Diane Gaston - A Pregnant Courtesan For The Rake

As she could obviously tell.

He smiled again and twirled his finger at her.

She looked puzzled for a moment, then her brow cleared and she smiled back as she drew her shift over her head. He knew she would be lovely. All creamy skin, narrow waist, full breasts.

‘You are a beautiful woman, Cecilia,’ he said with complete honesty.

She blushed an appealing pink.

He approached her slowly, climbing back on the bed and lying next to her, drawing her into another kiss, stroking her fine skin, fingering the rich waves of her hair. She touched him, too, placing her palm on his chest, sliding her hand lower to his groin. To his surprise and delight, she wrapped her fingers around his shaft, though it made his resolve to go slow a challenge.

She slithered up to place her lips against his ear. ‘How long do you intend to wait?’

* * *

Cecilia knew she was behaving wantonly, but she did not care. The wine had loosened her inhibitions and this man had made her yearn for lovemaking. In the early days of Duncan’s seduction, he had shown her these erotic delights. She remembered aching for him so acutely she’d have done anything for him. Now she knew it had been his way of making certain she would marry him.

Those early days of lovemaking awakened her to the pleasures of the flesh. She had no doubt she would gladly succumb to such temptations over and over if only she could be certain that the tide would not turn.

Coupling could be transcendental or it could be...brutal.

Since Duncan she’d never taken the risk. Until now.

One night was not too much to ask, was it? One night to re-experience corporeal delights?

‘How long?’ she whispered again.

He turned his head to face her. ‘I should ask first if you have the means to prevent a child?’

She’d not had to worry over that with Duncan. ‘I know what to do.’

He smiled teasingly. ‘Then have your way with me, Cecilia.’

He rolled onto his back.

She immediately climbed on top of him, but, unlike his words suggested, he was not passive. He grasped her by the waist and guided himself inside her. She gasped at the sensation.

Together they moved, forming a rhythm that built her need. He was a skilled lover, she could tell. He knew just how to move her to intensify her sensations. It seemed to her that he also knew just how long he could draw this out to put her into a frenzy.

A pleasurable frenzy.

She felt the change in him, the moment he lost all thought and was in the throes of lust. His thrusts quickened, pushing her to the brink of frustration until her release came in like a lightning storm. She cried out with the acute pleasure just as his release came. His cry joined hers. He held her tight until the wave of pleasure washed away and her body turned the consistency of soft butter.

She collapsed beside him. ‘Well, that was rather nice.’

He laughed softly, but the laugh resonated within her. ‘I feel damned with faint praise.’

‘And assent with civil leer?’ She knew that poem. ‘Epistle to Dr Arbuthnot’ by Alexander Pope.

He countered. ‘And without sneering, teach the rest to sneer.’

She smiled. He knew the poem as well.

‘Willing to wound, and yet afraid to strike,’ she added.

He finished it. ‘Just hint at a fault and hesitate dislike.’

She returned his smile. ‘What nonsense, to recite that poem after making love.’

He feigned an innocent look. ‘You started it.’

She loved this bantering. Would it not be lovely to have a man who always found some lightness and humour wherever he went?

He reached over to her necklace and fingered the single pearl. ‘I do not have faint praise, Cecilia. Mine is rather loud, I fear.’

She grew warm all over again. ‘I am glad I accompanied you to your hotel.’

His smile grew slowly. ‘As am I.’

He turned on his side and pulled her into a kiss that ignited her senses all over again.

This time he rose over her, entering her again and moving slowly as if savouring the experience. As if trying to make the moment as pleasurable as possible for her.

She was glad she’d allowed herself this liberty, this lapse in the tight control she exerted over herself. She’d lived in the winter of her emotions for too long. How lovely it was to let the sun shine in.

As he moved, her need built slowly, a glorious need because it held the promise of fulfilment at the end. All her senses came alive, awakened after a long hibernation. She was delighted she could still experience this pleasure.

And she was delighted with this lovely man who bestowed it like a gift.

His thrusts accelerated and her thoughts flew out of her head, replaced by sensation. Need. Growing. Nearing its promised end.

Her release shattered inside her, sparkling like the sunlight on the rose windows of Notre Dame. Then the release came again and again. And again when he spilled his seed inside her.

He collapsed on top of her, and she relished his weight upon her for the moment he remained there. Before he made it hard for her to breathe, he rolled off her, pulling her into another kiss and another.

He finally faced her, twirling a lock of her hair in his fingers. ‘Ah, Cecilia. Words fail me.’

She merely snuggled against him, relishing the scent of him and the warmth of his skin against hers.

‘I wonder,’ he began.

She could feel his voice through her body as well as hear him with her ears.

‘I wonder,’ he said again. ‘Perhaps I might extend my visit...’

A frisson of fear raced up her spine. No. That was not what she wanted. One day, he’d said. One night. More time together and what could happen?

One night did not seem like enough to her either, though.

She did not answer him, instead closed her eyes and let herself drift into sleep. Another pleasure—sleeping naked next to the man who had just joined with her.

She could still pretend for a few more hours, even if he wished to extend that time into days. She was determined not to let go of this wonderful illusion until she absolutely must.

* * *

Oliver, too, drifted to sleep with the thought that he had no real reason to start his journey back to England so soon. What would a few more days hurt? Frederick and Jacob could manage things until he returned. One more week would not matter.

He slept deeply, content to hold Cecilia in his arms.

* * *

When he woke it was to a loud knocking on the door.

‘Sir. Sir.’ It was his valet knocking. ‘The coach is due in an hour. You must rise now.’

Oliver shook himself awake and sat straight up.

He turned to the space in the bed beside him.

Cecilia was gone. Her clothes were gone.

‘Sir!’ His valet knocked again.

‘One moment,’ he answered, climbing out of bed.

He searched to see if she’d left him a note, but there was nothing in the bedchamber. He entered the sitting room and searched there. To no avail.

There was nothing to indicate she’d ever been with him.

He had no way to find her. No surname. No address.

Perhaps he could find her on the banks of the Seine, giving coins to the children. He must dress quickly. He ran back to the bedchamber and grabbed his drawers, managing to don them as he started towards the door to let his valet into the room.

A glance towards the window depressed his spirits. The sun was high in the sky. He’d slept through most of the morning. She would not be on the banks of the Seine giving coins to street urchins. She would be long gone.

‘Sir! Sir!’ his valet cried.

‘Coming!’ He walked to the door and opened it, and knew he would never see Cecilia again.

Chapter Four

Cecilia had left Oliver’s bed at dawn and hurried to the river to pass out the coins to the children who, hungry, flocked to her.