The Illicit Love of a Courtesan

by Jane Lark

  “And now I understand,” Robert spoke from beside them.

  “What?” Edward asked as his hands slipped to Ellen’s waist and he embraced her briefly, kissing her temple, before letting her go and stepping away.

  When Robert had still not answered, Edward looked at his brother. Robert was smiling at Ellen, knowingly. He winked at her then tapped the edge of his nose twice before letting his hand drop and looking at Edward, “It’s a secret.”

  Edward’s gaze turned to Ellen and he saw her blush.

  Robert stepped forward, took her hand, bowed over it and pressed a kiss on the back of her satin clad fingers—with a brotherly air, Edward hoped. Then Edward heard Robert say, “There are no odds on who you are taunting.”

  “May as well be hung for a pound as a penny?” Ellen responded with a brisk laugh and a hesitant smile as she pulled her hand free.

  “Want to rub his nose in it more like,” Robert answered.

  This conversation had Edward at a loss. “Are either of you going to explain?”

  “No,” Robert answered, a frank note in his voice as he turned to the door.

  Edward sighed, caught up Ellen’s fingers and set them on his arm. She was his and he was going to make it very clear to everyone tonight. He’d spent too many evenings standing back while her family showed how accepted she was. Tonight was for him. He intended showing the damned pretentious ton whose she was. He had no idea if her father would turn up or not, Edward had heard no more from the man. But if the old goat did not, Edward swore he would not allow Pembroke to continue insulting her. The rest of Edward’s life would be spent making Pembroke’s hell.

  “Are you ready for this?” Edward questioned.

  She nodded.

  An hour later and he’d had the pleasure of a scandalous four dances with his wife, including one waltz. But there had as yet been no sign of her father, despite the fact that the entire family had rallied to her side.

  The Wiltshires’ ballroom had wooden parquet flooring and mirrors along three walls reflecting back the sparkle of the three giant chandeliers, each equal to the one specimen in the hall of his brother’s town residence. The fourth wall was a bank of windows which dropped to the floor and looked out onto the terrace, where sparkled more than one hundred lanterns to light the way of guests out on to the garden paths, if they cared for a walk. And if they wished to, the night was warmer, although nowhere near balmy.

  The room was packed, an absolute crush, and with the season soon to commence many had returned early to town to attend the Wiltshires’ ball, probably drawn by Ellen’s reappearance from the grave. Fortunately, Ellen was accustomed to ignoring their stares and he had successfully made certain that any reports of Gainsborough’s death had born no link to her name or his, so their gossip had no further fuel. According to public opinion, the man had died of a heart seizure.

  Pressing his hand to Ellen’s waist Edward shifted their path, guiding her around a large party in their current search for refreshment. In answer, looking back and up at him, she smiled and pressed her gloved fingers over his. Then she took his hand and the lead, letting his fingers loop lightly over hers.

  It was ridiculous, but since Gainsborough’s death he felt as though they’d become even closer. Just over a week ago he would not have thought that possible. But even more so now, it felt like the two of them against the world.

  “There.” He pointed over to a door which led to the refreshment room, then suddenly collided into Ellen’s back.

  Her fingers squeezed his and she was looking up towards the entrance hall.

  “What is it?” He bent his head to hear her answer over the general chatter of the ball and the orchestra’s current merry country dance.

  Ellen turned, rising to her toes to whisper in his ear, “My father,” before casting her gaze to the far end of the room again.

  “He’s here?” Following her gaze, Edward saw the Duke of Pembroke. He was, and from his vantage point, at the top of the stairs which descended into the ballroom, Pembroke had seen them first. His gaze met Edward’s across the room, hard and cold.

  Lord, Edward hoped the man was not here to make trouble.

  Ignoring the silent summons, Edward looked away, scanning the crush of guests for Richard. With both of them over average height, he easily caught his brother-in-law’s eye.

