The Chemickal Marriage

squatting hips an unwelcome gust across the embers of Miss Temple’s desire. She looked away, down at the brick.
    ‘Perhaps I will eat after all,’ she managed. The Contessa waved vaguely.
    ‘It is for you or the rats. Or, with that straggling hair, you as the largest rat …’
    Miss Temple forced herself to swallow a water biscuit and a lump of cheese, taken from where the Contessa had not chewed. Though it stuck in her throat, she reached in the hamper for more. But, as she reached, the Contessa flung an armful of various garments and the blanket was knocked from her shoulders. Miss Temple turned, covering herself with her hands. The Contessa laughed.
    ‘I had not planned for two, much less two of such differing sizes. With a corset to wrench it all in, you may be presentable. Probably not.’
    ‘I will wear my own things,’ said Miss Temple, pulling the blanket up.
    ‘A mere corset and shift? You will freeze. They will hear your teeth from St Porte.’
    ‘I do not care.’
    The Contessa dropped her robe and stepped into a pale silk shift. Shepulled it over her hips, smiled, and then, as Miss Temple could not but look, slipped one arm and then the other through. The Contessa paused.
    ‘Celeste, I believe you are biting your lip.’
    Miss Temple only swallowed, wet hair in dark ringlets on her nape. ‘You know what has become of me.’
    ‘But do I know it well enough?’ The Contessa did the last button and tugged the shift against her breasts, as if for comfort, but primarily to drag the silk across her nipples, knowing that Miss Temple could not look away.
    ‘You are very cruel.’
    ‘Not
only
cruel. What would you like?’
    Miss Temple rocked on her heels. ‘That’s a horrible question.’
    ‘Only if you have a horrible answer.’
    ‘You amuse yourself. You will kill me.’
    ‘I thought
you
were going to kill
me
.’
    ‘I
am
,’ whined Miss Temple.
    ‘Stand up, Celeste.’
    ‘I won’t. I can’t.’
    The Contessa came forward and caught the hands Miss Temple raised to put her off. Miss Temple was lifted and the blanket fell away, her pale skin tight with the cold. The Contessa looked at her. Miss Temple trembled.
    ‘I am ashamed,’ she whispered. ‘I am not myself.’
    ‘Few people are.’
    ‘But you –’
    ‘We are not talking about
me
.’
    Miss Temple persisted. She forced out the words. ‘But I – I am not kind. I am not pretty. I want things. I want
people
. I –’ She shook her head. ‘I am so hungry … so
angry
.’
    The Contessa set a hand on Miss Temple’s breast, squeezing it with the dispassion of a farmer judging ham. ‘You are not
ugly
. Besides, that matters very little.’ The hand took in the soft pinch of Miss Temple’s waist and the turn of her hips. ‘The person who isn’t angry is a stone. And the person without desire is in the grave.’ Miss Temple squirmed, for the Contessa’s hand had dipped between her legs. An extended finger pushed without warning past hair and skin to wetness and slipped in. Miss Temple gasped.
    The Contessa looked her in the eye. ‘We have done this before. Do you remember?’ Miss Temple nodded. The Contessa eased her hand into motion. ‘In the coach, with Oskar. To shame you. To derange your little heart. Did it work?’
    Miss Temple shook her head. The motion was already luscious.
    ‘No. That was my mistake. But what did you learn?’
    ‘That I am my own,’ whimpered Miss Temple.
    ‘O that’s a lie, isn’t it?’
    Miss Temple did not speak. The Contessa gave her hand a twist and employed a thumb.
    ‘I said that’s a
lie
, isn’t it, Celeste? You admitted as much just now, this close to tears … because you want a world that isn’t yours … because your pleasure is unbounded … because in your heart you are the biggest
whore
in all Europe.’
    Another turn of her hand stopped Miss Temple’s objection.
    ‘Or is that wrong? Are you not? Or are you? What other word would you use?’
    ‘Why –
O
– why are you –’
    ‘Because someone has to die, Celeste. It won’t be me. For this – your demons? Banish shame. Accept desire. Most men
deserve
the whip. You are what you are
now
.’ The Contessa dropped to her knees. She met Miss Temple’s eyes. ‘
Yes?
’
    Miss Temple could not move. Sure as the strike of a snake, the Contessa’s tongue shot home. Miss Temple cried out. She writhed, but the Contessa held her hips fast and the crest was already imminent, a swelling of unbearable sweetness. Her fingers