Delicious

Look at them. Promenading like delicate petit fours, colourful wrappings, topped with matching frilly hats and accessorized with parasols that remind me of cupcake icing. Each of them has carefully planned their attire, the timing of their afternoon walk, and their companion. Some, bring a matron to chaperone, others have a suitor on their arm with their chaperone close by on one of the park benches. I join the promenade, dressed in my dove gray suit with violet lapels. Not your typical attire; all of the other gentlemen are bedecked in somber black, charcoal, or dark brown. It may be courting, but the whole affair looks very similar to a funeral procession.

My unusual dress catches an eye or two. They quickly look away when I make eye contact, probably dismissing me as a foreigner. It doesn't bother me. I am a foreigner. Though I find it humorous that in a country made of immigrants, in the heart of the city that is a major point of entry, there is such disdain for new arrivals. Paying no attention to the women that avert their gaze, I search for the ladies that are curious. Returning the glances of one or two passing debutantes with a touch to the brim of my hat, I fail to hold any one's attention for long. All too afraid to be caught entertaining the gaze of an Eastern European. But there, a persistent pair of eyes. Not from one of the carefully decorated ladies, but from a young woman dressed in black, sitting on a park bench near the duck pond. I slowly move in her direction, trying to appear as if my advance was happenstance, rather than purposeful.

Stepping off the gravel path, I stop an arms-length from the end of the bench. ‘Are you not promenading today?' I ask her.

She seems startled by my inquiry, but replies, 'Oh, no, sir. I am a chaperone for Miss Carnegie. She is promenading with Mr. Thornton-Smith today,’ subtly pointing down the path, she adds, 'She is the lady in yellow.'

I nod in reply and ask, "Will you promenaded on another day?'

She blushes and replies, 'Sir, I am a matron. Widowed. I cannot court in society,' Pausing for a moment she adds, 'Besides, my family is not in the same standing as the Carnegies and Thorton-Smiths. My father and my husband were tradesmen.'

Turning to look at her, I smile and say, 'Seems a shame that a lovely woman, such as yourself, isn't included in the process of building connections. Certainly, you would be amenable to remarrying?'

A beam of hope brightened her face. Though it was quickly washed away by a shadow of doubt or the impediments of reality, 'Not really, sir, but thank you for the kind words. I have a very good job with the Carnegies and would not jeopardize it with a courtship that may...end poorly.'

I wasn't certain if she meant poorly in the literal sense, resulting in poverty, or figuratively, being a poor match and not yielding a viable marriage. Her employers could terminate her position in the household for merely attempting a relationship. However, there was a path forward, as I could use my very nature to ensure her company, unless, of course, she had no interest at all. I decided to gauge her level of attraction to me by offering her my companionship and, at the same time, eliminate any risk to her employment.

'But madam, certainly the Carnegies would not object to you providing aid to a stranger to New York; giving me a tour of the city neighborhoods? Perhaps you could familiarize me with a few important connections in society?'

She was quiet for a moment. I could see she was struggling between the desire to be regarded again as someone of romantic interest and maintaining her position in the Carnegie household. Presenting it as Christian charity toward a newcomer was insufficient. Doubt was emerging, so I jumped in, 'How presumptuous of me. I haven't even introduced myself.'

Taking my hat off and bending in a graceful bow, I added, ‘Lord Radu Tepes of Wallachia. It is a pleasure to meet you.'

She blushed, scarlet sweeping across her pale cheeks. 'Bonnie Casper. The pleasure is mine.'

As her cheeks faded to a soft pink, her attention was diverted back to the parading couples, slow walking along the park pathway. The woman in yellow had rounded the corner, escort in tow. Bonnie's eyes flicked toward me and back to the young woman in yellow. Knowing that battles are won by inches, not miles, I smiled at Bonnie, withdrew a calling card from my coat pocket and handed it to her.

'I see your employer has returned. If you find yourself available one afternoon, please write my residence while I am in New York.’

The blush returned and she secreted the card away in her reticule. I touched the brim of my hat and continued along my walk through the park.

Not a week had passed before a letter was delivered to my temporary home, bearing the faintest smell of lavender and marked with the graceful script of a woman's hand. Bonnie remained intrigued by my offer to meet, though the postage stamp on the letter indicated that she'd taken it to market shop to send it, rather than mail it from the Carnegie residence. Embarrassed or frightened? Either way, our meeting would be clandestine, away from the prying eyes of those in her social circle. She proposed meeting in a café in a neighborhood north of the park, far from the east Manhattan residence of the Carnegies.