  Richard was at the edge of the dance floor, in mid-conversation, near the bottom of the stairs. At Edward’s nod Richard looked up and saw the Duke, then threw Edward back an answering nod, before visibly giving apologies and then moving to weave a path through the crush to where Pembroke stood.

  Edward turned away and back to Ellen. He wouldn’t lead her like a lamb to the slaughter. Richard would divine whether it was wise or not to let them speak. “In that case it’s even more important to ensure we have a bumper. You’ll need a stiff drink to be up to speaking to him if he has anything of worth to say. Come on, let’s fetch you one.”

  Again Ellen smiled up at him, and in answer he bent to drop a light kiss on her forehead.

  “Lead on then,” she whispered, as one hand still gripped in hers he pressed the other to her back.

  “Brave girl,” he bent to whisper at her ear.

  “It’s easy to be brave when I have my stalwart defender at my side,” she answered, turning her head sideways to plant a kiss on his cheek as they slowly made a path through the crowd.

  “Careful, or you shall have people think this is the most despised of articles, a love-match,” he whispered as they worked their way past another unknown party. He was rewarded with a nervous laugh, and then at last the refreshment room was in reach and relatively quiet, as the evening was still young.

  As they left the crush, before their over indulgent touches became visible, he freed his hand from hers and laid his fingers under her elbow, guiding her towards the table of refreshments. “Champagne I suppose, in the hopes we have something to celebrate.” Smiling at her, he collected the tall narrow glass a footman held out and passed it to her. He did not take one for himself. He didn’t wish to risk dimming his senses when he was potentially about to face the Duke of Pembroke. For that, Edward would need all his wits.

  “I don’t know that I should. If my father—I don’t want him to think me in my cups.”

  It seemed Ellen was of the same opinion, but he knew she needed a measure of Dutch courage to face her father.

  Leaning to her ear he whispered, “You shan’t be in your cups after one glass, and it will calm your nerves. Drink it, one will not harm.”

  Her beautiful smile was his answer. She seemed to trust him in everything these days, as though his word was law since Robert had dispensed with Gainsborough.

  He hoped it was where her father was concerned too. He’d hate for her faith in him to be shattered when it was John at stake. He had made her face this, even the other day when she had gone to speak to her father alone, he knew she would not have done it unless he’d encouraged her to fight.

  He watched her do as he’d bidden, then cough on the bubbles having drunk too great a mouthful. But his hand caught her wrist before she lifted the glass again. Across her shoulder, he saw Richard approaching with her father. This was more than Edward had hoped already—he’d thought Pembroke would have called them to his court.

  “Brace up, your father is on his way,” Edward whispered through the corner of his mouth.

  Ellen glanced backwards, saw her father, and then set down the glass.

  Her wide eyes spun back to Edward’s face declaring absolute panic, but then almost instantly he watched her overcome it, steeling herself for the meeting, her fear shifting to determination. He took her hand and held it tight, offering what courage he could.

  “Eleanor.” Ellen jumped inside. He’d used her name. It was a huge leap that Edward would not even recognise.

  “Your Grace.” She curtsied, her heart racing.

  “Rise up, girl. I wish to speak with you in private.” He turned away the
n, without even waiting for her agreement.

  Her eyes darted to Richard, who sent her a look of reassurance. Then she looked across her shoulder at Edward who stood behind her. A nod encouraged her to go and listen, and touching her elbow Edward guided her on.

  “What do you think he will say?” she whispered, as they followed the Duke’s statuesque figure back through the ballroom. Even now, even though she refused to fear him anymore and she’d lost all respect for him, she still found his presence imposing. It had been instinct to do everything he said without question when she was a child.

  “Hopefully that he is sorry,” Edward growled in a low rumble to her ear.

  His evident anger set her even more on edge. Her father never apologised. What if this was to be another rejection? What if Edward lost his temper here, where the story would quickly spread?

