Illicit Love

by Jane Lark

Edward realized the entire table was waiting for his response. He hadn’t a clue what cards had been picked up and laid, or what bets had been called. He threw away a card, any card, he didn’t particularly care. Rupert groaned, clearly the wrong card then. Someone else collected it from the table.

  Why didn’t she find a reason to get away from Gainsborough so they could talk? Edward glanced at Ellen. Gainsborough was watching, and smiled.

  Edward focused back on the game, forcing himself not to look at her for a couple of rounds, until he couldn’t resist the urge any longer. Deeming it safe by now, his gaze crossed the room. Gainsborough was leaning to say something in Ellen’s ear, with one fat palm resting over her breast.

  Bastard! Edward couldn’t look away. The air trapping in his lungs, his heart missed a beat.

  Then Ellen rose and walked away on her own, crossing the room, weaving between tables.

  His eyes followed and taking a breath he leaned forward. He should be careful, discreet, but he just wanted a moment with her. Damn it, he was not going to miss a chance to speak to her.

  “I’m done.” Looking at the men about the table, he threw down his folded hand of cards but Rupert caught Edward’s arm as he began to rise, pulling him back down.

  “Is that wise?” Rupert spoke for all to hear, his inflection telling Edward plainly Rupert was not speaking of the card game. He knew exactly where Edward was going.

  Edward smiled, nodding to the rest of the table. “I’m playing poorly. What is the point of continuing and losing more?” He shrugged, looking at his cousin, acting the part of a man losing interest in the game.

  Rupert frowned, clearly not fooled. “Just be careful,” he said, more quietly, and lifted his hand from Edward’s sleeve.

  “Am I not always?” Edward replied, his own voice low, his eyes already turning to the door Ellen had gone through, as he rose from the chair.

  “No, and I should say your current behaviour proves it,” Rupert answered to Edward’s back.

  “Ellen.” Her name was whispered with urgent insistence.

  Edward.

  She couldn’t believe he’d been foolish enough to follow.

  The hallway was dark and all she could see was his silhouette against the light spilling from the main hall.

  Her traitorous heart swelled. Just to have him in reaching distance caused a lance of pain to strike through her chest.

  She’d felt empty without him, and her body instinctively craved the comfort he could offer, his solidity, security. She’d spent the last hours wishing for his hand to clasp for reassurance and his strength to defend her but now he was here she wished him gone. How could he be so stupid and endanger them both?

  “Where are you going? How long do we have?”

  Her heart closed against the desire to step into his arms and cling to him. Instead she whispered harshly, “Go away, Edward.”

  Trying to behave as though he was not even there, she moved to sweep past him, her pale green satin skirts brushing his leg.

  He caught her arm. “Ellen, what is it? What’s he done?”

  She’d spent the last dozen hours in fear of Lord Gainsborough’s reprisal. She was scared. The man had been asking her questions for hours, and it was a game of roulette as she scrambled together answers which she would never remember if she had need to repeat them. She’d been so silly. She ought to have known Wentworth would tell him about her absences.

  She looked at Edward’s fingers on her arm and then at his face. She could not remember the last time she felt this afraid. “Let go, Edward. I need to get back.” Years had passed since she’d feared Lord Gainsborough would execute his threats, because she’d learned her place. But Edward had changed everything—he’d shattered it.

  God, I’ve been so selfish.

  Warring emotions of fear and pain clashed into despair. Her desires were irrelevant. Anger welling inside her, it rose up in a tumultuous whirlpool of regret. She was unable to control any of this. And now it appeared she could not control Edward either. The only thing to do was end this, then Edward would be safe and she would have no need to fear.

  “Ellen?” He let her go, a note of pain in his voice.

  This would hurt him. It would hurt her. But she had to end it. Facing him, fists clenched at her sides, restraining her pain, shaking, she pushed the one man she wanted to be with away and threw her anger for Gainsborough and fate at Edward, to make him believe. “Are you stupid? Why did you follow? Leave me alone, Edward. I have to go back. I said I would contact you.”

