The Illicit Love of a Courtesan

by Jane Lark

  “Edward,” Instantly she pulled back, shifting to kneel beside him and pressed her fingers over his lips, “stop. I did not tell you I loved you because I wished you to make false promises to me.” Leaning back on her heels, her fingers slipping to rest gently at his hip she added. “Nor do I want Lord Gainsborough discussed in our bed. Forget him.” She held his gaze. “Besides I have known you barely a month, it is probably just an obsession. I was being silly.”

  “Whatever it is, it’s a feeling we share, I…” Leaning forward she covered his mouth again.

  “Edward.” It was time for blunt words. “I know you can offer me nothing other than this. I don’t expect it. Honestly. I cannot leave Gainsborough anyway.” It was not a lie. She was trapped, but it hurt to say it aloud. She had hoped for more, but that was a dream, she didn’t expect him to make it reality. He couldn’t.

  She turned away, getting up before he could see the tears she felt in her eyes.

  Rolling over he followed her across the bed and then his fingers clasped her wrist, but his grip wasn’t over-tight, it just asked her to stay. “Stop running.”

  She slipped her hand free, slid off the bed and bent to pick up her undergarments then turned to face him, her clothes in her hand and held to her chest. His eyes absorbed her naked body with his usual reverence. That dark awed look of his always sent a coiling spiral of heated desire through her tummy. His gaze lifted and met hers, intent and asking ‘why?’

  “What are you afraid of?” he challenged, his tone accusing.

  She didn’t answer, just watched his nude, nubile body shift into motion as he cast aside the cotton sheet and followed her off the bed to stand before her. Then his forefinger lifted and tipped up her chin and her gaze. “Stop running from me. I am trying to say I love you too, and I can offer you something. I can offer you marriage. I want you to be my wife and not go back to him, Ellen. Marry me.”

  A sharp pain struck her heart and her eyes glanced up to the ceiling, unable to look at him as she caught a breath into her lungs and stepped back. She prayed for strength, fighting tears as her anger flared. She shook her head. Offering the impossible was no help. She could not accept him. It hurt.

  Was the man wearing blinders? Surely he could see it was no answer?

  Her fingers, clutching her underclothes more tightly, she looked at him again. “Is this what you intended celebrating? Shall we break open the champagne, Edward? Or should I remind you what I am? I am not a woman men marry! And I cannot leave him!”

  Furious, she turned and collected her dress from the floor. He moved to touch her, but she knocked his hand away. “Don’t, Edward!”

  She couldn’t marry him. In the fiction of dreams—yes. In reality—no!

  Perplexed Edward dropped back to sit on the bed, his fingers running through his hair. She slid on her drawers and tied them, then pulled on her chemise, ignoring him, her lips fixed in a stiff line, anger oozing from her.

  For some inexplicable reason his offer of marriage had made her seethe. He could only assume she thought he wasn’t serious. He was. He’d thought long and hard enough about it to be sure. He’d considered just offering her protection, but his ingrained honour-bound sensibilities had baulked at the idea.

  He refused to keep a woman for the sole purpose of sexual pleasure. He loved her. He couldn’t place her worth beneath his. Guilt had struck him even at the thought. His new-found happiness was based upon re-building her self-esteem not shattering it. He refused to insult her.

  No, he’d decided he wanted to keep her, and if he wanted to keep her he could only offer her an honourable route—marriage. After all he was a second son with no fear of insulting the ton’s bloodlines. Heirs were his brother’s worry. The blessing of being a second son was that you could walk away from status if you chose. He’d chosen.

  His only problem was an independent income; he’d been living off Robert’s estate all his life. He’d need to find some other way to support her. But having managed Robert’s land for years he presumed he could easily find a position as a steward. His mind made up, he’d been walking on air anticipating her gratitude, expecting to be hugged and cried over, with happy tears. Not Ellen, no, only Ellen could see a marriage proposal from the son and brother of an Earl as offensive.

  He stood up, impatient, and struggling to understand her unjust response, caught her shoulders and stilled her. “Ellen, I’m serious. Think about this. Surely you would rather be with me? I don’t want you as my mistress. I want you as my wife.”

  Anger was apparent in every taut muscle beneath his touch. She turned away, her eyes full of pain, and continued dressing. “I know you mean well, Edward,” she said as she moved, her words clipped and tight, “you are honourable and good, and for that reason alone I would not accept you. You need a decent woman for a wife. Not me.” Her arms in the sleeves of her dress, she slid it over her head and then turned back, meeting his gaze as her dress dropped, sheathing her slender frame. “But even, despite that, I cannot. He’d kill you.”

  “Thank you!” he thrust back, lifting his hands, palms upwards, expressing his frustration as he reined in his fermenting ire. “It’s nice to know you have no faith in me. I am able to protect myself, and you, Ellen. And if I cared about your status I would not have made the offer.”

  In answer his shirt was thrown at his chest. “Just get dressed, Edward.”

  “I wouldn’t let him reach you!” he yelled, throwing his shirt to the bed before bending to collect his underwear from the floor. Pulling it on, he looked back to see her sitting in a chair, putting on her stockings.

