The Illicit Love of a Courtesan. Jane Lark

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СКАЧАТЬ suddenly felt hot, she looked up blushingly to meet his gaze. The light in his eyes implied he saw her susceptibility, but he did not speak of it. “Your age, Ellen?”

      “Women do not speak of their age, my Lord,” she snapped, angered by his ability to move her and apparently remain unmoved.

      He smiled, a heart stopping expression. It set hers skipping against her ribs.

      Am I really so shallow I will simply succumb to his looks?

      “I am four and twenty, if it makes you feel better to know my own,” he answered, his tone relaxed. “There, it’s not so hard to say one’s age.”

      “I cannot see why you care to know it.” She could remove a year, two, even claim to be younger than him, she could pass for three and twenty, but she was unwilling to lie. Her life had been so full of sin, adding another lie, no matter how small, felt suddenly intolerable.

      He said nothing, waiting for her reply.

      “I am eight and twenty, my Lord. Older than yourself, and now you have embarrassed me.”

      “It matters not. We are adults, Ellen, age makes little difference.”

      “Then why ask?” she bit back, annoyed by his languorous tone. He disturbed her, she felt hot and uncomfortable, afraid—yet not afraid. Her heart thumped; a hammer ringing upon an anvil in her ears.

      “Because I cannot understand what you are doing with a man like Gainsborough. He must be twice your age. You cannot persuade me it is his looks or character which draw you.”

      Spurred, anger flashed through her. Who was he to judge her? He’d bartered over her body. How could he accuse her of poor choice? Surely it was obvious why she was with Lord Gainsborough; she had no choice. But she would not admit it. Not to him or anyone. She would not face that humiliation. Instead she played the part of a woman who chose to be a man’s chattel.

      “Because he was the highest bidder, my Lord, what other reason would you think?” Deliberately she edged her voice with a sultry cutting pitch. The role of harlot was now instinctive. She would act it for Gainsborough too once this was done, to placate his damaged pride.

      “Are you telling me I cannot afford you, Ellen?” He was amused by her; she heard it in his voice. She imagined him laughing at her, inwardly.

      Lord, the self-confidence of the man was infuriating.

      “Your words, my Lord.” She took a sip of port from the glass in her hand.

      “Yes, my words.” he repeated, his pitch sobering. He drained his glass, set it aside and stood. “But I do not need to pay, do I, Ellen?”

      A dart of longing pain stretched through her core, confirming his words. No man had stirred this reaction in her since Paul. He was right. Her body craved his.

      “Come.” He stepped towards her and leaned down. Mesmerised by him, she watched his movement, while uncertainty and fear warred with attraction.

      His long, beautiful fingers wrapped about the bowl of her glass and lifted it from her hand.

      Unwilling to look up, unable to meet his gaze, she heard the click of the base as it was placed on the table.

      His fingers then closed around hers and encouraged her to her feet.

      She was silent as he lifted the string of her fan from her wrist, stripped off her gloves and put them down beside her half empty glass of port. Then he moved closer and one hand pressed against the small of her back while the other curved beneath her chin, lifting her face.

      “Ellen?”

      She met his gaze, hearing a question and a statement in that single utterance of her name and somehow knew he wouldn’t force her, as others had done before. He was asking permission and offering admiration, she saw it in his eyes.

      “You have such beauty. I swear I’ve never seen the like.” His gaze holding hers, his curled fingers trailed upwards, the tender, gentle touch following the line of her jaw and sweeping up across her brow, before brushing down her nose. Then his thumb rested on her mouth, running over her lips.

      “Do you wish for this too?” he whispered.

      There was no need to ask what he meant, her body sang with longing for his, her skin was already hot and sensitised by the flush of desire. The pressure of his palm at her back pulled her lower body hip to hip with his, making the level of his arousal blatant as the outline of his erection pressed against her stomach.

      He’d said he wanted diversion.

      She needed him for release. If only for an hour or two, she could escape.

      Her lips brushing the pad of his thumb, she formed the single word of agreement, surrender, her arms lifting to his shoulders. “Yes.” No, for the first time since Paul, this was not surrender, this was choice.

      The rhythm of her heartbeat lurched to an even greater pace, her gaze locked with his, captured by the invisible link she felt woven taut between them.

      His hands fell, resting on her hips in a gentle brace, just for a moment.

      His touch was like an expression of awe, not domination. His hands skimmed upwards across her ribs and then reaching the soft flesh of her breasts, his palms and fingers clenched her through the thin material of her gown. Time stopped, suddenly suspended as his gaze dropped to her lips and he lowered his head.

      When their lips met, the rush of desire through her veins was overwhelming. Instinctively her fingers slipped upwards delving into his soft hair, clasping it. His tongue slid into her mouth and he tasted delicious. He drugged her senses, taking her away somewhere else, somewhere outside of her sordid, soiled self. His crooked thumb dipped into the low neck of her gown and brushed across her breast, stroking her casually as his mouth ravished hers. A pleasant spasm ran from her breast, spiralling down through her body to her stomach and into her womb. Her body already ached for fulfilment.

      Feeling brazen to the core and every bit the wanton whore life had made her, her tongue passed across his lips, into the warmth of his mouth and her fingers fell to his shoulders, splaying and running downwards. They slid over the taut muscles beneath his evening clothes, revelling in his athletic physique and descended to his breeches.

      An erotic, pain filled sound resonated from his chest and reached her mouth as heat. But abruptly his fingers left her breast, grasped her hand and removed it as he broke their kiss. Yet his eyes were still dark with longing as they met hers. She knew her look mirrored his.

      The timbre of his voice thick with desire, he said, “I would like that, Ellen, but it is not what I want tonight, not yet. Let me lead. I want to see you gain your pleasure first.”

      He wished to give her pleasure? The ice about her heart cracked and warmth seeped into her blood. This was more than lust, much more, it was longing beyond a physical need. She’d given herself to men for years, she knew what pleased them. None of them had cared for what pleased her. Pleasure during sex—was it still possible? If it had been like that with Paul, she’d forgotten.

      His head bowed and his lips brushed her neck while his gentle fingers slipped the straps of her gown from her shoulders then followed the neckline of her dress, slackening the material and drawing СКАЧАТЬ