by Jane Lark
Edward took her elbow, his fingers as gentle as ever, unaware of her change of heart. “I ordered food, I didn’t know if you’d already eaten. I thought just bread and cheese, and ale. I’m sorry the place is humble, but it seems clean. I didn’t think you would wish to risk looking for anywhere more luxurious. We are certain to meet no one who would recognize us here.”
She nodded.
His fingers at her elbow, he guided her into a dingy hall and led her upstairs. The paint was tarnished and chipped in places, but he was right, it was clean.
Edward stopped at the second door and bent to set a key in the lock. The door creaked as he pushed it open and then he stood back and held out his hand, encouraging her to pass.
Her breath caught in her lungs as she stepped inside, remembering what they had done before.
A single tall, thin, window in the far wall let in light and the muted sounds of the street. The room was still gray though, as the day was cloudy. It wreaked a little of stale tobacco and was simply furnished, but she had hardly expected a palace. The narrow double bed stood against the back wall. In the opposite corner a single wooden chair faced a small square table, which from the ingrained ink stains, had often served as a desk. A flat topped wooden chest stood at the end of the bed. She crossed the room pulling her hands from the fur muff, discarded it on the desk and walked to look from the window, down onto the busy pavement and street below.
She felt Edward’s hand rest on her waist, his fingers urging her to turn to him. She did, her hands lifting to his shoulders as his head lowered and his lips found hers.
His hand slipped from her waist and splayed at the small of her back, while his other settled on her side, the heel of his palm resting at the edge of her breast, his fingers curving about her ribs.
All self-pitying thoughts over the inadequacy of their surroundings, or the opinion of the landlord, vanished, absorbed and diminished by his kiss. As long as she was with Edward, in whatever capacity, she found she didn’t care. Her lips parted for his tongue and her fingers gripped his hair as his hand slid between them searching for the buttons of her pelisse. His leather clad fingers were cold as they skimmed the curve of her breast which swelled above the square neck of her gown. He broke the kiss, smiled and looked down at the front fastening of her dress. Then he bit one finger of his glove, tugged it off and tossed it onto the desk.
She laughed at the roughish smile he cast her before returning his concentration to the buttons of her bodice. Once they were free he recommenced their kiss and slipped his fingers into her bodice. A rush of desire slid through her stomach.
A hard knock struck the bedroom door, then without bidding she heard the sharp, sudden creak as it opened.
Edward broke the kiss abruptly and turned, setting his body between her and the door.
Her fingers touched her lips and looking down she saw the milk white skin of her breast as a stark contrast to the dark navy of her pelisse and day dress, she felt like a whore again—I don’t care.
“Set it down and go!”
“Sir, as you wish,” the gruff landlord answered in a mocking tone.
Undoubtedly the man had deliberately entered to see more. When the door shut Edward crossed the room and turned the key in the lock, then he collected the tray and set it down on the chest.
Ellen’s shaking fingers withdrew her hatpin and removed her hat. She set it down by her muff, then pulled off her gloves and set them down too. Next she slid off her pelisse while he poured two mugs of ale and moved to light a fire in the hearth.
This situation was dream like. She did not feel like herself at all. Laying her folded pelisse over the back of the single chair, Ellen watched the flames catch the wood in the hearth. She was reminded for a moment of nights beneath the stars with Paul, about an open campfire. Life had seemed so simple then, despite their poverty and the hardship they’d endured daily. She had felt like a queen because Paul loved her, all else, all other worries, had paled into insignificance. And now?
Edward’s task complete, she watched him rise from his haunches and shrug off his heavy wool greatcoat. It was the height of male fashion. On Gainsborough it looked gregarious, on Edward it extolled his muscular physique.
Discarding his other glove with hers, he then laid his coat over her pelisse before rubbing his hands together, warming his fingers.
“Had you been waiting for me long at the park?”
