changed my mind. I think that there’s something not quite right with this situation. You must be built too large or perhaps I’m too small or maybe I just over-anticipated this actual event, but you’re beginning to hurt me and I think I’d like you to—”

He plunged forward, a burst of pain flaring to life deep within me. I bit his shoulder in protest and tried to push him off me, but he was too heavy. He surrounded me, filled me, he was everywhere, leaving me no escape. Panic swamped me, the familiar flame of fear licking the edges of my mind, and I was just about to start screaming for help when he lifted his head and kissed me.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. I know I hurt you, but it will be better in a moment. Just don’t move.”

Somehow, just the sight of his eyes, full of concern, full of desire and yearning calmed me. The panic and fear faded as I kissed him in return, and suddenly, the pressure of him filling me took on a new dimension, one of pleasure, one of need that only he could satisfy. I moved my hips just a little to experiment with this new sensation, capturing his groan in my mouth. “Cassandra, no, for the love of God, don’t move—”

I shifted my hips again, and he slid deeper into me.

He moved then, a beautiful rhythm that sent me soaring, thrusting in with long, deep strokes that joined his body fully with mine until there was no way to separate us. His movements quickened, his kisses becoming harder, more demanding as his body pounded into mine. I wrapped my legs around his hips and matched his kisses, taking his heat and returning it with a fire of my own. We burner hot, hotter than I thought possible, our flesh bound together until in one brilliant moment, we slipped past mere mortal pleasure and entered the realm of heaven.

Griffin
’s back arched as his shouted my name, his voice mingling with mine as I gave myself over to the beauty of the moment.

A long time later, after our hearts had stopped pounding, after our breathing had changed from ragged gasps to a more regular pattern, after the fire we had created burned down to deep, satisfying embers, Griffin lifted his head from my neck and looked down on me.

“Did you say something about the door?”

I smiled and kissed the tip of his nose. Men were such amusing creatures. “Don’t be silly, why would I choose such a moment to talk about architecture?”

I suppose I ought to have felt some shame or regret for the loss of my innocence, or at least embarrassment that I all but seduced Griffin, but in truth, all I felt as we assisted each other into our respective garments was the sadness that I would not be able to spend the night lying in his arms.

Oh, there was satisfaction that I had chosen my lover well, and there was the knowledge that our time together would be pleasurable beyond what I had believed possible, but still, there was a faint sense of loss that lingered.

When he had adjusted the last button on my gown, and I had slipped his cufflinks back into place, we faced each other silently.

“May I see you tomorrow?”

I looked at him solemnly, slowing regaining control of myself. I wondered if I would ever be the same. “I will be participating in a march to the Houses of Parliament tomorrow at noon.”

His jaw tightened as he dropped my hand. “After tonight’s episode at the opera, you still intend on joining that group of misguided women?”

“I do indeed,” I said, anger slowly blotting out the warmer feelings that had remained. How could I feel so close to him, be so intimate with him, and yet so distant at the same time? “I’ve told you that I knew nothing about the demonstration tonight, and I had no part in the terrible attack this morning. I
do
know that the Women’s Suffrage Union does not condone violence. The women who acted tonight were a small faction, a minority. The rest of the Union is not like them.”

He snorted indignantly. “Whether their actions are sanctioned by your group or not, can’t you see how foolish they look, what a mockery they make of your cause? Is that how you want to appear to your family and friends?”

His amber eyes flashed with anger, but I did not quail before them. “I admit they were wrong in disrupting the opera, but frankly, I applaud their efforts. What they did took nerve and bravery.”

“Bravery! Bravery? What that pack of screeching she-wolves displayed was nothing more than cowardice, attacking a group of unarmed musicians and singers.”

I was annoyed with his deliberate attempt to shift the focus of the argument. I opened my mouth to say more, then thought better of it. This was not a battle I would win standing in the library while the taste of him still lingered on my lips.

