Private Passions

by Felicia Greene

  ‘Yes. I imagine she knows it.’ Grancourt puffed a cloud of smoke up to the ceiling. ‘Why she ran, I think. But… well, forgive my curiosity, Maldon, but when did you start giving a damn about convention?’

  ‘I—well. I don’t.’ Maldon looked sharply at Grancourt. ‘But I think about it for her. An attachment to me would ruin her.’

  ‘How do you know?’ Grancourt shrugged. ‘Have you ever asked her?’

  ‘No. Of course not. I—Lord, Grancourt, can you imagine the ton? Can you imagine what they would whisper about her at balls?’ Maldon shivered. ‘It would be atrocious.’

  ‘The ton already whispers about you. You aren’t welcome in half of London’s ballrooms, and barely tolerated in the other half. Like the rest of the club.’ Grancourt smiled. ‘Have you forgotten about the bawdy-house you run?’

  ‘No. I have not.’ Maldon grimaced. ‘It… it would damage her. It was an abuse of my power as it was, hiring her. Falling for her. I cannot, under any circumstances, make it worse than it already is.’

  ‘She is hardly a maid of sixteen, Maldon. Why, she is near thirty, isn’t she? And from your generally tortured aspect, it would appear that you haven’t pressed your attentions past the point of all gentility.’ Grancourt’s tone was a little gentler now. ‘All is not lost.’

  ‘All was lost before it began.’ Maldon heaved a deep sigh. ‘I am lost.’

  ‘Oh, balls to that.’ Grancourt rolled his eyes. ‘Balls to all of this. All of the sighing and the wandering and the not being brave about the only thing worth being brave about.’ He puffed out a slightly more aggressive cloud of smoke, which settled in an acrid cloud over Maldon. ‘Go and talk to the woman, and talk to her family, or I swear to God I’ll call you out. And I’ll win.’

  ‘Those are heavy words, Grancourt.’ Maldon stared at his friend, half-worried that he wasn’t joking. ‘You didn’t call Bale out.’

  ‘Because Bale had the decency to shut up and marry his beloved, thus leaving me in peace.’ There was an edge of real warning to Grancourt’s words. ‘You, so far, haven’t shown a hint of doing what needs to be done.’

  ‘What needs to be done?’ Maldon sighed again. ‘Aren’t you meant to loathe all forms of romantic expression?’

  ‘I do. I also loathe mustard.’ Grancourt’s expression was forbidding. ‘But those who adore mustard don’t come into my Club, lounge on all of the chairs, and speak longingly of their love for mustard. If they did, I’d be advising them to go and tell it to a mustard-pot.’ He puffed on his cigar. ‘This woman is your mustard-pot, Maldon. Go and tell it to her.’

  Maldon sat for a moment, a hand to his brow. Love, mustard-pots… it was as if he had briefly stumbled into a frightening vision of his own future. He could see himself having this same conversation with Grancourt in one year, five years, ten years; what to do about Ellen Brooke, even if she moved far away from him.

  The thought of being without her settled in Maldon’s chest like lead. It rooted him in such profound melancholy that he half-feared dying of it.

  ‘From what you have told me, your mustard-pot seems like a level-headed sort.’ Grancourt shrugged. ‘Considerably more level-headed than you, at any rate. Go and confess your nonsense, you moping sod.’

  ‘Fine.’ A spark of resolution filled Maldon’s chest as he rose, moving to the door. ‘Grancourt… thank you. For talking sense into me.’

  ‘I’m god-awful at hunting, and I can’t shoot straight.’ Grancourt grinned. ‘If I cannot talk excellent sense into you, then what on earth am I for?’

  The Brooke house stood a little apart from the other houses on the crowded street, as if attempting to demonstrate that its occupants were more genteel than any others within a mile’s radius. Even the bricks were cleaner; Ellen’s mother stood washing the front doorstep, making sure that every inch of the grey-smeared stone sparkled as brightly as it could.

  Ellen looked critically at herself in the cracked bedroom mirror upstairs, adjusting a feather in her bonnet. Turning, trying to see how the line of the bonnet helped or hindered the general effect of her day-gown, she noticed that the hem of her skirts had been snagged.

  Her eyes immediately filled with tears. Shaking her head, biting her lip, Ellen wondered if such ridiculous, exaggerated reactions would ever cease.

