And yet despite the fact that she knew their association would be over in a few weeks, a couple of months at the most, it still felt damnably difficult to play Ethan false, and she did not understand why. Nor did she like the guilt and the strange feeling of loneliness her duplicity brought with it.
Ethan smiled at her and raised his glass in silent toast, and Lottie felt herself go as scarlet as a debutante swept off her feet by a handsome suitor. Her heart skipped a beat. She smiled at Ethan, saw the heat and the promise in his eyes and felt a little breathless. Gracious, she was degenerating into a green girl at the mercy of her feelings. If she were not careful she might regress to being a virgin.
“Miss Palliser does not care for political or military talk,” Ethan drawled, “so let us not bore her with our usual conversation tonight, gentlemen.”
“Lud, I do not mind!” Lottie said hastily. “If you wish to discuss gun emplacements or cavalry formations, pray do not let my presence inhibit you.”
“We would not dream of it, my love,” Ethan said, the laughter deepening in his eyes. “You must forgive us. We have little society or entertainment here and so tend to fall back on politics for our discussions.”
“Speaking of entertainment,” Le Prevost put in, “perhaps madame would like to join us for our morning sortie?” He turned to Lottie. “We ride the boundaries of the town each morning, madame, at eight of the clock. It helps to force us from our beds and maintains some sort of discipline, though it is frustrating in the extreme not to be permitted to go beyond a mile of the town without breaking our parole.” He glanced at Ethan. “I imagine St. Severin will have some trouble in joining us early now.”
Lottie laughed. “I do not imagine Lord St. Severin the type to lie late abed.”
“Not as yet, perhaps,” Le Prevost said, smiling at her, “but he has a greater incentive to stay with you than he ever had to ride out with us.” He took her hand. “Who would not choose to lavish his time and attention on a beautiful woman in preference to his colleagues?”
“Jacques,” Ethan said, sounding resigned, “if you wish to try to seduce Miss Palliser pray have the grace not to do so beneath my very nose.”
Le Prevost shrugged fatalistically. “They say that all is fair in love and war, my friend.” He kissed the back of Lottie’s gloved hand. “I am richer than St. Severin, madame,” he added provocatively. “Think about it.”
“Alas, m’sieur, I am not in the market for a protector,” Lottie said, smiling demurely, “but I shall keep your generous offer in mind.”
The arrival of a rather tough fowl interrupted the conversation at that point. It was obvious that the staff of The Bear, and in particular the pretty maidservants, were absolutely charmed to have such a group of handsome, well-mannered and extremely wealthy officers billeted on them, regardless of their nationality.
Lottie chatted to Lieutenants Marais and Duvois, both of whom were so young they looked to be barely shaving. They were so attentive to her and seemed so struck by her charm, beauty and conversation that Lottie wryly concluded that they must believe that the way to Ethan’s approval was through flattering his mistress. Certainly he seemed something of a hero to them.
“You should have seen the charge Lord St. Severin led at Fuentes de Onoro, ma’am,” Marais said. “Such daring and consummate horsemanship! If I had a quarter of his skill I would be a happy man!”
“It cannot have been so very marvelous,” Lottie pointed out, “since Lord St. Severin was captured an hour later.”
Marais spluttered into his wine. “Only because Colonel Benoit was a fool and lost the advantage St. Severin had gained—”
“It wasn’t Benoit’s fault,” Duvois put in hotly. “He was under pressure on his left flank…” And they fell to re-enacting the battle with the salt bowl and pepper cellar as props.
“Are you still enjoying the military chat, my love?” Ethan enquired, leaning forward to fill Lottie’s wineglass. “In truth that was why we lost,” he added dryly, lowering his voice. “Because no one could agree on tactics.”
“It must be very tedious for you all sitting here discussing old battles,” Lottie said. “Does no one ever break parole in order to return to the fray?”
“It is the responsibility of every gentleman to try to escape,” Marais piped up.
“You are a fine one to talk,” Duvois said. “You did not even get as far as the coast and ended in the prison hulks for your pains.”