“Thank you for escorting me home,” I said primly. “And for everything else. It was enlightening.”

His hands closed around my shoulders, stopping me, his voice low and urgent. “So you understand, I will spell it out for you. What you are doing is dangerous to yourself and others. You are playing a game with adversaries who will show you no mercy. Do not doubt that they will win, no matter what the cost.”

My cheeks burned with indignation and the after-effects of our lovemaking; for a time I didn’t know which emotion had the upper hand, anger or love. The anger won out. I turned just enough to let him see the resolve in my eyes. “Thank you for your warning, it’s much appreciated, but I have no fear about any danger befalling us.”

“I…would be…
pleased
if you did not participate in the march.”

Disappointment that nothing had changed between us deafened my ears to the pleading undertone in his voice.

“I am sure you would be, just as I am sure you would be pleased if every woman in Britain gave up the right to think for herself. But that, Griffin St. John, is not going happen. I will attend the march tomorrow, with my head held high, proud to be a part of such a noble cause.”

His jaw twitched dangerously as he stuffed his fists into his pockets. “Do whatever you want, you aggravating woman!” he roared as he threw open the door and stalked out of it.

I closed it and stood with my back to the cool wood, the pounding of my heart drowning out every other sounds as I closed my eyes and relived every exquisite moment of our lovemaking.

Could it be that everything I believed in was wrong? As long as there were men like my Uncle Henry, who treated women with respect and dignity, was it right for women to demand the same of all men? And Griffin—would he ever change his opinion of women’s suffrage? Was my love doomed even before it was requited? Were a few stolen moments together between arguments all we were to have?

“Enough of this.” I shook myself, and went upstairs to bed.

Chapter Fourteen

The sun was out the next morning, reminding me how lovely the sky could be when freshly washed with blue. Feeling the need for exercise to clear my head after the events of the past evening, I set out to walk the scant mile to the rendezvous point near the Houses of Parliament. I had plenty of time as I walked to recall again, for what seemed to be the one hundredth time, the words Griffin and I had hurled at each other, but I was sad to note that in this instance, familiarity did not bring resolution.

Helena
was waiting for me in a mouth-watering Kingfisher Blue walking skirt and matching coat that once again put my own ensemble to shame. Her radiant smile greeted me as we clasped each other’s hands like excited schoolgirls.

“What a fine day for a march,” she exclaimed happily. “And what a lovely skirt! The color matches your eyes.”

“Thank you.” I hesitated. “I notice your brother is not glowering behind you. Are you sure you are willing to go through with this? After last night’s display, I doubt if your family would be pleased with your participation. You may be opening yourself up to a great deal of trouble at home.”

She waved off my warning. “Wasn’t that exciting last night? I couldn’t believe the bravery of those women, to march into the middle of the opera!”

“Yes, they were brave, but I believe they could have chosen a different event to protest. I am sure Maggie Greene was behind it, which would explain the choice of targets.”

Helena
looked down at her hands for a moment, her lovely face clouded. “Cassandra, I owe you an apology about yesterday morning. I acted foolishly, and ignored your warnings. I don’t know what came over me, but I do know I won’t do it again. Thank you for being there with me.”

“I have to ask you one question, and then we will let the subject drop. Did you know that your brothers would be at the club?”

She nodded her head, worrying her gloves. “Maggie asked when Harold would be at his club, and I mentioned that they were having a vote about a troublesome member. She thought that would be a good time to have our protest. Griffin seldom visits it, but because of the vote—” Her voice trailed off.

“I see. Never mind.” I took her arm as we walked towards the gathering women. “It is a sorry person who cannot learn from her mistakes. Now, as for last night, while I applaud the intentions and bravery it took to demonstrate at the opera, I am opposed to disruptive methods such as the militants used. It was very embarrassing.”

“You poor dear; it must have been beastly for you with Harold being so rude. Were your aunt and uncle offended?”

“Shocked more than offended, I believe.”