  Richard led them from the ballroom via a side door, and up a shallow flight of steps. Her eyes were fixed on her father’s back as they followed Richard out into the hall and then across to his library. Richard held the door for her father and waited for her and Edward to pass, before following them in and closing it.

  Her father stood in the centre of the room with his hands clasped behind his back. His angular face was fixed in an expression of distaste and his gaze followed her. She faced him, with Edward behind her, while Richard stood near the door.

  Refusing to shrink back before her father’s condescending stare she took two steps closer, unflinching, and felt Edward move too, his fingers gently resting at the curve of her waist.

  “You have something to say to me, Father?”

  She watched him hesitate and swallow.

  “I owe you an apology.”

  She noted he could not quite bring himself to give one and say I am sorry.

  “I accept I have not made the right decisions towards you, and now things are—as they are—you have left me with no choice but to allow you access to your son.”

  It was as though the weight of years slipped from her shoulders. He was backing down. He had heard her the other day. He was using her name. “I do not want access to my son, I want my son.” Her voice was low and measured, brimful with righteous anger. “I want him to live with Edward and I. That is where he wishes to be. It is where he belongs.”

  Her father’s eyes seemed to skim across her face.

  “If that is what you wish,” he hesitated.

  “It is.” Ellen held his gaze.

  “Then you may collect him in two days’ time. Your mother wishes to see you.”

  “Mama? Is she well?” She heard her voice waver, with a now almost desperate and disorientated note, joy and relief overwhelmed her. Had he really said she could have John?

  “Yes.” Turning away he looked at Richard. “We are done here. You may go back to your frivolity now your plan to force my hand has succeeded.”

  “You’ve admitted you were in the wrong,” her brother-in-law answered. “I would say you owe Lord Edward a debt of gratitude for this, Your Grace. John shall be in your position one day. I think he will be appalled if he ever learns of the fate you left his mother to live, your daughter.”

  “Look to your own household, my Lord, not mine,” her father growled at Richard, before striding from the room.

  “He’s said we may have John.” Ellen turned to Edward and wrapped her arms about his neck. “I cannot believe it. I cannot. We will have John.” Edward picked her up off her feet and twirled her around, clearly jubilant.

  “We did it.” He set her down and kissed her lips.

  “I never thought he would bend,” she said in awe, leaning back to meet the glinting light in his eyes and pressing her palms to his cheeks. “It’s your doing.”

  “As I said,” Richard spoke from behind them. “I hope your father recognises it. He owes you thanks, Edward, but whether Pembroke can bring himself to admit it is another matter.”

  “I cannot believe it,” Ellen said again, grinning at Richard.

  Then looking back at Edward, her hands fell to his shoulders. “I shall not be able to sleep for the next two nights. Oh Edward!” she spoke his name with complete adoration as she reached on to her toes and kissed his lips.

  He pulled her into a full embrace.

  “I’ll leave you two alone then shall I?” Richard laughed, and then the door clicked shut.

  “You did it, Edward,” she whispered to Edward’s mouth, as his lips pulled away from hers. “I thought it was impossible. I had hoped and dreamed, but never believed until I met you.” Her lips touched his again.

  “Truthfully, I thought it impossible too.”

  She pulled back from him and her gaze skimmed across his face, from his dark eyes to the perfect lines of his brow, his nose, his jaw, her fingers touching the soft, freshly shaved skin of his cheek.

  “But you did it, I’ll never forget this.”

  “We did it. I am sure your calling on him the other day will have played a part in his choice.” He turned his head and kissed her palm. “But now I think we ought to go back.”

  She nodded. His hand clasped hers.

  When they walked from the room, they continued holding hands ignoring any risk of judgement. In the ballroom as the notes of a waltz filled the air, Edward drew her into the dance. It was their fifth, far too many even for a married couple. She did not care. Their bodies moved as one, too close for propriety but she was oblivious to anyone but Edward.