“Better to have tried and failed,” Marais said huffily, “than to have sat here on my derriere for the past six months doing nothing!”
“What do you think, Colonel Le Prevost?” Lottie asked. The senior officers, she noted, had been silent on the subject whilst the younger ones squabbled amongst themselves. Owen Purchase was toying with his wineglass, tilting the liquid so that it caught the candlelight. His expression was pensive. Ethan sat back in his chair, long and lean, ostensibly at ease, but Lottie sensed some tension in him. She wondered if he was thinking of Arland. She had heard of breakouts from the prisons but they were rare; the British authorities ruled the gaols with a rod of iron. “Madame, I try not to think of anything as strenuous as escaping,” Le Prevost said easily, smiling at her. “Enfin, it would disturb the set of my coat.”
“For shame, Le Prevost,” Purchase said, laughing. “You fought strenuously enough at Marengo by all accounts!”
“I cannot deny it,” Le Prevost said, shrugging, “but now I have lost my hunger for bloodshed. I am comfortable enough here.”
There was a murmur of dissent around the table. Lottie watched Ethan lean back and take a long drink of his wine. He did not say a word. And then his eyes met hers and there was something quizzical in the deep blue of his gaze and she was certain—absolutely sure—that he knew exactly what she was up to.
“Ah, well…” She gave a little shrug of her own. “It seems that my time here will not be enlivened by any attempts at escape. A pity—it might have been amusing.”
She turned an ostentatious shoulder to Ethan—anything to block out his too-perceptive gaze—and started to talk with Captain Le Grand, a thin, dyspeptic elderly man who had the entrée to all the local houses in his role as dancing tutor.
“The young ladies are eager to learn,” he confided in Lottie, “but the young men! Pah! Two left feet and no talent.” He threw up his hands. “The parents blame me but truly these boys were born with no sense of rhythm!”
“I’m afraid it was ever thus,” Lottie said sympathetically. “I remember having my feet stepped all over when I was a debutante at Almack’s. I thought I would not walk for a week.”
The fowl was followed by the pudding course, a thick potato dessert with wine sauce. It was dense and sugary, like a spiced curd tart, not unpleasant but extremely heavy on the stomach.
“Dear me,” Lottie said staring, “Wantage truly is still in the last century. I haven’t eaten potato pudding since I was a child!”
She turned to speak to the officer on her left, a thin quiet youth called Paul Santier, who had taken no part in the conversation and was easily the youngest and most junior soldier present. He was shy and evidently terrified of her, but gradually she drew him out until he was telling her that he wrote the theatrical entertainments with which some of the officers passed their time. He composed the words and music, Le Grand arranged the dances and they had already put on one performance for the people of Wantage, which had been very well received. He lost his self-consciousness when Lottie spoke to him in French, and soon she was hearing all about his widowed mother, his two young sisters, their farm in Brittany and their pride that their son and brother had fought for his country.
Lottie, who several years before would have deplored the role of confidante to a youth barely out of short trousers, tried not to yawn and to appear sympathetic.
The pudding was taken out and the port came in.
“You will forgive me if I do not withdraw, gentlemen,” Lottie said. “Since there are no oth
er ladies with whom to take tea, and since I have always enjoyed a glass of port, I shall pretend to be a man for the purposes of this course.”
It seemed that her presence did not inhibit the officers in any way, for they enthusiastically passed her the decanter, sat back in their chairs and allowed the drink to flow. The port was followed by a poor quality brandy, about which there were many complaints. The conversation became broader and rather more scurrilous. One of the maidservants came in and sat on Duvois’s lap and another next to Marais with her hand on his thigh. Santier looked terrified, Le Grand scandalized.
“Time for me to leave, I think,” Lottie said, as Marais’s doxy started to kiss and fondle him. “After all, I am a far better class of courtesan than these. I am surprised that the proprietor of The Bear allows such license in his hotel,” she added as Ethan escorted her down The Bear’s grand staircase and out to the carriage. “This is supposed to be a respectable house.”
