Tempting the Bluestocking: A Gentleman Courtesans Novella

by Victoria Vale

  Hugh waved Benedict off, seeming in no hurry to leave his seat. “Yes, you go on. I wouldn’t want to hold you up.”

  A moment later, the door opened and then closed, leaving Edward and Hugh alone. Releasing a sigh, Edward slumped in his chair. He supposed he liked Benedict well enough, but didn’t know him as well as he did Hugh. Perhaps his longtime friend could offer him some insight on how to proceed.

  “How do you do it?” he murmured, running a hand through his hair.

  “Do what?” Hugh asked.

  “Pass from one woman to the next without a look back. I thought it would be easy, but I’m finding the notion difficult to swallow. I like Clare quite a lot, and…well, what if the woman who comes after her doesn’t measure up? What if I can’t be good to her because I can’t get Clare out of my mind?”

  Hugh frowned, sitting up a bit straighter in his chair. “How I do it is by reminding myself that none of these arrangements are meant to last forever, and failing to carry on would mean the difference between having a full belly and eventually going hungry for lack of funds. Your situation will improve with time dedicated to your business, but until I can gain recognition for my art there is nothing else.”

  Of course, Hugh was right. It made perfect sense, which was how Edward knew he couldn’t be thinking with his head just now. It was the damn organ in his chest, which had developed a tender spot for a bespectacled bluestocking with a penchant for collecting things and experimenting with flowers.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I don’t know what I could be thinking. I’ve been a bit out of sorts.”

  “It sounds to me as if there’s a very simple explanation for why you feel so out of sorts,” Hugh said. “Her name is Clare.”

  Edward braced his elbows on the desk and his head in his hands with a groan. “Damn it. How did I allow this to happen? I’ve developed an infatuation for my keeper. Has anything like this ever happened to you?”

  “I can’t say I’ve ever felt anything other than affection for the women I’ve serviced. It is difficult to cater to someone in such a way without at least liking them. I never really felt as if I knew them, though, or that they knew me.”

  And therein lay the problem. He’d opened himself up to her that first night, and probed into the details of her life with his idiotic questions. Instead of keeping things light and easy, he’d gone and fallen headlong into a complication.

  “It will pass,” Hugh offered, though he didn’t sound anymore certain than Edward was. “She will eventually move on, and you’ll be forced to do the same. As well, you should know Benedict is never happy to learn that one of us might be developing tender feelings for a client. It isn’t good for business, and Benedict is nothing if not strictly business.”

  With a slow nod, Edward sat up straight and began pulling himself together. There was nothing for him to do but carry on and take things as they came. At this juncture, it was the best he could do—at least until the other aspects of his life found their way to some sort of normality.

  “I understand,” Edward replied. “It will not become a problem. I won’t let it.”

  Chapter 8

  That evening, Edward entered Clare’s study, where he found her standing over an open box on one of her desks. As she paused to glance up at him with a smile, he realized the chest contained her collection of watches. She seemed to be in the middle of adding a new timepiece, one which she lifted from a smaller box before holding it up to the light for him to see.

  “I purchased this beauty this afternoon,” she said, her voice low and reverent. “Created in 1730 and made of solid gold, and look at this…there’s a little etiu here for snuff!”

  She placed the heavy piece in his hands, and he held it up to the light, studying the delicate filigree scroll work adorning a chatelaine, which held the timepiece, several pearl charms, and the snuff container. He could imagine that amid the overblown wardrobe of a lady of 1730 such a piece would seem gaudy and excessive. But on its own it was quite exquisite.

  “I’ve never seen anything like it,” he replied, flipping open the watch to find its face adorned with a tiny painting of winged cherubs. “I can see why you’d want it for your collection.”

  His gaze wandered to the other watches resting on square compartments inside the chest. Brass, gold, and silver shined up at him as if they’d been recently polished, some boasting beaded or metal chatelaines, others adorned with glittering gemstones, and a few appearing quite plain on the surface. She seemed to collect indiscriminately, her collection comprised of both men’s and women’s timepieces.

