The Illicit Love of a Courtesan. Jane Lark

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ heard her. She hadn’t just let him use her, she’d let him pluck and strum her sensual strings. He had played her like an instrument for his amusement. She’d spent years under the influence of men and still she had not learnt this lesson. Men took. He simply had a greater skill and different tastes.

      Yet the delicious feelings he’d stirred up inside her still ran through her blood, overwhelming her tangled senses. Without looking at him, she accepted the handkerchief he pulled from his coat and held towards her. Then she wiped her stomach, expecting him to reach for his clothes and make himself ready to leave. Instead he did something which surprised her. He handed over her glass.

      “Drink, it will steady your nerves.”

      She sipped the ruby liquid and as its warmth slid down her throat, she dared herself, lifted her gaze and looked at him.

      His fingers slotted the buttons of his breeches into place and then he bent over and picked up her undergarments. Seeing her watching, he smiled. There was no hint in it that he intended to simply walk away, no rake’s art, nor aversion. He looked embarrassed too. She could see his pulse flickering at the base of his throat.

      Drinking down the remainder of the port in one swallow, she waited. She wanted a word from him, an acknowledgement, something. Something to confirm his life had been changed by this, by their private interlude. She wanted it to not be her imagination.

      But what could change?

      Nothing.

      He did not have the money to free her from Gainsborough.

      She could not escape.

      Just because he was beautiful and gentle and she’d engaged her heart in this, it did not mean he returned her feelings. The man was in his physical prime, he could have any woman he wanted. It doesn’t make him my hero.

      She had to stop this ridiculous hope from rising to lessen the pain when he walked away.

      Her stubborn heart clenched in her chest. He’d been kind. He was being kind now.

      How pathetic she’d become, craving so much for kindness she would love a man after little more than an hour, simply because he’d thrown her crumbs of it.

      She accepted her undergarments from his hand and rose, pulling them on while he donned his shirt and tucked it in.

      “My corset?” She couldn’t tie it alone with the lacing at her back. “Would you send for Madam?”

      “I’ll lace it.” He smiled, a masculine blush darkening the skin across the bones of his cheeks and took the garment from her hand. She turned.

      Her fingers pressing it to her ribs, his threaded the laces at her back.

      The gentle tug as he worked each lace, the pressure of her corset as he pulled it tight, the brush of his fingers as he tied it off—sent warmth racing through the heightened senses of her skin.

      Daft, foolish woman to make so much of this. His skill with the lacing of a corset was testament to the level of his past experience.

      He bent and picked up her dress. “Lift your arms, Ellen.” And so, she was dressed.

      While his fingers worked the tiny buttons at her back into place, her senses reeled and her head told her heart over and over again, this was no more than sex.

      When he returned to the task of his own attire he faced the mirror to retie his neckcloth.

      Ellen blushed, remembering those fingers, now adeptly crafting a fashionable knot, playing master to her body’s whim moments before.

      He smiled at her in the mirror.

      She caught sight of her disordered hair and her heart kicked in fear.

      Panic locking the air in her lungs, she knelt and began picking up her scattered hairpins. She couldn’t leave the room looking like this.

      In a moment he was on one knee beside her, helping her. He must have sensed her concern for he caught one of her hands and held it still. “There’s no need to worry, Ellen.”

      For you perhaps, but not for me, for me there is every need. She pulled her hand free and continued the task, but tried to make light of her fear. “Not if you can dress a woman’s hair.”

      “I can make a fair go of it.” His voice was jovial in response.

      All pins recovered, they rose, her eyes meeting his. She took a breath. “Then do your best, my Lord, please.”

      His hand cupped hers and looking down he tipped the pins she held into his other palm. She shivered, remembering his touch; the things he’d done. In answer his eyes lifted, and she saw an unspoken question visible, pondering her skittish start.

      “Edward, at least, Ellen,” he admonished while one hand pressed her shoulder, turning her to the mirror. She looked at his reflection as he took a single lock of ebony hair in his fingers. Then, their sixth sense speaking, his gaze met hers in the glass. He smiled before looking away and concentrating on the task.

      His touch was soothing, light and tender. Her body bathed in it, like rain on dry ground, her heart soaking it up.

      When the job was finished their gazes collided in the mirror once more, desire burning clearly, like fire, in his. But the echo of it was in hers as she looked at her reflection too. “When can we meet, Ellen?” The question was whispered.

      She shook her head in denial then tore her gaze from his, turning to retrieve her discarded fan and gloves. There could be no repetition. Gainsborough would not allow it.

      Lord Edward will not help me. He cannot.

      His grip caught her elbow and turned her back. “Do not deny me.”

      Stiffening her spine, Ellen lifted her chin. I have to.

      As though he sensed the change in her, his hand slipped away before she spoke.

      “My Lord, there can be nothing more, I thought that was clear.”

      Such cold, unemotional words. She set her face and eyes to match them, locking him out of her heart.

      Did she imagine the sudden look of pain in his eyes? This was just sex for him, surely. He felt nothing. He would walk away unchanged. My heart is wounded. Not his. She couldn’t escape Gainsborough. Dreams were not reality. Succumbing to Edward tonight had been enough risk. She did not dare repeat it. But she did not want him to know fear held her back. Nor did she wish him to pity her. “Your agreement was with Lord Gainsborough. I am his, not yours, my Lord, Edward.”

      The look in his eyes hardening, it was not pity she saw but disgust.

      “I must go.”

      He moved, forming a wall between her and the door.

      She met his gaze and waited, without answering the accusations lying there. This was who she was. He’d known that. He could not change it, and he could hardly judge her.

      His lips a tight line, he bowed his head and stepped aside. But before she had time to reach for СКАЧАТЬ