The Harlot's Hero

by Tabetha Waite

  When the shudders subsided, he stood up began to unbutton the flap of his trousers. “Lean over the desk.”

  The spark of interest that flared in her brilliant eyes as she complied caused his cock to swell to nearly painful proportions. He swallowed thickly, for the sight of her creamy, bare bottom alone nearly sent him over the edge.

  He couldn’t wait any longer, but set himself at her entrance and pushed inside of her. The ecstasy of their joining caused stars to dance in front of his vision, but he didn’t stop. If nothing else, her pleas urged him on.

  “Falcourt…” she panted.

  “Hunter,” he corrected as he quickened his pace. “I want you to call out my name.”

  And she did. Over and over she murmured his name until finally she quivered around him. With a hoarse shout he emptied his seed inside of her until he had nothing left to give, until the room faded away into darkness and nothing but the pleasure remained.

  Afterward he collapsed, his hands barely holding his weight on the desk on either side of her. When he regained his equilibrium, he reluctantly moved away from her. Without his support, her legs slumped slightly as her skirts resettled into place, so he gathered what remained of his strength and lifted her into his arms and carried her over to the settee where he sat down and cradled her on his lap.

  The delicate sigh she gave caused his heart to thump madly. “I wonder if it’s always like this,” she murmured almost dreamily.

  “No,” he whispered against her enchanting red hair, where he breathed in her delicate, feminine scent. “I’ve never felt anything like this before,” he admitted before he had a chance to recant the words.

  “Truly?” she whispered.

  “Never.”

  When all was silent for a time, he thought she’d gone to sleep, but when she said his name, he realized she was still awake.

  “Yes?”

  “Are you still planning to send me away?”

  His arms instantly tightened around her. “You’re not going anywhere.”

  “Good.” With that, she snuggled closer to him.

  Chapter Seven

  “What do you say to a ride this afternoon?”

  Sephy glanced up at Hunter where she’d been eating her breakfast in a companionable silence. The past few days had been absolute bliss and she was starting to feel secure with her place in Hunter’s life. While she was under no illusions that her position would be indefinite, at least she would have something to carry in her heart when the time came for her to leave, especially their sweet night with the honey.

  “I think that sounds lovely.” She smiled. “But it’s the height of the Season. Are you sure you want to scandalize everyone by showing off your mistress so blatantly on Rotten Row?”

  He took her hand and lifted it to his lips for a kiss on her bent knuckles. His dark eyes smoldered with an intensity that she was coming to recognize quite thoroughly. “If you’re asking if I want to make everyone jealous that I’m with the most beautiful woman in England, then absolutely.”

  She laughed and then delicately wiped her mouth with her napkin. “My, how you turn a girl’s head with your flowery praise, Your Grace,” she murmured. She allowed her other hand to linger near the edge of her bodice, running her fingertips along the swells of her breasts. She was rewarded for her efforts by the slight flaring of his nostrils.

  “On second thought,” he said huskily. “We might not make it anywhere today.”

  As he reached for her, she willingly went into his arms.

  Twenty minutes later, with a wineglass toppled onto the floor and a chair overturned, Hunter glanced down, and then back at her with a lazy brow. “If that was our only calamities then I’d say we did rather well.”

  She shook her gown until it fell about her ankles once more, and then she put her arms around his neck and murmured, “I suppose we can mark ‘dining table’ off our list now.”

  “There’s a list?”

  He sounded so intrigued that she couldn’t help but laugh. “There can be.”

  “Vixen,” he growled.

  Sephy didn’t disagree as she swept from the room and returned to her chamber where she took a long relaxing bath. She could no longer deny that she was in love with Hunter, and she intended to confess all to him that evening. Even if he didn’t return her sentiments, she prayed that he would at least set her up in some quaint cottage somewhere by the sea so that she could live out her days in peaceful harmony without her harlot past dogging her every step. She would pretend to be a young widow, for she would certainly be mourning the loss of the one man she’d ever cared about.

  But until then she intended to enjoy their time together and make the most of this time that they’d been given. It could be the last that they ever shared, but neither could she continue this charade without telling Hunter how she truly felt.

  As she stepped out of the tub, she wrapped a robe about herself and then walked over to her dressing table. She sat down and looked at the reflection of the woman staring back at her. She could see no visible, outward changes to her appearance, and yet, the true differences from that seventeen-year-old girl who had first peered in this mirror were like night and day.

  She took a deep breath and rose. It had been a day or so since she’d gone down to see Henry in the stables and check on Lady and her puppies. If anything was sure to distract her from focusing on Hunter’s reaction that evening, it was the sight of those five fluffy babies.

  Donning a mint green muslin, she eschewed a bonnet and headed toward the stables. The day was sunny and pleasant, a lovely spring day in England, which were few and far between from the usual rain and fog.

  As she drew closer to the stables she heard the unmistakable sounds of yipping and turned a corner to see Henry crouched down and playing with the puppies. Five in all with various color patterns; they were running about on short little legs and doing their best to bark, even though they weren’t any more than a week old.