  Her voice was a harsh whisper, and the rasping tone was enough to tell him her anger was genuine.

  He lifted a hand to touch her. She knocked it aside.

  What on earth was going on?

  Fear lodged in the pit of his stomach. Had Gainsborough struck her?

  Ignoring her verbal and physical denial, gripping her arm he pulled her into Madam’s private parlour, where this had begun.

  A single candle burned before the mirror above the mantle, spreading a soft flickering light across the room.

  Clicking the door shut behind them, with a care for silence, he then let her go.

  Immediately she launched at him, slamming the sides of her fists at his chest. Her blows had no more effect than a bladder ball bouncing off a wall, but her distress moved him.

  He knew she wasn’t angry with him. He could tell she was just feeling trapped. His arms surrounding her, he held her. She fought for freedom and then suddenly, like a mare breaking to the saddle, he felt her energy to fight drain away and she clutched the sleeves of his evening coat over his biceps, holding on for a moment as if the torrent of her emotion would wash her away. Then a sob, overflowing with desperation, escaped her lips. The sound struck him with more force than any of the physical blows she’d thrown and when she lurched and tried to pull away again, he let her go.

  A single flat palm struck his chest in reprisal before she backed away, tears shining in her eyes. “Let me leave, Edward. This has to end.”

  Stepping forward, following her retreat, his eyes scanned her face. She wore no makeup. She had no visible bruises. “Has he hurt you?”

  “No! But he will, if I don’t go back. Please! He only sent me to order a drink, I have already taken too long because I used the retiring room. Stay away from me, Edward. If you want me to be safe, let me go!” She tried to sweep past him, but he blocked her path.

  She was scared, he could see that, but if this was to be his only opportunity to find out why, he was not letting her go.

  Her palms lay flat against his chest, white satin resting on his black evening coat, holding him at a distance. He could change nothing. It had to end. If he would not do as she asked, it was better to push him away. She’d spent all her adult life hiding her emotions, why must it be so hard now. Biting her lower lip, she fought for control as her hands fell and she saw the candlelight catch in his stormy blue-gray eyes.

  She forced a cold note of determination back into her voice. “I need to get back, Edward.”

  He gripped her shoulders and held her still, as though he was afraid she’d run. “Not yet. Just give me a moment. I need to speak to you.” The handsome strong lines of his features showed restrained emotion.

  This was breaking her heart and his, but she had to do it. “Edward, if I do not return soon Lord Gainsborough will ask questions. He already suspects.” Laughter rose in a room above.

  She glanced up, and then faced Edward again.

  “All I want is a minute.”

  She gave up, seeing no way to persuade him otherwise, it seemed quicker to simply let him speak. “Say what you must then, quickly, and let me go.”

  Her voice hit him like a stone in his chest, it was dismissive and matter of fact now her emotions were harnessed.

  “You’re withdrawing from me?” he challenged, astounded. What the hell is this? “Ellen, do not…” He cursed out loud, and stepping closer, felt her physically recoil. His grip dropping from her shoulde
rs, he stood before her with all the confidence of the callow youth loving her made him. She was casting him off. Rupert’s words lanced Edward’s brain. Had she been playing after all?

  “Yesterday you said you loved me.”

  “Yesterday Lord Gainsborough wasn’t in the other room, Edward. Say what you want and then let me go. But I will not meet you again, not when I can’t trust you. You cannot pull a stupid stunt like this.”

  Disbelief and anger warring, his eyes narrowed. “Ellen? I offered to get you out of his reach. If you’d accept me…”

  She laughed. A horrible vicious, cold and hollow sound. “Is that all, Edward, is that why you dragged me in here, to repeat your ridiculous offer.”

  Watching emotions play across his face, hurt, anger and hatred, Ellen knew what to do to end this. She thrust the knife into his heart to kill his affection.

  “Why would I accept you? You’re penniless, living off your brother. Could you buy me furs? You cannot afford to keep me, Edward.” She could see he was stunned by her words. Her fingertips pressing against his chest she pushed him aside, feeling the firm muscular contours beneath his coat, contours she had spent the last week learning. Then walking past him she tossed the final blow. “It’s over.” Playing the perfect courtesan her skirts swishing with the undulating sway of her hips she walked out of Edward Marlow’s life.

