The Captain's Courtesan

by Lucy Ashford

  She went inside. Her throat felt as though it could hardly drag air into her lungs. Tension made her sick. She’d just lit the fire that was ready laid in the grate when he came back in, bowing his dark head a fraction to enter the low-beamed door.

  ‘Please tell me everything,’ he said simply.

  What had she to lose?

  He joined her on the sofa, not too near, not too far. He was very quiet as she told him how she’d seen him with his stepmother at Lord Stokesay’s ball. She began to shiver again. ‘I saw how beautiful she was, Alec,’ she said. ‘And I’d heard your men talk about someone who had hurt you badly in the past. I’d assumed it was your fiancée …’ Her clear voice, so steady till now, faltered at last. ‘But that night I realised that you must have loved her and were devastated when she married your father …’

  He said, ‘That is not true. You must believe me. I never loved my stepmother, ever.’

  And she began, at last, to hope.

  A slow tide of exhilaration was surging through Alec’s veins. He remembered Mikey’s words. ‘She went dashing out, Captain Stewart, with tears in her eyes when I talked about you and Two Crows Castle!’

  Those tears were precious. The money—her gift—had given him the excuse to make this journey. Rosalie’s tears had given him hope.

  He must not press her. He mustn’t overwhelm her. Hadn’t she endured enough, in her usual calm, courageous way? But she did, at the very least, deserve the truth.

  Steadily Alec told her the whole sorry tale. How Susanna had come to him that one wretched night, when she was already promised to his father, and seduced him when he was befuddled with drink and fatigue. How he had tried to warn his father away from her, but had only alienated the Earl, badly. How he’d discovered that Stephen, too—Rosalie let out a low cry at this—had shared that woman’s bed, often.

  She listened to him intently and he saw the colour tinting her cheeks as his story unfolded. She clasped her hands in her lap throughout; only at the end did she say, ‘But when I saw her with you at Lord Stokesay’s, she—she looked as though she still loved you …’

  His face became hard briefly. ‘Perhaps she does care for me in her own way. But she was saying goodbye to me, Rosalie.’

  ‘Goodbye?’

  Again he saw the emotions fluttering across her delicate face like shadows. The anguish in her eyes as she absorbed all this. Gently, he told himself. Gently. She is not sure she can trust you, for God’s sake.

  Alec wanted to enfold her in his arms and soothe away her suffering, and tell her she was safe. But this wasn’t over yet. Instead he took her hand in his and said, ‘She left my father the day afterwards to return to Italy, taking the family’s jewels with her. Stephen went after her.’

  ‘To get them back? To get her back?’ she whispered.

  He held her hand fast and said, ‘Ostensibly to get the jewels back. But who knows—perhaps Stephen felt some kind of affection for her? However, I think he probably seized on it all as a convenient reason to leave London for a while. He would have been afraid, you see, that I would spread the news about his attempt to kidnap Katy. That I might make known the whole, shameful business of his seduction of Linette and his efforts to silence you, Rosalie.’

  ‘But if you’d told Linette’s story, your family’s reputation might have suffered. You would have sacrificed that?’

  ‘Without hesitation,’ he said steadily.

  A jolt shook her heart. Was it possible that she meant so much to him? Or was it his sense of honour, of justice, that prevailed? Her hand still lay in his and the warmth, the strength of his grip, tingled through her veins, setting off that familiar, so-painful longing that tugged at every fibre of her being. Fighting it with all her strength she lifted her face to his to ask calmly, ‘What will happen, Alec, when Stephen comes back?’

  His hard-boned face was grim now. His voice devoid of emotion. ‘He won’t come back. He drowned when the ship on which he was sailing foundered in a storm off Brest. I’d have come so much sooner, but you’ll understand my father needed me.’

  ‘Oh …’ The shock of it travelled through her. ‘Oh, Alec. Stephen was Katy’s father and your brother …’ She was silent, wondering. ‘Yet—yet everything about him was the very opposite of what you stand for.’

  He’d gone very still. ‘What do you think I stand for, Rosalie?’

  ‘You stand for courage,’ she said steadily. ‘Honesty. Duty.’

  Her words resonated through his body, bringing light somehow to the darkest recesses of his soul. He heaved a deep breath. ‘Stephen’s story is sad indeed,’ he acknowledged quietly. ‘He could have been so much more.’

