The Duke's Courtesan

by Beck Robertson

  ‘Oh my dear, is that really why you’re crying?’ he said, his eyes moving over her face as if he were trying to ascertain whether or not she was being truthful.

  She nodded her head at him, her lashes wet with tears.

  ‘Y-yes, truly, and you’ve treated me so kindly that I’ve felt almost like a princess …’

  ‘You are a princess,’ he insisted, reaching for her again and pressing her close to him. It felt so nice to be held like that. All her life she’d been strong, she’d never cried on anyone’s shoulder, never broken down in front of anyone before, but for some reason she felt safe with this man. His lips moved over her forehead, kissing gently, then tracing a path down her nose as he planted a trail of light kisses all the way to the tip of it. His hands moved in small circles, massaging her silk-clad back. Shivering, she sighed, the sensation felt so delicious.

  ‘Lenore,’ he murmured as he held her close. She could feel him stiffening in his breeches and she felt a tingle between her own thighs. God, she wanted him: her desire must be plain and obvious on her face. Surely he must know just how much she burned for him?

  He took her chin in his hand, tilting her face to his as he leant in to kiss her. She could feel his heart pounding hard against her. It was beating so fast; why was it beating so quickly? The touch of his firm lips against hers made her moan out loud and, forgetting herself, she reached up to lock her fingers in his hair.

  Groaning, he pushed her against the back of the carriage seat, his powerful body wedging her thighs apart as his gloved hand ran up along her stocking. The feel of his hand squeezing her thigh like that made her want to explode with pleasure. As it inched over the fine linen of her pantalettes, she squirmed in hot anticipation of his touch.

  She moaned lustily into his mouth, forgetting any pretensions to ladylike behaviour now, in the heat of her passion, as his thick fingers probed her most intimate place through the flimsy linen that was the only barrier between him and her.

  ‘Lenore, I need you, please, let me have you,’ he growled into her mouth, his fingers flying to his breeches to hastily unbutton them. Nodding her assent as she clung tight to his neck, she arched her back, thrusting her breasts up against him, her nipples stiff and sticking out against the bodice of her dress. She longed for him to unlace her; she yearned to feel his bare skin against hers.

  The carriage jolted to a sudden stop but, uncaring, she continued to moan against his ear, the feel of his feather-light kisses against the tender flesh of her throat nearly driving her mad with want for him. She arched against him, writhing frantically as the tip of his finger probed her, her body yearning for more of his touch.

  ‘Please, James,’ she gasped, grasping his wrist and guiding his finger into her wetness, thrusting it into the soft linen of her undergarments, as, groaning, he bent to crush his lips hungrily against her own.

  ‘You are driving me wild with lust,’ he moaned, pushing between her softness with the gloved hand as she gripped at the muscles of his forearm, widening her thighs for him and revealing the delicate French lace of her stocking tops. His other hand pawed her breasts, over the fine silk of her dress, taunting the throbbing nipples that chafed against the underside. He looked up at her, his voice thick with lust.

  ‘Unlace your bodice,’ he whispered throatily, ‘I must see you naked.’ Nodding weakly, she obeyed him, her hands flying behind her to unfasten the eyelets that held her dress together and concealed her nakedness from him. Her fingers fumbled as she tried to unfasten the little hooks without seeing, his bare mouth on the naked skin of her neck proving more than a distraction as he caressed it with his mouth, the hardness of him pressing urgently against her.

  Finally she managed to free herself, and the cream silk fell, exposing the white shift and stays that lay beneath and the flesh of her elegant shoulders, her raven hair contrasting with the ivory snow of her skin magnificently. Stunned as he drank in the sight of her, he drew a heavy breath, his other hand reaching for her face, to cup it in wonderment.

  ‘Oh my beautiful girl, you are the loveliest sight I have ever seen,’ he murmured, his voice hoarse with desire, as she peered up at him through the sweep of her eyelashes, her lips swollen from his ardent kisses.

  ‘James, oh please,’ she gasped as he probed the silk between her legs, making her cry out in desire and lust. She craved more and more of him inside her, yearned for him to fill her, own her. She needed to feel his bare hands upon her, needed to hear him cry out with lust for her, and then fall upon her, forcing her to take all of him, unable to hold back any longer.

