There was no one like her, and he could not pretend he was only interested in their undeniable physical connection.
The life of a mistress was not enough. To be connected ever more deeply, he needed marriage.
“We all clearly have opinions on the matter,” Braedon said loudly, attempting to bring the conversation to a close, surprised perhaps at the debate he had started. “At the end of the day, I am sure Marnmouth will give us all first refusal if he does decide to part with Miss Tilbury, right, Marnmouth?”
Josiah did not know Marnmouth intimately, but he was an intelligent enough man to sense when someone had gone too far.
Braedon did not. He was still grinning at his host as though he had uttered a hilarious jest. There was an awkward cough.
Josiah glanced at Marnmouth. How was the earl going to navigate this one?
As usual, with aplomb. “My, my, Braedon, I was not aware you were interested in my leftovers.”
With one smooth movement, he picked up his plate and tipped the crust of bread, fish bones, and ends of vegetables onto Braedon’s plate.
The dining room erupted into laughter.
“Seriously, though, Marnmouth. What will you do with her?”
Marnmouth shrugged and drank from his glass of port. “Why, pension her off, like the last one.”
His voice was so nonchalant, and his swig of port so unconcerned that Josiah surprised himself by speaking up.
“We had all thought Miss Tilbury was to be the last.” His voice was not forceful like Devonshire’s or snide like Braedon’s. It was calm, with a hint of curiosity. “You both looked to be so content, so happy. What went wrong?”
Marnmouth and Josiah were much of the same age, only a few years between them. They had not grown up together, but a distant aunt on one side had married a distant cousin on the other and in the awkward ramblings of English aristocrats, that made them family.
It did not, however, mean that such impertinent questions could be asked by one of the other in public.
The table fell silent as the company looked between the two gentlemen. Josiah did not notice this. He held Marnmouth’s eyes. They were equals, after all, two earls and the heads of their houses. And it was a natural question, after all, from the unguarded comments Marnmouth had already made.
Smoke rose from Marnmouth’s pipe in the silence, and no one dared to break it.
After a period of time, far longer than Josiah would have liked, Marnmouth removed his pipe from his mouth.
“She was everything I wanted, but not everything I needed,” he said quietly. “I find her lacking. Not for what she is, but for what I am. It just does not work.”
Josiah’s heart pounded. This was exactly what he had attempted to understand in his own muddled state, and he could never have put it so clearly. Lacking. Not for what she is, but for what I am.
“However, I am not a complete fool,” said Marnmouth airily, waving his pipe as he grinned laconically. “I will enjoy a few more weeks with her until I am truly tired of her.”
There was something incredibly honest about Marnmouth’s words, something painful, but no one else noticed.
His assessment of the situation was perfect, utterly sublime. They wanted and needed different things from each other. Needed, not wanted. They were such different emotions, different pulls of nature.
What had Josiah wanted? He had wanted simplicity. He had wanted to meet with a woman, charm her, bed her, and move on without any lingering idea of betrayal or duty.
But was that what he needed? That visceral, guttural need did not disappear for the wanting of it. He had tried to cover his needs with wants, tried to trick himself into accepting second best.
He wanted the best. He needed Hannah. And what was he doing sitting here like a fool, laughing about the fate of a woman? A woman who had no idea the entirety of society would know before the week’s end that she was about to be cast off, cast aside by one of the most powerful and wealthy men in England? Miss Tilbury would have no idea unless a kind friend whispered a word in her ear that she was about to lose the protection of her lover—and here they were, laughing about it.
That was the act of gentlemen. That was ‘good society,’ ‘good company.’ He was sick of it.
Josiah stood up. “I am leaving.”
The laughter ended abruptly.
“Leaving?” Devonshire repeated blankly. “Dear God, why?”
“You cannot go now, Chester, there are still so many embarrassing stories I want to hear,” grinned a gentleman he did not know and who wilted under his fierce gaze.
Braedon slammed his glass on the table and looked around to ensure everyone was listening to him before he spoke. “Chester, you did not heed Marnmouth correctly! He is still going to have her for a few weeks, so I am afraid your advance to Miss Tilbury’s bed will have to wait!”
All laughed at Braedon’s quip, except Josiah. Without even looking at his host—a terrible faux pas which he would read about in the next gossip papers, he was sure—he threw down his napkin, pushed back his chair, and got to the door fractionally before Marnmouth’s hapless footman could open it for him.
He was going to see Hannah. The thought was lightning in his mind, spurring him onward as he strode through the endless corridors of Marnmouth’s townhouse. He was determined to make this right somehow—they would be able to, he knew they would. His mind was unsure, but something in his gut knew. His instinct. His soul.
His horse was panting as he arrived at Madam’s. Without wasting a single minute, Josiah hastily attended to its requirements and marched toward the front door, which still had its small lamp blazing out into the darkness.
Andrews was standing by, and Josiah had enough time to wonder whether the man ever slept before striding past.
As he entered the gloomy hallway, the glaring light of a cigar end burned in the darkness.
“Back again, Mr. Josiah,” said Madam with a smile as she emerged from the dark. Her eyebrow arched quizzically. “Should I ring the bell?”
