Pat nodded. Fen leaned forward, and Pat met her mouth, tasting the whisky, feeling a sense of sudden urgency. She grasped Fen’s shoulder, felt a hand on her own hip, and found Fen’s soft lips devouring her own, open and greedy, a tongue touching hers, darting and stroking, shockingly intimate.

“Let’s go to bed,” Fen whispered, the breath warm on Pat’s wettened lips. “I want to hold you.”

“Can we? That is—” She didn’t want to say it wasn’t right, but she couldn’t forget what was going on outside this room. There’s a dead man in the East Wing. A murder. A hanging to come.

We’re alive.

“We’re alive,” Fen said, as if she’d read Pat’s mind. “I’m sorry for Haworth, but— No, actually, I’m not. I’m tired of him. He made too many people miserable, I don’t see why he should do it any more, and I want to be with you. That’s important. Please?”

Pat nodded, breathless. Fen brushed a kiss over her lips. “Thank you.”

They undressed each other mostly in silence, with gentle strokes and touches rather than the giggling excitement of the previous night. This time, though, Fen took off her combinations instead of leaving them on to be worked around. Pat could barely breathe at the sight of pale skin, unrestrained breasts, soft belly, the dark hair that formed a tangled triangle over her mound. Fen had left her hair up as she undressed; she removed the pins now as Pat watched dry-mouthed, and glinting brown hair spilled over her pale, naked shoulders.

“You’re so beautiful,” Pat whispered. “I’m not sure how anyone can be so beautiful.”

She felt a tiny bit self-conscious shedding her own combinations. Fen had made her feelings clear last night, but one night didn’t change a lifetime of being plain and practical, no matter what the eye of the beholder might see. All the same, she stepped out of the heap of muslin and stood unclothed under Fen’s gaze.

“You’re beautiful,” Fen said softly, stepping forward. She traced a finger down Pat’s arm. “Diana the huntress, strong and lean and...sparse? That’s not the word, but you know what I mean. Like the countryside around here. Bare and beautiful.”

“Whereas you’re more of a lush landscape.” Pat stroked the side of one heavy breast, heard Fen inhale. “I prefer curves.”

“Then we’re both lucky, aren’t we?” Fen caught her hand. “Come to bed.”

The sheets were cool against Pat’s skin. Fen gave a little squeak as she lay down, and Pat winced. “Shh. No squealing. The last thing we need is someone rushing in here thinking there’s another murder going on.”

“I shall be quiet as a mouse,” Fen promised her. “Despite all provocation. I hope you’re planning to offer provocation?”