Page 48 of What a Courtesan Wants
A week ago, he might have drawn a bath for her, taken his time washing her before laying her down and massaging the stiffness from her body. Then, he might have held her until she came back into her body, kissing her in the places she would allow while stroking her back and telling her how magnificent she’d been, stopping just short of whispering how much he loved her. When she was ready, he would have lain her down, fallen between her thighs, and followed his rough fucking with slow and sweet lovemaking, gentling his strokes, and letting his lips and hands soothe where they had hurt.
But, he couldn’t do that now, not without ripping himself open in the process, and he’d only just managed to stitch himself together his morning. He squelched the surge of tenderness he felt as he stood there looking down at her, and resolved himself to adhering to only the most necessary of care.
He went to the washstand and cleaned himself up first, then brought cool water and clean linens with which to wash her. She stared at the ceiling when he turned her over, then closed her eyes while he washed away the remaining traces of his semen. He rolled her onto her back and rubbed the rosemary and peppermint salve into her buttocks, lingering only for a moment over the welts left by his punishing hands before using it on her chafed wrists and ankles. He was efficient, propping her against his pillows and tucking the blankets tight around her shivering body before retreating to take care of his tools.
While she lay there with her eyes closed, her breathing slowly returning to normal, he cleaned the plug, then replaced it with the restraints back into his valise. He took his time getting dressed, pointedly avoiding looking in her direction when he felt her stir and fix her gaze on him. If he looked at her now, finding the openness and vulnerability he always saw in her eyes after such an intense joining, his resolve would crumble. And he needed that resolve to be able to walk out of this room and save himself from another deadly wound. He wasn’t sure how many more of them he could take.
“Aubrey …”
He paused in the middle of tying his cravat, but he still refused to look at her. He cleared his throat and finished off the neckcloth before reaching for his coat.
“I have another engagement this evening, so I must leave now, but you should stay and rest as long as you need. I’ll see you again on Thursday, yes?”
He paused on his way to the door, waiting with bated breath for her to say something, anything. If she called him back to her, he knew he wouldn’t be able to resist. If she gave him the one thing he needed from her, or even the hope of it, he would break and return to that bed. He would wrap himself around her and never let go.
“Yes of course,” she simply murmured, before falling silent again.
Disappointment settled heavy in his gut as he strode from the room without a look back, rattling the door in the frame from how hard he slammed it.
Chapter 13
“Rumor has it that the infamous blackamoor draper, Mr. D plans to debut the addition to his warehouse in a matter of a few short weeks. As if it isn’t enough for him to flaunt a dowager countess on his arm while imitating his betters in his manner of dress and speech, he must also make himself the owner of the largest, most ostentatious drapery and haberdashery in the city. He and the Dowager Countess of L are well-suited to one another it would seem—a grasping upstart and a social-climbing harlot.”
-The London Gossip, 23 October 1819
Afortnight went by with Lucinda and Aubrey following a schedule and set of rules that seemed to have been silently established between them. She went about her days as normal—entertaining morning callers, going for afternoon walks, writing letters and accepting or rejecting the steady stream of invitations that had been arriving since her appearance at the opera. Every Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday night, she waited until the sun began to set before leaving for Rowland-Drake, her heart lodged in her throat. Aubrey would greet her in the shop’s front room, giving her a formal greeting before ushering her upstairs. For hours they would tumble headlong into a tempestuous spiral of pleasure, pain, and unspoken words. Aubrey ruled her body with savage intensity, cruel at times and gentle others, but always touching her with purpose and intent, never with affection. Afterward, he quickly left the room, reminding her that she was free to remain as long as she wished.
He never held her or spoke to her other than lustful whisperings and groaning in the heat of their coupling. When she looked into his eyes, she felt chilled to the bone by the evidence of his indifference toward her, the dark depths as hard and unrelenting as black steel.