  “I wouldn’t leave the antiquities shop until the proprietor gave it to me for a fair price. I was willing to pay what it was worth, but the man tried to rob me blind. In the end, he was convinced to see things my way.”

  Edward chuckled, imagining Clare staring down the antique dealer through her spectacles, her eyes gone cold as ice. She’d probably used her governess tone on him and made him feel three inches tall. The man had likely given her the watch at the price she wanted in an act of self-preservation.

  “Congratulations on your triumph,” he said, returning the watch to her and going back to study the others. “You’ve got quite a collection here.”

  She waved a hand toward the chest to indicate he was free to touch them. He lifted and examined a simple man’s watch on a black silk ribbon. The watch itself, along with a seal, hung from a medallion comprised of a massive, clear diamond in a gold setting. Another—this one for a woman—hung from a gem-encrusted chatelaine, the stones arranged to look like the wings of butterflies. Some appeared to be decades or centuries old, and he was delighted to discover a sixteenth century clockwatch, a heavy thing comprised of brass to be worn on a chain about the neck.

  “These are all so unique,” he said, placing the old clockwatch back into its velvet housing with care. “They must have taken you ages to collect. Which one was your first?”

  She took up the plainest watch in the bunch—a simple silver affair with a pattern of scrolls etched on the casing. Flipping it open, she revealed its cracked glass face and tiny sapphires resting where the numbers 12, 3, 6, and 9 would be.

  “It isn’t the most beautiful of the lot, or the oldest,” she told him. “But it is my favorite because it belonged to my father.”

  She handed him the watch, which he handled with the utmost of care, not wanting to further damage something so important to her.

  “Of course it’s the most beautiful,” he said. “That you love it so much makes it so.”

  She gave him a soft smile, then started back down at the timepiece. “When my parents died, Alice and I were devastated. We spent those first days clinging to their things and weeping for hours. Alice was partial to one of Mother’s handkerchiefs. It had been used to clean up spilled rose oil—mother’s favorite scent. She’d hold it to her nose and inhale, then collapse into a fit of tears. I found Father’s watch abandoned on the washstand and forgotten when he’d taken ill. He’d knocked it over in a delirious fit of fever, which is how the glass cracked. For months I carried this with me everywhere I went. I even slept with it beneath my pillow. Aunt Helene noticed and offered to have it fixed, but I wouldn’t allow it. I wanted to keep it just the way he’d left it.”

  That would explain why this watch was the only imperfect one in the box, the others immaculately cared for.

  “I have a collection of my father’s waistcoats in a trunk at home,” Edward told her, putting the watch back in its place. “I’ll never be able to wear them unless I grow a bit rounder in the middle, but … of all his things I latched onto those for some reason. His other things were sold because we needed the money, but Caroline kept one of his snuffboxes, and Jacob selected two of his tiepins. For me, it was too damned hard to part with those waistcoats.”

  With a sigh, she edged closer to Edward, reaching out to place a hand on his chest. “I’m sorry. You did not come here for me to draw you into trading sob stories about our fat
hers. And with your loss being so recent—”

  “It’s all right,” he assured her, wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her against him. “I’d rather talk about him than let his memory die. And you should feel free to talk to me about anything you wish.”

  “Still, I’d rather not ruin our evening with grief.”

  He brushed his lips against hers, one hand sliding down toward the curve of her arse. “Then we’ll spend it doing something else.”

  “Yes,” she replied, wrapping her arms around his neck and deepening the kiss.

  All thought fled his mind and he succumbed to the same intoxicating effect he experienced whenever in Clare’s presence. Nothing else mattered just then; not the inevitability of parting ways, or where he might go from there, or how it would feel to be banished from her life for good. The only thing that mattered just then was the taste of her, the feel of her body against his, and making sure she enjoyed herself as much as she had every other night before now.