The café was small, but neat and friendly in appearance. She was seated at a table away from the window and waved to me when I entered. After ordering a coffee and a tea cake for each of us, we quietly chatted. Reluctant at first, she eventually shared that she and her husband used to own a tailor shop near here, until his unexpected death from cholera. It had been Andrew Carnegie himself that suggested Bonnie become his daughter's companion. He had been quite fond of her husband's work and took pity on Bonnie’s sudden change of fortune. Still, it was doubtful that the Carnegies, no matter how fond of well-made waistcoats they were, would tolerate a member of their staff behaving like a harlot.

For my part, I shared that I'd moved to New York to change my destiny, having always fallen under my brother's shadow. Bonnie was sympathetic and inquired about my brother and distant relatives. I deferred, redirecting the conver­sation to my current hopes and plans. She was impressed with my land purchases to the south and my intent to set up a European import business. The interaction was warm and familiar. Clearly, Bonnie lacked-engagement, both of mind and spirit, so I let her dominate the conversation. She placed her hand over mine several times and blushed when I looked at her too long. After an hour and a half at the café, we moved to the city streets, taking a stroll in the park. Her hand in the crook of my arm, sun-shining in her hair, she looked as hopeful and vivacious as a week-old calf.

She relaxed as we walked, not bothered by the looks we received from passing pedestrians. My appearance is very different from those born here. I retain my long hair and moustache, as is the habit of men in my homeland. No matter how well dressed and wealthy appear, I am clearly noted as foreign. That does not seem to bother Bonnie. Her reservation about being seen in public in east Manhattan must be rooted in her desire for job security. She hesitates for fear of insincerity on my part. I will have to provide her with a reason to trust my commitment, my absolute certainty in my desires toward her.

After our stroll in the park, I call a hansom cab for her and pay the driver to return her to her residence. Before the driver pulls away, I softly kiss the top of her hand and let her know that I would very much like to see her on her next day off. She promises to write me a letter, indicating arrangements. As I watch her carriage drive off, my body tingles with anticipation. It may take a persistent and methodical pursuit, but know I will triumph in the end.

Over the course of several weeks, Bonnie has met me three more times. Each visit, I become slightly bolder. Our second meeting, she allowed me to place a kiss on her ungloved hand. Her skin was warm, soft, and gave slightly to the pressure of my lips, with the faintest hint of salt from her sweat, reminding me vaguely of sweet cream butter. The memory of that kiss on my lips sustained me until our third visit. We met at the Casino rooftop garden, where there were several nooks for young people to talk in close company and not raise eyebrows. The crowd at the garden was comprised largely of artists, musicians, and visitors from abroad, so I was able to lean in and give Bonnie a light peck on the lips. She blushed at first, but then, not being a chaste debutante, but a widow familiar with the touch of a man, she returned the kiss. Her affections were greedy and somewhat incongruous with her cautious behavior up to this point. I didn't mind and pulled her into me, probing her mouth with my tongue. The silky wetness of her lips, and pearl smoothness of her teeth were so inviting I braved a small nip of her bottom lip. She pulled back quickly, but in her eyes I saw a spark of desire rather than hesitation. Bonnie would not resist me, which should have given me the incentive to pursue. Yet I wanted the chase to last a little longer, so I cupped her cheek affectionately and we returned to the crowd milling about the garden.

On our fourth meeting, I took Bonnie to the Daly Theater on Broadway for the show Needles and Pins. It was a musical, which I loathe, but Americans seem to love them. My choice had less to do with Bonnie's theatrical preference than my ability to secure a private box. The heavy curtains, low lighting, and the din from the musical allowed me the privacy to place my hand on Bonnie's knee. She didn't flinch or brush off my advances, so I carefully and slowly pulled up her skirts. I could hear her breathing increase and she parted her legs slightly, allowing me to feel the hem of her drawers. I knew that the corset would deny me access to her breasts, as removing that article of clothing was a Herculean feat. Ironically, slipping a hand up the petticoats and chemise to the drawers gave me unfettered access to her more intimate areas. I glided my fingers over the frilly cuff of her drawers, petting the inside of her thigh. She softly moaned, but kept her eyes on the players on stage.

My fingers finally reached skin, as reached the opening of her under garment. Again, Bonnie was intently staring down at the stage, even as I probed her gently, the only indication of her enjoyment was the ragged inhalation and exhalation of her breath. With no one else in our theater box, nearly half the musical yet to go, and the ornate decor hiding everything but our shoulders and heads, I continued to pleasure her until she climaxed, shuddering quietly with her eyes closed. Only once I'd withdrawn my hand from her nethers and smoothed her skirt back in place did she look at me. Her gaze was intense and passionate, tinged with the torpor of orgasm. I mouthed the words, 'You are delicious, Bonnie,' and she returned a contented smile.