“I hope they paid no heed to what Harold said.” She looked at me from the corner of her eye. “Griffin left shortly after you did…you didn’t see him, by any chance?”

 “Helena, you need not be coy with me. I am sure your brother told you that he accompanied me home.”

“Oh, no, Cassandra, I wasn’t being coy, I assure you. Griffin told me nothing last night, except—” She smiled. “He was throwing things around his study and muttering something about you when I went in to say goodnight.”

It was inevitable. I blushed. The feeling of being held in his arms, our bodies joined together, wrapped in ecstasy had quickly become my most cherished memory.

“I apologize for the accusation, Helena. There is nothing really I can tell you. I left early after the disgraceful scene, Griffin met me outside, and he kindly accompanied me home.”

“Ah,” she said, still smiling. “I wonder that he was in such a curious mood then, one moment elated, the next frustrated. You didn’t argue with him?”

I cleared my throat and watched a clutch of children skip by. “We had a discussion, yes. You know how unreasonable he is about the cause. He may have interpreted the discussion as an argument.”

“I’m sure that’s it.” She frowned briefly as she watched the Union leaders consult one another. “The oddest thing happened this morning. I was passing the telephone room and I thought I heard Harold mention something about the march today…” Her voice trailed off as we were beckoned forward. “Look, I believe they are starting.”

A short, energetic woman in her thirties passed among us, distributing
Votes For Women
sashes to those who did not possess one. Helena and I each obtained a sash, and I could not help but notice that the excitement of the march brought color and animation to her usually pale cheeks.

“This is a truly a glorious moment. I am so glad you are with me, dear Cassandra. To be here with our sisters in bondage, marching down Parliament Street side by side, proud to be women, proud to striking a blow against tyranny, proud to be a part of this great cause.”

I watched her dramatics with a jaded eye, then said softly, “You are a bit of a romantic.”

She smiled at me tolerantly, and squeezed my arm. “We both are. After all, that’s what makes our friendship so strong! With you as my sister—” She choked briefly. I patted her on the back and she continued. “—without you as my sister in suffrage, I would be lost. It is you I have to thank for unshackling me from the bonds of my slavery!”

“Good lord, you
have
been reading the pamphlets.” I laughed at her impassioned speech.

“My dear friends,” Mrs. Heywood said, drawing our attention. “We are about to undertake a great protest. Our march today to the Houses of Parliament will go down in history as one of the greatest demonstrations against male tyranny.”

Helena
nudged me, almost dancing with excitement.

“You will be able to tell your daughters of your courageous fight for your freedom, for
their
freedom. Do not give in, no matter how dangerous or difficult the battle. Stand tall! Stand strong! Stand firm for your rights!”

The inspiring words enthralled me until it struck me to wonder if Helena had heard correctly. Since it was obvious that my notebook hadn’t reached Lord Sherringham’s hands, if he really
had
said something about today’s march, there could be only one person from whom he could have acquired the details—Griffin.

“We are women of the twentieth century. No longer are we bound to the rules and laws of our grandmothers—our future can be one of equality, but to obtain that future, we must be willing to work.”

My heart sank. What had happened last night was not as profoundly important to Griffin as it was to me—men being what they are—but somehow, I had thought of him as being different from other men, superior to them, trustworthy where others were not.

“No,” I said softly to myself. “He
is
different. He wouldn’t do this to us.”

“Our path will not be easy, it may not even seem to be going anywhere, but along it we must trod if we are to secure for ourselves and our children those basic rights denied our sex for so long.”

The women around me cheered and applauded Mrs. Heywood, but I ceased to hear them or her as conflicting emotions swelled within me. Had our intimacy indicated Griffin had deep feelings for me, or was I just a pleasant diversion to be used and discarded when he tired of me? I found it impossible to believe he would betray us, but if his brother had the information about the march, where else could it have come from?