To hell with her, thought Josiah. There was no need to even speak; he knew a language she’d understand better than English.
Taking three guineas from his pocketbook and pressing them into her hand, he nodded at Madam. She bit into one of the coins and nodded in return.
Josiah burst into her chamber without bothering to knock.
“Sir!” Her cry was reflexive. She was not even looking around, tying up her corset.
He slammed the door, and Hannah turned around, her mouth falling open.
He drank her in. She was beautiful, everything he wanted. Fierce and fiery, gritty and determined, and soft and delicate in her soul. Every part of her mind pleased him, and he wanted to help to make her world better.
It did not hurt that in the stockings and corset she was wearing—and nothing else—his whole body went hard for her.
“I…” Josiah hesitated and then growled the only thought on his mind. “I cannot stop thinking about you.”
Her mouth was still open as she stepped forward. Josiah was unable to move, rooted to the spot, and yet so desperate to reach out and touch her. It took her five steps, and she was standing before him.
“You surprise me,” she whispered and leaned forward to kiss him passionately on the lips.
He lost all control. The taste of her lips, his hands wrapped around her as though he would never let go—she made quick work of his breeches and shirt, and he picked her up bodily with a growl and threw her onto the bed.
Their lovemaking was like their love, wild, passionate, unable to be controlled, and unwilling to be silenced. Hannah cried out as his hands made light work of her corset, tearing it from her body in his desire to touch her. She arched into his hands as he touched her and shouted his name as he entered her, bringing her to a climax not once but twice.
Unable to keep their hands from each other, unwilling to let go, Hannah twisted and mounted him, and she was riding him like an empress rides her m
ost wild stallion, and Josiah lost himself.
As she cried out his name a third time, Josiah felt his body explode inside her, and he moaned aloud for the pleasure of it all, as though he could shout away the world.
It was either five minutes or an hour later, Josiah could not tell which. He was lying in her arms, safe and warm, with her fingers delicately stroking his hair. His heart was still racing, and his whole body was relaxed. He felt truly home for the first time.
But he could not let some questions lie.
“How did you come to be here?”
His whisper was quiet, unwilling to break the silence but needing to know, finally, the answer to at least one question pressing on his heart.
The hands stroking his head did not falter, but he felt Hannah’s shift in breathing. “You do not want to hear that tale.”
“I do.” Josiah pushed himself up and stared into her bright eyes. “Tell me.”
She held his gaze for a moment and then pulled him back into her arms. “There is not much to tell. I was walking home after…late at night. It was stupid, foolish. I should have accepted the company of my—a gentleman in my party, but I was eager to be off. A carriage stopped, offered to take me the rest of the way home.”
Josiah closed his eyes. He could almost see it.
“I was foolish—young, tired, with aching feet and far too lazy to think clearly.” Hannah’s voice was strange, full of emotion, and yet utterly controlled. “It all happened too fast, far too quickly for me to do anything about it. They bound me, gagged me. Brought me here. It’s all I’ve ever known for the last three years.”
It was impossible to comprehend—a kidnapping! Forced! But it explained so much. Her fury at his use of the word choice, her desperation to be elsewhere, anywhere but here, her breeding.
“Hannah,” he whispered.
She kissed the top of his head and tightened her grip around him. “Josiah.”
Who knew what ecstasy of conversation would have followed, what promises they would have made to each other—if the bell had not rung?
Josiah stiffened. “No.”
There was a pause, and he knew what that meant. Surely not, not after this. Not after they had loved each other so freely.
“You have to go,” she whispered.
Pain like nothing he had ever known before cut through him, and Josiah pulled himself away from the best place he had ever been.
“You do not even ask if I want to stay,” he said, leaving the bed and her soft warmth. “Do I mean that little? Do you now understand men want to be wanted—to be needed too?”
Hannah sat up, pulling a blanket over her breasts and tried to say, “Josiah—”
But it was impossible to stem the flow of words pouring from him, all the words he had thought he would never say, and now could not live for the need to say them.
“Hannah, I have spent years trying to woo women, years, mark you, and I do not exaggerate,” Josiah said, pulling on his breeches. “And not once has a woman ever bothered to think what I could possibly want to hear, what to know—how I want to be touched.”
“I never—”
“I was stupid to come here,” said Josiah shortly, pulling on his shirt. “Stupid to think you cared about me. A fool to think bedding you, giving you pleasure, was the same to you as it is to me.”
“That is not what—”
“You will not have to worry about me distracting you from your work ever again,” Josiah said, hating every word he uttered but knowing it must be said. God, he needed her so badly, and all she could think of was the next paying customer. What an idiot she must think him, how easily manipulated.
“Josiah—”
“Good day, madam.” Josiah left the bedchamber before she could say another word, ignoring Andrews’s nod, throwing open the door, and striding out into the pouring rain.
Chapter Sixteen
The pounding headache would not go away. Honora tried to ignore the rays of light piercing through her bedchamber that, despite her closed eyes, forced their way into her aching mind like red hot pokers.