“No.” He smiled, clearly offering reassurance. “Have I been waiting for you for long before the park? Yes, all my life.” He let the statement fall as though it meant nothing, as though it was a joke at his own expense, but his tone implied it was more than that. Then, as if regretting his revealing jest, he immediately crossed to the tray, offering to cut her a slice of the sweet scented fresh bread. She accepted and watched him cut some bread and cheese and set it on a plate with a spoonful of plum chutney.
Could she really believe he had stronger feelings for her too?
“Thank you.” She took the plate from his hands and moved to sit on the edge of the bed, hitching up her dress a little so she could rest one knee on the mattress and face him, while her other foot dangled to the floor.
He filled a plate for himself, came around the other side of the bed and lay down on his side. His booted feet hanging over the edge of the bed, he bent his elbow and rested his head in the palm of one hand.
The pose was boyish.
A sharp pain struck her chest, running into her breast as she thought of John. Her secret. But blinking away tears she continued eating, hiding her reaction.
“How did you end up with Gainsborough?” His question was nonchalantly put, but she could see the tension in his jaw suggesting it was something he’d applied considerable thought to. It was a question she had dreaded from his lips. She could not answer it, not yet, perhaps not ever. She would have to be certain of his loyalty first.
“I’d rather not speak of it.” She closed that conversation down and in return, picked the only thing she knew about him to change the subject. “Is your brother glad to be home?”.
“And there you choose my sensitive subject.” He sat up, finishing off his slice of bread, and brushed the crumbs from his morning coat. “I believe Robert is not thrilled with the prospect of knuckling down to life as an Earl, but he hardly has a choice. As for his skill? That is my issue. Or rather Robert’s lack of skill. But then he has the knowledge of his steward so he does not need mine. Although I admit he did write to call me back to Farnborough this week, but I believe it was more to sooth my vanity than from any real need. And no, Ellen, I do not intend to go.” His fingers covered hers on the bed as he answered the unspoken question he must have seen in her eyes.
“Would you go if not for me?”
He smiled, swallowed, and for the first time she saw a vulnerable look in his eyes. “Yes.”
It was the truth, nothing more, she knew that, and she refused to risk reading anything more into it. But mentally she clung to the hope which the single word insinuated—this was more than sex. Yet she was too afraid to ask if she was right, she couldn’t bear hearing him deny it. It had hardly been a statement of undying love.
Picking up their plates, he set them back on the chest at the end of the bed. Then he moved to lie back down, opening his arms to her. “Ellen?”
She went to him, kissing him as he embraced her. She wanted to give him back the attention he’d given her at the club. Her fingers searched for his coat buttons as his slid her dress from a shoulder and he took control of the kiss she’d begun, pressing her back onto the bed.
Breathless, she refused to concede, fighting to undress him first. It was different today. There was more urgency.
Suddenly untangling their limbs, he pulled away, smiling, dark intensity glowing in his eyes as he stood and held out his hand.
“Perhaps it would be easier if we stand.”
Her stomach full of butterflies, she accepted his hand. She felt foolish and nervous. She w
anted this to be perfect.
“Let me lead today,” she urged, reaching for his coat buttons again.
Laughter, interest and expectation all glinted in his eyes. “If you wish.”
“I wish, Edward,” she answered, slipping his buttons loose. Her fingers shaking, she did not look at his eyes.
When his buttons were loose he took off his coat and she stripped off her dress, feeling more uncertain.
She knew how to be a whore. She was unsure of how to be herself. But she wanted to please him. She wanted this to be right, as she’d imagined it could be.
“Ellen?” His hand on her arm and at her nape, he kissed her and her body turned to jelly but again she grasped for control. Leading would be novel. She wished this to be different.
She broke their kiss and urged, “Let me, Edward,” pushing him back onto the bed.
A short sound of humor left his throat.
Ignoring his mockery she turned and bent over to pull off his boot.
“That’s a beautiful view, Ellen,” he jested laying his palms on her bottom.
