Once upon a courtesan, p.4
Once Upon a Courtesan, page 4
Tonight, though, still stinging from the encounter with his brother, the pain was not as dulled by the erotic images around him as it would normally be. He felt disconnected, like he was watching the writhing bodies and hearing the moans through deep water. It wasn’t that he didn’t feel the eyes on him, those who would seek his touch, it was that he found he didn’t really care. There was no spark when all he wanted was that fire of desire to burn over him and make him forget everything else.
Just as he had the previous night he’d come here, it left a bad taste in his mouth. A fear that perhaps he no longer belonged in any corner of what was once his world. Perhaps he never would again.
With those maudlin thoughts cascading through his mind, he began to make his way through the pulsing crowd toward the bar in the back of the main hall. A few drinks and this would pass.
He was trying to believe that when he turned his head and everything else faded away. A woman stood at the wall near the end of the bar. She wore no mask, which was shocking enough at the masquerade. Women almost always wore one, though some of the courtesans and lightskirts didn’t.
This woman wore a pretty blue gown that was the height of fashion and clung to seductive curves. She had dark hair and even darker eyes, though from the distance he couldn’t make out their color.
She was gorgeous, the kind of woman that drew every eye of any room she entered. This one was no different, for she had admirers staring at her from every direction. She, on the other hand, was entirely focused on him. Their gazes met and he realized who she was in a rush of heated memories.
The woman at Vauxhall Gardens all those years ago. The night before everything changed when he’d fucked Simone Stanhope in the alcove and looked up to find a fallen angel watching him with a hooded, heated stare. With her focused attention on him, he’d come so hard he’d seen stars.
Under normal circumstances, he might have pursued her after that. Discovered her name, found her location, pursued until he could make her shake with pleasure. But his father had died that same night. He’d been called to the house the next morning and then he’d departed from the country. Left everything in this life behind as he stewed in his anger and pain and loss.
But now she was here, almost like a phantom drawn forward from the past and she was watching him just as she had that night. Her expression was almost as stunned as he feared his own was, too.
But then she shook it off and that shrewd playfulness that many of the courtesans he’d known in his life came over that lovely face. She started toward him, hips twitching just so as she licked her lips like he was a feast she was about to devour. Normally he had his own reactions to such things, but at present he felt a little stunned.
“There you are,” she breathed as she reached him, standing a little too close to be proper, not that it mattered in this room where couples were actually copulating against walls.
“Here I am,” he agreed, wondering at the fact that his voice had any heft when he could scarcely breathe. “And how did I manage to grab the attention of the most beautiful woman in this room?”
She placed a palm flat on his chest and laughed, the sound as gorgeous as the music around them. “Aren’t you a flatterer.”
“Somehow I think you know that I’m telling the truth.”
“Hmmm.” She looked around. “There are women of great power and beauty here. I suppose I am one of them. A lady must know her strengths in order to exploit them.”
“A very clever lady must, at any rate,” he said. He couldn’t stop staring at her, taking in every new detail now that she was practically climbing his chest. God, her eyes were a beautiful midnight blue. He’d never seen anything like it. She had a little freckle on the corner of her lip that looked infinitely kissable.
But it was more than her beauty that captured his attention and wiped away every other distraction and thought that had been plaguing him. There was something electric about her. Immediately attracting and made a man unable to look away.
“I think you must know something about exploiting your strengths, don’t you, Silas?” she asked.
He started. She knew his name, so she obviously recognized him just as he did her. The way she said it felt like a caress, as intimate as if they were picking up some conversation they’d started all those years ago. “I think people like us must.”
She nodded slowly. “Is one of your strengths the ability to dance? I think I know the answer to that, but I thought I should ask.”
“I would very much like to dance with you,” he said, and took her hand.
Just as when she’d placed her palm to his chest, the shock of her touch worked through him with a rushing, electric power. Every hair on his body felt like it was standing on end and the heating of his blood was powerful and instant.
She led him to the dancefloor and he almost laughed. Dancing at the Donville Masquerade was practically a euphemism, especially as the night drew on. Couples ground together, they kissed with abandon, they made it clear what they would do when they were alone…or perhaps just in a corner with a place to lean.
But hardly any of it could be called dancing.
Still he pulled her close and cupped her hip, loving her tiny intake of breath and the way her pupils dilated in response. She never took her eyes from his, and it was intensely intimate to feel so absolutely drawn into another person.
“You know me,” he said after they’d taken a turn to the music, somehow dodging the couples who weren’t paying attention to anything but each other. “You said my name.”
“Yes, I know you, Silas Windham,” she said softly, a tiny smile tilting the corner of her full lips.
“And I know you,” he said.
She blinked, the only crack in the sensual mask that wasn’t of the cloth or leather kind. “Oh, do you?”
“I think you know what I mean. You and I shared a moment during a night a very long time ago. A lifetime ago.”
