Fair Cyprians of London Boxset

by Beverley Oakley

  “Take me to bed, Max.” Her whisper was hoarse with desire, but although the passion of his kiss gave her no reason to doubt he was as eager as she was to feel her skin against his, his response was tempered.

  “Not too fast, my darling. I want to savour you.”

  She drew back slightly, surprised at the intensity of his look.

  He dropped his hands. “Can I see you undress for me, Violet?” he whispered. “We’ve shared so much, but I want this to remember. I want to see what you look like.”

  How extraordinary that a whore could feel embarrassment at such a request. But whores were required to do as they were asked by the men who paid them.

  He must have seen the reflection of such a sentiment flash across her face, for the moment she started unbuttoning her cuirass, he put a hand on her wrist to stay her.

  “Only if you would do it willingly, though.” He pressed his lips together as if he were anxious he’d offended her. “Only if you’d do it for a man you…”

  He seemed to struggle for the words, and, with amusement, she supplied, “For a man you love?” She drew in a breath that forced up her breasts and slowly began to work on the row of tiny buttons at her front, as she smiled at him.

  “Say if you want me to hasten the process. I’d hate you to get bored, my love,” she said breathily, causing him to close his eyes and put his hand to his head in a gesture of supposed agony.

  “By God, you torment me, woman…and I love it!” His eyes shone with amusement. “Go slow, I beg you, so that I can savour every second.” He took a step back, crossed his arms and, with a small inclination of his head and a wicked smile, signalled for her to begin.

  The slow burn within Violet’s breast was already making itself felt in her lower regions. She tried to tell herself this was merely business. She tried to act as if it was, but it was hopeless.

  All she could feel was fevered anticipation as she worked first the buttons to remove her slim-fitting bodice, then the hooks that kept her swathed skirt in place, until she was clad only in her corset over her combinations.

  “Dear God, you’re a sight for sore eyes. Let me help you.”

  Before she had time to respond, Max’s hands were on her, stroking the swell of her breasts and contouring her slim waist. He held her to him a moment, tipped her face and gently kissed her lips.

  Thinking Max would want to remove her corset and to enjoy the skin to skin contact that was his preference, she turned her back to him and held out the laces.

  “Truly, you’re a sight for sore eyes. But I’m too impatient for that,” he growled, drawing her round to face him. “We’ll save that for next time.”

  Next time. It was music to her ears.

  Then Max’s hands were on her, stroking the swell of her breasts and contouring her slim waist. He held her to him a moment, tipped her face, and brought his mouth down to hers.

  It was like a match to tinder. She’d thought she’d inured herself to the shock of his touch, but this was something altogether different. Like releasing the beast within her; the wounded soul. The wanton lover.

  The simple woman thirsting for love.

  Stumbling back, Violet fell back upon the bed, Max upon her, their lips still fused while his hands roamed the length of her, seeming to be everywhere at once. Stroking her thighs, smoothing her hair from her face, fondling her nipples.

  Finding the sweet, sensitive place at the juncture of her thighs which made plain how ready and willing she was to receive him.

  He kissed her there, each stroke of his tongue sending shudders of longing, pleasure, and anticipation through the core of her; filling her mind with the fevered madness of desire.

  She’d never felt more vulnerable. Or full of need.

  “Is that where you like it, my sweeting?” he murmured, raising his head a moment and piercing her heart with the intensity of his narrow-eyed gaze.

  “Oh yes.” Nearly at the pinnacle, it came out as a rasping breath of rapture, before she drew him upwards and insinuated her hand within the linen of his trousers to grasp his rigid shaft. He stiffened and shuddered; closing his eyes and clenching his jaw as she deftly removed the last of his clothing and took him in her mouth.

  “Egad, you know how to please a man.” He arched his back and touched her hair, gasping his enjoyment until he gently disengaged her, and drew her up so they were eye to eye. “Enough. I want to do this together.”

  Together. She’d never heard a word so sweet.