Smacking his hands away, she said, “Instead of mocking me you could remove your cravat.”
“I wasn’t mocking,” he responded, but complied.
It felt so strange being with him, extraordinary and unexpected.
His boot fell to the floor along with his stocking as his cravat sailed over her shoulder. She pulled at his other boot while she felt his fingers tugging the laces of her light corset.
The other boot fell and her corset dropped to the floor.
She turned.
He was lifting his shirt off over his head revealing his glorious chest.
She smiled as their eyes met and he stood. She knew he’d seen her admiration and she felt cold and uncomfortable suddenly as he tossed his shirt onto the pile of clothing on the floor.
Her fingers spread over the ridges and hollows of his stomach.
He gripped her chemise and lifted it.
Naked to the waist, Ellen blushed, and smiled when he did, her gaze clinging to his as her shaking fingers freed his buttons and his tugged loose the ribbon of her drawers.
His eyes were full of longing—the same longing she’d seen there that night in the club. The air left her lungs. His desire frightened her today because it meant so much more to her now. He had promised things to her. She wished to give in return. She wanted this to be right. Forcing her courage, she stepped forward and slid her arms about his neck, pressing her breasts against his chest and her lips to his. I love you. Foolish, foolish words.
Need clutched his groin as her slim, soft body pressed flush against him. His fingers slid up the slender column of her neck and into the roots of her hair as he plundered her mouth, cradling her scalp. God, he loved her.
Her hair fell, cascading about her shoulders and pins dropped to the floor. A mewling sound suggesting satisfaction leaked from her mouth.
He gripped her hips ready to lift her to the bed but she pushed his hands away and broke the kiss.
“Let me,” she said again, her pale gaze clashing with his.
Compliant, he stood still, breathing deeply while her eyes followed her gentle touch as it explored the contours of his chest. He was entranced by her, watching her as she watched her fingertips skim over his skin.
Her dark eyelashes contrasted starkly with her pale blue eyes and her black hair lay across the alabaster of her shoulders. There was not a single blemish on her skin.
Her gentle fingers brushed over his biceps and arms before they gripped his hands and then her thumbs pressing into his palms she dropped to kneel on the rough floorboards. The air froze in his lungs.
Oh God.
He should not let her do this. He did not wish her to work her craft. But the pleasure was excruciating. She knew how to drive a man mad.
A shiver raked his skin as he watched her. He was lost.
When she let go of his hands, his fingers instinctively threaded into her hair, cupping her scalp and following her rhythm.
After a while, burning with an unbearable hunger, his thumb pressed into her mouth and urged her to stand, his heart pulsing.
“Ellen,” his hand held her scalp as he kissed her. She did things to his insides he could not explain, made him feel weak. He leaned her back until she tumbled onto the bed. But then her palms pressed against the pectoral muscles of his chest and stopped him again.
“Ah.” He conceded with a frustrated humorous grunt, rolling to his back and giving her the lead once more.
She was blushing when she straddled his waist, her eyes watching him and her cold palms on his chest.
He recalled the sensation of entering her. It had been in his dreams ever since that first night. But when she descended it was not at all the same, it felt forced, unbearably abrasive and painful.
Clarity hit him like a bucket of iced water. Hell. She was watching him clearly looking for response, busy giving him what she thought he wanted—Cyprian style. This was solicitation. She was not in the least aroused.
His body mentally and physically revolted, angry and shaking, he gripped her waist and set her aside. Then leaving her there he climbed from the bed, escaping his disgust.
Lord.
Damn.
He reached for the mug of ale and drank; his eyes focusing on anything but her. You heartless fucking bastard, Edward! He’d let her ply her trade because it suited him. It wasn’t like that. What they’d done at the club had not been like that! Had it? Not like Gainsborough and any others she’d bedded.
Bile rose in his throat. He was sickened to think she’d felt forced into this—by him. What on earth did she hope to gain by it? Or did she simply not know better?