“As always, money talks louder than disapproving voices,” Ethan said. He handed her into the coach then joined her. “Despite the willingness of some of the maids,” he added, “there is not one of my colleagues who does not envy me now.”
“Apart from Monsieur Le Grand, perhaps,” Lottie said. “He thinks you all depraved. And poor little Lieutenant Santier,” she added. “He would be terrified if a woman tried to kiss him!”
“You were very kind to young Santier,” Ethan said.
“Kind!” Lottie said, revolted. “I am not kind!”
“I do believe,” Ethan continued, a spark of humor in his eyes, “that he sees you quite as a motherly figure.”
“A mother!” Lottie exclaimed. “Have you given up all attempts to flatter me, my lord?”
Ethan laughed. He took her hand and stripped off the glove, kissing her palm. “You know that you relish the role really,” he murmured, his lips against her skin.
“I do not!” Lottie’s hand tingled at his touch. She tried to sound outraged. “I assure you that you misjudge me, my lord,” she said. “I am the least kind person in the world and have no desire to be anyone’s mother!”
Ethan kept hold of her hand, toying with the fingers. “Very well,” he said. “I accept your protestations as sincere.” His voice changed. “You looked very beautiful tonight, Lottie. Everyone was dazzled.”
“Thank you,” Lottie said, mollified. She had known that Ethan was teasing her over Santier but at the back of her mind was the lowering thought that she was almost old enough to be the lieutenant’s mother. She remembered Mrs. Tong’s barbed comments on her encroaching age and shivered deep inside. Ethan might have no complaints of her as a mistress but it was not a secure career for a woman of her years. There was nothing more pitiful than a raddled old harlot and she was damned if she would sink that low. It was far more sensible to ensure a respectable future by working to help Theo.
Betrayal…
She repressed another shiver.
“Do you think it likely you will wish to ride out with us in the mornings?” Ethan asked. He was watching her, his face in shadow. “If so I will bespeak a mare for you from the livery stables.”
“I should like it extremely, my lord,” Lottie said, trying to shake off the blue devils. She made her voice light, unconcerned. “There is but one difficulty. I would have to rise from my bed at some intolerably early hour of the morning in order to join you and I fear that will be quite out of the question.”
Ethan smiled. Her heart skipped a little beat at the warmth in it. “You could try,” he said.
“Impossible,” Lottie said. “There speaks a man who has no understanding of the complexities of the female condition!”
“Very well,” Ethan said. “You do ride, though?”
“Indifferently, badly,” Lottie said. “I last rode in Spitsbergen. That,” she added, glancing at him, “was the expedition on which I met Captain Purchase.”
There was the tiniest breath of a pause.
“Ah,” Ethan said. “I wondered.”
Lottie looked at him. His expression was impassive, his voice even more so. It was impossible to know what he was thinking.
“You did not ask,” she said.
“We established in London that I have no desire to pry into your past affaires,” Ethan said. There was the very slightest edge to his voice.
“Would you actually care?” Lottie hated herself for asking and hated herself even more for the pleading note she heard in her voice. She would have given anything to withdraw the question, but it was already out there.
Ethan laughed. “Oh, yes,” he said, and suddenly there was an undertone of steel in his tone that simultaneously chilled her and excited her. “I would care, Lottie. Make no mistake.” He gave a short laugh. “I don’t care—much—about that puppy, James Devlin. He’s no more than a boy. But Purchase…” He paused. “Purchase is my friend. So…” He turned to her and his gaze dwelled on her thoughtfully, sending a long shiver down her spine. “Would you like to tell me the truth? I would hate to put a bullet through him unnecessarily.”
Lottie gulped. “You don’t mean it,” she said.
Ethan shrugged. The hot night air felt laced with his tension. He shifted a little, easing his long body more comfortably onto the inadequate carriage seat. “Perhaps I would forgive him for any transgressions before I met you,” he said. “But you are my mistress now, Lottie, and it matters not if it is Le Prevost or Purchase or any other man. I bought your fidelity and I don’t expect you to play me false.”
