The Illicit Love of a Courtesan. Jane Lark
expression cutting her, apparently dismissing their flirtation. Instead it focused upon 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 centre 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 would love defying Lord Gainsborough.
As though pulled 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 her fan shut 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 upon 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 increase 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