  He guided her closer to the hearth, where the clutter of their surroundings gave way to the patch of rug enclosed by her furniture. Their lips met again, and he drank from her mouth with a desperate longing, plunging his tongue in to entangle with hers. She clung to him, returning the kiss with an equal fervor.

  They began tearing at one another’s clothes, hands moving with swift, clumsy motions. She grunted in frustration against his lips while fumbling with his cravat, so he reached up to help her yank it loose. Tossing the linen aside, she attacked the buttons of his waistcoat while he worked the fastenings down the back of her gown. Garments flew in every direction until they sank to the floor together, completely bared.

  Facing one another on their knees they pressed close, mouths meeting and parting, hands roaming. Her fingernails lightly scored his back, then she cupped his buttocks, urging him tighter against her. He dipped his head to seek out a nipple, drawing it into his mouth and sucking with deep pulls until she cried out, back arching to offer more of herself to him. After a while, she braced her hands against his chest, pushing him onto his haunches, then flat on his back. She crawled over him, thighs straddling his and hands braced on either side of his head. She wasn’t wearing her spectacles, so he had a clear view of her eyes, dark blue and clear like the sky just after sunset.

  She planted a swift kiss on his lips, then began trailing her way down his body, leaving shivers of delight in her wake. He threaded his fingers in her hair as her tongue circled hotly over his chest, teasing a nipple before she continued her slow path downward. His cock throbbed with anticipation, his entire body going tense as he waited for the first hot stroke of her tongue where he wanted it most.

  He gasped when she took him into her mouth without hesitation, dragging her lips down then up his shaft in one fluid motion. Not the first time in the past fortnight she’d fucked him with her mouth, but Edward never ceased to be amazed at how readily she threw herself into passion, always giving as good as she got. He groaned, surging into her mouth with slow thrusts, heat and wetness enveloping him over and over in an excruciatingly slow drag.

  “Christ, CeCe,” he groaned, his eyes sliding closed as he gave himself over to ecstasy.

  She moaned around him, pausing at his tip to swirl her tongue around his head before taking him in as far as he would go, drawing another hoarse cry from deep within him. He released her hair and reached down to toy with her breasts, gently tugging her nipples as she increased her rhythm, her head bobbing and her lips stroking him. Her breath quickened, low whimpers emitting from her as he pleasured her the only way he could with so much of her body out of his reach.

  Taking hold of her face, he drew her off his cock, unable to help a chuckle at the way she glared at him as he fell free of her mouth.

  “I wasn’t finished yet,” she grumbled.

  Stroking her cheek, he smiled. “I don’t want you to stop, love. I simply envy you for having all the fun. Turn around for me.”

  Her eyes went wide, then her expression turned sultry as she understood his meaning. He helped her arrange herself so she lay atop him, legs straddling his head and putting him in the perfect position. From the nest of dark curls cloaking her mons, the teasing glimpse of pink flesh made his mouth water and his arousal swell to painful limits. She moaned when he drew his tongue over her in one long lap, pressing against her clitoris, then making his slow way to her channel. He plunged his tongue inside her, his palate bathed with her earthy taste and his senses overwhelmed by the heady scent of her arousal.

  Taking hold of his cock, Clare picked up where she’d left off, sucking him with rhythmic pulls that made his toes curl. He grasped her buttocks and spread her, revealing more of her cunny and taking aim at the swollen pink bud. His cock muffled her cry as he latched onto it and treated her to the same torment she exacted on him. Her wetness slicked his lips, and her hips began to undulate as she rode his tongue, seeking her own pleasure while giving him his. They moved together, him thrusting into her mouth and Clare rocking against him with wild abandon.

  Never letting up with his mouth, he delved two fingers into her sheath and began to thrust at the same rhythm with which she sucked his cock. She released him from her mouth with a startled cry, her back arching to take him deeper. He slid in to his third knuckles, his fingers drenched in her juices as he fucked her with them the way he soon would with his cock.