There was a silence.
“You need not worry about Le Prevost,” Lottie said truthfully. “He is not my type. Far too pretty.”
“That’s a mercy,” Ethan said. “For him.” He waited a moment. “And Purchase?” he asked.
“I like him,” Lottie said. She had been half tempted to prevaricate. This possessiveness in Ethan was a new thing and it flattered her, made her feel wanted. On the other hand she had enough experience to know she would be a fool to try to excite Ethan’s jealousy. That would be madness. She could feel something in him tonight, something dangerous, that it would be very unwise to provoke.
“We were never lovers,” she said. “I know Captain Purchase because I sailed to Spitsbergen with him and for no other reason, so you need not challenge him outside of fencing practice, my lord.”
She felt the tension in the carriage simmer down a little and let out her breath on a long sigh. “You do not show your feelings often,” she said. “I could have sworn you did not care a rush for me and would do no more than laugh if I ran off with another man.”
In reply, Ethan drew her close and kissed her with a thorough, sensual possessiveness that left her breathless. His mouth moved over her throat, pressing little kisses against her skin, seeking the tender hollow beneath her ear, brushing aside the tendrils of hair that curled against her cheek.
“I won’t share you,” he said softly as his tongue traced the line of her collarbone, flicking over the curve at the base of her throat with a wicked touch that left her breathless and trembling. “You are mine, Lottie.”
It was not a declaration of love, Lottie thought, but it was the best that she would get. It had to suffice, even though it left her wanting more.
Ethan’s fingers swept over the lace that edged her bodice. “Another modest gown,” he said, and there was laughter in his voice. “How you tempt me.”
His hand was against her breast and Lottie felt the nipple harden against his palm. She gave a little gasp, and he covered her mouth with his again, kissing her deeply, sliding the lace down so that his fingers could stroke and tease her breast, tormenting her into giving a response she could not control. So often her transactions with men had been driven by calculated sensuality; she had done it that very morning, seducing Ethan deliberately, making him want her because his desire reassured her and made her feel safe. Unlike most of her lovers, though, Ethan had the power to turn the tables on her and leave her the one wanting more. And now, suddenly, she
understood. She knew that every kiss, every touch, was a demonstration of Ethan’s mastery and her submission. He had claimed her with his words. Now he would possess her body and she would be helpless to resist. In truth she had no wish to. Sin, she thought, had never tasted so sweet.
Her head fell back against the carriage cushions as Ethan’s mouth replaced his fingers at her breast. He licked gently, experimentally, tasting her, holding her still with his hands as she squirmed. Her skin felt intolerably responsive, aching for his touch. Her nipples tightened and the fierce longing inside her spun tighter still. But she knew that Ethan would not hurry to satisfy her need. The more she trembled for him the more it would please him.
A tiny moan escaped her as Ethan’s hands slid down from her bare shoulders, taking the bodice of the gown down with them so that she was naked to the waist. Her arms felt chilled. She shivered. She felt so exposed. Odd, when she had flaunted herself so many times in gowns that were barely there, that this man’s calculated stripping of the clothes from her body should leave her feeling so utterly vulnerable to his gaze and to his touch. He bent his head to her breasts again, tugging, nipping and sucking at the sensitive peaks until she groaned. His mouth covered hers quickly, hot and open.
“Hush,” he whispered and she could hear the laughter in it again. “Our coachman looks too old to sustain the shock of hearing you come.”
Lottie’s mind splintered at his words even as she felt his hand beneath her skirts, seeking out the hot damp core of her. The pressure of his fingers against her was unbearable delight, fleeting, tantalizing one moment, a firmer caress the next until she wanted to scream. The velvet of the coach seat was rough against her bare back, the night air cool against her naked skin. Ethan’s touch now was frustratingly light but she knew that there was no point in pleading with him. He would allow her to come only when he was ready. The torment was excruciating. Whenever she arched to his hand, wanting surcease, he would slow his strokes to the slightest touch that only drove her wilder with need.
One Wicked Sin Page 14
