The Illicit Love of a Courtesan. Jane Lark
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him. In the fiction of dreams—yes. In reality—no!
Perplexed Edward dropped back to sit on the bed, his fingers running through his hair. She slid on her drawers and tied them, then pulled on her chemise, ignoring him, her lips fixed in a stiff line, anger oozing from her.
For some inexplicable reason his offer of marriage had made her seethe. He could only assume she thought he wasn’t serious. He was. He’d thought long and hard enough about it to be sure. He’d considered just offering her protection, but his ingrained honour-bound sensibilities had baulked at the idea.
He refused to keep a woman for the sole purpose of sexual pleasure. He loved her. He couldn’t place her worth beneath his. Guilt had struck him even at the thought. His new-found happiness was based upon re-building her self-esteem not shattering it. He refused to insult her.
No, he’d decided he wanted to keep her, and if he wanted to keep her he could only offer her an honourable route—marriage. After all he was a second son with no fear of insulting the ton’s bloodlines. Heirs were his brother’s worry. The blessing of being a second son was that you could walk away from status if you chose. He’d chosen.
His only problem was an independent income; he’d been living off Robert’s estate all his life. He’d need to find some other way to support her. But having managed Robert’s land for years he presumed he could easily find a position as a steward. His mind made up, he’d been walking on air anticipating her gratitude, expecting to be hugged and cried over, with happy tears. Not Ellen, no, only Ellen could see a marriage proposal from the son and brother of an Earl as offensive.
He stood up, impatient, and struggling to understand her unjust response, caught her shoulders and stilled her. “Ellen, I’m serious. Think about this. Surely you would rather be with me? I don’t want you as my mistress. I want you as my wife.”
Anger was apparent in every taut muscle beneath his touch. She turned away, her eyes full of pain, and continued dressing. “I know you mean well, Edward,” she said as she moved, her words clipped and tight, “you are honourable and good, and for that reason alone I would not accept you. You need a decent woman for a wife. Not me.” Her arms in the sleeves of her dress, she slid it over her head and then turned back, meeting his gaze as her dress dropped, sheathing her slender frame. “But even, despite that, I cannot. He’d kill you.”
“Thank you!” he thrust back, lifting his hands, palms upwards, expressing his frustration as he reined in his fermenting ire. “It’s nice to know you have no faith in me. I am able to protect myself, and you, Ellen. And if I cared about your status I would not have made the offer.”
In answer his shirt was thrown at his chest. “Just get dressed, Edward.”
“I wouldn’t let him reach you!” he yelled, throwing his shirt to the bed before bending to collect his underwear from the floor. Pulling it on, he looked back to see her sitting in a chair, putting on her stockings.
Intensely angry, he pulled on his breeches and buttoned them, then bent to collect his stockings and boots and sat to put them on, grumbling as he worked. “Stubborn, bloody, woman. I cannot see what is so important to you that you would stay with him. I saw the bruises he gave you with my own eyes. Why would you stay with a man like that?”
When his eyes lifted back to her she was fully clothed standing a few feet away and watching him. As their gazes met she walked forward. He sighed and she picked up his crumpled shirt from where it lay beside him.
She rolled it up while he watched her and then set it over his head.
He slid his arms into the sleeves, his eyes not leaving hers, waiting for an answer.
“Because I have to. There is nothing you can do about it except believe me. Just accept it, Edward.”
Frustrated, he stood and his hands bracketed her waist, but the storm of his anger began blowing out. “Then for God’s sake tell me why? If I understood perhaps I can find a way to help you.”
She pulled away again, turning her back and reaching for his waistcoat and his morning coat. “You can’t. Just leave this, Edward. Please.”
His brow furrowed as she turned back with his clothing, her gaze pleading. He put his morning coat aside and drew on his waistcoat. He was confused. When he’d decided to marry her, he’d thought it the perfect solution. She obviously did not.
“Ellen, if you are worried over my brother’s opinion I don’t care for it. We could move away, somewhere no one will know your past and Gainsborough would not even think to look for you.” His waistcoat secured, he looked back up.
She was standing before him with a well of tears glittering in her eyes.
Cut by her pain, his frustration burned completely out as her forehead fell against his shoulder as if every good thing he’d given her in the last few days had ebbed away. “Ellen.” He embraced her. “I didn’t mean to make you cry.”
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