  ‘Your poor father—he will be grief-stricken!’ Her blue eyes lifted suddenly to his face. ‘Unless—he knows?’

  ‘He’s gone to his country home at Carrfields in Hampshire for a period of mourning. But, yes, he knows. I didn’t have to tell him about Stephen and Susanna, for which I thank God. My father knows also about me and that one hateful night with her.’ He shook his head, as though banishing dark dreams. ‘We are reconciled again, my father and I. And he wants me to bring you to Carrfields, Rosalie.’

  ‘Me?’ A pulse was beating very faintly in her throat.

  ‘Indeed. You,’ he said softly. ‘And Katy, too, of course. We are betrothed, remember?’

  Again Rosalie felt an agonising surge of hope. Hope that she’d crushed remorselessly, again and again, until her body felt battered with emotion.

  She tried to smile dismissively. ‘Alec, I know you only made your offer of betrothal out of duty! It was to keep Katy and me safe from your brother—but there is no longer any need. Besides, now that Stephen is dead, you are the heir to an earldom and marriage to someone like me is out of the question!’

  That decided him. If he’d had any doubts at all about the complete rightness of this, they were gone. Vanished. Yes—his brother’s death made him one of the most eligible matches in England. And only Rosalie—his enchanting, courageous Rosalie—would turn him down for that very reason.

  He drew her into his arms, as he’d been longing to do since seeing her in the sunshine of the orchard that afternoon. ‘Rosalie. Listen to me. I want you. I need you. I would have told you long ago, but I knew that you believed so very much in loyalty to one’s family and I thought that my past—my shameful past—would repel you for ever!’

  She’d lifted her hands to his cheeks now, outlining his dear, familiar features with her fingertips, feeling ripples of desire surging through her every nerve end as she traced his hard cheekbones, the stubble-roughened skin of his jaw, the soft sensuality of his lips. ‘Alec, I did a dreadful thing in driving Linette away from home, remember?’

  ‘You were trying to save her. You searched all of London for her. You risked so much for her daughter’s sake. No one could be as loyal or as brave as you.’ He drew a deep breath. ‘When I realised that you’d left Lucas’s house, I was terrified that you’d found out about my stepmother and hated me. And I couldn’t endure it. I want to know—I need to know—if you feel that you could, some day, come to love me, Rosalie.’

  Her heart was almost too full to speak. ‘Love you! Alec, I think I’ve loved you since that night that I saw you at Dr Barnard’s!’

  ‘Really?’ He was speaking huskily now, his desire for her pounding through his veins, heating his loins. ‘You’re telling me that Ro Rowland, fellow about town, writer of scathing pieces about London’s gentry, lost her heart to a patron of the Temple of Beauty?’

  ‘Ro Rowland, fellow about town, was—quite frankly—captivated by a handsome soldier simply known as the Captain,’ she breathed, running her hands across his shoulders.

  ‘And I by you. Oh, God, Rosalie …’

  In that same instant he gathered her in his arms. His big hands spanned her ribs, encompassing the slenderness of her waist beneath that old gown, feeling her tremble at his touch; then her arms were round his neck and she was breathing his name. He let
one palm cup her breast, his thumb stroking the right nipple until it tensed and hardened beneath his touch.

  She was lifting her face to him like a flower, her lips already opening for his kiss. Their mouths brushed once, twice, then were joined in a gliding of lips and tongues that had his body burning for more. Her kiss was delectable—shy, yet passionate. He roved deeply within the silk of her inner lips while he pulled her harder against his own body, until her breasts were crushed against the wall of his chest. The old sofa groaned and creaked. Alec broke off the kiss, swearing under his breath. ‘This is not a good idea.’

  He saw the desperate disappointment in her wide, desire-hazed eyes. Saw the way she drew herself back, her arms clasped across her bosom. ‘Of course. I’m sorry. What you must think of me …’

  ‘I meant,’ he said softly, his dark eyes burning with need for her, ‘that I think a bed would be far more comfortable.’

  ‘You were going to the inn …’

  ‘They’re not going to lose sleep over my absence.’

