The Illicit Love of a Courtesan

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 wanted 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 quivered 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 humour 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 lodged 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.”

His dark eyes shone like glass. He clearly did not understand. She saw the question in his eyes that said, why. But again he did not deny her and rolled back. “As you wish, Ellen. Have your way.”

She was going to. She was determined to do this as she wished. ‘Whatever you do with me, you do because you want to.’ There was so much promise in those words. This was much more than sex.

She straddled his magnificent body and splayed her fingers on his sculpted chest.

He was silent and unmoving, bar the lift of his chest as he breathed.

She sank down.

He did not push her away, his fingers clasped her thighs and his jaw clenched.

She bit her lip, watching him. He appeared drunk, his gaze holding hers. This was how she’d imagined it. Just like this. Adoration shone in his eyes.

Her fingers slipped to the muscle of his abdomen. The sensation inside her swept all else away. Being with him was beautiful. Her spirit soared. Her personal litany of his possession ringing in her thoughts—release—escape—this is not just fulfilment of the flesh—this is more.

It is more!

And he was so unknown to her, nothing more than a stranger really, yet she felt so close to him emotionally as though she’d known this would happen between them all her life. It felt right.

He reached up and pulled her down.

As she returned his kiss she knew this was no longer her working a craft she’d learnt with other men or him displaying skill, this was them, bound together.

Weeks ago, in the gaming-hell, she’d been afraid of letting go—now she raced towards it with obsession. The only noise she could hear was their breath. She was transfixed by the way he could make her feel, intoxicated. Her fingernails bit into the muscle across his ribs as the brink came in a rush, chasing through her body, a flame dancing and flaring across her already heightened senses as her fingernails dug deeper.

His strong hands took control, holding her fiercely. His movement was urgent as she clung to him, her mouth against his, unable to return his kiss.

A primal cry escaped from deep in his chest and filled her open mouth. Then he was hastily lifting her from him.

She felt a shiver rake his muscle and heat on her stomach as she hugged him.

For a moment he didn’t move just lay still with his eyes closed. But when they opened he smiled and tumbled her backwards onto the bed, humour shining in his gaze before he pressed a kiss on her lips. There was gratitude in it and his hand lay lightly on her hip.

When he rolled onto his back, she pillowed her head on his shoulder and slid her leg over his, letting her hand rest on his midriff.

He drew the sheet across her and wiped her stomach. Then his hand fell on her hair and his fingers sifted through it while his other hand trailed circles on her upper arm. She fell asleep.

Chapter Four

Fully clothed, Edward lifted his weight from where it had rested on the windowsill. He could see her fingers shaking as she secured the buttons at the chest of her pelisse. He moved forward, caught her hands, set them aside and took over the task. She looked up studying his face as he did. He did not meet her gaze.

He hadn’t left her long to dress. He couldn’t bring himself to wake her any earlier. She’d looked so peaceful in sleep, young. Again he wondered at the fact that she was the older of the two of them. Age had not touched her beauty. She could pass for a debutante in her first season.

Season? A sound of humour escaped his throat bringing a question to her gaze.

He shook his head.

She was no debutante. What she was, was a courtesan who’d bluntly refused to speak of her origin. Yet his brain could not equate her with a woman of anything less than reasonable birth. It was in the tone of her voice, her posture. His mind turned to the one thing he knew—her trade was not her choice—then wondered at the cause. An over eager lover who had taken her virtue and not offered marriage?

Who was the family who’d turned its back? Or did she have none? No father, no brothers to protect her. No wonder her beauty had brought her to this.

He couldn’t think of it.

His gloved fingers skimming her cheek, her pale blue eyes met his, so starkly different to the luxurious fall of her ebony hair. He was so moved by her beauty.

She looked saddened by their need to part, but there was no other option. He’d seen what Gainsborough could do to her. He couldn’t let her take risks until he’d worked out what to do. If she’d told him how she’d met Gainsborough it may have helped, but she clearly wasn’t going to make helping her easy. He needed to think.

She turned away from his touch, picked up her hat and re-secured it, then pulled the veil across her face.

“Are you ready?” she asked, turning back.

He nodded, taking a breath, almost afraid to ask the question he longed to in case she refused. “May we meet tomorrow?”

Her expression was uncertain but she nodded none the less, blushing and turning away from him again to collect her gloves.

“Not here though, somewhere else.” She spoke with her back to him, pulling on her gloves and then picking up the muff.

