by Sharon Page
“Oh, that,” he said carelessly. “I wanted to scare off Halwell. Of course you are not my mistress. We have barely met.”
Disappointment crashed in on her. It was true. She knew nothing about him. But he’d come to her rescue. He was honorable. And—
And so gorgeous, she felt breathless around him.
“You would be quite fine to be my protector,” she assured him. “I would be happy with you as my choice.”
His brows shot up again. “My dear—”
A sharp, grating sound interrupted them. She knew what it was—the first draw of a bow over strings. The strains of a waltz filled the ballroom.
“A waltz!” She jumped up and down with excitement. Now that Halwell was gone, she was in no danger, and she had met a dazzling duke who was perfect to be her protector, she remembered where she was.
In a ballroom.
Where there was music.
And waltzing!
No one in Newton-Upon-Avery, where she grew up, had ever waltzed. But she had seen drawings of the elegant dance. It was so close. So shocking. The woman rested her hand on the man’s shoulder and clasped his other hand. The gentleman—
His free hand pressed to the woman’s low back. Right over her bottom.
A shiver ran through Sophie at the idea of Caradon’s hand there. A delicious shiver.
She had wanted to try waltzing with Samuel, but he’d thought her mad. He’d preferred kissing and groping, which, truth be told, had been very hot and exciting.
“We must waltz.” She grasped his hand. “Could we? Please?”
“You are amazing,” he said.
“Thank you! Now quickly, before we run out of music. I have no idea how to do it, and I might be dreadful, but it would be so wonderful to try!”
The duke shook his head. “Sweetheart, you obviously do not belong here.”
“Of course I do! I wasn’t actually invited, but I do want to be here. I need to be here.”
He did the worst thing in the world. He chuckled.
She was new to the business of being a courtesan, but her mother’s manuscript talked of men being besotted, being mad with desire.
Chuckling was not good.
The duke stood his ground and, with one tug on her hand, brought her back to him.
“I mean, you are sweet and innocent, and this world will corrupt you and ruin you,” he said. “What you need to do, love, is go back home. This world”—he encompassed the packed ballroom of eager gentlemen and brazen women with a careless nod—“is filled with vice and sin. Some I suspect you can’t name. Some you don’t even know exist.”
She lifted her chin defiantly. “I am worldly.”
“I doubt it.” Softly, he said, “Do you have the fare for a coach to take you back home?”
“I can’t go home. If I go home with empty hands, three innocent children starve.”
Home! What a horrible word that was for her now. She had no home. She had been thrown out. She belonged nowhere. And as their money had dwindled, she and Belle had been forced to take shelter in worse and worse places. For a while, they had taken refuge in an old barn.
Home for her was anywhere they could keep rain off their heads.
She couldn’t go back without the hope of money to support her family. Not when the revolting Earl of Devars was waiting to get her into his clutches. He wanted her to be his mistress, but he was even worse than the Marquis of Halwell.
Devars made Halwell look a perfect gentleman, he was so awful.
“There must be another way for you to save your family other than shatter your innocence and give your body to a gentleman in exchange for money,” Caradon said. “What of marriage? You are a sweet and beautiful young woman.”
With an illegitimate child. She couldn’t marry. Making love to Samuel before he had gone to war had destroyed any chance she had of a proper marriage. “There are reasons I can’t marry,” she hedged. “Anyway, there is more to being a mistress than just going to a man’s bed in exchange for money. A courtesan is so much more than that.”
“Is she?” A smile played around his lips again. “How is a courtesan more?”
She wished he would stop smiling as if he found her immensely amusing. It didn’t bode well. He should be panting with desire for her, promising her the world. That was what a protector was supposed to do, according to her mother’s memoirs.
“Well, we would have stimulating conversations,” Sophie said. “I would be a very gracious companion. I would make him very happy and please him. And perhaps there might be love between us.”
“Love,” he repeated. The duke looked at her as if she had just told him the sky was green and had always been that color. Then he shook his head. “I can’t let you do this. It’s not right.”
He looked like Dr. and Mrs. Tucker had when she’d had to admit she was expecting a babe. So disapproving.
But he was a duke. Wealthy beyond imagination. He had no idea! “It is easy for you to say. You have no idea what it is like to watch children sob quietly because their tummies are empty and they know there is no point in asking for more food because there isn’t any!” Frustration crackled inside her. “And if you think it is so wrong for a woman to be a courtesan, why are you here?”
“I didn’t say it’s wrong for a female to be a ladybird. It’s wrong for you to be one.”
His light blue eyes and his long dark lashes dazzled her. How gorgeous he was. But this was hopeless. Utterly hopeless.
“I do thank you for your advice,” she said stiffly. “Since you are so obviously experienced with my type of situation—I’m sure you’ve spent many days penniless, with an entire family dependent on you—I will most assuredly take your advice to heart.”
She began to walk away.
His hand clamped on her wrist, stopping her. “Walking away from me to find another charming protector like Halwell? You will get on a coach and go home if I have to plant you on the seat myself.”
