The Illicit Love of a Courtesan

by Jane Lark

  Her arms slid about his neck, pulling him closer and her hot breath spilled into his mouth.

  Playing with her, he pulled away slightly to feel her reach for him again.

  She gripped his hair and he slipped his fingertips beneath the hem of her skirt.

  The woman drove him mad with want, she always did. Her body was arching and her legs were wide as he stood between them, her hips were braced on the very edge of the desk. This was his heaven, this, her. Her hands were beneath his morning coat running over his lower back and his found treasure beneath her skirt.

  He groaned appreciatively.

  He loved every inch of her, every delicate curve of silk soft skin.

  When her fingers reached for the buttons of his flap he chuckled into her open mouth. Definitely no more need for persuasion then.

  “I want to feel you inside me,” her whisper brushed his lips.

  “No more than I wish to be in you, you beautiful woman.”

  Her hands were cold.

  “Ellen,” he breathed heavily into her mouth, pressing into the heat of her.

  Her pale blue eyes shone brightly through the shadow of coal black lashes as he loved her and her calves pressed to the back of his thighs, gripping him. Her cold fingers slipped beneath his shirt on his lower back. Gorgeous, beautiful, woman. My woman.

  A rasping sigh left her lips and he absorbed it on an inward breath.

  He loved her sounds of pleasure—the moment she reached carelessness. Yet now he felt her wilfully fighting it, trying to hold back. He knew she feared the servants hearing.

  “Edward.” Her bright eyes were shining as she pleaded for him to cease kissing her so she could close her mouth and restrain the sounds.

  He didn’t care if they heard. If the servants didn’t like it they could lose themselves, they didn’t have to be in earshot. He was not conceding and an urgency came over him in answer, instead of retreating he assaulted to win all of her attention. His reward was a sharp impassioned cry.

  “The servants,” she whispered.

  “Can go to hell. They are paid not to listen. Forget about them and think of me.”

  “Think of me.”

  “Think of me.” It was a physical and mental chant.

  “Edward,” she said again, but this time it was not in battle. This time it was in surrender.

  “Darling,” he breathed. “I love you.”

  His fingers slipped into her bodice, popping the tiny buttons which secured it. He felt vigorous and primal like a beast and a roar hovered at the back of his throat which he let out in a low growl. This was what his greedy senses had longed for, for her to yield like this. She was pliant and lush in his hands, and her fingers gripped his forearms as he saw the weakness coming over her.

  She lay back on the desk with her eyes shut, her breathing heavy. He watched her face, the flicker of sensual release playing with her lips and eyelids.

  He knew when the moment came, even before the sound left her mouth and her fingernails bit into his skin.

  His fingers on her thighs he withdrew sharply, he was not ready for this to end, not yet and he dropped to his knees. There was another sense he wished to appease before he finished this—taste.

  Her arms slid up in a gorgeous languorous motion above her head across the polished surface of the desk when he leaned over her again, his senses overloading.

  Her muscle was trembling.

  He gripped her hands and held them above her head, meeting her clouded gaze as her eyes opened and then he simply adored her.

  It was only moments later when their joined voices echoed about the small room and his limbs felt numb as his nerves tingled and burned. The sensation flung him mentally to a galaxy a million miles beyond this.

  When he returned she’d freed her hands from his and pulled him down, gripping his shoulder and head. He stole a heart-wrenching kiss from her. Robert would not rile him again, not here, not anywhere. Whenever Robert tried it, Edward would think of this, this singular defiance, making love to Ellen, whom Robert had so slandered, on Robert’s desk. The salt Robert always rubbed into Edward’s wounds had finally lost its sting.

  “I ought to be angry, you always spur me to indecency,” she whispered as he pulled away.

  “You’re too sensitive of others’ opinions.” One of his hands was on the desk, the other brushed her cheek as he held her gaze, “because of your past, I know, but I’ve told you a dozen times to forget it, sweetheart. We are newly married, Ellen, the world anticipates our insatiable habits, not judges them, or you for them. And if they do judge, they’ll blame me not you.”