After the night at the theater, Bonnie's letters to me were filled with romantic prose and deep affection. She informed me that she wanted to discuss making an announcement of courtship, so that she could openly be seen with me in society. The time had come. This was the moment our relationship had to change. I was excited for the new phase, but sad for the upheaval. I was always sentimental during these moments.

While her letters came directly to me, Mine were delivered to a post box in her old neighborhood. There was always a delay in our corresp­ondence, due to logistics. Once I received her missive, I wrote her imploring her to meet me in secret once more, to be together unfettered, explaining to her that once a courtship was announced, we would be under continuous scrutiny until the wedding. I instructed her to meet me in an apartment I'd rented under a pseudonym.

It was spartan, but clean and had a private entrance that ensured no one saw us coming or going. We were to dine in the apartment, to maximize our time together alone. I brought a basket with wine, cheese, bread, a quiche, fruit, and two small chocolate cakes. While not fine dining, a delightful and intimate dinner for two.

She arrived at dusk, her hair intricately styled. She'd taken great care to primp, wash, and perfume. Her appearance reminded me of the presentation of the Christmas goose, glistening and roasted to perfection. Inviting her in, I guided her to the small table and chairs that were positioned opposite the only other furniture in the apartment, a large, well-padded bed. She gushed about how excited she was for the evening and that it was a new beginning, our beginning. I shared my excitement as well. This evening was one I'd looked forward to for many weeks. All of our clandestine meetings, holding her attention, while not giving into my urges. But here we were, together, alone, unnoticed.

I placed a slice of quiche on her plate and took an apple for myself. We ate, chatted nervously about small bits of local news and gossip, then I poured each of us a glass of sherry to round out our repast. As we sipped our drinks, I suggested we get more comfortable, gesturing toward the bed.

‘But don't you want dessert first?' Bonnie asked, blushing.

I gave her a long, heavily lidded stare and replied, 'My dear, you are dessert.'

A giggle bubbled up and warmth spread across her cheeks. She finished her sherry, set the glass on the table, then sat down on the edge of the bed.

Patting the mattress she asked, "Would you care to join me?’

Moving slowly toward Bonnie, I removed my jacket and draped it over the back of one of the chairs. As I sat on the bed next to her, I untied my necktie and unbuttoned my vest. I picked up Bonnie’s hand in mine and ran the other up her arm, gently sliding it to her neckline, unbuttoning her dress to her décolletage. Kissing her neck, I pulled her to me and slid my hands down to unfasten her remaining bodice buttons. She aided me in removing her dress, leaving me with the challenging corset.

While I was familiar with fashion trends and enhancing the curves of a woman's body, I never understood the appeal of the corset. They were entirely an impediment to accessing the smooth, vulnerable softness of the abdomen. After a short fight with the lacing, I freed Bonnie's curves from the damned contraption and ran my hands down her silky chemise. She continued kissing my face as she pulled off my vest and shirt, slipping a hand into my trousers to gauge my readiness. I gently pushed her back onto the bed, tugging off her drawers, while she pulled her chemise over her head and tossed it onto the floor. Shaking her hair out of her high bun, she laid her head back on the pillow and winked at me in all her naked glory. Quickly doffing my remaining attire, I laid down on top of Bonnie's warm and soft body, my hips resting between her thighs. She sighed and ran her hands down my back, as I buried my face in the crook of her neck, her hair forming a feathery nest around my cheek.

Breathing in her warm, spicy aroma, I wrapped my arms around her tightly, and whispered, 'I have been looking forward to this night since I met you.'

I could feel her body relax and, at the moment she exhaled, I sank my teeth deeply into her neck, splitting open the skin and underlying vein. Shock kept Bonnie momentarily motionless. While I still had the element of surprise, I placed one hand over her mouth, in part to turn her head to bite through to the artery and in part to silence the inevitable scream. As I drank the blood flowing out of her, she began to struggle, at first only moderately, unsure if this was some form of foreplay, then more fiercely, as she realized her life was in jeopardy. By the time she began kicking against me in earnest, her efforts were hastening her death, speeding her blood to her wound.

I drank deeply, tasting every note of her last meal, the energy of her racing heart, and the tang of despair at love lost most cruelly. At least she would be spared the indignity of being abandoned by her paramour, despite the precautions she’d taken to protect her heart.

Eventually, her blood stopped flowing and her body began to cool, diminishing the appeal of being on top of her. Rising from the bed, I cleaned up my face and hair using my dinner napkin and redressed. I covered Bonnie's naked form with the bed sheets. Looking into her dead eyes one last time I said, ‘I told you, my dear, you are delicious.’