God help her, but she didn't want this to end. The sensations rippling through her limbs were too good to ignore, and it had been too long since she’d last grasped such pleasure. Ianthe drove her hands into his hair, holding his head as she eagerly pursued his tongue, chasing it back into his mouth. When Quinn gently sucked on hers, it was as if a lightning bolt struck her. A moan welled up in her throat, and she rocked her hips over his as tension built between them. Like a cat, she wanted to stroke her body against his, until she either combusted or the burgeoning release broke over her.
Too soon, Quinn lowered his head back to the pillow and pulled away from her. His chest heaved, making her rise and fall with each breath. Her lips were swollen from his attentions, and parts of her that she had long ago forgotten existed now tingled in awareness. The small voice in the back of her mind cried in frustration at what could have been. For the first time in years, genuine pleasure had washed over her. If only she had rocked her hips harder, or rubbed against his arousal a little longer, that might have soothed the growing ache.
She met his heavy gaze, both of them caught in the trap of need with no release. Ecstasy tinged with agony and laced with anticipation tightened in her chest. Except there wasn't any conclusion for them. Not unless Quinn paid her price and left the required coins on her dresser. No, something inside her whispered that with Quinn it would never be a business transaction. Events would only ever be personal.
Wolves mate for life, he had said. A small voice deep inside her whispered coward even as she sobbed for what would never be. Imagine having such love wrapped around her forever.
He stroked the hair out of her face and tucked a strand behind her ear. "If you're going to stay up there, we might not make it out of this room until evening, and I'm perilously close to breaking our agreement."
The smile returned to her face. The length of him beneath her was delicious and intoxicating. Her fingers found hard muscle beneath his clothes, and the idea of pressing against his naked skin made her sigh. If I cannot have him forever, would it be so terrible to have just a little longer? a voice cried out within her.
But sex with Quinn was a complication she didn't need. She no longer thought it would be either simple or easy. Taking him into her body would most definitely be complicated, complex, and possibly an experience she wouldn't want to let go.
It was the hardest decision she had made in a long time, to roll off him and to one side. She nestled her back to his chest, and he wrapped his arm around her waist, while she rested her head on his other arm. He held her close as they both just breathed. She didn't know what to say. He had changed everything. He was the opposite of what she sought in a patron, and she should shut the door on him at week's end and never think of him again. Except that, as her walls tumbled around her, she reached skyward.
She wanted more.
She wanted a life with Quinn, as ridiculous and impossible as it was. She was starting to want a wolf's love more than money or property, and that was a dangerous idea for a courtesan.
Unable to grasp the words to explain the vortex he created inside her, she stuck to the familiar. "That's six, and our time is nearly over."
He held her tight and stroked her stomach. "Would you do something for me?"
She stiffened in his embrace. What would he demand from her? "What?"
"Tell me something you have never told anyone else."
Ianthe laughed and the tension dispersed. "You mean like the fact I loathe pickled eel, and either leave something on my plate to hide it under, or drop it into a nearby potted plant?"
Laughter rumbled through his chest. "No. But I shall remember that. Imagine if you could remake your life. Don't think what is practical or possible, just dream a little. If you could go anywhere, be anyone, do anything, what would your life look like?"
Her breath choked in her throat. He asked for the most precious thing she possessed—her dream for the future. She had never told anyone of her plan, not even Sarah, her constant companion. She closed her eyes, inhaled the warm musky scent of him, and then told him her deepest hope.
"A small estate in the country. It doesn't have to be large, but it must have rolling hills and flat fields full of wildflowers. A modest home, something warm and welcoming, where I could hide when winter fell. A house with solid stone walls, built to withstand any storm that buffeted the countryside."
He nuzzled her ear. Not a kiss, for he still would not break their agreement, but his face caressed her skin. Somehow it was more intimate—a gentle touch from a true lover, the lover of your soul, not of the flesh. "And if I stood in that house and looked out the window, what would I find in those fields?"