  Her lips lifted in a smile, her eyes shining as her arms reached upwards in a satisfied cat like stretch. She was not angry, she was happy, he could see it.

  “I am learning,” she answered as he withdrew and buttoned his flap. “But you will not persuade me this is not risqué. Could you ever imagine my father and mother thus?”

  “Indeed,” he laughed, smiled and pulled her up to straighten her clothes, slipping her hem back over her knees.

  Still smiling he tucked his shirt back in and reached to secure the buttons of her bodice. “Very well, I admit we may be unusual among the ton’s matches.” Grinning now, he remembered their week-long affair in London, when they’d laughed and teased one another constantly, and added, “But in my opinion—your husband’s—the only opinion you should listen to—your hunger for me is your finest quality.” But then he sobered his tone. “Do not deny me to please others, Ellen. What do you care for them—care for me.”

  In answer she slid off the desk, lifted onto tiptoe, pressed a kiss to his cheek and whispered, “So are you coming to bed or not?” before backing away and beckoning with her fingers, tempting him to follow and then disappearing about the door at a run.

  Laughing, he set into chase.

  Chapter Fourteen

  After curtsying to Richard, Penny’s husband, Ellen accepted his arm and they moved onto the floor for a country dance, joining the crowd of dancers gathered in the centre of the Forths’ ballroom. Her other brothers-in-law had already partnered her, as had Rupert, Edward’s cousin, who’d apologised for his behaviour at the theatre. Robert had danced with her too. He’d made her laugh through the whole of the Wakefield Hunt, causing her to muddle up her steps, which made her laugh even more, only to receive a questioning, reproachful look from Edward when she was returned to his side.

  She knew Edward still did not trust his brother. Edward was closer to Richard than he was Robert. During the week since the theatre excursion, Richard and Penny had accompanied Edward and Ellen to Vauxhall, a musical evening and several other entertainments.

  The fortunate consequence of their recent outings was Ellen had become used to the speculating looks and whispers passed behind open fans when she was near.

  But so far, despite the constant gossip, she considered Edward’s campaign a success. No one had turned her away or spoken cruelly to her face, although who knew what they said behind those fans or thought as they stared. People seemed more astounded by her reappearance than outraged, and as Edward predicted, no one had had the will or the courage to challenge the tale they were being told. So with her army of influential family to stand up and escort her, Ellen was forging on, ignoring what others said or did behind their fans or behind her back.

  “Are you bearing up, Ellen?” Richard asked as they met in the pattern of the dance.

  She smiled as they passed each other, back to back. “I think so, yes.” They were parted again, and Ellen took the opportunity to look for Edward. He was where she’d left him, standing against a pillar watching her with deep concentration. He looked as though he half expected a wolf to break through the French windows leading to the terrace and drag her off, but he smiled as he caught her gaze. To her prejudiced eye, he was the most handsome man in the room.

  “Edward is a good man. You are lucky to have found him.” Richard spoke as they joined hands to complete a paired form
ation circle, affording them a moment of more private conversation.

  Meeting Richard’s searching look Ellen smiled. “I know, I cannot imagine how this would have ended if I had not. I know you are aware of the truth, from things Penny has said.”

  “I wish I had known before, though. Had I, I would have helped you, Ellen.”

  The sincerity in his tone moved her. Dropping her gaze to the knot of his cravat to avoid succumbing to tears, she answered. “Thank you.”

  He meant it, she knew, but the past could not be changed, only the future. As the figure of the dance came to a close, she looked for the man who’d given her the opportunity to change it—Edward.

  “I’ll take you back,” Richard said beside her, his fingers gently touching her arm. “I’m sorry. I upset you. I did not intend to, Ellen. I just wished you to know I would not have left you to suffer by choice.”

  Glancing up, Ellen forced a smile and then nodded, but words would not come, the lump lodged in her throat prevented them. She turned to look for Edward again and saw him approach.

  “Ellen?”

