Illicit Love

by Jane Lark

  Illicit Love

  Marlow Intrigues #1

  Jane Larkil

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Epilogue

  Copyright © 2013 Jane Lark

  All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without prior permission of the publisher.

  Sapphire Star Publishing

  www.sapphirestarpublishing.com

  First Sapphire Star Publishing trade ebook edition, May 2013

  The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Names, characters, places, and plots are a product of the author’s imagination. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  ISBN-13: 978-1-938404-54-2

  Cover Design by Carrie Butler

  Cover Images by Subbotina Anna, Elena Itsenko, and Kiselev Andrey Valerevich

  www.sapphirestarpublishing.com/janelark

  Thanks dpgroup forum.

  Dedication

  I am dedicating Illicit Love to my family and readers.

  To my husband, who has become a widower, and my daughter, who has been left motherless by my addiction to writing over the last ten years—thank you for all your support and patience, guys. I really love you. Dreams do come true.

  Then to my parents who have endured me throwing things their direction to proofread for a decade, for all the hours you have invested in me, thank you.

  I also wish to remember my brother-in-law Steve Bown who passed away in December 2012, far too young. His vibrancy and sense of humor is sorely missed. For his family who will treasure their time with him.

  Then lastly to my readers, I hope you enjoy Illicit Love, it’s wonderful for me to know my characters now have life in these pages, and they wouldn’t have this without the power of your imagination.

  To discuss Illicit Love once you have read the story go to my blog http://janelark.wordpress.com

  Acknowledgements

  I wish to acknowledge and thank by name all my friends and work colleagues who have taken the time to read my work through the years and then given me feedback and encouragement—Julie Alldritt, Deborah Belcher, Paula Boshier, Lin Sharland, Kirsty Prescott, Annmarie Prosser, and Rachael Taylor.

  I would also like to thank a very special group of people, my fellow Romance authors who are members of the United Kingdom’s Romance Novelists Association (RNA), the Bath and Wiltshire Chapter. This group of wonderful people have given me encouragement, guidance, and the information which has helped me become a published author. Thank you for investing some of your precious time in me. Also thank you to the RNA for continuing to run the New Writers Scheme which allowed me access to this network of authors.

  Finally, I would like to say thank you to Sapphire Star Publishing and my fellow authors here. You are a wonderful publisher and a great team to work with. Thank you all for your belief in me, and your support through the whole process. It’s wonderful to work with such a fabulous team of people and authors.

  Chapter One

  Perfectly positioned to view one of the ton’s fairest sons, Ellen’s eyes were drawn from Lord Gainsborough’s playing cards to the man seated across the table—Lord Edward Marlow, the second born son of the tenth Earl of Barrington. He was newly in town and therefore a novelty, an enigma. Every mistress and courtesan in the room had been watching him all evening and she was no exception.

  Lord Edward’s long, manicured fingers moved, poising above his cards. Ellen openly stared, the low light in the room and its stale hazy air, thick with tobacco smoke, hiding her scrutiny from the watching crowd.

  His hair was dark brown and gentle curls tumbled from his crown, licking his forehead and the high collar of his black, tailed evening coat, Brutus style. In the candlelight, thrown by the chandelier above, his hair glistened with a variety of rich, roasted coffee bean shades.

  His head lifted and she indulged her eyes with his severe yet perfect, profile. He exuded authority. The man was sleek strength and sophistication. The muscle of his jaw tight, his lips rose as if to smile, but hesitated as though some thought stopped him, and she saw doubt or indecision pass across his expression. Then his eyelids lifted and his dark, intense gaze clashed with hers, a deep blue, more like slate-gray.

  Embarrassed and a little flustered, Ellen’s appraisal fell to his hands.

  His fingers teased out a card and threw it to the table while she felt his gaze burn into her.

  Desire stirring, she pictured the pleasure those fingers could give a woman and the air in the room was suddenly hot and thick, despite the cool winter night outside.

  Ellen lifted her open fan and fluttered it gently to cool her skin as her gaze drifted back to his face. He was watching her still. One dark eyebrow rose and his broad lips smiled. Her gaze hovering on his, she mirrored his smile, her heart pounding as though she was already coupling with him. She imagined his mouth on hers and a hot blush touched her skin. The sweeps of her fan increasing, her imagination drifted on towards indecency—impossibility—picturing tangled limbs and warm flesh.

  Light caught the jet-black pools in his eyes, as though he saw the pictures she was forming in her thoughts and his captivating smile twisted with implied agreement. It turned his features from handsome to utterly devastating.

  A hot flush spread like a caress down her throat to her breasts and lower, racing across her skin.

  “I shall raise you a hundred, Marlow. Will you match me?” Lord Gainsborough’s brusque challenge sliced through the silent communication she shared with Lord Edward.

  His gaze tore away, his blank expression cutting her, apparently dismissing their flirtation. Instead it focused on Lord Gainsborough.

  Ellen stood behind Lord Gainsborough and slightly to his side, in her protector’s shadow, oppressed. Oppression was Lord Gainsborough’s pleasure and Lord Gainsborough’s pleasure was her life. Her gaze fell to the seam at the center of the back of his black evening coat. The pressure of his bloated body strained it. Excess was another of his passions.

