Cassandra

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Cassandra walked to the dressing table and sat down on the wooden stool before it. A large oval mirror attached to the table showed that Darcy had entered the room as well, but Cassandra’s attention was focused on the clasp of her bracelet. At length, the bracelet opened, and she began to loosen her hair. Next, she leaned forward to remove her shoes and then raised her gown to strip off her stockings. By this time, Darcy’s lust so overpowered him he could scarcely breathe. Yet he dared not move or speak. Not yet. He watched her stand, unbutton the front of her gown and lift it over her head. Seconds later, her petticoat lay crumpled at her feet. Darcy’s senses screamed for him to go to her, to take her in his arms, for surely she would stop there. But he had forgotten who she was: her past as an artist’s model, her defiance of convention. In the few seconds that Darcy hesitated to act, Cassandra pulled her chemise over her head and tossed it on the heap of clothes already lying on the floor. Naked, she walked purposefully up to the bed and lay down.