  She had cried on four separate occasions since she had arrived home the previous night. The first wave of tears had come as her mother had embraced her; the second as her father had looked at her narrowly, asking her if she was ill. The third had come upon waking, when she had looked at the mackerel-patterned clouds in the sky and been filled with melancholy… and now, well, she was weeping over a slightly imperfect dress.

  She would need to seek work in this gown. It had to be perfect; perfect enough to traipse through any number of genteel, respectable houses, and sit opposite patronising gentlemen and ladies in the hope of being offered meagre, unsatisfying work. Ellen, her soul filling with bile at the very thought of it, fought the urge to rip the gown off and crawl back into bed.

  No. No weeping, no languid melancholy, for women such as herself. No-one would be coming to rescue her, however much she hoped someone would, and so she needed to rescue herself.

  ‘Ellen!’ Her mother’s voice, shot through with anxiety; Ellen stiffened, wondering what on earth could have happened now. ‘Perhaps you could come—no, Your Grace, I really must insist that I—’

  Your Grace. Ellen’s stomach dropped as her heart rose; she stood still, a hand flying to her rapidly beating heart.

  There was no time to do anything; no time to hide under the bed, or climb out of the window, or attempt to look even slightly more beautiful than she currently was. Lord, she had even left the door open; Ellen ran to it, managing to half-close it before a figure appeared on the stairs.

  Maldon. Ellen, her hand trembling on the door, let it swing open as the man approached.

  He looked as wretched as Ellen felt. She took in the dark shadows under his eyes, the slightly sallow air to his skin as he entered her room, and felt such a violent wave of love and guilt that it was all she could do to stay upright.

  When Maldon finally spoke, his voice was the same as ever. Only a slight hesitancy let Ellen know that her perceptions were accurate. ‘I believe I met your mother at the front door. She seemed most concerned.’

  ‘I imagine she was. I never told her that I had begun to work for you. I told her that William Abington needed a night-nurse.’ Ellen shook her head softly. ‘Did she run into the street, barely remembering to put on her bonnet?’

  ‘I had to remind her of it.’ Maldon smiled; Ellen wished his smile didn’t wound her so. ‘She said she had to find your father immediately.’

  ‘He will be helping the vicar to mend part of the church roof.’ Ellen sighed. ‘At least twenty minutes’ walk away.’

  ‘Yes.’ Maldon’s voice lowered a little. ‘She… she does not appear to have realised that she has left us alone together.’

  ‘Of course she hasn’t.’ Ellen rolled her eyes. ‘She will remember, but only after seventeen minutes of so of increasingly panicked walking.’

  Maldon’s soft laughter dwindled to silence. They stared at one another, the air pulsing with unexpressed feeling, before Ellen spoke again.

  ‘What did you say to my mother?’

  Maldon paused before answering; Ellen sensed that he wasn’t telling the entire truth. ‘That my most valued employee had deserted her post.’

  ‘I know. I have been dreadfully silly.’ Ellen looked at Maldon defiantly, wishing he didn’t look quite so handsome. ‘I assure you that I shall return to my post on Monday, as brisk as ever I was. I simply require a little time to—to—’

  She stopped, swallowing, as Maldon approached. Taking her hand in his before she could pull it away, he looked at her with an intensity that Ellen found almost overwhelming.

  ‘As brisk as ever you were?’ The words sounded ridiculous now that he had said them. ‘Could you do tha
t? Could you, in all honesty, do that?’

  ‘I… I do not know.’ Ellen couldn’t pretend; how could anyone pretend when faced with those eyes? ‘I suppose I shall find out.’

  Maldon stared, holding her hand tight. Ellen waited for him to turn away, to joke, or say something harsh—she cried out, unable to stop herself, as Maldon slowly knelt on the bare floorboards.

  ‘I cannot be as brisk as ever I was. I thought I could, but I cannot.’ His voice shook; Ellen quickly knelt to join him, her skirts rustling against the wood. ‘I cannot sleep, or eat, or go to my Club, or… or do anything. Anything at all, without thinking of you.’

  ‘It is an infatuation. Infatuations can be remedied over time. You taught me that.’ Ellen hated the words as they left her lips.