She could not go home! Lord Devars knew what she had done to save her family—the terrible thing she’d had to do. He could have her arrested and transported.
He had offered her a bargain. He would not turn her in to the magistrate if she became his lover. He’d given her a fortnight to make her decision.
But if she had a lot of money, she could move Belle and the children somewhere Devars would never find them. And if he came after her, she could use her wealth to make them all disappear.
She could not go back just as impoverished as when she’d left.
“I can’t go home with empty hands. I can’t look at all their faces and see the disappointment and the fear. I don’t care what the price is for them to be fed and safe and happy.”
“You do not even understand the price,” he said softly. “Come with me.”
“To dance?”
“No. I have something to show you.”
Cary had planned to find a mistress here tonight so he could prove to himself he could take a bride and have a normal married life with her. A married life that would include children—the duty of every English peer.
Instead, he was leading a pretty dark-haired young woman down a quiet corridor to show her the truth about life as a courtesan.
At every turn in their conversation, Sophie Ashley had startled him. She had argued with him. She had disdained him for being here, looking for a mistress when she was looking for a protector. She’d accused him of being clueless when it came to poverty. Then, when she’d decided she’d wanted to waltz, she’d guilelessly tried to drag him onto the dance floor. She’d sparkled like a jewel, her lovely green eyes wide and full of hope and excitement. Her innocence had shone like a candle’s glow.
She had sweetness. And spirit.
She was an absolute beauty with her lush black hair and massive green eyes.
And she had no bloody clue what she was doing.
He led her out of the ballroom and down one of the corridors of the assembly rooms. He took her farther fr
He heard a soft, saucy giggle. A guttural male moan.
Cary led Miss Ashley to the door, which was partly open. A low fire burned in the grate, giving enough light so she could see into the room.
He pushed the door open farther.
And stood back, expecting to see poor Miss Ashley freeze, go chalk white with shock, then back away in haste.
Seconds later, he realized she was still watching. And she was not pale.
Her cheeks had gone sweetly pink. Her eyes were wide. Her tongue swept over her lips in a way that was like a sharp slap to his cock, telling it to wake up.
He watched her tongue sweep, tap, lick, and make her full, lush lips shiny and moist.
“Look what she’s doing to him.” She gasped breathily. “Goodness, look at his face. He’s transported by pleasure. He loves every minute of it.” She turned to him and dabbed her full lips again. “Do you like to have that done to you?”
What was she talking about? Cary realized he had better look....
The duke had pushed the door open so stealthily, so gently, there had been no sound. Sophie had heard giggles and groans and, when she’d looked, she had seen a naked woman get down upon her knees in front of a man who wore only a white linen shirt.
The Duke of Caradon stood right behind her. She couldn’t see him, but her whole body was aware of him. She was quivering, waiting to feel him touch her somewhere.
Then he leaned closer, and his warm breath washed over her ear. She let out a moan. She couldn’t help it. Her whole body went tense and wobbly at the same time.
He sucked in a sharp breath.
At the same moment, in the room, the woman’s head moved between the man’s legs. She took hold of his thick staff with both hands and pointed it to her mouth.
Was she going to kiss it?
Not quite. The woman parted her lips and ran her tongue along the veined staff. Licking him! Heavens, now she knew what was meant when her mother wrote that a woman could control a man with her lips. She’d thought that her mother had meant conversation.
She’d seen Samuel’s penis, all erect and eager. This man’s was fatter and bigger. Really, it was quite shockingly large. The man, with his dark wavy hair, was rather handsome. But Sophie found it hard to keep looking at his face.
She couldn’t resist looking lower.
The man’s erect member disappeared inside the woman’s mouth. The woman kept her lips all soft and relaxed around him, holding him tight as her head bobbed and she took him in and out. The woman sucked so hard, her cheeks hollowed.
Oh, the man looked as if he were in heaven. Obviously, men really did delight in this. Could she—?
She thought she could, with the Duke of Caradon. Her rescuer.
Then the man in the room put his hand on the woman’s head to hold her in place and pumped aggressively into her mouth. Harder and faster. Saliva dribbled down the woman’s chin. She took hold of his buttocks and the ballocks between his legs, and squeezed both.
The man threw his head back. “I’m coming!” he hollered, and surged his hips forward. Grabbing his hips to hold him in place, the woman sucked so hard, she made the man scream. Literally.
“Bloody hell,” the Duke of Caradon muttered behind her. He pulled her back from the door. His broad chest rose and fell with his heavier breaths. “I wanted you to see the kinds of things a man would demand of you.”
“I would be willing for a man I desire,” she said honestly. “For you.”
The duke rubbed his temple. His teeth were gritted. “That is not what I wanted you to discover.”
She moved toward him until her bosom almost brushed his chest. “But it’s what I have discovered. I’m not innocent, you know. I certainly know what desire feels like. And I want you.” She gripped the duke’s solid forearm and surged up on her tiptoes.
Sophie sucked in a scared breath, softened her lips, and pressed her mouth to his.