  Hastily, she tugged his glove down, pulling it from the hand that probed between her legs, then turned her attentions to prising the other glove from his strong, manly hands. As his naked hand sprang back to caress her, the feel of his bare flesh made her moan out loud, his touch arousing her sensations, every sense in her body now set on edge in anticipation of him.

  Both his hands were on her then, urging her shift from her shoulders, and her hands rose to help him as her creamy breasts spilled from it, his hungry eyes feasting on them. Bending his head to her breasts, he kissed one then the other, his tongue reaching out to encircle a nipple as she cried out, and he smothered her cries with his lips again.

  Groaning, he pushed her thighs wide apart, gazing between them at the soft flesh beneath, a strangled cry escaping his throat as he forced her backwards against the cushion of the carriage. Roughly, he tore open the thin linen of her flimsy undergarments and levered his magnificent cock out from his breeches. He guided it into her forcibly, grunting heavily in her ear as he took his pleasure.

  This was not the well-mannered man who had spoken to her in such a dignified way in the grandeur of his parents’ house earlier, nor the one who had complimented her so charmingly in the carriage. No, this was more an animal than a man, wild, wolfish, and hungry, and he made her drip with pleasure and set her ablaze with fiery want as he crushed her to his strong, muscular chest. Thrusting, he drove his cock deep into her, burying it up to the hilt as she willingly accepted it, her hands locking tightly around his neck.

  ‘Please, take me,’ she cried, inviting him to claim her as she offered her body up to him. Mad with lust, he growled, bending his head to bite her neck as if he would consume her.

  ‘Say you want me,’ he growled, commanding her. ‘Say how much you want me.’ She nodded, her entire body trembling; he had set her every sense aquiver and she was driven almost out of her mind with lust. All sense of ladylike decorum had long since flown out of the carriage window, and in this moment, she would say almost anything to keep experiencing the feeling he was provoking in her.

  ‘Yes, yes I do, I want you!’ she cried, clasping him to her as her legs rose up to lock around his waist, drawing him further into her, even as he thrust into her wetness.

  Moaning as he took her, she felt her body curl up with desire, her legs buckling and shaking as her stomach knotted with tension. She could sense the heat of his desire and suddenly felt vulnerable next to this tall, strong, powerful man, his lust straining for release inside her. It was a feeling that made her drip with pleasure.

  ‘Yes, yes, I want it,’ she cried again, her voice choked with lust as she held him to her, his body so hard and masculine against her soft flesh.

  ‘Oh, you shall have it, you wicked woman,’ he growled, throwing his head back and closing his eyes as she felt him explode inside her.

  ‘Oh, oh,’ she gasped again, her pleasure uncoiling too, unfurling a delicious wave inside her that rippled through her body as she clung to him helplessly.

  After, he collapsed, spent, on top of her as her fingers moved lazily through his dark hair and her own breathing struggled to calm itself. Well, he would think she was easy now, after all; just another whore he had bedded. She would be nothing to him now. But even if she hadn’t been a courtesan, and his paid whore, it would have been too hard to resist him. What woman could have? Blushing, she shook her head. What hope had she had a
nyway? He had known she was a courtesan from the very first, a woman of easy virtue, and such a woman would certainly never win his heart.

  ‘What is it, my sweet?’ he said, looking up at her tenderly, as she forced her lips into a smile.

  ‘Oh, nothing is wrong, I … I’m just a little taken aback … Even for a courtesan that was a little … spontaneous.’

  He grinned at that.

  ‘Well, I’m nothing if not spontaneous, m’lady,’ he said, his tone sounding pleased as he moved to kiss her neck.

  Something dawned on her then. The carriage had stopped – how long had it been stopped for? She remembered the jolt earlier as the carriage had drawn to a sudden halt, but she had been so carried away in her moment of passion that she had paid it no mind. Pushing him off her, she reached forward to pull back the coloured curtain. They were outside Madame du Monsignor’s house?

