The Illicit Love of a Courtesan. Jane Lark

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       Chapter Two

      Maintaining his vigil on Gainsborough’s townhouse, Edward leaned his back against the iron railings of the park at the centre of Grosvenor Square. The cold air of the harsh frost seeped through his loose fitting heavy wool greatcoat and leather gloves.

      Clapping his hands together briefly, he ignored the misty vapour of his breath rising on the cold winter air. Then he tilted the rim of his hat forward and folded his arms over his chest.

      The property was a grand, lavish statement of the man’s wealth.

      Well, Ellen had told Edward bluntly she was with the man for his money. In comparison to it, Edward was a pauper. Even if he’d been heir to his father’s estates not second born, he could not have matched Gainsborough’s wealth.

      But why then had Gainsborough cheated?

      Edward watched the man descend the steps from his front door, his wife fixed on his arm, his eldest daughter and grandchild in their wake.

      For God’s sake, his daughter was a similar age to Ellen. It made Edward sick, the whole sordid bloody affair, including the part he’d played in it. When he’d woken the morning after with a thundering head, he’d thought it a dream, and then images and senses had merged into memories he couldn’t refute.

      He was not his brother. He had no appetite for vice or excess. He did not drink, gamble, or idle away his time with women. He’d never paid for sex, nor ever would. He did not condone the immorality of it. Sex simply shouldn’t be for sale. Women threw themselves at him anyway. But none of those women had responded like her. Skill, he told himself in explanation. It was her living after all. But it was more than the sex. The woman had touched his insides—somehow—changed him— drugged him.

      He was obsessed—addicted.

      Lust, his brain delivered the single word to justify his feelings.

      Lust? Yes, but … He thought for a moment but reached no conclusion. God. Who knew? He’d never felt like this before. He couldn’t think, couldn’t sleep, and couldn’t even bloody breathe without want of her. It was not him. His reputation leaned towards dull and staid.

      He blamed his brother. Since Robert’s return life had become boring and Edward had been restless. It seemed the outcome was he had turned to all of his brother’s vices.

      What am I doing here? She’d made it plain she was with Gainsborough by choice. She wouldn’t meet him. She’d given herself because Gainsborough had willed it.

      But Gainsborough hadn’t willed her to say the man had swapped his cards. Protecting him was her choice. And every expression of her body as Edward had made love to her had told him she was lying. She wanted him. Her responses had been absolute truth.

      That was the conundrum disturbing his sleep. She haunted him. He could not forget her.

      Pushing away from the railings, his gloved hands curling to fists, he gave up his vigil as Gainsborough’s coachman called to the horses in the straps and flicked his whip, stirring the thoroughbred blacks into a trot. The strike of the horses’ hooves rang on the cobble, as did the iron rim of carriage wheels rolling into motion and the rattle of harness caught the frigid air.

      Edward turned away. How easily he’d been tumbled from a confident man to an infatuated youth. But God help him, he could not just leave this, he wanted more of Ellen Harding. Three nights he’d played at Madam’s. Three nights there had been no sign of her. He’d hoped if he waited here, Gainsborough would lead him to where he kept his mistress.

       And then what will I do?

      His hands plunged into the pockets of his greatcoat, his legs slashing its skirt with long impatient strides. His eyes oblivious to the blue sky and people passing him in the street, his mind sifted through his spiralling thoughts.

      He could not entice her away from Gainsborough with wealth. Edward did not even want to if he could. She’d said she wasn’t interested in anything else. Yet a wedge inside him refused to believe it. What had been between them had not been trade. Had it? God, the woman had got into his veins like a damn dose of opium. This infatuation was a curse.

      It had felt right to hold her and touch her. And there was something seriously wrong about her relationship with Gainsborough.

      Why did she help me if she’s happy with him? It couldn’t just be about money.

      I shouldn’t have touched her. I should СКАЧАТЬ