Saving Grace: Fair Cyprians of London

by Beverley Oakley

  She cupped his head and brought his face down to hers.

  His response was immediate. Electric. His arms went round her, crushing her to him, his mouth encompassing hers completely. She could feel his heart beating fast and furious as he sucked her lip, burning her with the heat of his passion, his tongue tangling with hers, until she could take no more and thought she would drown of need.

  “I want you,” she whispered. “Now! Take me!”

  “And I want you!” He felt for her entrance so he could position himself. “I want to show you I can be both willing slave and obliging master,” he breathed with a touch of the old humour she remembered.

  Over his shoulder her gaze raked the length of their bodies, so nearly joined as one. Just as she’d dreamed of for so long. He dipped his fingers once more into her silken heat before she felt the swell of his erection begin to breach her entrance.

  “Oh!”

  They gasped in unison, the sound a catalyst for the cataclysmic reactions that followed as he again sheathed himself fully in her.

  “Dear God,” he moaned, twining one hand behind her head to keep her face close to his while the other gripped her bottom. Her skin burned at his touch, her heart beat furiously and she thought she would die of pleasure as she felt his fullness inside her, a testament to his possession and, she could pretend for a brief moment, his love.

  “Oh, David,” she whispered on the faintest breath as together they bucked and rode each other to the summit of their pleasure.

  With her cheek tucked into the crook of his neck she shuddered with him to the end.

  “Oh, dear Lord, that was magnificent!” he crowed, holding her tightly, his breathing still heavy as he gently played his fingers against her sex as if her twitching amused him.

  As if wanting to prolong the pleasure of their coupling at the same time as reassuring himself her responses were brought on by him alone.

  She brought his face round so she could kiss him lightly, lingeringly on the lips.

  He did not stop smiling. Reaching out, he touched her cheek, toyed with her hair.

  Grace gazed into his eyes. They could not see, but they still registered the depth of his emotion. Did he feel this was more than the practised arts of a consummate courtesan? She’d certainly never felt this depth of feeling before.

  David opened his mouth to speak and Grace tilted her head. This had meant something more to him. If she could feel it, surely he could, too?

  Did she have the courage to speak the truth? Would he believe the woman he truly believed had betrayed him? A whore, what’s more?

  Resolve ebbed and flowed, deserting her as a loud voice sounded in the passage outside.

  6

  “Good God, what den of iniquity have I entered?”

  The sound of footsteps crossing the floorboards after the door was thrust open had David instinctively holding Grace to his chest in a gesture of protectiveness.

  “Happy Birthday and all that, cuz. Is this the wicked little surprise Aunt Bertha funded for your majority? Let’s have a look at her, then? I’ll give you my verdict. You, after all, have only her word to go on—and your dear mama’s—so neither are exactly reliable.”

  Burrowing against David, Grace gripped him as if he were her last hope. Horror clawed inside her like a frenzied beast. She didn’t have to see who their visitor was. Laurence’s arrogant drawl was ingrained in her memory. He was the man who had ruined her life. Ruined the life she and David had planned together. Destroyed her reputation, filled her with fear, sapped her of hope and now threatened to embroil her in his sick, poisonous power all over again.

  “Can’t you see I’m entertaining? Get out, Laurence.” David spoke with more authority than Grace had ever heard.

  She felt a tiny spark of hope. That she could survive this. Then she heard Laurence’s laugh. Harsh and familiar. He never let anything go.

  And he was not about to start now.

  “Nice rump. Your mama chose a ripe one. Come on. Let’s see what else she has to offer.”

  David’s voice was crisp and Grace felt the effort it cost him to retain control.

  “Get out, Laurence!”

  She registered his cousin’s advancing footsteps. David did too. And he was clearly concerned for her dignity for he rose from the bed, still holding Grace against his chest as he ordered, “Pass me the dressing gown from behind the screen. I’ll be damned if you think you can thrust yourself in here with no requisite courtesies. Do as I say!”