  Revulsion stirred. She despised the man—her protector. Yet preference was irrelevant. She was tied to him, trapped by him. He had blackmailed her into obedience five years ago and now here she stood, her soul and conscience dead while her body lived on, fulfilling his dissolute desires. She was empty, a vessel, deaf to the voice of morality and blind to shame.

  Laughter hovered behind her closed lips, ringing in her thoughts, a sound of silent madness.

  Lord Gainsborough liked flaunting his pretty vessel—his precious trophy. Sometimes he let others touch, taunting them with what they couldn’t have. Wickedly she wondered how he would react if she let someone of Lord Edward’s ilk touch her. He’d be furious.

  Hiding her self-deprecating smile behind her fan, Ellen glanced over its top at the gorgeous man across the table. Was it very wrong for her sinful body to want a man like that? How would it feel? How would it feel to be free from her so-called protector for an hour or two and play his games with a man of her choice? Choice was a holy grail; a cup fallen woman longed to drink from. And she’d love defying Lord Gainsborough.

  As though p
ulled by an invisible cord winding between them, Lord Edward’s gaze lifted to her while he contemplated Lord Gainsborough’s call. His eyes widened, darkening, perhaps reading hers, and what appeared to be amusement twitched his lips before he looked back at his cards.

  Ellen snapped shut her fan and lowered it to her waist, turning her attention to the game. Only Lord Gainsborough and the younger Lord Edward were left in play. The others sitting about the table simply watched, and behind them stood a crowd three deep. The dense ring of silent observers, were men in the formal black evening dress Brummell had made popular, with the occasional female, mistress or courtesan, draped from their arms. They were men enjoying the hedonistic lifestyle of the sleazy gentlemen’s club, or gaming-hell as it was more commonly known. Gaming-hells, like this one, provided the thrill these men craved from high stakes games, with women and wine to ease the rush.

  For Gainsborough, she knew this place fuelled something else—his desire to be envied. He brought her here to show her off. Lord Gainsborough wore her as women wore their jewels. She was an adornment—his precious, beautiful, trophy. He’d not even dislike Lord Edward’s attention—he’d relish it. Yet if Gainsborough knew she was enticing Lord Edward, she would pay a price.

  “I will meet your hundred, Gainsborough, and raise you ten.”

  “Are you sure you have it, boy?” Lord Gainsborough’s tone rang with condescension, ridiculing Lord Edward. It fell flat. Lord Edward was younger, but he was in his prime. She would place him at his peak, mid-twenties at the least.

  Receiving no answer, shifting in his seat, her protector pulled at the cuffs of his evening coat, while the eyes of their crowd turned to Lord Edward.

  “Now your brother is back, Marlow, surely you have lost your portion. Should I request security for your funds?”

  That barb seemed to hit a mark. Suddenly leaning back in his chair, Lord Edward’s eyes narrowed, his nonchalant air shattering as anger flashed in their blue-black depths. For all his beauty and youth he lacked nothing in masculine strength. Ellen sensed ruthlessness in the look he threw back at Lord Gainsborough.

  “Play the game, Gainsborough. I’ve no desire for conversation.”

  “But you are able to honour your debts? I need not wait for you to tug your brother’s purse strings for payment?”

  Ellen watched Lord Edward’s grip tighten on his cards while his other hand reached for his glass. A slowly indrawn breath and he appeared back in control.

  Everyone had heard the talk. He’d been running his brother’s estates since the age of eighteen, while his brother, the eleventh Earl, wasted both time and money abroad. Now his brother was back. Potentially to bleed dry the estates which were prospering under Lord Edward’s careful hand.

  Lord Edward had arrived in London a week ago, angry and bitter, from the reports of the gossipmongers in the ton, and his behaviour this evening certainly concurred with the tale. His mask of serenity had slipped, revealing the man beneath the façade. He appeared out of sorts with the world, playing hard and deep, drinking heavily—and this from a man known for his dislike of vice.

  His gaze lifted, meeting hers, anger and mockery in the look, as once more he caught her contemplating him. The determination in his eyes seemed to challenge her to speak. To what, agree with Gainsborough? Does he think I would condemn him? I am in no place to cast judgement.

  Again his gaze ripped away from hers. “I have enough of my own blunt, Gainsborough,” he said, looking at his cards. “I have no need to beg from my brother.”

  The nuance in his voice made her feel as though the words were said for her.

  “I’m glad to hear it. Then I will raise you another two hundred, guineas.”

  Lord Edward’s narrowed eyes lifted suddenly to look at her protector.

  He didn’t have it, she was certain of that. He could not afford the stakes but would stupidly bury himself in debt because of some bizarre falling out with his brother, or stubborn male pride.

  Unwilling to play audience to his downfall, she lowered her gaze and saw Lord Gainsborough’s cards had changed. The ten had become an ace, and the eight exchanged with a king. Disgust twisted Ellen’s stomach. Gainsborough would win by deceit and Lord Edward would be neatly leashed with the debt a whip in Lord Gainsborough’s hand. Her protector had no decent, honest bones in his body. He manipulated people. That was Gainsborough’s art; he used, broke and discarded people like puppets. She prayed daily he would cut her strings and cast her off—set her free—even though she had nowhere else to go. But he never seemed to tire of the power she gave him. Yet she need not watch him secure another victim in his sadistic sway.