  “I upset her I’m afraid, speaking of things I probably should not have mentioned,” Richard advised, his hand falling away from her arm, as Edward took her hand and held it firmly.

  Edward’s solidarity helped Ellen find her voice, and she turned and met Richard’s concerned gaze. “Your kindness did not upset me, Richard. It just stirred up emotions I thought I had conquered. Please don’t apologise for your consideration. I am grateful for it, truly.”

  The heir to the Duke of Arundel, a powerful and respected man, gave her an apologetic smile, as he bowed over her hand and kissed her fingers. “I shall seek Penny. I believe she was speaking with Lady Forth. If you need me, Edward, just give me a nod.”

  “Would you like some air?” Edward bent to whisper to her ear as Richard walked away.

  Ellen nodded just as Casper appeared, coming to offer his hand for the next dance.

  She watched Edward face his friend with a smile. “I think we’ve worn her out, Casper, can she cry off?”

  “As it gives me opportunity to catch up with my wife I shall not mind at all,” Forth answered, smiling broadly at Ellen. “But you will have to promise me a dance later, I refuse to be excluded from the fun.”

  Smiling too, Ellen touched his arm. “I promise, if I have a dance spare, my sisters have been finding extended family to send in my direction.”

  “And you will not steal my waltz. I want at least one dance with my wife,” Edward insisted.

  How bizarre this all seemed from a few months ago when she had not a single friend, now she had acquired so many she could not even keep up with them all. Her eyes lifted to the millions of sparkling prisms of crystal glass, drops of light hanging in the chandeliers, reflecting the glow of hundreds of candles throughout the room. Her sorry story had the lustre of a fairy tale tonight.

  “Well then if I miss out this evening you shall have to accept my hand at Penny’s ball is all I can say,” Casper answered, already looking for Julie across his shoulder. “So,” he turned back, “I’ll leave you two to it.” With that he bowed briefly and then was gone.

  “Come on, Ellen, let’s find you some air.” Edward gripped her elbow and guided her across the broad room to the bank of closed French windows, where all the glitter and splendour was reflected upon the glass, with night’s black for its backwash. Slipping the latch on one of them Edward opened it, letting in a rush of cooler air as he led her out onto the terrace.

  It was empty. As Edward closed the door she walked across it to the balustrade. The light from several small glass lanterns brightened the terrace but she could not see beyond it; the garden was absorbed in the shadow of night. And with clouds obscuring the moon and stars, the blackness was as thick as tar. She shivered. It was still chilly without a cloak. Edward’s hands slipped about her waist, resting over her stomach as he pulled her back against him.

  “Edward.” Elbowing him sharply in the ribs she forced him back.

  “What? We are married after all?” he whispered with an earthy masculine chuckle as he lifted his hands away and stepped back. “I was only trying to keep you warm.”

  “There is enough talk about me, without creating more,” she hissed back across her shoulder. No one was here to see, but still she didn’t like to take the risk.

  Apparently accepting her rebuff he turned to rest his buttocks against the balustrade beside her, folded his arms across his chest and looked back at the windows of the ballroom. “What upset you?”

  “Nothing really, Richard just said he would have helped me if he’d known how things stood before.” Pressing her palms to the frigid cold stone running along the top of the balustrade, she looked outwards, into the blackness beyond it, facing what had once been her life, before Edward, before her hero had brought this impossible fairy tale to pass.

  “He’s a good man,” Edward answered.

  “He said the same about you,” she acknowledged, smiling.

  A sharp laugh was released from his throat at that, then he pulled up straight and she turned to face him straightening too, sensing a heavier weight to his thoughts. “But I am not good enough for you really. It worries me this is what will hold your father back.”

  “You are not good enough for me!” She gripped his arm. “Edward! Listen to what you are saying. How can you give credence to such nonsense, when you know what I have really been?” Forgetting her fear of others’ opinions, she slipped her hands beneath his black evening coat, over his white silk waistcoat, slotting her fingers together behind his back, locking him securely in her embrace. “You are everything to me.” Her eyes met the dark slate blue-grey, almost all black in the darkness. “You had better not consider deserting me.”