  To her surprise she heard Laurence’s footsteps hesitate. Retreat.

  Could she really be granted such a reprieve?

  But no, he’d merely compromised to the extent of snapping the dressing-gown off its hook for now he was advancing towards them again.

  The hated caramel tones filled her with revulsion as he protested, “No, no, allow me to help the lady regain her modesty.”

  The familiar arrogance, violence lurking just beneath the surface, made her tremble uncontrollably.

  “I don’t want your help.” Grace buried her head further into David’s chest and he held her tightly as if he really could protect her.

  “She doesn’t want you, Laurence.”

  “She hasn’t seen me yet, little cuz. Why, I might be her next customer … if I like her. She gets paid by the client, doesn’t she? Tell me, my coy maiden, was he good? It was his first time, though you probably know that already.” He gave a mocking laugh. “I can promise you much more satisfaction.”

  David’s fists clenched. For a moment Grace thought he would strike out, leaving her vulnerable, but he continued to hold her close.

  She felt the coolness of the silk dressing-gown as it covered her shoulders.

  Then Laurence’s fingers digging into her upper arm as he jerked her away, forcing her head up to look at him.

  The astonishment that swept away his arrogance held him frozen with shock, but not for long enough.

  Not long enough for her to strike out, struggle from his grasp and make her escape.

  Oh no, he was not going to let her go a second time. He was motivated by more than simple desire this time.

  No, there was Laurence’s pride. She’d fought against him when he’d first forced himself on her, screaming her disgust. Then it was just the two of them. Now he had David to consider.

  “Oh my God, you little slut—it’s you!”

  His shocked exclamation was truncated by a burst of laughter as he gave her a shake to disorient her before holding her away from him, surveying her as a hunter might survey his prey.

  “Presented to me on a platter, so to speak.”

  The relish in his tone was terrifying. “Dear me, but I did enjoy our last little encounter. I was so disappointed to hear you’d left without a word.”

  David put out a hand, his tone bleak. “You know her?”

  Laurence jerked her out of reach, his mouth twisted in an ugly smile. “I’ve sampled her wares, yes. Tasty little morsel. I have a mind to have another go. What’s your going rate these days?”

  Grace struggled. For a moment she couldn’t speak for the horror that was unfolding around her.

  “Get away!” she managed to rasp. “I’d rather die than have you touch me again!” Her voice was rising. She could feel hysteria choking her. Laurence was in control. As he always had been.

  David took a faltering step forward and Grace reached out, desperate to be within his protective hold once more, pleading with his cousin, “Let me go. You have no right to do this. You never had any right. You destroyed—”

  Roughly, Laurence snatched her back to him, clamping his hand roughly across her mouth.

  She bit into it sharply and with an oath he loosened his grip enough for Grace to pull away.

  She turned, looking wildly for an escape, but Laurence was barring the doorway.

  She was trapped. He would have her. Make her pay for belittling him. Then he would humiliate David by forcing himself upon her in this very room. She knew
how he worked.

  “What the hell!”

  She jerked round. David had hurled himself upon the back of his unsuspecting cousin and the two now grappled on the floor, David on top. But a blind man would not hold the advantage for long.

  Still, it would allow her time to escape.

  Holding the silk dressing-gown about her, she ran towards the door. If she could just get back to Madame Chambon’s she would be safe.

  Her hand was already upon the doorknob when she heard David’s cry.

  Turning, she saw the determination with which he clung to Laurence, whose flailing fingernails had smeared bloody scratch marks across David’s face.

  No, she could not leave him. Not like this.

  But what about her? Grace? The hatred in Laurence’s eye should be enough to convince her that he would stop at nothing to satisfy his warped impulses. David was his cousin, his equal in rank. David would be all right.

  But she wouldn’t. An inferior from the gutter. Grace had to think of her own safety and there was too much at stake if she stayed.