  ‘I know. I also know that this is not infatuation, Ellen Brooke. At least, not for me.’ Maldon took her other hand; Ellen felt his fingers tremble slightly. ‘Because I have felt it for God-knows how long, and all it does is grow stronger. None of the normal tricks work.’ He stared at her, his green eyes bright with emotion. ‘Unless, of course, you were to tell me with your usual briskness that I am simply being stupid, and my sentiments are unwanted. Then, of course, I would never trouble you again.’

  That was all she had to do to save him; to save herself. To set them both back on their destined courses. Ellen tried to form the lie, tried to think about how it could be best expressed, before biting her lip as tears began to fall.

  ‘I cannot.’ She knew her face was crumpling; where was her famous composure now? ‘I cannot.’

  With a soft, pained growl, Maldon pulled her into his arms. Ellen let her head rest against his broad shoulder, her tears soaking into the linen of his shirt as she felt him kiss her hands.

  ‘I am sorry.’ She whispered the words into his coat, sniffing. ‘I have made your life abominably complicated.’

  ‘You have made my life worth living.’ Maldon’s voice only made her cry harder. ‘Please say that I have improved yours in some small way.’

  ‘You are the light of my life, you—you fool. I love you. I love you desperately.’ Ellen tore her hands away from his, gripping the collar of his coat as she looked at him. It had to be a trick of the light; those couldn’t be tears in his eyes. ‘And now I have ruined everything by admitting it.’

  ‘You have made me the happiest man alive by admitting it.’ Maldon’s arms moved tight around her waist, pulling her to him, holding her so tight she gasped. ‘And if I say I love you, Ellen Brooke, have I ruined everything for you? Do you really feel no joy in it?’

  Ellen let out a high, gasping sob as she looked at him, ecstasy twinned inexplicably with pain. ‘Of course I feel joy! How can you ask it? But my joy is irrelevant in the eyes of the world, and—’

  ‘Your joy is not irrelevant to me.’ Maldon bent his forehead to hers, still holding her tight. ‘Your joy is the fulcrum of my universe.’

  ‘You are a duke. I am no-one.’ Ellen shook her head, tears still falling. ‘You will be ostracised, and I will be shamed, and we will begin to hate one another for the damage we have caused in one another’s lives—’

  She stopped, her tears stilling, as Maldon kissed her. A simple kiss, and a soothing one; Ellen, despite the savage emotions in her breast, felt oddly calmed.

  ‘As you say. I am a duke.’ Maldon brought one hand upward; he cupped Ellen’s face, gently stroking it. ‘I am a solvent duke, which is rare—in fact, I am a rich duke, which is rarer still, despite what people think. I am also a duke who has already had the worst of society’s censure, thanks to the trade I have decided to practise. That makes me astonishingly rare.’

  ‘And more than a little arrogant.’

  ‘Yes.’ Maldon smiled gently. ‘Arrogant enough to know that I am very possibly the only duke in England capable of loving you well, Ellen Brooke. Loving you in the way you deserve—both in sunshine, in the gossiping eyes of the world, and in the privacy of our bed. I am uniquely fit to keep you entertained, satisfied and content, body and soul, for the remainder of our days on this earth.’ He stroked a lock of hair behind Ellen’s ear. ‘I would never hate you. I would certainly never hate you for what other people think of us—and would remind you that they think very little of me anyway. Marriage to a good woman will very possibly redeem me in the eyes of a fair few grandmothers.’

  ‘But what if we are ostracised?’ Ellen bit her lip. ‘What if your friends desert you?’

  ‘My friends are happy misfits, as am I. They wouldn’t desert me in my happiest hour.’ Maldon paused. ‘And if they did, we would move to the Continent and spend our days plucking lyres and chasing sheep.’

  ‘How very indolent.’ Ellen tried to smile, but failed. ‘And what if my friends desert me?’

  ‘They will not. I am immensely charming, and would buy them all vast quantities of presents.’ Maldon paused, smiling. ‘And if they desert you, then we will move to the Continent, and spend our days plucking lyres and—’

  He stopped as Ellen kissed him. Pulling back, staring into his steady green gaze, she knew what she had to say.

  ‘If I believe in you, and your promises, then I will give all of myself to you. Body, and soul, and everything beyond it.’ She swallowed, hoping that Maldon understood the strength of her intention. ‘Do not tell me to hang back, or be cautious, or love you less for fear of your love dying—’

  She stopped, newly silenced, as Maldon kissed her. This kiss was raw, dark, hovering on the edge of anger; Ellen eagerly drank in the feel of it, the exquisite abandonment that came with such passion.