Edward stepped forward, clasping her waist and then pulling her against him so that he could kiss the delicate skin behind her ear. “I could pick you up in a hackney if you wished, if you tell me where to meet you?”

She turned in his arms and pressed one gloved palm to his cheek, a shallow smile touching her lips and happiness warming her eyes again. “I can wait for you on the corner of Jermyn Street at eleven, but you must not be late.”

“I shan’t be.”

Her lips brushed his.

The doorknob rattled and Ellen jerked back and stepped away.

It was undoubtedly another ploy of the landlord’s to play voyeur. “Y’u done yet? Yu’r time’s up!”

Ellen’s chin lifted and he recognised her distaste for clandestine assignations. He didn’t like them either but until he decided how to free her from Gainsborough they could not meet openly.

“We’re leaving!” Edward barked back at the door, taking her elbow as she slid both hands into her muff.

When they left the room the landlord was standing outside, a smirk on his ugly face.

Edward’s fist balled, but Ellen’s fingers closed over it, briefly, before she walked on ahead. He assumed her silent implication said it would do no good. She was right of course.

She must have experienced years of such disparaging looks and cruel comments. In response, he saw the shell she’d developed to shield her through those years draw into place. Her shoulders stiffened, her chin lifted higher and her eyes focused ahead.

He was not sure he could be as strong. Perhaps her greater age did show after all, but never-the-less he was determined to strip her of her armour. The woman he’d fallen for was the one living beneath it.

~

Accepting Edward’s offered hand Ellen stepped up into the carriage. The driver shut the door and Edward immediately reached past her to draw the curtain across the glass and protect them from the visibility of passers-by. Private, obscured from interested eyes on the street, he pulled her close and kissed her. Hunger and longing instantly lit a fire inside her. This was how it had been each day for nearly a week.

Edward’s embrace pressed her back against the squabs and she slid her legs across his lap.

She’d learnt in the days since Gainsborough had left London that her appetite for Edward was insatiable, as was his for her. Laughing, after a few moments, she pushed him away. “You will have me in disarray before we even reach the inn and then what will people think.”

His voice escaped in a guttural tone. “You know damn well they think it anyway so I hardly give it credence.” Her fingers tenderly straightening the knot of his cravat, she then hugged his shoulders and settled her cheek against the capes of his greatcoat, while his arm lay across her back, his hand resting at her waist.

“Millie thinks I have run mad, she found me singing while I bathed this morning.” His forefinger brushed along her nose, then slipped a stray strand of hair from her face and tucked it behind her ear. “I told her, in Wentworth’s hearing, I have made a friend. I said we met in Gunter’s, in Berkeley Square. He knows I trust Millie. He thinks I wouldn’t lie to her. He thinks my days are spent gossiping.” She laughed again, light hearted and carefree.

His finger tilting up her chin, her eyes met his. They were almost black in the shadow of the hackney, the slate blue-grey a narrow rim around his pupils. She could not really tell what expression was on his face until he smiled. “She’s right. You are completely different than you were but five days ago. You have lost your shell, Ellen. There is no weight on your shoulders anymore.”

She smiled too. “Why need I worry about anything when I have you to worry for me?”

A kiss fell on her forehead in response, another touched her nose and then his lips covered hers. Once again she was engrossed in him, her fingers in his hair and slipping up and down his back, while his grasped her breast over her pelisse.

True to form, when the hackney carriage stopped they were jolted from the seat. Gripping his hand, exiting the carriage, she felt her lips stinging from his kisses and saw creases in her skirt. When he let go of her hand, he buttoned his greatcoat, hiding his swollen groin, before combing his fingers through his hair and then straightening the knot of his cravat.

“You look a sight, my Lord,” Ellen whispered in a teasing voice.

Laughter sounding in his throat, he gripped her arm and leaned to her ear, steering her forward. “As do you, you wicked woman. You’re a wanton.” He led her in through the inn’s public bar, “You deliberately entice me.”

She looked up as he guided her on and through another door to the stairs, and whispered back, “But I believe today, my Lord, the fault is all yours. I took control of myself but you must kiss me again.”

“So I am impatient,” he growled, but there was humour still beneath it. “Can you blame me with a beautiful woman beside me in the confines of an enclosed carriage? After all I am a man and not a saint. Madam, thy name is temptation.”

She laughed.

This was how it was between them now, she could barely remember that first day when they’d hardly known what to say. Now their conversation was a continuous play of words, as much as their love making was a mutual game of touch.