  She registered her expensive ensemble: cuirass and skirt, crumpled beside the chair near where the two men fought, her little veiled hat nearby. A sparkle of silver twinkled in a ray of sun that slanted through the window. She stared at it, confused at first before realising that here lay the answer. Protruding neatly from the brim of her hat.

  Rushing forward, she seized the hatpin at the same moment Laurence grasped her ankle.

  Oh God, she was going to fall.

  Yet even as she felt her balance going she plotted how she could use the force of her fall and the angle of her trajectory to her advantage.

  Her aim was not perfect but good enough.

  With a scream of pain Laurence released her as the point of the hatpin drove through the thin flesh between his thumb and forefinger.

  “David, hold him!” Grace shrieked as she sprawled beside them and with surprising agility David flung out an arm which found its mark, though Laurence would be only temporarily overcome.

  Grace scrambled to her feet as she sought an escape for both of them, knowing Laurence’s wound was not debilitating and that once he tore the deadly point from his flesh he’d be like a mad dog.

  She lunged for her high-heeled half kid boots. Grasping the chair to balance herself she brought the right foot down sharply upon his hand, then bent quickly to snatch the hatpin from his grasp before brandishing it in line with his right eye. David was still holding him immobile.

  “An eye for an eye,” she hissed above his screams, as if she really could carry out the gruesome threat.

  “Stop the bitch! David, she’s mad!” Laurence shrieked, twisting his head from side to side while he tried to release himself from his cousins’s grip. “She has a needle pointing at my eye!”

  With shaking hands, Grace held the needle steady. Never had she felt so fuelled by venom. This man deserved everything he had coming to him. He’d destroyed her life. She drew in a breath and forced herself to speak evenly. “Tell David what you did to me. Tell him what you did and why you did it.”

  Infuriatingly, the corners of Laurence’s mouth turned up. He’d stopped his shrieking. He drew out the pause while Grace’s trembling increased.

  Mary, Mother of God, please make him admit the truth.

  She’d believed herself forsaken years ago but if someone would just hear her prayer she’d never ask for anything again.

  Laurence gave a little laugh and swivelled his eyes in David’s direction. “Would you believe what a whore will extract under duress?” he drawled. “David, I suggest it’s time to summon the full force of the law before your afternoon’s dalliance gets even more expensive and there’s blood everywhere.”

  Tensely, Grace watched the play of emotions cross David’s face. To her relief there was no uncertainty.

  David shifted position, as if to anchor his cousin more securely beneath him. “Answer her, Laurence.” There was a curious note to his voice.

  Grace flicked her tongue over dry lips. “Tell David about the letter.” Her whisper was barely audible. “About where you found it.”

  She registered David’s new awareness in the level, warning tone he used to repeat, quietly, “Yes, Laurence, tell me about the letter. Where did you find it?”

  His request was greeted by silence. Grace lowered the needle menacingly, aware Laurence had the power to knock her off balance again, and to burst from David’s choke-hold but that he knew the risks he took to do so.

  The silence lengthened. Grace made a small movement he was obviously unwilling to see translated into action, for finally he muttered, “I found it in Grace’s room.”

  “Grace’s room?” repeated David.

  Clearly David had been expecting some momentous disclosure yet his tone registered shocked disbelief. “In the attic? What were you doing there?”

  After a reluctant pause Laurence muttered, “Waiting for her. I had a proposition to make. While I was waiting I went through her drawers.”

  “How dare you?” David’s voice dripped disgust. He gripped a handful of his cousin’s hair and yanked.

  Laurence howled and jerked his head. Not too vigorously, though, for Grace kept the needle positioned within a few inches of his eye. His tone was whining, self justifying as he replied, “Your mother was concerned at the inappropriate friendship between the two of you. She sanctioned me.”

  Grace drew in a shuddering breath then whispered, “She didn’t sanction you to do what you did two days later.” Hatred filled her, making her voice hoarse and unsteady as she demanded, “Tell David what your proposition was!”