  Chapter Sixteen

  She had been right; she couldn’t sleep. Ellen slid from beneath the sheet, careful not to wake Edward, and for a moment she sat at the edge of the bed, looking back at him. So handsome; he lay on his side, hair tussled, one arm curved across her half of the bed over the place where she had lain, the other resting beneath his pillow.

  He’d succeeded. He’d brought her father about. It had been Edward, not her. Without his strength she would not have ever found the courage to fight.

  She could not believe it—any of it. She was married, walking among the ton untainted, as though she had not spent years in the demimonde, the underworld of society. Bright silvery moonlight reached through the slightly parted curtains. She rose from the bed and crossed the room. A long cheval mirror stood by the window. She stopped before it, her eyes adjusting to the darkness. The silver backed glass glowed in the half-light. Looking at her reflection, even in the dark she could see the tell-tale signs she’d become aware of over the last few days. Her fingers skimmed the curve of her breast.

  She remembered the night she’d met Edward, how she had looked at herself in mirrors then, seeing only a wraith—who walked the earth yet did not live in it. She was human again. He’d given her, her soul back—her life back—and now John, and—

  “What are you doing?” Edward asked from the bed as she heard him throw the covers aside. Looking back, she smiled.

  Still half asleep, his eyes blinking, adjusting to the moonlight, he walked across the room, his glorious naked body magnificent to watch. She turned back to the mirror and felt his tall muscular frame surround her, his hips resting against her buttocks and the skin of his thighs brushing up against the back of hers. His fingers slipped around her body and crossed over her stomach. “Is something wrong?” he whispered into her ear, the breath of his words caressing the sensitive skin of her neck.

  “I hope not.”

  “What do you mean?” he prodded more seriously. “Is something wrong?”

  She leaned her head back onto his shoulder and smiled again. His lips touched her neck. It always felt as though they were in another universe when they came to bed, as though nothing of the outer world could touch them here when they were alone, just as it had done in London weeks ago—he was still her island sanctuary. “It depends how you take it.”

  “Take what?” The words rumbled against her throat, his thoughts clearly progressing to other things. One hand descended and the other closed over her breast.

  She looked into the mirror. “It’s this.” Her hand s
urrounded his, cradling the weight of her breast in his palm. “Can you feel—it’s heavier?”

  He was watching her in the mirror. He nodded, but he clearly didn’t understand.

  Gripping his forefinger, she trailed the tip of it about the areola of her breast. “It’s darker, do you see?”

  He looked bewildered.

  “You have no idea what I am saying do you?”

  He shook his head.

  She laid his palm against her stomach. “We are expecting, Edward. You should have known it would not take with long the amount of times you try. I’m carrying our child.”

  His jaw dropped and his eyes lit up with understanding and awe. Then he looked down at their joined hands. “A child?”

  Ellen turned in his arms, pressing her naked body to his. “Of course a child, it will hardly be a puppy.” She laughed, leaning her head back to see him. “I am undecided whether I hope for a boy or a girl.”

  “I will be happy with either. I’ll leave it up to you.” Edward laughed too, then kissed her forehead and hugged her tightly. “It’s wonderful, Ellen. John will return to the gift of a brother or sister. How do you think he will take it?”

  Setting her palms against his cheeks, Ellen met his gaze. “That first night I knew how much you would mean to me. I tried to tell myself you were not my saviour. I did not believe it possible. But you were. You are—mine and John’s. You have been my rock for weeks. I’ve clung to you against the tides. Now you will be our foundation stone. Together we’ll build a new life. To think of John and his feelings first. You amaze me Edward. You do know I love you beyond all reason?”

  He smiled. “As I love you. I need you too. You complete me, Ellen. You have done so since that first moment. I had no purpose without you. My life was empty. You saved me from my brother’s fate. I would be a bitter cold hearted, pleasure seeker without you—a child.” The last was whispered. “A child!” He lifted her and twirled her about.