  ‘The carriage, how long has it been standing here?’ she said, frowning as he got to his feet and dusted himself down. He smiled broadly as he regarded her, his opened white shirt rendering his bare chest almost too tempting. She tried to avert her eyes from the sight so as not to be distracted.

  ‘Why, whatever do you mean? I merely instructed Perkins to ensure your wholehearted comfort back here.’ He grinned like a cat who had just imbibed a whole saucer of cream.

  ‘The carriage –’ She broke off suddenly as she realised. ‘Oh you cad, you planned it,’ she gasped. ‘You – you planned to have me in here like this all along.’ She looked at him accusingly.

  ‘Lenore,’ he said, putting a hand on her thigh, ‘you of all people can’t mean to accuse me of trying to tempt you?’

  Her of all people? Oh, that was it. Her eyes flashed angrily as she shoved him violently away from her, causing him to fall backwards against the elegant quilted cream of the seat opposite.

  ‘I see,’ she spat at him, her green eyes luminous. ‘So I was right all along. You expect me not to care because I’m a courtesan, is that it?’ The tears pricked at her lashes, threatening to fall from her eyes, and she struggled to rein them in. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing her cry, she swore it.

  ‘Lenore, no, that’s not what I meant.’ He sighed. ‘Please, I never meant to offend you or your honour.’ Her honour? She had no honour and he jolly well knew it; she was a courtesan. She wanted to slap him.

  At least he had the good grace to look genuinely apologetic as he spoke the words, even if she knew from his scurrilous actions that he couldn’t possibly mean them. And there she had been thinking he was the perfect gentleman. What a silly little fool she was. He had been planning to have her in the carriage all along, like – like some common trollop.

  ‘As if you care a jot for my honour.’ She tossed the words at him accusingly. ‘If you had wanted your pleasure with me I would not have refused you, but you should have made it plain, for your underhand behaviour is most ungentlemanly.’

  Wincing, he shrank from her angry words, but she didn’t care. Inwardly, she seethed with shame and humiliation at how stupid she had been to think that a respectable, titled man like him could have cared one fig for her honour or her feelings. Why, she had been nothing more than a flight of fancy for him, an easy conquest – that much was plain now, at least.

  ‘I want to get out now,’ she commanded him, her voice like ice as she fumbled with her clothing, trying to pull herself back together and regain some dignity.

  Nodding, he smiled at her in a resigned fashion. ‘As you wish, Lenore,’ he said sadly.

  ‘I do,’ she said, getting to her feet and gathering her skirts, turning away from him to leave. Changing her mind as she thought of something, she turned back briefly to address him.

  ‘In future, sir, should you seek a courtesan for your entertainment I implore you not to look for this one,’ she said, her voice icy. Ugh, if he continued looking at her like that, as if – as if he was genuinely sorry, she knew she would do something she regretted. Like slap him hard, or worse, fall into his arms weeping, and that would never do. No, she refused to become an amusing anecdote for him to tell to his friends: she would not become the story about the courtesan who had fallen for a caddish rake who had plied her with pretty words.

  As she descended the spindly steps of the little carriage, she kept her head held high and didn’t turn back to look at him once, even though she knew he was watching her.

  Lenore felt his eyes burning into her back as she swept up the pathway to Madame du Monsignor’s house, but she held her nerve, not giving in to the temptation to have one last, lingering look at that darkly handsome face, nor break down sobbing, even though with every step she was on the verge of tears. It was only once Eleanor, Madame du Monsignor’s maidservant, had opened the door and ushered her inside the safety of the elegant little mews house that she dropped to her knees, buried her face in the silk of her skirts, and howled.

  Chapter Four

  Three weeks later and it felt like she had done nothing but mope continuously, refusing to accompany the other girls into town to shop or visit the theatre when they asked her, which for her was more than out of character. Usually she loved to be around people, thrived to be amid a crowd of them, so much did she adore the hustle and bustle of a busy city that was living and heaving with colour, passion, and people.

