“I’m so sorry,” she whispered, clinging tight to his sketchbook. “I shouldn’t have pried. Forgive me.”
He waved a hand through the air as if it were of no consequence. “You couldn’t have known. My father served me an ultimatum when I told him of my plan to enter the Academy and study to become a painter. I was to withdraw from my instruction and find a more acceptable way to spend my time, or I would be disowned. To turn away from art was to deny who I was. I’d been drawing and painting since I was a lad, and I’ve never wanted to do or be anything else. So, I told him to sod off, and have been making my own way in the world ever since.”
Her expression changed from one of pity to one of pride as she approached, laying the sketchbook on the table and taking hold of his hand.
“Good for you. You shouldn’t have to deny yourself in order to be accepted.”
His smile was tight and forced, but he squeezed her hand, allowing her touch to comfort him. “Easier said than done, I’m afraid. Aside from being financially cut off, I have been made to understand that I am no longer a part of the Radcliffe family. I am not permitted into their homes, nor will they address me in public. I have not spoken to any of them in years.”
“Not even your siblings? Surely they must—”
“Follow the dictates of my father,” he interjected. “To defy him is to find themselves in the same position as me. Well, all except for Marcus. He is the heir, after all.”
Sudden understanding dawned in her eyes, and she furrowed her brow as she stared up at him. “Is that why you...why you became…”
“A courtesan? Yes. I’d begun to fear being forced out of my home and living off scraps before Benedict proposed the idea. I was skeptical at first, not certain it would prove to be as lucrative an idea as he thought. Two years later, here we are. I was wrong, obviously.”
She threw herself against him, wrapping her arms tight around his waist and resting her head on his chest. Clinging to him as if afraid a strong wind might carry him away, she burrowed her face in the fabric of his shirt. Hugh wrapped an arm around her, discovering that he quite liked the fit and feel of her against him this way, the warmth of her sinking through his skin and penetrating him deep.
“When your painting is accepted into the Exhibition, you can be sure that I will be there. If no one else is there to congratulate you on your accomplishment, then I will be. I swear it.”
While he might have taken her statement as one made from a place of pity, he chose instead to take it at face value. It truly bothered her to know that he’d been disowned, that his family would not celebrate his success. Even though his friends would be there—they’d told him they wouldn’t miss it for anything should his piece be accepted—somehow knowing he had her support as well made it all the sweeter. It felt different somehow, in a way he didn’t understand. He barely knew this woman, though the revelation of her own insecurities along with his family problems, as well as the intimacies they’d just shared went a long way toward pushing them past acquaintanceship and toward something else entirely.
Something which he’d never experienced with another client, causing him to warm in places other than his cock. It felt far too dangerous, as it would never do to succumb to any depth of feeling for a client. A well-bred woman like Evelyn would not want a man who had sold his cock to survive for anything beyond their current arrangement. And in his experience women who used their services did so because they desired a particular brand of freedom and independence. Not husbands. Complicating their arrangement by bringing softer emotions to the table was the last thing he ought to do.
Tipping her chin up, he lowered his head and brushed his lips against hers. “Thank you, Evie.”
Chapter 6
“This evening, the Theatre Royal at Covent Garden will present a showing of Shakespeare’s tragedy of Othello, followed by the musical farce of Rosina. Though, I wager a fair number of you will be watching the spectacle of the ton as seen framed within their theatre boxes far more than you’ll attend to the show.”
-The London Gossip, 19 March 1819
Regina clung to her skirts with shaking hands as slanted sheets of rain pelted her from all sides. The winds howled and lightning cracked overhead while thunder resounded as if in warning. The two men circling each other with swords in hand paid it no need, determined to battle one another to the death. Regina had given up hope that she would ever be saved from the clutches of Baron Redgrave, who had dragged her kicking and screaming back to his accursed castle. For weeks, she had languished in her tower room, weeping for hours upon end. She had thought herself cursed to this fate, to wither away until death within the clutches of the mad baron.
But, as the sun had risen over the horizon, she’d spied her salvation riding hell for leather in her direction. Could it be? She had dared to hope, but as the imposing figure of a man approaching on a white horse came into view, she had allowed joy to blossom within her chest. It was him! Sir Duncan Antony was riding to her rescue, braving the harshness of the moors and the threat of death, for her, for love.
He had found his way into the castle while the baron had been away, secreting her down a set of servants’ stairs and whisking her to his horse. Only, just as escape had seemed all but certain, Redgrave had come thundering toward them over the hard, barren earth, his black cloak whipping behind him in the wind. He had been as unwilling as ever to allow her to slip free of his clutches and had vowed to slay her brave knight then and there. Sir Antony had stood his ground, promising to dispatch the evil baron and free Regina from his obsessive hold once and for all.
“Stand back, Regina!” he bellowed to be heard over the clamor of the storm. “Upon my honor, I vow to slay this foul villain. Then you shall be mine for all eternity.”
“She will never be yours!” Redgrave snarled, raising his sword and charging toward her brave knight.
“Forgive me, Miss. A message has just arrived for you.”
