These stories contains sexually explicit acts involving consenting adults. They are not intended for minors under the age of eighteen.
Professor Abercrombie polished his pince-nez nervously while he watched through the drawing room window. “They should have been here by now,” he muttered to himself. At that very moment, a horse whinnied and the coach pulled into view. The professor heaved a sigh of relief… and anticipation.
Hurrying, he opened the door just as the coachmen helped a young lady down. She was dressed quite conservatively, but her face was fair and the wisp of hair that crept from her bonnet was quite lovely. “Miss Clare Habersham, I presume,” he called out.
The young lady looked up at him with a piercing, intelligent gaze, but before she could answer, a loud “harrumph” issued from the carriage. The coachman turned and helped down an old, matronly woman with what appeared to be a permanent scowl affixed across her face.
“Professor Abercrumb?” she asked suspiciously, looking him up and down. He had to stop himself from examining his waistcoat to see if he had spilled his lunch upon it.
“Er, that is Abercrombie. Professor Abercrombie,” he said hastily, but she simply glared.