  ‘I will love you until death, Ellen Brooke. Until my death, and after it.’ Maldon looked equal parts furious and loving. ‘If you cannot believe that of me, then I do not know how to prove it.’

  ‘Prove it by loving me.’ Ellen kissed him back, tears dampening her cheeks. So strange to cry when she was happy, more happy than she had ever been. ‘By loving me until death, and after.’

  Maldon had expected nothing, coming to the Brooke house—but he had hoped for everything. Hoped so fiercely, for so long, that when Ellen had finally fallen into his arms he could barely believe that it was actually happening.

  Did any man actually get everything he wanted? Looking at Ellen, feeling the sudden, painful hardness as his body awoke to her closeness, Maldon could only conclude that some men did.

  The moment in the viewing room had been an explosion of passion, almost painful in its intensity. Here, in Ellen’s sparse bedroom,there was not enough time—would there ever be enough time?—but there was sunlight, and the scent of her clean skin, and her dark eyes full of an inner light that washed away any lingering shadows.

  He could be gentle now. He could be playful, joyful; when had he last felt that with a woman? Maldon found himself caught up in Ellen’s gentle laughter as she pulled him downward, the floorboards smooth and knotted under his hands as he kissed her. She was here, and willing and his—no man, he was sure of it, had ever been luckier.

  His mind was calmer, but his desire was as strong as it had been the previous time. Perhaps even stronger. He pushed away her bonnet with impatient hands, needing to feel Ellen’s hair against his fingers; Ellen smiled, her back arching as she quickly unfastened the innumerable buttons of her bodice. Maldon responded in kind, tugging his shirt free of his breeches; no time for disrobing completely, but he wanted to feel her bare skin against his, her stiff nipples grazing his chest as their mouths met again.

  He knew she was ready. He himself had been ready for over a month; Maldon could tell by the way Ellen’s hips curved to meet his, the way her breath came fast and steady, that she felt the same way. Still, as Maldon tugged his breeches downward, he felt a sudden tremor of doubt.

  ‘One word, and I’ll take you to a bower of lilies. Or an enchanted forest, or a lighthouse at the edge of the world—or your own bed.’ He held his cock at her entrance, shuddering with pleasure as Ellen’s fingers reached down to grip him. ‘It’s only five feet aw
ay, after all.’

  ‘Five feet will mean having to wait, and I do not want to wait.’ The high, clear colour in Ellen’s cheeks inflamed Maldon almost as much as the feel of her fingers did. ‘You really are the most atrocious employer I have ever worked for.’

  ‘Then I sack you, immediately and unreservedly.’ Maldon ran his cock along the line of her flushed, yielding lips, slowly parting her dark curls. ‘Now I am merely the worst man you have ever worked—’

  ‘Sssh, now.’ Ellen raised an eyebrow, her loose hair and shining eyes impossibly erotic. ‘You speak entirely too much.’

  Maldon, silenced, kissed her with a grin. With a slow, trembling breath, his hands lost in the soft swathe of her skirts, he moaned as he began to sink inside her.

  She was no young maid; she didn’t flinch at the pain when it came, or shy away from his body as he covered her. Maldon watched Ellen in quiet, quivering awe, unable to resist growling with pleasure as she shifted her hips to accommodate him further. She was so warm, so wet, so tight… Maldon gritted his teeth, uncomfortably aware of how close he already was to finishing.

  By the time he was fully, deeply inside her, Ellen was panting as she tightened around him. The cold of the room, the hardness of the floor, meant nothing; Ellen was everything, her hot, dripping core welcoming him, her fingers tight against his bare neck as she urged him onward.

  Soon Maldon was lost in quiet infinity of slow, playful thrusts, of sighing and kissing and low, intimate laughter as they found new points of pleasure, new ways to spark bliss through strokes and murmurs. There was no need to delay his climax anymore as it steadily built; Maldon let his thrusts become deeper, let his passion overcome his reason, in the sure and happy knowledge that there would be a thousand more of such moments for he and Ellen to share.

  ‘And this, my love? Do you like it like this?’ He moved his hips, thrusting deeper; Ellen’s ecstatic sigh as she tightened around him let Maldon know that she did, but he wanted to hear her say it. ‘Does it please you?’