  Henry must have heard her approach, for he turned around and rose. He crushed his hat in his hands and lowered his head. “Miss Welton. I was just takin’ a break from my work—”

  She waved away his explanation. “It’s fine.” She bent down on her knees and watched the little dogs scamper about. Lady was lying to the side and doing her best to relax while they were occupied. Sephy scratched behind her ears as she spoke to Henry. “Do you have names for them yet?”

  He shrugged. “Just this one.” He returned to his previous position and tapped the nose of a particularly enthusiastic one with black and white markings. “He’s a male and seems to be the bully of the litter. I call him Butch.”

  Sephy smiled. “I think that’s rather appropriate.” She glanced around at the rest of the puppies and while a few of them decided to start playing together, one trotted over to her and laid a paw on her knee, as if to say hello.

  She picked her up and held her closer to her face so the puppy could see her better, and perhaps gain some of her scent. “And what’s your name?” she cooed gently, noticing that it was a female.

  In reply, the animal barked.

  “What was that, you say?” Sephy held her face closer, pretending that she was listening. In return she received a delicate lick to her cheek. “I think I heard Evalina. Is that right?”

  Another bark.

  “That sounds like approval to me,” Sephy said and then set the puppy back down. But instead of returning to her siblings, she lay down in front of her then rolled over and offered her belly. “I suppose you’d like to be rubbed, wouldn’t you?” She gave Evalina the attention she’d requested and decided that this would be her dog when she was ready to be weaned. That was, if she was even allowed to remain at the duke’s townhome for that long.

  Again, she chided herself for her wayward thoughts and left the stables a short time later.

  After she had afternoon tea, which she had alone in the parlor, for Hunter reluctantly told her that he had to run out on an errand, the clea
ring of a man’s throat brought her attention to the doorway. “Pardon the intrusion, Miss Welton, but there is a caller for you.”

  With a frown, Sephy strode into the foyer to find one of her mother’s girls in a dark cloak and pacing the floor rather anxiously. She recognized her as Jade’s replacement. While she hadn’t had very many interactions with the girl, she recognized her easily enough.

  “Zayla?”

  The instant she heard her name, the harlot burst into tears and rushed forward to embrace her. “Oh, Miss Welton. Thank goodness! You must come quickly! Your mother… she… collapsed and…” She shook her head as if she found it difficult to even continue the thought.

  The blood left Persephone’s face. “Has a physician been sent for?” She asked as she gathered her cloak and slipped it on.

  “Yes. But you must hurry!” She grabbed hold of her hand and tugged urgently.

  At this point, fear was a palpable thing, like the air in her lungs and every beat of her heart. It was a physical part of her. “Of course. Just let me leave a note for—”

  “We don’t have time! You must come now!”

  Her voice was shrill as her gaze darted about wildly, evidence of her upset, and so Sephy nodded. “Of course, you’re right. I’ll send word once we arrive.”

  Sephy descended the stairs with Zayla directly behind her.

  “In there.” The harlot pointed to the waiting hackney.

  Sephy climbed inside and once Zayla was settled, they set into motion. She tried her best to sit still, but anxiety about her mother was forefront in her mind. “She hasn’t told me she’s been ill,” she murmured, more to herself than her companion.

  After an interminable ride through London, the carriage finally came to a halt. Her mother’s lackey, Abraham, held the door for her as she approached. “Where is she?”

  “Upstairs, first door on the right,” he said more somberly than usual.

  Since he generally greeted her with something at least resembling a smile, she realized it must be very grave indeed. She didn’t even question why her mother might have been taken to one of the girls’ rooms instead of staying in her own apartments, but rushed up the stairs and pushed open the door she’d been directed to — and found nothing but an empty bedchamber. She frowned, wondering if she hadn’t heard him wrong, but just as she turned she saw her mother in the frame. She tossed a purse to Zayla and said, “Good work,” just as the door slammed shut in Sephy’s face. It was quickly followed by the click of a lock.

  Shock rendered her momentarily speechless, but then she walked over and pulled on the knob. It wouldn’t budge. Abruptly, fear of an entirely different sort struck her in the middle of the chest. “Mama! What are you doing?”

  “I’m sorry, dear, but I had no other choice,” came Phryne’s voice from the other side. “My gambling debts have quite overtaken me, and I can’t afford to lose my house.”

  “So you are offering me as ransom?” Sephy snorted in disgust.

  She truly had no idea the lengths her mother was willing to go through to ensure her legacy remained untarnished. Looking back, she’d seen the signs, the subtle hints that she was in financial trouble that Sephy hadn’t heeded properly. But then, she’d given over most of her allowance that Hunter had provided for her rather freely. Over the years, her mother had managed to pilfer several hundred pounds by making it seem as though Sephy owed it to her for saving her from Lord Gregory, when in truth she’d done nothing.

  Sephy laid her forehead against the hard oak and couldn’t believe she’d been so blind to imagine that a woman like her mother could truly love her. The only thing she’d ever cared about, or ever would, was this house.

  “Don’t worry, your duke is quite safe. It’s you that’s been specifically requested.”

  Sephy fisted her hands against the door. “What have you done?”

