Page 44 of What a Courtesan Wants
Her little slip of the tongue had taken Aubrey completely by surprise, and it had done the same to her as well. How had she gone from enjoying a simple dance, to blurting out such explosive words?
It’s one of the many things I love about you.
One could argue that such words meant nothing when compared to the other heartfelt things she might have said to him. But the moment she’d expressed them, she had known. Lucinda could have gone on for hours listing all the other things she loved about Aubrey. His scent. The timbre of his voice. The strength of his arms around her. His unwavering patience, his gentleness despite his size and strength, the allure of his dominance as well as his affection.
And if she could list so many things she lovedaboutthe man, did that also mean she lovedhim?
Lucinda couldn’t bear to ponder the answer, so she’d pushed those thoughts aside and clung fiercely to the one thing that had characterized her life for two years. Only, she couldn’t think of Magnus anymore without thinking of Aubrey—couldn’t lie in her bed without missing Magnus’s presence beside her, but then remembering that she’d become accustomed to Aubrey’s solid weight on the mattress. She could smell him on the sheets, as he had been here with her only last night, perfect and beautiful. His very solid presence had superseded Magnus’s phantom—something she could hear, see, smell, taste, and touch.
When she thought of someone lying on top of her, being inside of her, making her kneel and taking control of her with masterful skill, Aubrey came to mind before Magnus did, her memories of him too fresh and recent, while Magnus’s began to fade, losing their sharpness.
She had torn from the room, desperate to escape the feelings that, now she’d let them breach the surface of her traitorous heart, she could no longer seem to put to sleep. Lucinda had thought that if she left the bedroom where he’d mastered her, fucked her some nights while making love to her others, massaged her sore skin, and tended her in the bath, she might feel better. Her private drawing room, where she could look upon Magnus’s face … yes, she could go there to escape Aubrey.
Only, as she lay there with tears drying on her cheeks and her insides scraped raw, Lucinda realized she had even tainted this room with her courtesan. For in this room he had stood looking so dapper in his evening clothes, reassuring her before her re-entry into society and soothing her fears. Her skin flamed as if a fire had been struck within her as she remembered every exquisite moment of him snaring her most sensitive parts in his metal clamps, pleasuring her to the brink of climax before withdrawing. She’d never wanted anyone more than she had desired him that night, and their coupling in the carriage had haunted her dreams many nights since.
“What have you done?” she whispered to herself, her voice gone hoarse from crying.
She had done the one thing she’d vowed not to, and let her courtesan permeate her life outside the bedroom. Aubrey had colored her entire world so that she could go nowhere, do nothing, without seeing him, feeling him,wantinghim. Even this room, in which she’d once felt Magnus’s presence so strongly, held lingering traces of Aubrey everywhere she looked.
Lucinda was too ashamed to look at Magnus’s portrait, afraid the guilt of loving one man while part of her still belonged to another would eat her alive. But, the backs of her eyelids only remained dark for so long, and soon she was seeing Aubrey’s face all over again—confused by her words, then shocked by them, before he’d become hopeful, and then finally, devastated. She had hurt him; had known she was hurting him as every denial and lie had fallen from her lips. But how could she ever make him understand the fear that held her back from giving him her all? How could she tell him how badly she wanted to be his, but hadn’t yet figured out how to untangle the remnants of herself from a dead man?
She wasn’t certain how to form such thoughts into words, or even if she could find the courage to say them. Lucinda didn’t know if Aubrey would want to hear them, or if his patience with her had finally reached its end. After all, he’d forgiven her once already and willingly taken her back when he had not been obligated to. She had ended their first contract and he might have told her to go to the devil rather than agree to another one. But, he had extended the kind of understanding and compassion that seemed such an innate part of his nature, much to her relief. However, she wasn’t dim enough to believe that those things would be given unconditionally. How many more times could she push him away before he decided to stay away for good? How many more times could she hurt him before he stopped forgiving her?
“You told me to try to find love again, Magnus,” she sobbed, peeking at the portrait as a fresh wave of sorrow washed over her. “But, you never told me what to do once I’d found it. You never told me how to free myself from you and give myself to someone else.”
Curling into herself, she turned away from the portrait, burying her face in the plush cushion of the settee. Exhaustion overwhelmed her, though she could do nothing but lie there and drown in it. Sleep would not come no matter how hard she tried to close her eyes and let oblivion take her.