  But ever since she had met him, something inside her had changed. She felt a heavy regret, and not just because she had allowed herself to be taken in by a rake. A deep pang of resignation twanged painfully within her at the realisation that even if she hadn’t given herself to him so wantonly, she would still be nothing more than a courtesan to him.

  He had probably forgotten that he had ever met her, while she moped about the mews house like a gloomy-faced little thing, unable to think of anything else but the touch of his hand on her bare breast, the feel of his lips against her neck. She had barely eaten, and scarcely slept, and she knew she must be looking as grim as she felt, for Madame du Monsignor had clucked at her like a mother hen, instructing her to take a fortnight’s rest.

  But the madame was right: she should rest. After all, clients came to the house seeking an elegantly witty courtesan to entertain them, and there was no way she could be of any cheer to anyone looking and feeling like this. There was a knock at the door of her room then, and she looked up from the book she was half-heartedly trying to read.

  ‘Yes, who is it?’ she called out to whoever was on the other side of the door. Madame du Monsignor’s familiar voice answered in reply.

  ‘Lenore, my dear, it’s me; open the door.’

  Standing up, she smoothed down the skirts of the cream taffeta dress she wore before crossing the room to open the door curiously.

  ‘This is for you,’ Madame du Monsignor said, her face curious, as she thrust an elaborately wrapped package at her.

  ‘Wh-what is it?’ she stammered, taken aback as, bewildered, she accepted the square, tissue-wrapped box, a delicate blue silk bow adorning the top of it. The woman shrugged her thin shoulders in reply.

  ‘How on earth am I supposed to know, silly girl? A messenger boy brought it, and a message too,’ she said, leaning in to whisper even though there was no one around to overhear their conversation. ‘I think you may have a wealthy admirer, my dear, and what’s more, he told me to tell you he will come to take you out dancing tonight at seven o’clock,’ Madame du Monsignor assured her confidently.

  ‘But wh-who is it?’ she stammered.

  ‘My dear, I told you I don’t know that. But you had better perk yourself up and be ready for him when he comes calling, for it will do you no good at all to have him see you like this, wan-faced and sad-eyed,’ she said in her lilting French accent, pinching Lenore’s cheek affectionately, before bustling past her inside the room. ‘You need some colour in your cheeks and you can start by letting some light into this fusty little room,’ she instructed, pulling the heavy blue velvet drapes open and allowing the sun to stream inside. Lenore just stood there mee
kly, clutching the package as the madame threw open the doors to her closet.

  ‘This colour will suit your complexion exquisitely. You must wear this, Lenore, when he comes for you tonight,’ the other woman instructed her, as she held up a green silk evening gown, her voice businesslike.

  She nodded, feeling a little overwhelmed and not knowing quite what to say. Who was it who was coming for her and what on earth was in the box? She wanted to open it but she also wanted to be alone to do so. As if the woman had read her mind she looked at her, a knowing smile on her face.

  ‘I’ll leave you alone to open your package, my dear,’ she said, replacing the gown in the closet where it had been hanging. In a cloud of eau de violet she was gone, her red silk skirts swishing, the door to the bedroom banging shut behind her.

  Pulling out the little chair from underneath the French Rococo-style dresser that sat in her bedroom, Lenore sat down in it, placing the box on the dresser top and staring at it for a few minutes. She was barely able to bring herself to spoil the eggshell blue tissue paper by opening it, not wanting to unfasten the blue silk ribbon that had been so expertly tied in a perfectly prim little bow. She had been the recipient of a fair few gifts in her lifetime, as one of London’s most successful courtesans, and you didn’t get to the age of 24 in this profession without benefiting from the affections of some rather generous paramours, but even by those standards the wrapping was elaborate.

  And if the wrapping was this fancy, then what awaited her inside? Unable to stand the suspense any longer, she tore into the soft crepe, rending it as she hurriedly scrambled to pull away the soft folds of tissue. The paper gave way to a black velvet box, about the size of a small hatbox. Puzzled, she lifted up the stiff lid, her fingers sinking into the thick, soft velvet. The lid creaked with newness as her slim hands prised it open, and she gasped in delight and disbelief as her eyes alighted on the secret nestled inside, that lay glittering against the black satin lining.