"Horses." She breathed the word.
That was her dream, the constant in her life that enabled her to place one foot in front of the other, even in the darkest moments. Working at the stables had saved her life when she had first come to London. Only burying her face in a horse's neck could soothe the anger and pain that dominated her every breath. Only with the gentle equines did she find herself and a way to move forward. They were the reason she happily remade last season's gowns. Horses were why she had accepted Quinn's bid in the game of cards, so she could afford to pay for Constance.
Oddly, it was the one circumstance that the second sight failed her on. Try as Ianthe might, she could never get the sight to yield a vision of her future, to tell her if the dream would come to fruition or not. Or perhaps it protected her, by allowing her to dream without knowing the cruel reality if it was forever beyond her reach.
"I would breed the best riding horses in England. Beautiful creatures with steady, gentle temperaments and glorious movement," she whispered.
Another brush of his cheek against her skin, and a shiver shot down her spine. "What of children? Do you see any human offspring running over those hills?"
She froze in his arms and screwed her eyes shut tight. "No. Only foals."
"Do you not want a family of your own?" His words rippled over her hair.
A family of your own. Simple words but, oh, how they hurt. An old wound opened anew, and her heart bled. Once she had carried that dream, along with a child, and then William St John had beaten both from her. "I quickened once. The child died within me, and I have not taken again. I will fill my future with horses."
"I'm sorry. I did not mean to bring up a painful memory." Quinn nuzzled against her neck in a soft, skin-to-skin contact that drew some of the overwhelming pain from her body.
As he held her, the agony abated and the tight squeeze around her heart relented. With a long, shuddering breath, she could fill her lungs again.
"Hold the dream in your heart, Ianthe. Don't let it go. You will stand in those fields one day."
His heart beat through her back, a steady tattoo that reminded her of a horse's hooves pounding on hard earth.
Ianthe turned his question around, her pain too raw to talk about her dreams. "And you? What do you dream of—rising to be a general in the army and perhaps riding an elephant through India?"
Silence. She wished she could see him and what emotion passed behind his eyes as he considered his response. He had such an open, honest face, and she had quickly come to delight in watching his every thought pass over his features. He concealed nothing from her.
"No. Like you, I have a simple dream. I want to breed the fastest race horses in Europe."
"We are too similar, you and I. Both doomed to only ever dream. Neither of us has the means to make our hopes into realities." It saddened her. If only their fates had been different. If Quinn were a titled peer, he could have afforded to be her patron and endow her with a small estate for her horses. Or if she were a wealthy widow, she could take him as her lover, and damn what society thought.
"We both need a wealthy patron," she whispered.
His hand curled at her waist and held her tight to him. "No. All we need is a little luck and each other."
The door banged open and a cough interrupted them. With
reluctance, Ianthe untangled her limbs from Quinn's and sat up to find Sarah glaring at her. She nudged Quinn, who had rolled over on his back. He stared at her ceiling as though trying to memorise every tiny detail. Already her heart weighed heavy in her chest, knowing tomorrow was their last day. But what future did they have? Allowing him into her life would result in poverty. She doubted he earned much as a non-commissioned officer, and certainly not enough to support them both. Although she didn't live an extravagant life, she did like to eat at least once a day and keep a roof over her head. Or would a wolf keep her fed and warm?
One hand flew to her chest. The end of Quinn's week signalled that she would soon have to give herself to Septimus.
I need to find Alice or any of his former mistresses. There are things I need to know before I let him have me.
Sarah banged opened the wardrobe doors and rustled around for a gown, muttering under her breath about pups who weren't house trained and lacked basic manners.
Ianthe smiled. "I do believe that is your cue to leave, so I can get dressed."
"I'd much rather stay. If I see you get dressed, later tonight I can imagine it happening in reverse." He made no secret of his desire for her, and it warmed her body. There was something innately genuine about his gaze that affected her like no noble's ever had. He desired her as a person, not an object to be acquired or paraded in front of others. He offered her pleasure, and not to purely satisfy himself. No, she suspected Quinn would be most diligent in ensuring she found ecstasy in any encounter.