There was a moment when he thought she might deny it. Her gaze dipped down, her steps slowed, but then she lifted her eyes back to his and nodded. “There is no point in denying it. I saw you at Vauxhall Gardens with Simone Stanhope almost six years ago now.”
“You’re the one she was talking about,” he breathed.
She tilted her head. “You mean tonight when you were at Vivien’s together?”
He blinked. It seemed she’d been asking about him. Or at least aware of him being back in London. “No, I didn’t end up going,” he said. “When I saw her a few days ago, she teased me that someone would be happy I was back.”
“Simone, Simone,” the woman breathed. “Well, I admit I am happy. I’ve had a great many thoughts of you since that night.”
He leaned closer and drew a deep breath of her scent. Jasmine and vanilla, a sensual combination that spread increasing warmth through his entire body. “What is your name?” he whispered.
She licked her lips and he almost went mad with the desire that was increasing with every moment with her. When was the last time he’d felt so out of control with need? He couldn’t even remember.
“Arabella Comerford,” she said softly.
“Arabella,” he repeated, letting the pretty name roll on his tongue. “Is that your real name or just the one you give here?”
“It’s my real name,” she said. “I’ve no reason to have a false one, even here. I think we both know what I am, don’t we? You could guess it from my not wearing a mask, from how bold I am.”
“I have experienced many a lady of many a rank who was bold.”
“Yes, I assume you bring that out in women,” she said, almost thoughtfully. “You draw them to the edge of what they believe is reason and then make them jump. What a fall, though.”
“It’s a lovely name,” he said. “I think it would be lovely to moan while you shatter around my cock.”
Her smile became mischievous. “There he is. There’s the man who I first saw all those years ago, watching Simone as she came, holding my stare while he did the same. That wicked, wicked man who didn’t give a damn who was watching.”
“I don’t give a damn who’s watching,” he murmured as he lowered his mouth toward hers.
“Neither do I,” she answered, and then their lips met.
Silas had experienced many a passionate kiss in his lifetime. The most powerful ones came after a chase, a game where he wasn’t entirely certain if he would obtain his heart’s…or perhaps it was always only his body’s…desire. But there had been no chase here tonight. The moment they’d begun talking, Silas had known they would end like this.
And yet it was one of the most passionate kisses he’d ever experienced. It was a kiss after being separated for a hundred years, a kiss after counting every graze of a hand and meet of a gaze across ballrooms and gardens. A first kiss, a last kiss and a lost kiss all rolled up into one.
Her lips parted beneath his the moment they touched and then she gripped his lapels with both hands, lifting into him with a muffled groan of relief and pleasure. One of his hands stole down her backside, cupping the shape of her, lifting her tighter against him as their tongues collided and clashed and yet somehow still welcomed and soothed. She tilted her head to change the angle and somehow everything got deeper, the exploration even more intimate as the world spun around them and they locked it out entirely.
He had no idea how long that lasted. When they surfaced at last, lips shining, panting breaths matched, eyes locked on each other in shock and wonder and desire unlike anything he’d felt in a very long time, the song the orchestra had been playing was just ending. Their dance was done. At least this one.
She looked as staggered as he felt for a brief moment and then she reached out and took his hand. He saw the knowing distance of an experienced courtesan slide back over that lovely face before she turned her back to him and began guiding him through the crowd toward the back rooms where members could take their pleasure together in slightly more private settings.
“Let’s play,” she said over her shoulder, and in his weak-kneed condition all he could was nod and know that this night would do everything he’d wanted when he came here. It was going to sear a new memory in him that would certainly erase something old and less pleasant.
Arabella had been trained in a great many things as a courtesan. She knew how to give pleasure and to pretend her own when it didn’t come with the help of a lover. She knew how to compliment, how to make a man feel like what she wanted was actually their idea. She knew how to maximize her impact and gain the most from every arrangement. She knew how to comfort without losing herself in the process.
The skill she appreciated most though, as she guided the Silas Windham through the writhing halls of the Donville Masquerade, was that she could look unbothered when she was truly spinning inside.
She’d imagined kissing this man a great many times over the years. Sometimes it was the way she lulled herself to sleep, or brought herself to completion. But the reality of it was…different. Better because it was real and he tasted of a hint of whisky and smoky pleasure. Worse because in that moment he’d touched his lips to hers, she had forgotten every way she maintained distance from men who wanted to keep her.
She’d lost herself in that kiss, drowning in the pleasure, the sensation, the reality that this was the man who had starred in every single fantasy she’d concocted for herself over six years. And he was everything she’d ever hoped for.
But Arabella Comerford hadn’t had her knees shake after a kiss in a very long time. The fact that she could barely stay upright as she reached the backrooms was…shocking. Still, she managed to nod to the servant keeping watch beside the dim hallway and drew Silas toward the room number the man indicated with his fingers. They entered the chamber together and she broke away from him, all but willing her heart to stop pounding. He would hear it when he came close enough and she didn’t want to hand over the power by letting him know that she was shaken.
“Do you like to be watched, Windham?” she asked, then shook her head with a laugh. “A rather silly question considering our beginnings."