Her first kiss as a courtesan!
3
It was never my intention to move downward from an earl to a viscount. Practicality dictated I use my wiles and my expanding circle of acquaintances to conquer greater peaks. On the arm of my devoted young earl, I was introduced to marquesses and dukes.
So imagine my great surprise when I was whisked behind a large tree in Hyde Park by an eager and gorgeous viscount, and I found myself unable to put a stop to his ardent seduction.
It was not because he was insistent, but because I was weak at the knees, bubbling with desire, and I had never wanted a gentleman more. He lifted my skirts, and in two clever strokes of his thumb, he brought me to the climax that had eluded me through several love affairs. “You are mine now,” declared the viscount. (Alas I cannot even indulge the first letter of his name. He would be identifiable at once.)
“No, I am not.”
“I made you come, my dear.” His youthful and beautiful face glowed with pride. He was twenty-one, and I was younger by two years, but I felt worldly wise.
“There is more to this business than simply that.”
“You are filled with arrogance, are you not?” I added.
“When you see me without my trousers, you will know why.”
“Harumph,” I said. “A coronet on a carriage is of more importance to me than an endowment in your linens.”
“You are a heartless thing.”
“A woman cannot be practical and have a heart. The combination is far too volatile.”
He merely laughed. “You will come back. I know you will.”
I stuck my nose in the air and left him. But in a few stolen moments behind the trunk of a spreading oak, I had fallen in love.
—From an unfinished manuscript entitled A Courtesan Confesses by Anonymous
Her soft mouth moved over his in a messy attempt at a kiss. She was all eager enthusiasm, fierce passion, and no finesse. It was like capturing a willing but innocent dairy maid behind a milking shed. Miss Ashley had to be innocent, probably virginal.
Cary stood there, letting her lips rub against his. Until his conscience demanded to know what in hell he thought he was doing.
Stop kissing her and save her, damn it, it said.
I will. In a moment. This is just a kiss. I’m not going to ravish her.
You might, answered his conscience. When was the last time you kissed a woman? When was the last time you were burning inside? If you unleash the lust boiling in you right now, you’ll regret it.
I have no intention of unleashing anything.
She kissed him harder, mashing her lips to his. She pressed her bosom against his chest. Then she clasped his hand and lifted it to caress the swell of her breast. Full, encased in tight silk, her bosom was a warm temptation.
Apparently, she’s ready to unleash.
Shut the hell up, he muttered to his conscience.
He should drag his hand away, but she held him there, his palm cupped around the sweet, full curve swathed in pale blue silk.
God . . . he groaned against her mouth as a surge of desire almost cut him off at the knees. In his confining trousers, his cock straightened.
He hadn’t had sex in a long, long time. He couldn’t even relieve himself in his own hand anymore. Memories flared up at any kind of sexual contact.
Moans fluttered from her lips. Her fingers clung to his shoulders. She had closed her eyes, and her jet-black lashes curled against her cheek, making her look even more sweet and innocent—though she kept his hand clamped against her soft, lovely tit.
She was trying for a sensual kiss, but she kept pushing her lips around on his with no real skill and no idea how to inflame his desire.
Despite this, his cock was as heavy as an iron bar, pulsing as all his blood rushed to it. His body was on fire.
Damn, what in hell was wrong with him?
He believed her story—he believed she had people to support and she had no other options. He believed it, and it made his heart ache. She was so lovely, and she had no idea what happened to most girls who tried to find a rich protector. He had to make her see the truth. He had to do something to save her—
Wanting to lift up her skirts and bury his aching cock in her lush heat was not going to save her. She was innocent, and if he fucked her, he would be taking that innocence. Only monsters did that....
His memories snapped at him like growling beasts secured by tethered collars. Soon the chains would break, and the dark tormenting images locked in his head would overwhelm him.
His cock swelled and throbbed as if to shout: I’m here. It’s been a long time, so I thought you might have forgotten you’ve got a cock.
She moaned into his mouth and shoved harder against him. Memories exploded in his head, dark and vile. They clawed at him, trying to pull him down.
No. No, hell no . . .
If he didn’t stop, what in hell was he? A blasted monster.
Cary jerked his hand free and away from her round breast, and broke away from her mouth. “Stop,” he growled.
For a moment, she stared at him as she’d forgotten who he was, where they stood. Then she moved close to him again and touched his forearm. “Why are you stopping? That was dazzling. My heart is pounding, and my skin feels as if it’s on fire. I’ve never felt like this. You wanted me to see what courtesans do to their protectors. Don’t you want more?”
“No, I don’t want more,” he said tersely. “I want to frighten you so much that you run back to the country and find yourself a good, solid dimwitted husband, and you understand how precious and beautiful your innocence is. I want you to know how much you will regret it, every day of your life, if you let your innocence be taken away from you.”
Sophie didn’t understand. The duke had pulled back from her and shut the door to the room. Now he shoved his hand through his blond hair and scrubbed his jaw. He kept doing all these things that spoke of nerves, of regret, of some intense emotion coiled up inside him.
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