He looked back at her. “That is not what I want, Ellen.” His voice shook as badly as his nerves.
She looked stricken, bewildered, kneeling on the bed and watching him with an expression of confused pain, her fingers clutching the covers. “I don’t want to have sex with you if you do not desire it. You owe me no debt. If all you want is help I will help you without this.” The anger in him dissipated suddenly as in a cracked tone he gave her the option honour demanded; even though his desire was a living entity inside him, belying every word. “If you would rather go, or just talk, tell me?”
The distress in her wide eyes was tragic, a scene drawn directly from a Greek play, Diana cast out by Zeus. His gaze swept her body in an instant, from the crown of her head, over her pert breasts, to the curve of her waist and her slightly parted thighs. Heaven only knew how he would walk away but he would if she denied him. His eyes lifted back to her face and he met her gaze.
He wanted to go to her, to soothe away the tears he could see there, but he wouldn’t do it, not until he was certain this was her choice as much as his. If he comforted her, coerced her with arousal, he would never know the truth.
“I want to give you what you gave me.” She answered quietly. He’d drained the last of her confidence.
A lump lodging in his throat, he took a swig of the ale to clear it and then set down the pewter mug.
“Ellen…” He went to her, sitting on the bed but not close. Not knowing what to say.
Her hands covered her face, hiding a blush which ran down her neck and a mortified sob escaped the barrier of her hands.
He could not leave her suffering. “Ellen.” He gripped her hands, pulled them down, then braced her chin and held her gaze to his. “What gives me pleasure is you wanting me.” He threw a disgusted glance at the bed, where they’d lain. “Not, that damned performance of it.” Then looking at her again, he said, “Whatever you do with me, you do because you want to, Ellen, not because you feel you should. If you don’t want anything physical between us, neither do I.”
“I want to.” Her lips clamped shut on the childlike denial. It was a boon, at least she’d meant to please him and not felt pressured.
“I’ll put it another way, Ellen, do nothing for me unless it gives you pleasure too.” Sucking
in a shuddering breath, his fingers fell from her chin as he finally released the knot of anger and revulsion inside him. “I am not an imbecile, Ellen, you aren’t even aroused. Gainsborough may not care, but I do. God, it revolts me to think you would equate me with him.” He shrugged off his anger. “Do you want something to drink?”
She shook her head, then slid her slender arms about his neck and pressed her lips to his, her weight knocking him back to the bed.
This time he was more cautious, keeping his head and letting her lead the kiss, his fingers tracing across her back and buttocks. Even those gentle curves were perfection. He curled his fingers and ran them up her side, brushing the swelling curve of her breast which pressed against his chest. He felt rather than heard her reactive sigh, it was the pressure of soft flesh against his chest and warm air in his mouth.
Her leg slid across his thigh. He bent his knee.
Clenching her buttock, blood beat in his veins and hunger burned in his stomach but he was not letting his reins go, not yet.
With her cold fingers gripping him he returned her kiss waiting until he was sure she understood this was for them both. And when she pressed down and he was certain he let his primal beast roar and rip free, his hands clasping her as his thigh pressed back.
“Ellen.” He breathed her name as though in pain. Then she was battling against him for control as before. It was intoxicating, the way he caressed her, distracting. She could not think and he took control his hands all over her.
Ellen clung to him, falling into ecstasy. It spun delicious pain into her nerves, and left her limbs limp and shaking.
“Edward!” she screamed as he tumbled her onto her back and leaned over her, his muscles taut with intent.
She was not conceding. She was not giving him control. She wanted to lead. She wanted the novelty, the feeling of power, to know she could, to know he’d let her, to feel equal. What he’d said was true, she’d been too nervous to be aroused before, thinking too much, but her motives were unchanged. She wanted this to be different. Her breathing heavy she held him back. “Let me, I want to lead.”