Physically, she had never been more fulfilled, the cravings of her body quieted and satisfied after each of their encounters. But mentally, emotionally, she had never been more starved. Even after Magnus’s death she hadn’t suffered so much for want of companionship and affection, and yes, even love. Perhaps that was because two years ago she’d known she would never again have those things from the man she loved, his death taking him completely out of her reach. Now, however, she was acutely aware that what she wanted stood right in front of her. The man her heart longed for was flesh and blood, living and breathing, and in her arms three nights out of every week. Yet, for all the distance that had grown between them, he might as well be the sun, shining down upon the earth but never truly touching it.
As she was forced to confront the reality of the mess she’d made, Lucinda could not help but laugh at her own idiocy. She had insisted she wanted just what Aubrey was giving her—someone to fuck her and leave without intruding on the rest of her life. Now, she would give up the erotic connection they shared if he would only look at her as he once had, take her into his arms and whisper words of love and comfort into her ear. What a fool she’d been to insist she needed none of what he had to offer, when she had been so obviously in need of it all—not just for him to bring her body back to life, but for him to awaken her soul as well. She’d lost parts of herself when Magnus had died, and while he hadn’t helped her find them, he’d done something even better. He had made something new to fill in those empty spaces, something real and whole and beautiful.
How was she to live without that now? How was she to survive without Aubrey there to remind her how good it felt to not only live but to be alive?
Standing in the upper room of his shop in the late hours of their umpteenth wordless night together, Lucinda stared into the rainy void of night with a sigh. This could not go on. Here she stood, her body aching with the pleasant afterglow of being in Aubrey’s bed, yet she felt more alone than she ever had. He’d gone a quarter of an hour ago, telling her he would send for a hack to carry her home when she was ready before retreating downstairs and leaving her alone.
While donning the layers of her clothing, she considered going down and asking him to hear her out. She would beg if she had to, whatever it took to make him listen. She would tell him how sorry she was for hurting him and ask for one final chance to prove she could give him the things he wanted from her. Perhaps she wouldn’t be good at it right away, but she would give it her all. That had to be better than remaining in this tortuous purgatory, where he neither looked at nor spoke to her, and she existed as nothing more than a body for him to use.
Hands shaking, she donned her pelisse, resolve warring with fear in her gut. What if she had pushed him away one too many times? What if nothing she said would be enough to earn his forgiveness? The thoughts sent bile rising in the back of Lucinda’s throat, but she choked it down. Fear had ruled her for far too long, and now had come the time for courage.
As the sound of the bell chiming downstairs caught her attention, she panicked, realizing that he was likely stepping out to search for her coach. She couldn’t leave yet, not until she’d found a way to make him listen to her.
She tore from the room without thinking, her boots halfway laced and her pelisse flying open behind her as she took the steps two at a time
“Aubrey!” she called out as she dashed through the darkened showroom, the pale yellow light of streetlamps through the front windows setting it aglow. “Aubrey, wait!”
He paused on the curb as if he’d heard her and turned back, though it was up he looked, toward the windows. Her footsteps faltered as she watched him gaze up as if searching for something. For her?
Her heart stuttered in her chest, her entire body vibrating with the weight of the moment. The last of her reservations fell away, and she knew now what must be done. There was one thing Aubrey had wanted from the start, and he’d made no secret of it. She’d held back every time, often pulling away at the last moment for fear that she would surrender the last bit of her that had belonged to someone else. But, as she moved toward the front door of the warehouse as if moving through a dream, she realized something that had escaped her all along. None of what had belonged to her late husband would belong to Aubrey, just as the parts of her that were now his could never have been Magnus’s. She wasn’t the same woman she’d been when first marrying the earl, and she had learned so much about herself because of him. The woman she was now had no reason to hold back, no reason to go on living in the past when her future stood right before her.
Throwing open the door, she dashed out from under the awning, heedless to the chill of the evening or the way the steady patter of rain soaked through the layers of her coat and gown.
“Aubrey!”
He started at the sound of her voice, finding her right before him. Beneath him, rain slicked the cobbles and made them gleam like dark jewels, while the occasional splash of water indicated passing vehicles.
“Lucy? What are you doing? Go back inside.”