  “I won’t let him win,” he called behind her.

  God, the fool. Anger returned in a rush, an easier emotion than the one which caused such pain. Her fingers fell from the door-handle and she turned back, her eyes narrowing on his brooding face.

  “I am not a hand of cards, Edward.” Her voice, like her heart, was cold, void.

  Men! Was he truly no different? Did this all have to be about him?

  “This is not about winning or losing. Whether you and I love each other or not? Whether I accepted your offer of marriage or not? You do not have control over this, nor do I. Nothing makes any difference. Whether you win or lose. Whether he was to win or lose, as you put it. I will always lose.” She turned to leave. Then thought again and turned back. He looked bewildered, guilty and angry.

  “Because you would not have his money?” he questioned, clearly insulted.

  She could hardly be angry with him for saying it, she had planted that seed again, but it still hurt to know he’d believe it. Sighing, she carried on. “Yes. You said you loved me, but if you truly loved me, you would think of me above yourself. I am ending this because there can be nothing more. Surely it is better for us both to simply admit it, rather than go on. You will win, Edward, regardless. You are left with your life as it was before you met me, intact. Congratulations.” With that, she did leave, shutting the door on any hope of a future without fear.

  Edward’s shaking fingers ran through his hair. She had dropped him, just like that. Thrown him off. Only yesterday she’d declared love. Stunned, in shock, he thought of his cousin’s warnings. But he didn’t believe it.

  Why would she do it now? Her body writhed beneath his when they made love and she clung to him when they lay sated. She’d laughed with him, a dozen years younger. She had told him before it was not about money. She had told him too, she could not get away from Gainsborough. Then there was only one answer, whatever tied her to Gainsborough had made her run from him.

  God, she was cold when she wanted to be, she had stuck a knife in his ribs just where she knew it would hurt the most, and twisted it. But he realized now, she’d only done so because she knew it was the one weakness that would make him believe. Low, was what it was. A bloody blow beneath the belt. Clearly no one had taught her the etiquette of boxing. They’d taught her how to annihilate with one swift punch.

  What had she meant? You will win? I will always lose? She was not happy in the life she had, but she’d said she had no choice. She wanted to leave then, but she didn’t trust him to help her do it.

  His decision was unchanged. Despite her best efforts to rebuff him. All he had to do was convince her he was serious, constant. She was pushing him away to test him and he was not about to let her succeed.

  Angry but determined Edward left the quiet parlour.

  He noticed no one watching as he abandoned the darkness of the narrow hall. Ahead he could see Ellen re-entering the room where Gainsborough played. Edward did not follow. He had no intention of prodding Gainsborough’s ire unnecessarily, especially as it was Ellen who’d suffer, but nor was he walking away. Sauntering languorously through the club’s various salons he watched the play with a distracted air. But like a magnet it was inevitable his mental focus stayed with Ellen and eventually he could no longer physically stay away. He strolled back past Gainsborough’s table not far over half-an-hour later.

  Gainsborough had Ellen on his lap, her arms around his neck and his hand on her thigh. Edward threw her a disgusted look, which Gainsborough caught and returned with a lewd grin. Shaking his head, Edward’s gaze passed to Rupert who was hailing him from across the room. Rupert looked to be having better luck than Edward, a pile of notes lay on the table. Walking past a footman Edward called for a glass and brandy bottle. He needed to put himself out of this bloody misery, and what better way to numb the pain.

  When he reached Rupert, his cousin beckoned him to lean down and asked if Edward had spoken to her.

  Nodding Edward made no effort to expound. Instead he pulled up a seat behind his cousin to watch the game, and when the footman brought the brandy, took the bottle and glass. He filled the glass up and knocked it back, then did the same again. But Edward’s eyes never went near his cousin’s game. Instead they fixed on Gainsborough and Ellen, and their performance. It was obviously played to spur Edward’s anger. Staring, he kept drinking to deaden the blow of being forced to watch the woman he loved in another man’s hands. But he was not going to let Gainsborough bully him into leaving the club. If Edward did, he’d fail her. No, he had to prove he was in this for the long haul, and he’d not do it by turning at the first hurdle. So holding the bastard’s bloody gaze, Edward warned the son-of-a-bitch he would not be chased off.

