Jane Lark - The Illicit Love of a Courtesan

She laughed at the roguish 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, around 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 rather ridiculous, 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 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.