“Today we will present before the House of Lords a petition containing ten thousand, two hundred signatures. As we march, you will, under no circumstances, respond to any comments or jeers from the crowd, nor will you commit any acts of violence, such as throwing stones. Stay in formation until the deputation to the House of Lords has returned, at which time we shall continue the march to Westminster Abbey, where we will hold a brief rally and disband.”

“I won’t believe it,” I told myself. “There has to be another explanation.”

“Sorry?” Helena said, leaning in to whisper. “I didn’t hear what you said.”

“Nothing important. They’re forming up. Shall we take our places?”

“I wish we had a sign,” she answered as we took up a position on the right flank.

“That would be nice, but we can be just as proud wearing only our sashes,” I answered, pushing the worry over Griffin from my mind. I wouldn’t be able to resolve anything on that front until I had proof either way, and the march was an important act, my first true protest. I was determined to enjoy every moment of it.

Horses, carriages, and motorcars moved out of our way when we marched as a group down the middle of the street. The usual taunting and slurs were tossed at us as we passed, but we ignored them. Several women were singing a new suffrage song, and although I did not know the lyrics, I kept a smile on my face as I hummed along with the others. In no time we were stopped in front of Parliament.

Unfortunately, so were the local police.

Several ranks of constables had formed a blockade across the front of Parliament. When the deputation of three women approached the constables, showing them the petitions and asking for admission, they were rudely pushed back and summarily refused.

“Oh, dear. This looks somewhat ominous,” I told Helena as we exchanged glances, our hearts sinking. “This many policemen…perhaps I was a little hasty in dismissing Griffin’s warning. These men looked as if they would have little mercy.”

“What warning?”

“You know Griffin, he’s always warning us away from protests.” It was a feeble explanation at best, but Helena was too distracted to examine it closely. We stood together, watching silently as the deputation continued to plead with the police. My thoughts were dark as a crowd began to gather.

“Surely they cannot arrest us for simply marching down the street?” I asked Helena. “We have committed no violent acts, nor performed any illegal act.”

Her face was pale as she watched the Union officers arguing with the constables. “I can’t see how they could arrest us. We are being peaceable and orderly.”

“Oh, no!” Suddenly a cheer went up from the gathering crowd. Their arms pinned behind them, the three members of the deputation were pushed through the crowd toward a row of police conveyances. Cries of concern and distress broke out in our group, and several members rushed forward to help. Without warning, Helena and I found ourselves pushed from behind up against the wall of constables.

Details about the brutal treatment we suffered that day at the hands of the police are common knowledge, but I am ashamed and sickened to say that I saw English policemen attacking English gentlewomen in a manner more suitable to common thugs. Although we used no violence, and were peaceable and open to reason, we were treated to savage and inhuman acts of violence.

A constable grabbed me as the pressure from behind flung me up against him. He wrenched my arms backwards, and hauled me toward the police vans. Helena struggled with another constable, and although I tried to tell her to not fight him, the shrieks and screams from the other women were too great to allow me to be heard.

To my great horror, we were placed in the police vans. I was rather proud to see the way some women fought, although I knew they were the ones who would suffer the most. Other women, such as Mrs. Heywood and the petition deputation, retained their natural dignity and allowed themselves to be led away without a struggle.

“Are you all right?” I asked as I crawled over a woman’s legs to get to where Helena had been thrown into my van. Her hair was tumbled down about her shoulders, her gown torn. She sobbed my name and scrambled over two other suffragettes to reach me. “Are you hurt? Did he do anything to harm you?”

“No,” she sobbed, her face streaked and dirty. “I’m fine. Are you well?”

I had the ridiculous urge to laugh at her question, but fought down both it and the hysteria that threatened to follow. “I’m not hurt either. I tried to tell you not to fight, but I don’t think you heard me.”

She shook her head, her frail body trembling violently against me as two more women were hurled into the van. The doors slammed shut and we were left in darkness, the only sounds audible were that of gentle sobbing.