  ~

  Three triple armed candelabras burned behind Ellen and two more stood across the room, flooding it with light, illuminating Lord Gainsborough’s sadistic, lecherous glance towards the four poster bed. It dominated the bedchamber, fearsome and threatening. Her personal hell. Leering at her like the man before her, taunting her with its thickly carved pillars, head and footboard.

  I cannot do this anymore.

  Lined with paintings of women in a variety of nude poses, the bedchamber was a masculine room, his not hers. Its ceiling was adorned with a vibrantly colored mural of the naked Gods at play. The dark red walls intimidated her. She hated this space in which she was forced to suffer evil. She felt sick.

  Lord Gainsborough’s eyes turned from the bed to her.

  Forcing herself to stand her ground, her fingers clasped the skirt of her evening gown, desperately clutching the fabric as though she clung to the edge of a cliff. Her palms were cold and clammy with fear as he reached to touch her.

  She shivered with intrinsic revulsion.

  She wanted Edward. She wanted love and security.

  Ritually, this was the moment her mind gave her body into Gainsborough’s hands and left it. But it was too hard this time. Edward had melted the ice about her heart—she couldn’t not feel anymore. Her emotions reeled and utter despair burned inside her. She wanted to weep from the sadness of it, but she refused to let this man see how much he hurt her, it would only increase his satisfaction.

  Pain formed a lump in her throat and she tipped her eyes to the ceiling, to hide the glassy shimmer of unshed tears, as Lord Gainsborough’s fingers slid across the fabric of her gown, over her breast.

  He knew about Edward. Gainsborough had been playing her like a fish on a line all night, tormenting her, threatening her, letting her think he had let it go and then returning to the point. In the carriage ride home he’d openly sneered at her, c
asting questions about Edward’s ability, asking for details. He wanted to know what they’d done in bed, what she’d done, and what Edward had done to her. She had answered none of them, but even so Lord Gainsborough was more aroused.

  Her stomach turned over and bile rose in her throat, she swallowed it back.

  He wanted to see her cry, to make her beg him to stop. He would use her anyway. Her pleading would only increase his pleasure.

  She had taken the risk of seeing Edward and this was the price.

  But it was costing too much.

  At the club, when Edward’s gaze had locked with Gainsborough’s, she’d known Edward understood. Gainsborough had mauled her as a taunt. Thank God, Edward had done nothing in response bar stare, and drink. Yet she’d endured his pain with mortification, feeling her heart break. But what could she do? What could he do? Nothing. She could not protect Edward any more than she could protect herself and he could not save her.

  But she couldn’t endure this, she couldn’t, and yet she had no choice.

  “What do you take me for, Ellen?” Gainsborough’s whisper was low and threatening. “Did you think I would not know of your dirty little affair? Like a bitch-on-heat you ran to his bed the moment I left town. Was he good, Ellen?”

  She let her gaze fall to the floor, standing motionless and silent, her heart racing in a sharp unfaltering rhythm. His fingers suddenly, painfully, gripped her hair, tipping her eyes to him.

  “I like the thought of you behaving like a slut for him. Did you learn new tricks? Teach me, and play hussy for me, and perhaps I’ll not choose to kill him. But it ends now, do you hear me? And to be sure of it, I’ve decided to fetch the boy.” The threat was spoken in a honeyed tone, as though he was offering her sweet incentives, not cruel intimidations.

  Her heartbeat faltering, the blood drained from her vision in a rush as she grasped his arm to stop her fall. Fear raced over her skin, lying like ice across a lake. She was trapped beneath it. His face inches from her own she smelt his vile breath, stale with cigars and brandy. Her stomach revolted, turning over, while sheer panic pumped a surge of energy into her limbs, she wanted to fight, or flee.