  He rose above her, caging her body with his, supporting his weight with one hand while he positioned himself at her entrance. Violet lay on her back, her breathing shallow due to the corset she still wore, her body swimming in lustful pleasure.

  “And I want you inside me.” So that I can call you all mine, if only for a few moments.

  Smiling wolfishly down at her, he inhaled audibly, stroked her cheek, then penetrated her in one smooth thrust.

  “Glorious!” he muttered, frowning as if he were in pain as he began to pound.

  Glorious. She whispered the word inside.

  It was glorious to feel his energy.

  Glorious to be joined as one. Those had been the words of the priest who might really have married them under different circumstances.

  She cast away the gloomy reflection, and her heart blossomed. This was for her as much as for him.

  Deep. Intense. Strong and masterful. Each thrust unleashing peaks of exquisite pleasure that rose in upward escalations.

  Beloved Max. She ran her fingers through his soft, light-brown hair, arching her body, tensing to receive him with each thrust, her body revelling in the act.

  He was a king amongst lovers, and he was hers for just tonight.

  She would wring from him everything she could—for this was all she could have.

  She ran her hands up his flanks and over his hard buttocks while the roiling sensation in her body moved higher. It took possession of her mind, so she was sensible only to the man joined with her. Within her.

  Tonight, he was hers alone. He’d pledged himself to her and in return, she was his forever. Not under the law but in her own mind.

  Her mind hazed over. She could see only blazing red and stars while every inch of her body buzzed with sensation.

  “Oh Max!” With a cry of release, she shattered around him, waves of ecstasy keeping her afloat, otherwise she’d have drowned in wantonness.

  Her climax was, it seemed, all that Max needed. With a moan that sounded more anguished than ecstatic, the escalation of his thrusts increased until, with a final cry, he collapsed on top of her, slick with sweat and breathing heavily.

  For a long moment he lay there, spent. Heavy, and she loved it. Until, finally, he rolled off her and lay beside her, still breathing heavily.

  “Zounds, Violet, that was the best tupping I’ve ever enjoyed,” he gasped, drawing her laughingly within the crook of his arm.

  Violet smiled. What else could she do? She was happy in a sense. He cared for her. She knew he did, and that his feelings went deeper and were more sincere than she’d experienced from any man.

  She was happy that she’d given him pleasure, and that he’d given her the opportunity to give pleasure to his aunt in a less sullied sense. Miss Thistlethwaite had shown the kind of simple affection that was only a far-distant memory for Violet.

  But it had been an important reminder of the goodness of ordinary people when Violet only existed in a world where hearts, minds, and bodies were traded for coin.

  “Violet, you’re crying.”

  He sounded genuinely distressed as he raised himself on one elbow and touched his forefinger to the dampness that streamed down her cheeks.

  “Please, I want us to be happy together this last night.” He tucked his hands beneath her knees and sat up, cradling her like a baby. “Is it the restrictions? The corset? Did I hurt you?” Feverishly he began to unlace her until the heavily boned garment fell away.

  And while Violet could bre
athe more easily, it did nothing to bring her comfort.

  “You know perfectly well while I’m crying. You’re leaving me. You’re going away, and I’ll never see you again.” She gasped in a breath and put her hands to her eyes. “I can’t pretend not to feel what I do feel so deeply for you, Max.”

  He pressed her face against his chest and stroked her hair. “Violet, I don’t know what to say. I’ve been honest with you from the start.”

  She scrunched up her eyes, forcing a smile as she opened them, pushing back to look at him. “These are not recriminations, Max. Yes, you’ve been honest from the start, as I have.” She tried to breathe evenly but her emotions would not allow it. “Oh, you’ve not misled me at all.” She raised a hand to stay his words. “I know you have to leave me. I just…” She heaved in another shaky breath. “I just didn’t think I’d grow so fond of you.”

  “Fond of me, are you, eh? Well, I’d hope so in view of all this.” He tried to make it into a joke, but he sounded strained. And was quick to realise even he couldn’t make light of the affair.