  Her sweet face lit up again. Her eyes danced with laughter. ‘Oh, Alec. Let me just lock the door and put up the fire guard …’

  ‘We’ll do that together,’ he said, his thumb still deliciously circling the sensitive skin of her palm. ‘When you’ve explained one more mystery to me, Rosalie Rowland.’

  ‘A mystery?’

  ‘I’ve already thanked you for your donation to Two Crows Castle. But—forgive me—I thought you were penniless.’

  And so she told him all about Francis Wheeldon’s enquiries and her Lavalle legacy.

  ‘Oh, Rosalie Rowland,’ he breathed, ‘fellow about town, I am fascinated. I can’t wait to begin finding out the rest of your secrets … Oh, hell and damnation!’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I don’t suppose I should touch you, let alone kiss you. Devil take it, now I’ve learnt you’re a French aristocrat, I suppose I should ask permission from someone to court you!’ His eyes danced with laughter and something darker that thrilled her soul—burning, all-male desire.

  ‘My dearest Alec,’ she whispered, pulling his head down to hers, ‘you’d have to travel a long way to find anyone who’d trouble himself to fight for my honour. And I’ve told you—you are an earl’s son and should be looking amongst England’s aristocracy for a suitable wife!’

  ‘God damn it all—’ he frowned ‘—I will not face the Marriage Mart at Almack’s! Please, Miss Rowland, don’t put me through that!’

  She put her head on one side. ‘On second thoughts,’ she murmured, her eyes dancing, ‘I might take pity on you. And if you do not kiss me this very minute, I swear I will most definitely have to seduce you!’

  ‘Are you sure?’ He was still holding back. ‘This isn’t all too—sudden for you?’

  She ran, light-footed, to lock the door, then came back to wrap her arms around his neck. ‘I’m fine,’ she murmured, ‘apart from the fact that I have missed you, my darling Captain Stewart, so very, very badly.’

  He swung her up in his arms and carried her up the twisting stairs to her bedroom. ‘Mind the beams.’ She was laughing. ‘Alec, I don’t think anyone of your height was ever meant to live in a cottage like this—be careful of the doorway, and that old cupboard there—oh!’

  ‘I was made to be in a cottage like this. With you,’ he said. He deposited her on her bed and began to kiss her.

  Rosalie had told herself all evening that all she wanted now was his touch and one kiss, no more, but it felt so wonderful to be held by him again. Inevitably her hunger deepened, burned like a flame as she pressed her lips to his warm skin and ran the flat of her palm over his dear, familiar face, his muscled shoulders.

  He pulled off his shirt, then his breeches; already his desire was evident. He helped her to unbutton her gown, because sudden shyness made her fingers clumsy, but he reassured her with the kisses he traced from her throat up to her earlobes and lips.

  She breathed, ‘I want you, Alec. Come to me, now. Please.’

  His dark eyes intent, he joined her, seeking her mouth with his in gentle cajoling, giving her pleasure and reassurance with every touch of his hand, every caress of his lips. Sweetly he suckled at the tightened crest of her breast, while letting his fingers trail downwards to the heated core of her. Letting out a low moan of need, she wrapped her slender legs round his muscular, hair-roughened ones, urgently seeking him.

  Whispering her name, he drove himself into her, sheathing himself in her warmness; she clutched him and moved with passion and love, until her whole being was shattered by a delirious extremity of pleasure in which he exulted even as his own climax convulsed him.

  For a long time afterwards they lay breathing as one, hearts beating as one.

  And still Alec’s blood pounded with the urge to kiss her, caress her. By God, he’d fought his love for her. He’d been so reluctant to lay himself open, make himself vulnerable. But Ro Rowland had stolen her way into his heart and he had no intention of losing her, ever again.

  She was stirring dreamily in his arms, her lissom body curled half-naked against his own hard-muscled form.

  ‘Tired?’ He kissed her throat tenderly.

  ‘I shall not sleep all night,’ she whispered. ‘I shall always remember lying here like this, with you, Alec.’

  He raised himself on one elbow, gazing down at her as the moonlight filtered into the low-ceilinged cottage bedroom. ‘I’ve told you,’ he said steadily, ‘I love you, Rosalie. I want to spend the rest of my life with you.’ He cupped her face with his hand and gazed into her eyes with a kind of raw and aching tenderness that set all her nerve ends tingling again with the need for his possession. ‘Are you, or are you not, going to marry me?’