She stroked a hand down his chest. "You had better leave, before Sarah finds a rolled-up newspaper and decides to swat you on the nose."
"I'll see you downstairs." He picked up his boots, saluted Sarah, and then left.
Ianthe giggled, and Sarah shook her head. "I'm still not sure about that one, but I have never seen you so happy or at peace. You haven't touched that tonic for three nights now. Perhaps we should make an exception just this once, and keep him?"
"Oh, Sarah. If only we could." It hurt too much to imagine a world where Quinn spent every night in her bed. When she closed her eyes and imagined her dream estate, there weren't just horses running in the fields: Quinn stood amongst them.
15
Ianthe
* * *
"What exactly do you have planned for today?" Ianthe asked as they headed out. Quinn had sent off a message and received one in answer, all during breakfast. He now carried a blanket, rolled up and secured with leather straps that formed a handle for easy carrying. His pleasure in life was infectious, and she found herself smiling at nothing. Sarah had even ruffled his hair before he popped on his hat, which made Perkins squint at his wife.
"A day in the park, and I would like to introduce you to my family." He grinned, his usual high-energy mood wrapped around him.
Ianthe stifled a moment of panic. Why on earth would he think to introduce a courtesan to his family? She hoped there was no ugly scene. His enthusiasm seemed to blind him to the realities of her life. As endearing as it was, it had the potential to cause heartache.
Quinn pulled her hand, and consequently her, closer to his side. "Stop fretting. They will adore you as much as I do. You won't find any judgment from them. This is my wolf family and you already know Ewan."
She relaxed a fraction, for most of the demi-monde was familiar with Ewan Shaw. The handsome cavalry officer caused a twitter wherever he went, and many a woman attempted to break through his aloof exterior. Strange that, while he appeared as cold and impassive as Viscount Hoth, Lieutenant Shaw didn't possess the same air of malevolence. He drew women to him, rather than repelling them.
As they walked, Ianthe pondered what to expect of a wolf family. Would she spend the day with puppies tugging on the hem of her skirt? Would she need to throw sticks to keep them all entertained? Unnaturals were spoken of in hushed tones. While she knew other mage-blooded individuals, she did not number any Unnaturals amongst her acquaintances. Until now.
They headed to Hyde Park on foot this time, not riding. Ianthe's hand curled around Quinn's upper arm. The midday sun shone, and her new parasol of darting swallows kept the rays from damaging her pale skin. For a moment, she could close her eyes and imagine this was her life, a respectable woman out for a stroll with a beau. Not a courtesan out with the man who had won a bet and seven days of her companionship.
Ever since he had kissed her that morning, a wave of maudlin helplessness had engulfed her. She wanted to cling to every last moment they had together, while at the same time pretending it wasn't their second-to-last day. Why couldn't life continue like this? It wasn't fair. And always, chilling the corners of her soul, was Septimus Hoth. The viscount waited, and soon he would reach out to grab her and drag her into his domain. Once in the Reaper's clutches would she fade into nothing, becoming another pile of bones in her vision, perhaps tied with a pale green ribbon?
It was a beautiful day in the park, a welcome change to avoid the heavily populated Rotten Row. The ton would be out in force, to see, be seen, and dissect each other with cruel gossip. As women met, the air would be thick with insincere platitudes and veiled putdowns. Ianthe let out a sigh. Perhaps today she could simply be herself, with no need for artifice. As they strolled the tree-lined paths, a group approached them. A couple walked arm-in-arm, with two men carrying baskets close behind.
The parasol over the woman's shoulder twirled and Ianthe watched the dark geometric line dance over the cream background. The vision she’d had in the shop a few days previously slammed into her. Now the design the sight showed her made sense: Her mage-blood wanted her to find the woman holding the parasol. The only question now was, why?