  He swallowed. Gravely, he said, “I’ve just gained my freedom, Violet. After Mabel left me at the altar, I visited you to celebrate the fact that at last my life was my own.”

  “Yes, Max. You told me that. Before you even undid my top button, you told me exactly why you were paying me to do what you’d never felt able to do before—sow your wild oats. I understand you.” Wearily, she ran a hand across her forehead. “I know you could never ally yourself to a woman like me because of what I am.”

  “No, you’re wrong, Violet. I’d be proud to do so…if the circumstances were right. If I wasn’t going away…”

  She shrugged. “Well, I daresay I couldn’t have borne being the secret part of your life and only able to enjoy you when you drew back into the shadows.”

  “Lord, I’d not take a wife and a mistress, Violet. Surely you understand that about me!”

  She laughed. “Oh, so you’d have to decide whether to make me wife or mistress then. I think I know your grandfather’s views on that.”

  “He’ll have no say over the decisions I make for my future. No Violet, you know how I feel about you, surely you do.” He tapped his heart, his expression earnest. “I’ve never felt so strongly here about anyone.”

  “But you’re going away.”

  He couldn’t look at her. “You know it’s what I’ve intended since the beginning,” he said softly. “My boat sails in two days, and I will be aboard it, heading towards freedom and adventure.”

  She wilted in his arms. “While I shall be Lord Bainbridge’s mistress before the week is over because he offers me the most security I could hope for—and that’s thanks to you, Max, for piquing his jealousy. So, something good has come out of all this.”

  “Violet?” He clearly was disconcerted by her flippancy as she gently disengaged herself from his embrace and swung her legs over the edge of the bed.

  She turned, smiling. “Thank you for the most marvellous three weeks of my life, Max. You’ve given me more than I ever expected.”

  Chapter 14

  “My Lord, is there anything final you wish to pack in your trunk before I seal it?”

  It took his valet three attempts to gain Max’s attention, and then Max could manage only a cursory shake of his head as he reclined upon the sofa doing absolutely nothing for, in truth, he could not quite whip up the enthusiasm he’d expected he’d be feeling for his impending journey. “If I think of anything during my short trip up-country, I’ll send a message.”

  “You’re leaving town, my Lord? Am I to accompany you?”

  It was hardly surprising Baines sounded so surprised. Max had only just hit upon the idea himself.

  His studied the signet ring on his right hand. His father’s. His father had been a young blade in his time, so the rumours went. What would he be advising Max?

  And would it be advice Max would consider for even a moment? The more Max heard about his reprobate father, the less he wanted to be associated with a young lord renowned for his drink and womanising.

  His grandfather, by contrast, was the scrooge of the family. He certainly was not the man upon whom to model himself.

  He noticed Baines was still waiting, and that he seemed rather tense. Max waved a languid hand towards the window; its curtains pulled back to reveal the gloomy day outside.

  “I’ve just had news that our sailing is to be delayed by twenty-four hours. Apparently, there’s a storm nearly upon us.”

  “Yet you propose to go up-country?”

  Max sighed. “Either that or drive myself mad waiting here. You know very well all my energies these past three weeks have been directed towards boarding that ship.”

  He sent Baines a sharp glance at his silence, then chuckled. “I admit there have been diversions.” With a sigh, he rose and walked rather aimlessly towards the rain-streaked window. “But that is in the past, and now my future beckons. My wonderful future without my grandfather or anyone else telling me how to live my life,” he added, more to himself. He wished he could feel more excited about it.

  Forcing a more robust note, he added, “Without the eternal yoke of constraint, I shall throw myself into a surfeit of adventure. And Grandfather will be able to do nothing about it.”

  “About what, Max?”

  Surprised, and considerably disconcerted, Max turned to find Mabel in the doorway advancing towards him, a look of equal surprise upon her face. She looked a little less orderly than usual with her skirts rain-spattered, and the blooms that adorned her bonnet clinging limply to its brim.

  “Why, Max; aren’t you supposed to be on your wedding tour? But of course,” she added, a look of understanding crossing her face as she glanced through the window at the grey sky. “Your sailing has been delayed. Where’s Violet?”