Evelyn released a frustrated huff and gave Joseph a withering glare over her shoulder. Yet again, she was being interrupted just as she reached a crucial point in her manuscript. She now closed in on finishing her novel, which would end with the defeat of the mad baron. She had been at it all morning, moving her quill with a hectic speed over the parchment. The climax and resolution of a story proved her favorite part, and she had been building toward the confrontation between Redgrave and Sir Antony for weeks.
“Just leave it there, Joseph, thank you,” she replied, inclining her head toward the empty patch of desk at her elbow.
The footman obeyed and made a hasty, silent retreat, leaving her in blissful solitude once more. Evelyn returned her attention to her knight and the villain he would shortly dispatch to Hell—only after sustaining a grievous and heroic wound—but found herself unable to concentrate. Her gaze strayed to the sealed note every few seconds, her pulse giving a leap as she thought of the person she knew for certain had sent it. They were not scheduled to meet this evening, but Hugh never let a day pass without some form of communication, whether it be a short note accompanied by sketches he’d created just for her, or bouquets of flowers which filled her morning room with the sweetest scents.
They had seen one another four times in the week following their dinner in her chambers, and Evelyn continued to enjoy his company more and more. He was consistent in his attentions, showing her affection without pushing toward things she was not ready for, and engaging her in absorbing conversation. They’d walked together in Hyde Park—though not during the fashionable hour, as neither of them had a high tolerance for crowds—toured the Egyptian Hall in Piccadilly, and he’d even taken her along to purchase his supplies for painting.
He had wanted to escort her back home before making his way to the colorman’s shop, but she had insisted she wished to accompany him, having never given much thought to the mechanics of creating art until becoming involved with him. She’d found it all so fascinating, watching him critically study pots of ground pigments
while discussing the various hues with the proprietor. There were a plethora of other mediums she’d never realized must be used—linseed oil, turpentine, varnishes, all of which must be of the utmost quality.
There were quiet evenings spent ensconced in her bedchamber, where they shared intimate dinners before retiring to the bed. They lay together, entangled in one another’s limbs kissing and touching and allowing passion to sweep them away. He’d remained firm in his resolve to initiate her patiently and gently, and while she remained a virgin in theory, her blushing innocence had been slowly stripped away.
She squirmed in her chair, growing aroused as she remembered their last night together. Evelyn had asked him to tutor her through pleasuring him with her mouth. He’d taken to the idea with the sort of fervor that told her he’d been waiting for such a moment. Laying him down on the bed, she’d taken his cock into her mouth, allowing him to take hold of her hair and set the pace, learning how to lick and suck him until he spent in her mouth, shuddering and panting beneath her. She had never thought she might enjoy such a thing, having been slightly put off by the images Patience had shown her of women performing the act. However, she couldn’t deny the thrill she’d felt at having Hugh at her mercy, the taste of him, his musky scent, and even the taste of his spend, a testament to his own enjoyment. Once he had recovered from his climax, he had promptly turned her onto her back and buried his face between her thighs, licking and kissing her until she fell apart in a fit of sheer rapture.
That had marked the first night he’d ever slept in her bed, where before he would ceremoniously tuck her in with a kiss on the forehead before departing for his own lodgings. She’d slept quite comfortably with him at her back, one arm draped around her waist. He’d awakened at dawn before departing, pressing a sweet kiss to her lips before promising to return on Friday. However, it was now Thursday, and he’d sent her a note; one that commanded her attention.
Setting her quill aside, she gave up on The Mad Baron for the time being. She wouldn’t be able to write a single word until she had discovered what lay within Hugh’s note.
She took up the slip of paper and tore through the seal. A smile spread across her face as she found Hugh’s messy scrawl at the bottom of a sketch of a woman holding a bouquet of roses, her nose buried in the blossoms.
Benedict has offered me the use of his theater box this evening. I will be attending with a group of friends and thought you might like to accompany us. If you are amenable, I will come for you this evening.
Hugh
Her smile grew even wider as she realized that though they’d just spent the previous night together, he wished to see her again. They had agreed to three nights each week, but Evelyn had already begun to consider asking him for more. She was aware that the man had his own life separate from the time he spent with her, but she couldn’t help the longing deep within her whenever they were apart. She ached for his kiss, longed for his nearness, and most importantly, had decided that she was more than ready to proceed to the next inevitable step of her arrangement. She was ready for Hugh to rid her of her virginity.
Perhaps tonight could be the night. He would accompany her home after the theater, where she’d lead him to her bed and urge him to finish what they had begun that night at Vauxhall.
Rising to her feet, she carried the note and sketch over to the small box she’d left sitting on a table near the window. Beside it sat the arrangement of flowers he’d sent a few days ago, still standing tall and opening to the light of the sun. Inside the box, she stashed this sketch along with two others and a handkerchief he’d left in her possession, which still held his scent.