  Her heart pumping hard, looking up, she found Lord Edward’s eyes on her again. An odd feeling assailed her, a sense that he saw into her thoughts. His assessment was no longer admiring, nor mocking or angry, instead his gaze intently studied hers, searching for something.

  She darted her gaze down and up, trying to direct his attention to Lord Gainsborough’s cards with her eyes while simultaneously flicking open her fan and then fluttering it beneath her chin to distract attention from their silent communication.

  Lord Edward’s brow furrowed. She could see he didn’t understand.

  Widening her eyes, she once again looked to Lord Gainsborough’s cards, then snapped her fan shut and tapped the tip against the long sleeve of her satin glove.

  Smiling, or rather smirking, Lord Edward looked down at his cards.

  Ellen glanced about their audience but she saw no one watching her.

  “I will meet your stake, Gainsborough, and double it to see your hand. Show me your cards.” With that Lord Edward tossed two jacks and two eights onto the green felt and then Lord Gainsborough laid a royal flush down in opposition to the pairs. Lord Gainsborough’s hand won. An exclamation rang from the gathered crowd, voicing congratulations for Gainsborough. Then comments of consolation followed, as Lord Edward’s shoulder was slapped.

  Ellen held her breath, her gaze fixed on the table, her heart pounding. She was too afraid to look up in case Lord Gainsborough identified her collusion when, if, the accusation came.

  It did. “You are a damned cheat, Gainsborough! Take off your coat!” From Lord Edward’s voice she could tell he was standing, facing them across the table.

  Ellen stepped back as Lord Gainsborough rose, his bulk lifting from the chair. He was old enough to be her father and looked older still after years of debauchery, broken veins marring his fallen cheeks and bulbous nose. But despite his age and weight he could still move quickly when he wished. Tonight he did not wish, he stood slowly, making no effort to do Lord Edward’s bidding.

  “Don’t be ridiculous, boy. I am a Viscount. I have no need to cheat.” Gainsborough’s voice welled with ridicule. He knew this game. Act the aggrieved. Turn the accusation back upon the accuser. Be above reproach, and you are. She had watched him play it numerous times.

  “Yet still, I ask you to remove your coat, my Lord, and prove your innocence, if it is so.” Lord Edward’s eyes searched their audience then and settled on a man similar to him in age. “Find Madam, have her bring her brutes and we will sort this out.” The other man instantly disappeared obeying the request.

  “You are talking nonsense, Marlow. I refuse to be challenged like some damned guttersnipe! Come, my dear, we’re leaving.” Painfully gripping Ellen’s arm Lord Gainsborough turned her away. “My man of business will contact you, Marlow. Then you will settle your debt.” As Gainsborough thrust the words sideward over his shoulder, his grip steered her into the parting crowd.

  “You played me false, Gainsborough! You’ll wait until it’s proven!” Lord Edward’s voice resonated throughout the room, a barked order carrying no deference for Lord Gainsborough’s seniority in age and status.

  Irate voices rose, supporting Lord Edward, “Yes, Gainsborough!”

  “Take off your coat!”

  “Prove it!”

  The crowd grew, closing the avenue before Ellen.
Lord Gainsborough’s hand fell from her arm as he turned back. She knew he was starting to realize he was not going to win so easily this time.

  A swell of satisfaction stirred in Ellen’s chest. Revenge would be another sin to add to her list of many, but it tasted sweet, even if the victory was minor and he’d no knowledge of her part.

  The crowd about them parted again for the gaming-hell’s tall, sylph like, aged and highly painted female proprietor to forge a path towards them. Ellen was aware of two of Madam’s burly doormen moving behind her.

  “Lord Gainsborough? What is this accusation? My house is honest. Please, if you have done nothing wrong, you shall not mind removing your coat.”

  Gainsborough took a breath and then snorted, scoffing at the crowd, apparently casting them all fools. But he was cornered, he could do nothing but concede.

  Slipping the buttons of his double-breasted evening coat free, he looked at Ellen, growling, “Woman, help me!” before turning his back to her and holding out one arm. “Tug the sleeve loose.” He threw her a warning look over his shoulder as he spoke. She understood it exactly. He expected her to hide the cards.

  Afraid. Her heart thumping. Gripping his cuff in fingers and thumb, Ellen felt the cards hidden within his sleeve, but she refused to help him. She loosened his cuff from his hand then let go and lifted hers to ease the coat from his shoulders. The cards fell to the floor and she gasped to make it appear accidental, but the sound was lost amidst the outburst of the watching crowd. They shouted in shock and disgust, a burst of masculine irritation.

  This would cost her. Their battlefield had revised and her involvement was too visible, but she was not letting Lord Gainsborough crush her first assault.

  Gainsborough’s anger and accusation struck her as he looked back, and she stepped back, afraid he would strike her physically, her heart pulsing as panic turned her stomach to ice.