  So much. He meant so very much to her. ‘I really need to remind you,’ she said huskily, ‘that I’ve appeared on stage, at the Temple of Beauty, which is truly outrageous!’

  He gave a shout of laughter and gathered her close. ‘So you did,’ he breathed, ‘and that’s when I realised what was missing from my life. The goddess Athena, in the form of the adorable Miss Rosalie Rowland!’

  She was beginning to laugh, too, tenderly. She was shifting beneath him, eager for his embrace again. Eager to feel the delicious weight of him, feel his virility pleasuring her, joining with her in a completeness she’d scarcely dreamed of.

  ‘Try getting me to leave your life, Captain Stewart,’ she whispered, pulling his face to hers to kiss him sweetly.

  And Alec felt, after years of travelling through an uncharted wilderness, as if he’d come home at last.

  Epilogue

  Their wedding was in November and the reception was held at the Earl’s Mayfair home. The six-month delay was inevitable, for the Earl and Alec were in mourning for Stephen, and an unspoken grief was felt by both, for the man he might have been. No one ever spoke Susanna’s name again.

  Prior to the wedding Alec moved back into the Bedford Street house that was originally his home, for Susanna’s mother had followed her daughter to Italy. Alec left Garrett to manage Two Crows Castle for him, which he did most efficiently. The Earl had offered to fund the hostel fully and Alec had wanted to return Rosalie’s money, but she refused.

  ‘I’ll think of it as my memorial to Linette,’ she told him and he understood.

  At the party after the wedding all the guests agreed that Rosalie looked radiant in her gown of white tulle, while Alec was splendidly, darkly handsome in his black tailcoat. But it was also agreed that little Katy stole the show, for she refused to be parted from Alec’s side, and had to be cajoled away from the party and to her bed with the promise that she would see him again the next morning.

  After an idyllic week spent in the countryside at Carrfields, Rosalie, Katy and Alec returned to Bedford Street. Katy had been invited to Lucas and Verena’s house for the afternoon to play with their children, so Alec showed Rosalie around. On the first floor she espied a sun-filled room with a bay window that was furnished with some as-yet-empty
mahogany bookcases and a beautiful old writing desk. Rosalie turned to Alec with questioning eyes.

  ‘For you,’ he smiled. ‘A study, for Ro Rowland. I know you’ll never want to give up your writing.’

  ‘Alec, it’s a beautiful room. But you know I’ll stop writing if you want me to!’

  ‘Perhaps you could try something safer, like poetry?’ he teased. ‘My love, I don’t want you to ever stop writing. You’ll have some spare moments to fill, after all. We won’t be at parties and balls every night, and when we are old and grey we’ll have perhaps got over spending most of our days in bed together.’

  She nestled against him. ‘Mmm. Most of our days. Oh, good. And I’ll be careful,’ she promised, ‘with my writing. I’ll be especially careful not to tackle down-at-heel soldiers about rackrenting!’

  ‘Wise of you,’ he murmured. His strong hands, which had been caressing her breasts, were already starting to deftly unbutton the bodice of her pretty sprig-muslin day gown. ‘Because one of these days, Ro Rowland, intrepid adventurer, exposer of wrongs, you might find that you’ve taken on more than you bargained for.’

  She touched his wide, sensually curving lips. ‘And so, indeed, might you—Alec! The servants!’

  ‘Are well trained,’ he grinned, undoing another button.

  She sighed with happiness and ran her fingers over his shoulders, deliciously conscious of that powerfully masculine body beneath the formal shirt, of the way his breeches moulded his lean hips and powerfully muscled thighs. She could see that he wanted her. Was aroused for her, as she was for him.

  She said softly, ‘Here’s an order, Captain Stewart.’ She moistened her own full lips. ‘I want those clothes off.’

  ‘Wanton,’ he said, shaking his head a little, ‘utterly wanton …’

  ‘Do I detect insubordination?’ she retorted, a wicked gleam in her eye.

  The look of mischief in her sparkling turquoise eyes made his throat go dry, his skin tingle. For answer he swung her up in his powerful arms and carried her to the bedroom, while she clasped her hands tightly around his neck and pressed her cheek to his chest, where she could hear his heart beating.