  Laurence twisted his head away from the point of the needle and Grace moved accordingly. He muttered, “I wanted Grace to be my photographic model. She was so willing to give you hours of her time to paint her I assumed she’d be just as happy to oblige me with a few moments to photograph her.”

  Grace lowered the needle a fraction. “Yes, but what did you propose … exactly?”

  Silence.

  Furiously, Grace stabbed the needle into his shoulder, raising it above his eye once again as he yelled with pain.

  “All right, I threatened I’d show your mother the letter I’d found in Grace’s drawer.”

  “Which letter?”

  “The letter about going to Florence.”

  Grace saw cognition register in David’s unseeing gaze as he asked, slowly, “So Grace agreed to let you photograph her provided you kept my secret?”

  Laurence nodded but David couldn’t see. “Answer me!” he said harshly and Laurence burst out angrily, “Grace came to my studio and I arranged her as I would any other model.”

  David obviously saw where this was going. Angrily he said, “Only you coerced her to remove her clothes.” The bitterness in his tone grew. “And she did because she thought it was the only way to keep my letter … my secret … my hopes safe from my mother.”

  Laurence’s silence was answer enough.

  Holding her breath, Grace watched David battle the silent fury within before he screamed, “And then you raped her!” Seizing his cousin by the shoulders he raised him with unnatural force and slammed his head into the floor.

  Grace watched the violence with grim satisfaction, Laurence crying out with pain as David continued to shout, “You raped her and made her pregnant! Mama dismissed her. She had nowhere to go. Her life was destroyed because of you! All our plans were destroyed because of you!”

  “David, stop!” Suddenly Grace was frightened by the extent of his rage as he continued to pound Laurence’s head upon the floor. His strength was being channelled from forces greater than any of them could control and Laurence’s life was in danger unless David could be calmed.

  The sound of the door grinding open and Mrs Willowbank’s shocked cry made David drop his hands.

  “My God, what is happening?” Mrs Willowbank rushed forward as David rose from Laurence’s chest. With a cursory glance at Grace she spat, “An
d you … Miss Fortune or whoever you are, get out! You’re the cause of this, aren’t you? I paid for a high-class prostitute, not a common whore.”

  “How dare you, mother?” David warned in a low voice.

  Mrs Willowbank spun round. “I want the slut out of here.”

  “She’s not going anywhere.” David had risen. He stood, tall and straight. Confident. He took a challenging step forward and reached out for Grace, who stepped forward, relief making her shoulders sag as she felt his protective arm go round her. “This is not Miss Fortune and you will treat her with respect.” A flicker of emotion crossed his face. There was a fraction of a second’s uncertainty as he glanced across at Grace, almost as if she might object, before he pushed back his shoulders and said, “Miss Fortune is going to be my wife.”

  “Your wife?” Mrs Willowbank gave a shout of hysterical laughter. “Have you taken leave of your senses? She’s addled your brain. Why, this creature has walked off the streets—”

  “Where you and Laurence condemned her.” David’s voice shook but there was a hard, threatening edge that made even his mother flinch. “Laurence forced himself on her then you dismissed her. I hope you’re ashamed. Yes, this is Grace who used to work at Barton Manor and as today I came into my majority and can do what I like, I am going to marry her. Just like I promised all those years ago.”

  7

  Six weeks later

  Standing behind Grace as she leaned back against him, David smiled as his seeking fingers traced the delicate pattern around her eyes. A gentle breeze stirred the open shutters as they gazed out over the city.

  “The sun is making you squint. I can feel its warmth on my skin,” he murmured.

  Grace shivered with pleasure. She felt lazy and peaceful. A little over a month ago she and David had sought comfort in each other’s arms in David’s London bedchamber just after Laurence and Mrs Willowbank had tried to direct their lives once more. They’d both been shivering, on that occasion, too. From fear.