  Intensely angry, he pulled on his breeches and buttoned them, then bent to collect his stockings and boots and sat to put them on, grumbling as he worked. “Stubborn, bloody, woman. I cannot see what is so important to you that you would stay with him. I saw the bruises he gave you with my own eyes. Why would you stay with a man like that?”

  When his eyes lifted back to her she was fully clothed standing a few feet away and watching him. As their gazes met she walked forward. He sighed and she picked up his crumpled shirt from where it lay beside him.

  She rolled it up while he watched her and then set it over his head.

  He slid his arms into the sleeves, his eyes not leaving hers, waiting for an answer.

  “Because I have to. There is nothing you can do about it except believe me. Just accept it, Edward.”

  Frustrated, he stood and his hands bracketed her waist, but the storm of his anger began blowing out. “Then for God’s sake tell me why? If I understood perhaps I can find a way to help you.”

  She pulled away again, turning her back and reaching for his waistcoat and his morning coat. “You can’t. Just leave this, Edward. Please.”

  His brow furrowed as she turned back with his clothing, her gaze pleading. He put his morning coat aside and drew on his waistcoat. He was confused. When he’d decided to marry her, he’d thought it the perfect solution. She obviously did not.

  “Ellen, if you are worried over my brother’s opinion I don’t care for it. We could move away, somewhere no one will know your past and Gainsborough would not even think to look for you.” His waistcoat secured, he looked back up.

  She was standing before him with a well of tears glittering in her eyes.

  Cut by her pain, his frustration burned completely out as her forehead fell against his shoulder as if every good thing he’d given her in the last few days had ebbed away. “Ellen.” He embraced her. “I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

  He longed to be able to defend her. Yet how, when she would not explain her reasons? Through his hands resting on her back he could feel her crying but there was no sound. Then she pulled her head away drawing herself up, re-establishing that bloody shell of defence he’d fought so hard to dispel. It hurt him to watch.

  “He can reach me, Edward, wherever I go. I cannot leave. If you cannot accept things as they are then perhaps this should end.” She turned away to collect his cra
vat.

  He shook his head, refusing her words. He would not allow this to ever end. He caught her arm and turned her back. “Not if—” Her fingertips covered his mouth again.

  “There are reasons, Edward, reasons I cannot explain, I can’t leave.” The absolute belief in her voice furrowed his brow in question as her gentle, slender fingers began wrapping his cravat about his neck. Yanking it from her hands, her touch too much to bear at that moment, he took over the task.

  “Reasons you will not explain, not ‘cannot.’”

  At that she just shook her head.

  What on earth could she be holding back? He had been so certain of her answer. He had chosen her over everything else and she’d refused him—chosen Gainsborough over him. The woman had cast him a death blow.

  The champagne stood untouched on the tray.

  His fingers tying off his cravat, anger easier than pain, he turned back to face her, his anger broiling again. “Is it because of his money?”

  His reprisal hit. Hurt twisted her lips and narrowed her beautiful eyes. Instantly he felt remorseful.

  “How can you even think that!”

  “Then tell me what I am supposed to think, when you will not say?” His voice was strained with his frustration, and straightening unconsciously he stepped towards her, his fingers balled in a fist holding on to his temper. She flinched and stumbled back, her arm lifting in defence. His anger drained again in the cold realisation that she thought he would hit her. In its place, mortification struck him like a frigid dunking in a bath of ice.

  He reached for her. She backed away.

  Opening his palm, he beckoned her to come to him. “God, Ellen, I would never hit you.” Shaking, sobbing without restraint now, she came to him, her arms reaching to cling about his neck as if she never wanted to let him go.

  He was certain her tears were over whatever it was she wouldn’t speak about. But if she wouldn’t speak, what could he do to help her? Nothing. Nothing, except hold her, comfort her, and keep her close.

  His fingers tucked her hair behind her ear. “You cannot leave him, and I cannot leave you, so we shall have to go on as we are, and when he comes back you will send word to me of when we can meet, as you did before. Don’t cry, sweetheart, please? Let’s not spoil what time we have left.”

  His eyes closed as she continued to cling to him, and he could feel the beat of her heart against his chest as her sobs eased. Of course it would take her longer to trust him when she had known that brute as a teacher of trust. He wondered again at the things she would not say. What the hell did Gainsborough hold over her? Lord, he hoped one day she would trust him enough to speak.

  He set her away from him a little and lifted her chin with his fingers. Her eyes were as mournful as they’d been that first night. God he hated himself for hurting her more. Placing a single light kiss on her soft lips, he then rubbed his nose against hers. “I’m sorry, sweetheart, smile for me again.”

  She did. Though it was obviously forced, and then her eyes still shining with sadness she lifted up onto her toes and kissed him, her tongue sweeping into his mouth. She tasted of cake and chocolate. He took her olive branch, his heart bleeding over the need to be loved he could feel in her kiss. She’d refused him, but she wished she could accept; she said it with her body though she refused to say it in words. All too soon she pulled away, her gentle touch bracing his neck.

  “Will you play lady’s maid and do my hair? Then would you walk me home? I would like some fresh air.” His lips compressed and then lifted to a smile, acknowledging the lightness she infused into her voice, as though seeking to set their argument aside.