  “I’m hardly likely to do that,” he scoffed, tapping her under the chin. The world beyond the narrow terrace faded, forgotten as he bent to kiss her in a soul deep promise of his lifetime commitment. It was not just in his words and touch—it was in every essence of his being.

  The first notes of the waltz struck up within the ballroom, the music leaking through the glass and resonating about their solitary space.

  Pulling away he laughed lightly, his eyes shining with the intense feelings she felt too. “Shall we dance? I don’t fancy being the object of their fascination. I’d rather it was just you and I, here.”

  “I would like that,” Ellen whispered. His strong gentle hand slid to press between her shoulder blades, at her back, and hers slipped from beneath his coat to rest lightly on his shoulder, the other was cradled in his. Then without thought, as though they lived and breathed as one person she followed him into the steps, her gaze holding his. She could feel the masculine power in his broad-framed shoulders as he turned her; the sinuous strength in his thighs brushing hers through the thin fabric of her skirts.

  Edward smiled, the press of his hand urging her closer, until she felt her body touching his from pelvis to chest. And now the dance was no longer simply a dance but something else, something unspoken as she laid her head on his shoulder and merely felt his movements. She was so absorbed in him she was caught in shock when she heard a clap ring out.

  “Beautiful.”

  Her heart thumped as she pulled away from Edward and he shoved her behind him.

  Gainsborough. It was Lord Gainsborough.

  “How the bloody hell did you get in?” Edward yelled.

  “Does it matter? I’m here, is all. I saw the pretty piece you ran in the Times. Touching. So I started thinking, what would society say if I printed another that told them where you had been, Ellen, all these intervening years? And then I got to wondering what you would do to keep me silent.”

  The obnoxious man, stood there, tipping snuff on to his crooked hand as he spoke, then snorting it, eyeing Edward as though Edward was no more than a worm.

  Bile rose in Ellen’s throat, her hands gripping the waist of Edward’s coat, as she struggled to quell her desire to
run. She did not want Gainsborough to know the power he still wielded over her. She’d fought so hard to forget her fear and self-disgust, but seeing the man who’d forged and fostered all the emotions of her nightmares—they returned. How could they not? He’d been her puppet master, tormentor and abuser for years.

  Swallowing back her need to escape, she forced herself to stand her ground, controlling her fear, not letting it take control of her. She wasn’t the Ellen who’d succumbed to his threats anymore.

  I will not run from him, or hide from him.

  “This is all very cosy, this family reunion, Ellen.” Lord Gainsborough directed his words and gaze at her, lecherous and disrespectful, as she stepped out from behind Edward, only a little, her fingers still gripping Edward’s coat as if just touching him could protect her. “But I wonder how welcoming your family will be if I go public with the story of our little affair.”

  “And what’s that you bastard?” Edward stormed. “That you held her by force, by threat. Do it Gainsborough, you will be disgraced. You sick, evil, bastard, taking advantage of a woman’s ill-fate. You may go to the devil, and leave her be! I will pay you nothing, nor will her father bend to your blackmail anymore. No one is interested in what you have to say!”

  “No? Are they not?” Gainsborough challenged with a deprecating look, as he glanced towards the ballroom. “Shall we test that theory?”

  “No!” Fists clenched, Edward lunged forward, his coat slipping from Ellen’s grasp.

  “Edward, no!”

  “But you don’t mind if I do, do you, Ellen?” As Robert stepped from the shadows behind them, Edward stopped dead.

  “I thought I’d told you to disappear, Gainsborough.” Robert’s voice was like steel as he passed Edward and his hand lifted insinuating for Edward to hold back.

  “I—I—I—”

  Ellen had never heard Gainsborough stutter in all the years she’d been his mistress.

  “Afraid of me? If you are not you ought to be! You are pathetic! I warned you, Gainsborough!” Silent and in shock, Ellen watched as Robert pulled the fingers of one glove, taking it off before loosely swiping it across Gainsborough’s face, the blow soft and mocking.