“I do like to be watched,” he admitted. “And to watch in turn. But tonight…” He trailed off and then moved to the portrait mounted next to the fireplace warming the room. He slid the viewing area shut so that those standing behind it, the ones who liked to ogle, couldn’t see.
She smiled. “Good. I think after waiting so long, it’s best to let this be between you and me.”
“I admit I hardly know what to do with you now that you’re here before me.”
She arched a brow. “You? After all the stories I’ve heard about you over the years, I can’t believe that. But perhaps it been a long time. Do they not have willing women in America?”
“You do know a great deal,” he mused softly. “And yes, they do have very obliging women in the former colony. But…it’s been a while.”
She cocked her head. That was a surprising admission. Every bit of research she’d obsessively done about this man said he was a love and leave kind of person. A charming rogue who gave pleasure and sought it with equal fervor and never connected anything deeper to either act.
“How long?” she asked.
He studied her a moment—reading her, she realized. The way people like them had to read people. Those who didn’t belong, those who had something to lose if they chose wrong. How did she fare, she wondered, with this man who had been her fascination for so long.
“About a year,” he admitted. “I got bored of the game.”
“Perhaps you weren’t playing it right,” she whispered, and then reached to the front of her gown. Her seamstress made all of them so they were easy for her to remove and put on herself. She flicked a few buttons, unwrapped a little fabric, pulled a ribbon tie and the entire contraption fell around her feet in an artful pool of silk.
She was naked beneath, just as she always was. She couldn’t even remember what it was like to wrap herself in layer upon layer of propriety as if a few scraps of fabric could protect her from the real demons out in the world.
She blinked away those thoughts, ones that were odd to find given the circumstances and smiled at the man who was staring at her, slightly slack jawed.
He was truly beautiful, even more than she had recalled. Of course her memories were shrouded in half-shadow and furtive glances. Now she could truly look at him. He was so tall and broad shouldered, with dark brown hair that was unruly around his forehead. He had green eyes, those eyes she knew so well, and they were focused and reflected all his desire. Up close he had an intensity and a wildness that seemed to come from every pore of his being. It called to her own. She wasn’t going to refuse it.
“Are you going to stare all night?” she asked.
He laughed, a low, rough chuckle laced with more of that heady desire. “I think a man could make a study of you for a few days and be rejuvenated, but I’m not patient enough not to touch.” He took a long step toward her and then stopped short. “Assuming you’d like me to do so.”
He was asking for her consent, despite the circumstances. She blinked at him in wonder and then crooked her finger. “If you don’t touch me, I’ll combust and we’ll burn the place down around us. Not very fair to the proprietor of this place and all he’s built.”
He laughed again at the mention of the man who owned the masquerade. “Well, considering Marcus Rivers is a good friend of mine, I couldn’t have that.”
He stepped to her, staring down at her in the dreamy firelight and candlelight of the chamber, and as he bent his head to take her lips again he whispered, “Oh, this is going to be worth the wait.”
CHAPTER 4
Arabella knew all the colors in the rainbow of her pleasure. She knew how to coax them to the surface with very little effort and welcomed all the varieties. But tonight, as the man she’d fantasized about for years put his arms around her naked body and drew her against his chest, she found something new.
Or perhaps it was something she’d lost when her innocence had gone all those many years ago. It was the heated anticipation, the wild uncertainty that contained so much wonder and also a twinge of fear. And yet here it was as she lifted into this man and kissed him. Savored him, explored him. All the while her heart throbbed like she was some virginal miss.
He seemed to feel it too, for he drew back a fraction and stared down into her eyes once more. “You’re trembling.”
She swallowed and put all her effort into donning the costume of the experienced, playful courtesan once more. “Am I?” she said with a smile as she paced away from him. “Then don’t make me wait any longer. I want to see you naked, Mr. Windham.”
When she turned, putting her hands on her hips so she’d draw his attention there, he was still watching her face. Still reading her.
“Whatever the lady desires,” he said with an incline of his head.
She kicked off her slippers, though she left her stockings tied as she watched him. Though he might not have been a courtesan, made his money from his body like she had, she still sensed something in him that was like her. He knew when to put on a show and he very obligingly did for her.
He shrugged from his jacket with almost a lazy indifference and let it fall to the floor behind him. The cravat was next, untied and unfurled without intentional speed. All the while, he held her gaze, playing with her.
She smiled. Most men expected her to play but didn’t know how to play back. She was a toy to be put back on the shelf when a man was finished with her. But this was something different.
Silas tightened the fabric of the cravat between his hands, almost displaying it for her, then tossed it over his shoulder. He was faster with the buttons at the top of his shirt and then he tugged it off with one arm.
She froze and stared. There had been very many lovers, with varying bodies and she’d enjoyed them all. But this man was someone’s masterpiece. His arms were something she could have written poetry about. Not just broad shoulders, not just spectacular biceps—no, even his forearms were something to behold.