  “Yes, I will play lady’s maid, seeing as it is you who asks. And, yes, I will walk you as far as St James Square, but I doubt you shall find fresh air in the city. For that you should have accepted my first offer and come to the country to live.”

  She smacked his shoulder with the heel of her hand, but laughed. “Does this mean, Lord Edward, that you intend to become an incessant nag? For if you do, I shall most certainly review my decision to see you again.”

  The sound of her teasing and laughter clasped a vice-like grip about his heart. A moment ago he had feared never to hear it again. She turned her back to him so he could put up her hair. “Has no one ever told you, men do not nag, they merely ask, Ellen. It is the fairer of the sexes that nags, men are above it.”

  She laughed. The sound warmed him to the very depths of his soul.

  Later, dressed and ready to leave the room, Edward looked back at the bottle of unopened champagne, while his fingers slipped to touch the special licence and ring hidden in his inside pocket. How different he had expected things would be today. He’d thought he would never let her go again. He’d thought by tomorrow she would be his wife, with no risk of their parting, no need to say good-bye. Instead here he was, handing her back into a circumstance neither he nor she could control, again. She must dread it. Then why the hell was she going? He couldn’t work it out.

  He turned, waiting while she pulled on her cream kid leather gloves and tied the ribbons of her serviceable dark green winter bonnet. It matched the heavy woollen pelisse she wore today. Instinctively the palm of his hand slotted beneath her elbow to guide her from the room and downstairs.

  When they reached the street she fell into step beside him as his hand left her arm. And glancing sideways, he only had a view of the funnelled brim of her bonnet. If he were sensible, he wouldn’t touch her, minimizing their risk of being observed as a couple. But he was not in a sensible mood. Catching up her fingers, he clasped them in his own. It seemed she wasn’t in a sensible mood either, she didn’t pull away. But then if she was of a mind to err on the side of caution she would not have dared to walk through the streets with him.

  It felt good. He felt normal, in a way he had not done for days. He should probably go to White’s tomorrow and seek out Rupert. No doubt his presence would have been missed. There was not being cautious, and not being sensible, and at the worst extreme being blatantly bloody obvious—he didn’t want to go that far, and if the need for discretion must persist then he had better learn to be a little more prudent.

  They crossed another street, drawing no undue attention. To the people passing them by, they must appear like any other promenading couple. As they continued Ellen stopped by a shop window and pointed out some piece of frippery with a silly sally, making him register for the first time her lack of vanity. He made another game of her nonsense. Stopping at a different window and picking something he would buy for her, at the next she chose something for him, it continued, no matter what the shop. But when they reached a ladies’ hat shop and it was her turn to pick for him, suddenly she turned.

  The funnel brim of her bonnet framing her face, he saw her skin blanch, and her eyes were wide while her fingers tightened about his.

  “Is something wrong?” She just held his gaze but said nothing. “Ellen?”

  Her fingers squeezed his more tightly as her eyebrows lifted in a communication he didn’t understand.

  Behind her, two women left the shop; Her Grace, the Duchess of Pembroke with her eldest daughter. They didn’t notice him, they didn’t know him well and he made no effort to be seen, not that he need fear they would recognise Ellen.

  Tugging at her hand he pulled her into motion with a smile. “What, you don’t fancy seeing me in a frilly hat?”

  Shaking her head, with a hesitant smile and an air of someone who cast something aside, her fingers squeezed his hand again as she answered, quietly. “You’re incorrigible and just for that I would buy you the pink one.”

  He laughed, pointing out a garish green waistcoat in the gentlemen’s shop next door, saying it would do her well in return. Yet when he looked up she’d turned to watch the Duchess of Pembroke climb into her carriage. “What is it?” he prompted.

  She turned back and shook her head, her fingers pressing to her eye. “Nothing, I just have a speck of dust in my eye.”


  Shaking his head at her too, screwing up his nose in playful severity, he said, “What? You don’t like my present? Well then, I’ll have to find you something better.” And tugging her to the next shop he then told her what Madam needed was a good cigar. It made her laugh again. But he didn’t believe she’d had something in her eye. He did believe she thought the Duchess of Pembroke may recognise her.

  But why? Had she been Pembroke’s mistress once? His imagination began to roam while she pointed something out in another shop, his mind developing all sorts of tales. Had she lived locally to Pembroke when she’d fallen from grace? Or worse, what if she had been in service in Pembroke’s household? How much older than his daughters was she? Perhaps she’d been a governess? It would have seen her dismissed and disgraced without reference. She would not have found another position. What if Pembroke had been the one who forced her into this life? The man was certainly cold enough.

  When they reached the corner of St James Square, keeping out of sight of the bay windows of White’s, she stopped and looked up at him, her eyes in the shadow of her bonnet.

  Lord, he wished she would just tell him what had happened before, or at least what secret kept her under Gainsborough’s thumb. Not knowing left his mind making things up to fill the gap. It was quite likely to drive him mad.

  “I’ll leave you here,” she whispered, her smile telling him she longed for a kiss.

  He nodded, his thoughts probably written in his eyes.