  A moment later, the wet rasp of her tongue against his bollocks nearly unmanned him. Sucking in a deep breath, he willed away climax and concentrated on taking her to the finish. She was close, shuddering atop him and her ministrations growing less adept. He quickened his fingers inside her, his lips pulling on her clitoris until she finally splintered. Throwing her head back, she groaned and shook, her cunt pulsating around his fingers as he stroked her through the climax. It seemed to go on and on, her thighs shaking and her voice growing hoarse as she came off like a flame stoked to a roaring inferno.

  When at last she’d gone still with her head rested on his thigh and her breaths coming out in heavy pants, Edward turned her onto her back, then swiveled to come to rest between her legs. She seemed a world away, her eyes glassy as she recovered from her powerful climax. But, he couldn’t wait another moment to be inside her, and her legs fell wide open as he lunged between them, aiming his cock at her slick opening. He fell into her with a growl, clenching his teeth and holding back from spilling inside her then and there.

  He wanted to savor every moment of this and make it last, but she’d brought him close to spending with her mouth and he hovered close to the edge. Gathering her legs over his shoulders, he slid deeper and began rolling his hips, trying to go farther with every thrust. His body seemed as desperate as his mind to be so connected to her that they no longer felt like separate people and became like one being. She stoked to life again, fingers digging into the rug as his pace became faster, his body breaking out with a light sheen of sweat. He watched the way the firelight played over her bared skin, the bounce of her breasts with every stroke, the delirious expression of pleasure that transformed her face into one of the most glorious things he’d ever seen.

  “CeCe, I—”

  He clenched his teeth around the words that had nearly escaped him in a fit of madness.

  I adore you.

  I love you.

  You’ve bewitched me beyond all reason.

  Even as far gone as he was at the moment, he couldn’t allow himself to tread that far and ruin what remained of their time together. She had given no indication of any such feelings for him, and might be repulsed to know he’d made more of their agreement than he ought have. He needed to tread with more care until he unraveled all the desires and hopes she held inside.

  “You feel so bloody good,” he rasped instead, which was as much the truth as the other things he wanted to say.

  “Yes, Edward,” she mewled, raising her hips to meet his battering thrusts. “Yes!”

  She splintered again, her back arching up off the ru
g as she released in a torrent of pulsating flesh, wetness, heat, and throaty moans of ecstasy. Edward followed soon after, pulling free of her just before his seed spilled from him, streaking his hand and her open thighs. Bracing himself over her, he hung his head and struggled to catch his breath. At the same time, he worked to get a hold of himself and chase these delusions of love from his mind. He told himself he was mad, and that even if his feelings were real she couldn’t possibly feel the same way.

  Opening his eyes, he groped about for his coat and withdrew his handkerchief from the breast pocket. He used it to clean her, then tossed it aside.

  She opened her arms and he went to her, gathering her against him and turning so they lay facing each other, one of her legs draped over his. For a moment, he could have sworn he recognized something in her eyes—an answering sentiment to his own turbulent emotions. As if she might actually feel something as deep and real for him as he did for her. But then, she closed her eyes and burrowed her face in his chest, and he told himself he’d been mistaken. A trick of the light or wishful thinking, perhaps. He had obviously read what he’d seen all wrong.

  Still, the longer he lay there holding her and realizing they’d come one day closer to parting ways, Edward found it difficult not to give in to the hope that perhaps he’d been right.

  Chapter 9

  Four more days passed Edward by without him finding the courage to ask Clare the question he’d been turning over in his mind ever since his meeting with Hugh and Benedict. It grew more imperative with each passing day for him to know whether she intended to extend their arrangement. He’d managed to gain back an important client for Norton & Rivers, with a shipment due to leave the London port in a few short weeks. Word had begun to spread that the line was back in business with a new owner at the helm, and while there was still much to be done, Edward foresaw a stunning comeback. All he needed was time and the funds to continue making improvements. And there would be no more money without Clare or another keeper filling his pockets.