Quinn raised a hand in greeting. The other woman smiled at Quinn in such a way that a stab of something new and unexpected lanced through Ianthe—jealousy. Yet the other night he'd said he had no sweetheart, and this woman certainly seemed to be enamoured of the man who held her close.
As they stopped, Quinn made the introductions. "Ianthe, this is Captain Logan, and his wife, my sister Aster."
Ianthe bobbed a curtsey, and the tinge of green ebbed from her vision. She cast a glance sideways. "I did not know you had a sister."
"It is a somewhat recent development," the other woman said. She had the most remarkable eyes, a deep purple like the flowers she was named for.
Quinn gestured to the other men. "I believe you know Lieutenant Shaw, and the great brute there is Mr Alick Ferguson, Hamish's cousin." With formality satisfied in Quinn's usual perfunctory way, he cast around the green expanse. "Shall we go down by the pond? I brought a blanket for the ladies to sit on, and we have a picnic to sustain us."
They walked over the lawns and down near the water. It was a strange place to linger. Before them was the large circular pond where nannies chased children and small boys sailed boats. A pang stirred in Ianthe's stomach at the sight of frolicking children, chasing hoops or each other. Quinn fussed and laid out the blankets, so the women would be seated in the dappled light of a large oak. Then he took her hand and brushed her knuckles to his cheek.
"It's more private here, to talk freely. Children do not care for the chatter of adults," he said, and then kept hold of her hand, while she sat on the blanket.
Ianthe smiled up at him. Clever man. He had placed them well away from the gaze of the ton so they could all relax and enjoy the day. Quinn bubbled with energy since their passionate kiss, and she half expected him to join the raucous game of tag a group of children played amongst the ancient trees. The men lounged on the blankets around the women, like wagons drawn in a circle.
"Why don't you go sail a boat and chase it through the water?" Ianthe joked.
His eyes twinkled as he surveyed the range of craft the children pushed out into the water. They roared with delight when the wind caught their tiny sails and one raced ahead of another.
"Excellent idea. I've always loved boats." He turned back to smile at her, his gaze shimmered with mirth.
"We're cavalry, not navy," Alick grumbled from beside him.
"Where's your sense of fun, old man?" Quinn elbowed him.
Aster smiled at her husband. "Well, Hamish will certainly not join in. A captain waiting for his promotion to major would never stoop to a bit of fun and frivolity. Whatever would be next? Tickling and cavorting?"
The captain in question turned to waggle his eyebrows at his wife, and her hand flew to her mouth to suppress a giggle. Ianthe wondered what very personal jest the other woman had just made; she would lay money on it involving tickling and cavorting. It warmed her to see a couple so obviously in love and at ease with one another. Such a sharp contrast to the cold aristocratic marriages she was used to being surrounded by. Although, given her role in comforting the husbands, perhaps her worldview was somewhat skewed.
"Choose your vessel, Quinn. I'm going to destroy you." Hamish jumped to his feet. By the water's edge, an elderly gentleman sat with his horse and cart. The back of his vehicle was crammed with brightly coloured toys and boats of all kinds and sizes to entertain the children.
"Ah, a great sea battle it shall be. The lesser man will pay for dinner." Quinn took her hand and brushed her knuckles; it was an affectionate display that didn't deprive him of a kiss. In the space of a few short days, she had become quite accustomed to it. Another thing she would miss—his touch, his voice, his warmth. Losing Quinn would be like the first cold blast of winter after a long hot summer.
"I shall stay here. Someone needs to be the adult, and protect our womenfolk," Ewan said, removing his top hat to lie back on the grass. With eyes closed, he appeared to be asleep, a lazing cat that would turn into a jaguar should trouble approach. Odd to think him a wolf under his finely tailored clothes.
The other men were soon engrossed in a heated discussion over which boat would be better than the others. They discussed the depth of the hull, and the size and shape of sails. Eventually, weapons were chosen, and they picked their spots around the edge of the pond to release the vessels into the water.
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