For three days,Aubrey moved through life as if in a dream. A heavy, unrelenting fog seemed to have settled over him, and he moved about as if controlled by some unseen force—one that pushed him to complete the most essential of tasks for survival while neglecting everything else. He rose early each morning and lay abed staring at the ceiling, feeling as if a heavy weight rested on his chest. It took every ounce of his will to strain against it and rise, going through the motions of preparing for busy days at Rowland-Drake. He went about his work by rote, completing the various duties related to orders, shipments, arrangement of the showroom, and the opening of the new expansion.
In the evenings, he sulked over dinner while Elizabeth and Mrs. Baines talked excitedly about her birthday and the events of the night, as well as the planned dinner party happening at Lucinda’s home in a few weeks.
Would the party still proceed after the explosive revelations of the night of Elizabeth’s birthday, and the resulting fallout? Would Lucinda still honor her promise even as she continued driving the knife in Aubrey’s heart deeper and deeper?
He lay abed each night pondering such questions, as well as mulling over every word that had been said, every nuance of her facial expressions as he’d stood there telling her that he loved her. It had been a mistake, and he’d known it the moment the words had begun pouring out of his mouth. But then, he could not bring himself to regret it, even as remembering how she’d turned her back on him hurt more than anything ever had. He didn’t regret it, because it had shown him exactly where he stood with her. She’d been sending him mixed signals, stoking both his hopes and his fears at the same time. Now, he knew the truth and could act according.
What we are now is all we can ever be.
Those words had been the final nail in the coffin containing Aubrey’s heart. She had sunk her dagger in deep and then returned the organ to him, bleeding and aching. Now he would bury the pain deep inside himself and smother it until he could no longer feel it.
For three days he allowed himself to recover, to push the pain into the darkest corners of his heart and mind, for it was the only way he would be able to get on. He had a business to run, a niece to marry off, apprentices to train, and a second profession as a courtesan to occupy him. If Lucinda still wanted his services, she would let him know in her own time, in her own way. She would go to Benedict if she decided a courtesan carrying a torch of unrequited love for her was the last thing she wanted. Either way, he would continue to be her lover under her original terms of detachment, or he’d ask his friend to match him with someone else right away. He couldn’t stop or slow down for a moment when single-minded determination for his ambitions had driven him for so long. If he lost sight of that, he might look up to find there was nothing left for him to strive for.
So, on the fourth day, he awoke feeling cold all over, his emotions for the most part contained. As he stared in the mirror while scraping two days’ worth of stubble off his jaw and neck, he looked into dark eyes that appeared like hunks of frigid onyx, dead and flat. As he shaved, Aubrey noted the sparse sprinkle of silver hairs here and there, his throat constricting as he remembered Lucinda running a hand over his jaw and remarking on the salt coming in amongst the pepper of his hair.
“I’ve always had an affinity for silver hair on a man,” she’d said with a smile. “It makes you look wise and dignified. So very handsome.”
Pausing with the blade poised at his chin, Aubrey tamped down the memory, ruthlessly compressing the feelings it conjured until it was contained, then carried on. He did this each time he thought of Lucinda in any way that wasn’t carnal. If the memory or thought didn’t have anything to do with fucking her, he smothered it, determined that she would become nothing more than an object through which he could find pleasure and release. After all, she’d made it clear that that was all he was to her.
By the time he set out for the warehouse, he was nothing more than a cold block of ice with a hard cock—closed off from every emotion save for lust.
When he alighted from his carriage before the warehouse—alone, for Elizabeth had opted to remain home and entertain callers instead of accompanying him—he found Benedict waiting for him. Aubrey’s footsteps faltered as he noticed the other man leaning against the locked front door of Rowland-Drake, arms folded over his chest.
The two hadn’t seen one another since the night of Elizabeth’s party, and so had not addressed what Benedict had overheard once Aubrey had returned from his walk. He was grateful his friend had stayed away and given him the space he’d needed to pull himself together. Now, he supposed he must answer for breaking the cardinal rule of all the Gentleman Courtesans: thou shalt not fall in love with thy keeper. As it was, he was the third of them to lose his heart in the line of duty, and Aubrey supposed he couldn’t blame Benedict for being annoyed over it.
“Good morning,” he said, keeping his voice light as he reached into his greatcoat pocket for his ring of keys, fishing for the one that would unbolt the front door.
“I had hoped to speak with you before your day begins in earnest,” Benedict said, trailing Aubrey into the dimly lit shop.
Aubrey busied himself opening the drapes over the front windows, then lighting the brass sconces positioned around the room.