The agony had been so bad she had refused to be on call this afternoon. Madam had shouted, called her an ungrateful wretch, but when she fainted from the pain, Madam had finally relented.
Not that she had much peace and quiet here. Two or three times an hour the bell rang, and people would trudge past her door. Soon there would be the sound of lovemaking from somewhere else in the building.
Not the restful day she had hoped for.
The pounding in her head was so persistent, it was a few minutes before she realized there was another pounding at her door.
“Open up!”
“Go away,” Honora moaned. The last thing she wanted was to face another human being. Not today. Not ever again.
The door opened and shut, and the sound of Mabel’s voice appeared in Honora’s bedchamber.
“I know the difference between the ‘go away, I am with a gentleman’ moan and the ‘go away, I hate the world’ moan.”
Honora opened her eyes and saw her friend grinning.
“That was definitely the second.”
She scowled. “If you knew it was the second, why are you here? Why can’t you just leave me alone?”
Mabel’s grin disappeared. “Whenever I shout that through a closed door, one of my friends always comes in and makes me feel better. You have done so yourself a few times, if you recall.”
That was the thing about being part of Madam’s world. You may hate many parts of it, and rightly so. But you could not survive by hating the other women around you.
Honora sighed. “I do not believe there is anything you can say or do to make me feel better. I thank you, Mabel, but I want to stay in bed forever.”
“You cannot stay in bed forever,” Mabel said bluntly. “You are working today.”
Honora shook her head and immediately wished she hadn’t. Pain radiated around her temples. “No, Madam has given me permission to stay in bed today—and without any gentlemen callers, before you say another word.”
Mabel raised an eyebrow. “You must be unwell.”
She looked at Honora, sighed, and pulled the one chair in the room toward the bed so she could sit close to her friend.
“What happened?”
Honora wanted to pull away and say nothing had happened. Lie. Lose herself in that lie, that everything was fine and there was no need to be concerned about her.
How could she put such fears into words? How could she explain the devastating feeling inside her heart, the knowledge she would never be happy again?
“It is all over,” was what she managed to say. “Over between myself and…and Mr. Josiah.”
Mabel sighed. “I thought it was something along those lines. Honora, I am sorry.”
“Are you?” she asked bitterly. “I do not think you are. You and Ellen warned me this would happen. You told me time and time again. Now it has.”
“That does not mean I am not sorry for it,” Mabel said sharply. “You think we like misery? Do you think we wish it upon others? We wanted you to prove us wrong, be the exception to this tragic rule.”
Honora stared at her friend, at the ferocity with which she spoke. A tear fell down her cheek.
Mabel shook her head. “You have to remember we are not women to them. More pieces of meat than people. They come, they come, and they go.”
There was a faint laugh from Honora. “I know that is true for so many of them—almost all. I was so certain this one was different. He felt different.”
“We all meet ones like that.”
“No, he truly was different. He was honest, for the most part. He was honest about the important things. How he felt, what he thought. Some of his fears about the future. Some of the secrets from the past. He—he took me away from all this, Mabel—”
“For three days.”
Honora smiled. “Would you not want three days away from here?”
The two women looked a
round her bedchamber. The wallpaper, whatever color it had once been, was gray and peeling, completely gone in one corner. There was one candle, and as they looked around, dust fell from the ceiling as a gentleman cried out his exultation to the heavens.
“Yes,” admitted Mabel with a wry smile. “I would dearly love to get away from all this. I heard once about a girl who bought her own freedom from Madam.”
Honora’s eyes widened. “No.”
Her friend nodded. “Saved and saved, barely ate, did not spend a penny on clothing or a shilling on candles. It took her eight years, but Madam could hardly say no to the coinage, and she expected the girl to come back desperate for work within a week.”
The thought of buying your own freedom—of finding your own way out of here, not beholden to anyone, not possessed by a person.
Completely free through your own making. It was a heady thought.
Honora leaned forward. “What happened to her?”
“Who?”
“The girl, of course,” Honora snapped. “The one who bought her freedom?”
Mabel frowned. “Honora, we do not even know if she truly existed. She could be a story Madam keeps in circulation to keep our spirits up. Even if she were real, we would hardly know what happened to her after she left, would we?”
Honora slumped back against the pillows. Like so much else here at Madam’s, it was all too good to be true.
“It would not be possible for me anyway,” said Mabel sadly. “I spend all my shillings making sure my daughter stays away from all of this. She will never have to bare her body for a man’s pleasure unless she is good and married, if I have anything to say about it. We would be fools, Honora, utter fools to trick ourselves into thinking one day we will escape from all this. This is where we belong.”
It was only now that the thought struck her—along with a flash of guilt—that she should have asked Josiah to look for Mabel’s girl. He could have ensured she was safe, fed, and warm…unless he was not to be trusted. Unless the girl would suffer from his intrusion.
“He was different,” she said slowly. “No, listen Mabel. I am not saying he was perfect—no man is. But he saw me differently. I was no piece of meat to him, and I think he genuinely cared about me. I think perhaps he cared about me too much.”
Always the Courtesan (Never the Bride Book 3) Page 13