Such a sentimental thing to do, but she could not help herself. Her time with Hugh could not last forever—she knew this. But she would keep these tokens as a reminder of a time in her life when she’d reached out and sought what she’d wanted, earning herself a blissful reward. If she never took another lover for as long as she lived, she would have this to cling to in her loneliest of hours. Now that she was coming to know Hugh, thinking of his inevitable absence from her life left a dull ache in her chest. However, she’d begun this knowing it could never last, and constantly reminded herself of this fact. Hugh had aspirations that made no room for her, and gave no indication that he wanted anything from the future other than a career as a portraitist.
Those thoughts nearly ruined her good mood, but she brushed them aside as quickly as they had come. She and Hugh had only just begun, and they would continue at least until he’d found his footing in the world as a painter. Which gave them until summer at the very least. Evelyn had only ever seen his sketches, but if his paintings proved half as good, he was sure to earn his place in the Exhibition. From there, he would become quite in demand. He did not have to tell her that he would then have no need to go on acting as a courtesan; she knew this without having to ask. And so, she would throw herself into soaking up every minute of the time he had left to give her, and she would enjoy it thoroughly.
She penned a quick note accepting his invitation and sent it off in Joseph’s hands.
* * *
Hours later, she sat beside Hugh in a box overlooking the masses within the Theatre Royal. Hugh had come for her as promised, handing her up into a hired hackney, which had carried them to the theater in Covent Garden, where the rest of his companions had promised to meet them. She’d been nervous about meeting his friends, as she always was before making the acquaintance of new people. But, Hugh had taken her hand and reassured her that she had nothing to worry about.
“Dominick and Aubrey are some of my best friends, and you can be certain they will treat you well,” he’d told her during their ride to the theater. “As well, you needn’t worry about our secret. You see, Nick and Aubrey are also courtesans. Their companions for the night are in similar arrangements with them as you are with me.”
That had been enough to ease her fears a bit. While she was not a popular figure among the beau monde and knew few would take interest in who accompanied her to the theater, she had worried that Hugh’s friends might want to delve deeper into their association. Knowing that their companions would also be fellow courtesans and their keepers, Evelyn rested a bit easier.
They’d met the foursome in the principal lobby of the theater an hour before the first act, where they’d indulged in tea and conversation before going up to their borrowed box. Hugh’s friends had turned out to be quite charming indeed, and she found them easy to like.
Dominick fit the role of a rake on sight, with a boyish smile brimming with mischief, tousled brown hair, and heavy-lidded eyes. She was familiar with his family name—he was the son of an earl—and possessed the sort of personality that could draw people to him in droves. He led the conversation, his words ripe with innuendo and witticism which kept them all in stitches from the first sip of tea until the curtain rose on the first act. His companion—a lovely, petite creature named Minette—hung onto his every word, her peaches and cream complexion flushing pink whenever Dominick settled his gaze on her.
Aubrey was Dominick’s polar opposite, though Evelyn found him all the more charming because of it. She’d been enthralled by him on first glance, his skin as dark as the night and his eyes equally as fathomless. There seemed to be a quiet power about him, from his towering height to the width of the shoulders stretching the seams of his tailcoat, impeccably altered to fit him like a glove. He stood more than a head taller than Hugh, with hands that looked as if they could crush a ribcage with very little effort. She put him in mind of Benedict, who was of a similar build. But, despite the intimidating air of his presence, the moment he’d smiled and took her hand in introduction, Evelyn had been put instantly at ease. He spoke little, but when he did everyone fell silent to listen, and not one word was wasted. He seemed to pay particular attention to Evelyn in an effort at making her feel welcome among them, even asking how she was enjoying Hugh’s company. She’d felt her face warming at that, her memories flooding her with images of H
ugh lying in her bed, smiling at her, reaching out to touch some exposed part of her. She had murmured that they were getting on fine, covering her discomfiture with a swallow of tea.
Aubrey’s keeper, Lavinia, was even quieter than him and only spoke when spoken to. While she was obviously the one financing their arrangement, Evelyn got the sense that it was Aubrey who maintained control. He treated Lavinia with polite coolness, though the young woman seemed starved for every word or glance from him, her face lighting up like the night sky each time he spoke to her or looked in her general direction.
As the second act commenced, Hugh leaned close, his mouth brushing her ear. “Are you all right?”
His hand came down over both of hers, which she’d clenched tight in her lap. She’d been more relaxed in the lounging room than in this box, elevated so high above the other spectators. Having only ever taken a seat in the pit amongst the crowd, she hadn’t given much thought to how sitting up here would make her feel as if she were on display. When they had first entered the box, several hundred pairs of eyes had swiveled in their direction, alight with curiosity. It hadn’t helped matters to have Aubrey among them, who seemed to draw eyes with every move he made, though if he noticed the scrutiny he did not let on.
“It’s all right,” Hugh had reassured her. “They are only searching for a glimpse of Benedict.”
The owner of the box, she’d been told, had made himself quite notorious in the past few years with his exploits. The son of a viscount, Benedict was rumored to be at odds with his father and scorned the man with his every action. Hugh had told her that whenever Benedict appeared in polite company, he never failed to draw attention as everyone seemed to wait for the viscount to also appear, treating them to a scandalous spectacle.
Portrait of a Lady: The Gentleman Courtesans Book 1 Page 12