  Max sent an anxious look in Baines’s direction and indicated with a nod that he was dismissed. He took a few steps towards the cluster of seats arranged in front of the fire and indicated for Mabel to sit.

  “Not here at the moment,” he said, taking a wingback chair opposite her while his mind spun. Mabel would learn the truth one way or another, but as she was none the wiser now, the longer he could keep her in the dark the better. Mabel could be surprisingly indiscreet at times and would be seeing his aunt shortly.

  “Visiting her grandmother,” he added, with only a split second required for inspiration.

  “Goodness, yes; the tyrannical Miss Lilywhite of Ruislip, though that’s a bit of a distance, is it not? And why did you not accompany her?”

  With raised eyebrows, she went on, “Your aunt was telling me all about the woman, and she sounds grim. Does she not approve of you?” Mabel untied her bonnet and began smoothing her hair as only a very close friend would do in company. “That wind made quite a tangle of it when it blew my bonnet right off my head. Would you please see what you can do to set things straight at the back?”

  Obediently, Max rose and went to stand behind the sofa where Mabel sat so he could render the assistance she requested. It was not a surprising thing to be asked in view of their familiarity over so many years, yet he’d never run his hands through her hair.

  “What do you want me to do?”

  “Goodness, Max; it should be perfectly obvious. Just tidy what needs tidying. Violet is no doubt going to ask you to do this a thousand times, so I suppose you can take directions from me so you won’t be such a disappointment.” She twisted her head to look impishly up at him. “Sweet and pliant that I am, let this be a reminder of how lucky you are that between us, we’ve finally got your future on the right path.” She sighed and stared ahead while Max tucked some errant strands into her coiffure, and she chattered on. “Now we just have to find a husband for me.”

  Max grunted. He wasn’t attending to her last phrase, but rather the words that should have been prophetic regarding his future with Violet.

  “I am so glad you found her, Max, even if it was in a shop.”


  In the midst of repositioning a hairpin, Max blinked as her words entered his consciousness. He’d been too busy imagining it was Violet’s lustrous dark locks he was smoothing and fashioning.

  “A shop.” How he wished it had been a shop. Longing speared him. If Violet were sitting in front of him right now, he’d be burying his face in her hair, unable to resist the temptation of allowing them to roam more adventurously. Maybe they’d find themselves in bed, though at this hour with the servants about it was more likely he’d take her on a jaunt somewhere she’d enjoy. He’d have liked to have shown her his London.

  “You’re lucky times have changed, even in a few short years, Max. Of course, your grandfather lives in the past. He’ll still be furious when he learns the truth, but the fact is that it is less uncommon for a shop girl to marry someone like you—especially if she’s very beautiful, like Violet, of course. Peers are even marrying actresses these days. Well, Violet’s grandmother is perfectly respectable, so it’s not like she won’t be received.”

  Max stilled, the truth warring within him. He’d not expected Mabel to be so open-minded. He exhaled. No, she still could not be trusted with the facts. And besides, Violet’s grandmother might be a figment of Violet’s imagination. He wasn’t sure how much pure truth she’d told him. He certainly believed the terrible story of her parents’ murder, but what grandmother of any social credibility would do what Miss Lilywhite’s had apparently done? While he wanted to believe Violet with all his heart, in every respect, he had to cling to this one doubt as exoneration for him leaving her.

  And leave her, he must. He was desperate to flee England with its stifling constraints and forge a different life from the one his grandfather had carved out for him.

  Of course, if he had been looking for a wife, he would have contemplated Violet. Despite everything.

  But he wasn’t, and he needed to pile up the excuses as to why his original course was still the best and only course for him to follow.

  “So, when are you expecting Violet? This evening I’d imagine if you are to board tomorrow. I must say, it is taking a risk, but then Violet strikes me as a girl who’s not averse to a bit of adventure and risk-taking. Not like me at all.” Mabel sounded quite sanguine. Max decided it was safer to remain standing behind her so she couldn’t see his face.