  “Let’s just say I’ve made a deal with the devil who will soon come to collect his due. Soon, everything will be settled and you can go back to Falcourt and play at being his duchess once again. That is, if he will even have you after tonight. If not, then I suppose this will be your new room to entertain.”

  Her laughter floated down the hallway while Sephy’s screams and cries of frustration were thoroughly ignored.

  ***

  Hunter walked in the door later that evening and asked the butler where Persephone was. He was annoyed that the only thing the solicitor had summoned him for was a trivial matter at the estate that wasn’t quite as urgent as he’d insisted it was, but even then it had taken longer than he’d anticipated to return. Dusk was already starting to fall.

  He had it in mind to apologize to Persephone for being forced to delay their outing, but when he was told she wasn’t even there, but had gone to her mother’s house, panic instantly struck his heart until he forced himself to calm. As far as he knew, Lord Gregory was still in the country at his father’s estate, so he likely wasn’t an impending threat. And it wasn’t as though he could protect Miss Welton by keeping her a prisoner in this house. He had to allow her certain freedoms if he had any hope of convincing her to stay with him. Since the king refused to give his blessing on their union, he intended to spirit her away to Gretna Green, that was, if she would even have him.

  He shoved a hand through his hair. He had intended on speaking to her about their future arrangement when they returned from their carriage ride, but it looked like that would have to be postponed.

  With his brow set in a permanent crease, he headed to his study to take his mind off the tension settling into his shoulders. Something just didn’t feel…right, but he pushed it aside, deciding it was his own unease.

  He had just sat down behind his desk, staring at the mahogany top and remembering the last time he’d been in here with Persephone, when there was a knock at the door. He blew out a heavy breath. “Enter.”

  “Your Grace.” The butler appeared in the frame. “There is a lady here to speak with you. She has requested an urgent audience—”

  Hunter stood as the Countess of Virsage entered his study without even waiting for the servant to continue his sentence. He had never met the eccentric lady in person who persisted in living in the previous century in both her fashion and manner of speech, but Persephone had spoken often of her confidante in her letters to him.

  As she put back the hood of her cloak, he saw her powdered wig and the patch near the side of her mouth. But instead of appearing coquettish, her eyes held a seriousness that he wouldn’t have expected. “Pardon the intrusion, Falcourt, but I’m here for concern over Persephone’s wellbeing.”

  He breathed a curse, realizing that he should have listened to his instinct instead of brushing it off. He rounded the corner of his desk. “What do you know?”

  “You are aware that she went to her mother’s house?”

  “Yes,” he said grimly. “I was told a woman had arrived to speak with her and that they left together. I don’t know all the details as yet, but it seemed rather important. I assume something has happened.”

  “I think it’s more than that.” She paced the room. “I’ve heard Lord Gregory is back in London. In truth, I think he’s been back for some time. Rumor has it he has been seen in the company of the queen at Frogmore House.”

  Hunter clenched his fists. “The bastard. Of course he would try to coerce the queen to drop all the charges of his crimes and set him free.”

  “Precisely,” the countess concurred. “But then why would he target Miss Welton when there is so much on the line?”

  “To get back at me,” Hunter returned sourly. “I knew he would strike back at me any way he could for my part in his arrest.” He scrubbed a hand down his face.

  “Then she is likely in great peril. There is no time to waste.” She headed for the door with Hunter right behind her. He grabbed his coat on the way out. “We’ll take my carriage.”

  The ride across London took an interminable amount of time, but finally, they arrived at their destina
tion. With the countess at his side, he walked to the door as a united front.

  But when they asked to see Persephone, a towering man blocked their way. “She’s not ’ere.”

  “Then where is she?” the countess demanded.

  “Abraham? What’s all this ruckus?” Hunter saw Persephone’s mother stride forward. In similar form as the countess, complete with powdered wig and a patch near her mouth, she smoothly intercepted the conversation. “Ah, Your Grace.” She inclined her head politely, and then addressed the countess. “Charlotte. Do what do we owe this pleasure?”

  “We wish to see Miss Welton,” the countess replied firmly. “We know she was here, Phryne.”

  “Indeed, she was, but she left hours ago,” her mother said evenly. She slid her glance to Hunter. “Has she not returned?”

  “No.” He would have said more, but his throat was clogged with anger. Just as his instinct told him that something wasn’t right earlier, he had the strong suspicion that the lady was lying now. But for what purpose? What did she gain?

  “We’d like to take a look around all the same,” the countess persisted, apparently feeling the same sense of treachery.

  “If you are looking for entertainment, then by all means, my doors are open to you, but I can’t allow you to just roam about and distress my customers, even for you Charlotte.” Phryne smiled thinly. “I’m sure you understand.”

  “No, I don’t think you—”

  The countess fell silent as Hunter put a hand on her arm. “Thank you for your time. I’m sure Miss Welton will return shortly.”

  The madam inclined her head, and the door shut.

  “What are you doing?” Charlotte hissed. “I know that Persephone is still inside there.” She pointed at the brick building accusingly.

  “As do I,” Hunter returned. “But we aren’t going to help her by standing there and arguing. I have another idea. Come on.”