gripped her waist.
Edward broke the kiss, pulling an inch away. She met his gaze and saw desire. It matched hers. She did not deny it. She wanted him. For a moment they simply stared at each other as she breathed in the air he breathed out. His breath smelt of brandy, sweet and sharp.
A brace of candles lit the room behind him, their flickering gold light playing on his hair and skin.
They were in Madam’s private parlour, the room where they’d made love. Sex. This thing between them was purely physical.
His thumb brushed her cheek. “Why the powder, Ellen, you had no makeup the other night?”
Unable to hold his gaze her vision focused on his neckcloth and she tried to move away afraid he would see her bruises, shifting sideward and seeking to distract him. “You should not be here, Edward.”
But his hand gripped her shoulder and his eyes traced across her face as she looked back. She knew he could see the marks and her fingers clasped the doorknob behind her.
“He hit you.” It was an incredulous statement, etched in disbelief; spoken in the voice of a man who would never hit a woman. Aggression burning in his eyes, she saw his pupils flare as the cause of it clearly dawned. “Because of me! I’ll kill him!” His words were as vicious as a physical blow and reaching around her he grasped the doorknob, his fingers closing over hers.
She pressed back against the door, refusing to move and braced one hand against his chest. “No!” The justifiable ire in his eyes, made the restriction about her heart tighten a notch. Righteous anger only made him more handsome. “He’ll kill you before you could touch him. He has too much power, Edward. There is no winning against him. Leave it. Please. It is not your affair. I don’t ask it of you.”
He knew nothing about her. He could not wish to fight for her. She could not let him. She could not bear it if he failed. She did not want him dying for her.
Defiance shone in his eyes, but then, as her words visibly sank in, she saw another understanding dawn. He let go of the doorknob and his hand braced her cheek, his thumb resting against the barely hidden bruise by her lip as his gaze reached into her. “That is why you are with him isn’t it? Because you have no choice? I can give you choice, Ellen.”
Her eyelids dropped. She couldn’t bear the promise in his eyes. I wish you could—but you are not my saviour. I cannot endanger you on a selfish whim. Shaking her head, she opened her eyes. “Edward, you scarcely know me, whether I am with him by choice or not, I am still his. You will only make it worse. Please, just go, before he finds out we have spoken. There can be nothing more between us.”
His expression hardened in denial and his gaze bored through her eyes into her soul. “Give me your address and tell me how I may see you. Then I will go. I shan’t take, no, for an answer, Ellen.”
Footsteps rang beyond the door and Ellen’s heart skipped into a sharp allegro. Without thinking, she answered, “Wood Street, near St James, number four. But you cannot call upon me. My servants are Lord Gainsborough’s. I only trust my maid. Please, speak to no one of this.”
“Send me word then, through your maid, and tell me when I may see you. Contact me at White’s so your communication will not be traced to me.”
He leaned forward and kissed her after he’d spoken and she could not deny him; she could not deny what she felt. Her fingers gripped his nape and then slipped into his hair, pulling him closer. She wanted him. She wanted him for more than just sex. She wanted him because he cared.
He drew away slightly, his lips caressing hers one last time, before he whispered, “I shall go. He’ll be waiting for you. I do not want him to harm you again because of me.”
She moved aside and his hand rested on the doorknob again, but he didn’t turn it, he was motionless for a moment, as though distracted by thought. She touched his arm. “Edward?”
His eyes focusing on her, he smiled. “I will get you away from him, Ellen.”
The statement rang in her head with the note of a vow as he opened the door and left.
Breathless she turned to the mirror over the mantle, the one in which she had watched him re-dress her hair four nights before. He isn’t my rescuer. He cannot help me. Can he?
Ellen watched Millie brush her hair in the mirror on her vanity chest, the maid’s long rhythmic strokes running from her crown to her waist. These nightly caresses were the only constant in her life. Usually they calmed her, but tonight she was wound tight like hemp rope. It was agony to sit still, her thoughts writhed and her fingers twisted in her lap.
Edward had promised to help her. Lord Edward Marlow. She savoured his name. Life would be so different with a kind protector.
Gainsborough had taken her tonight but she’d shut him out and clung to an alternative—Edward. Edward had created hope and on it she was building an illusion, she imagined tenderness and devotion, love, not sex.
And she was not risking those dreams. She would not contact Edward until she was certain it was safe. This opportunity was too precious.
It was days later when the chance finally came and Ellen’s fingers shook as she penned the short note, blotted and folded it, her eyes darting to and from the door where Millie stood ensuring no one could enter unexpectedly.
Ellen had lived on edge for three weeks while she waited for this moment. Gainsborough had returned to his estates today. She knew for certain he would not be back for days. It was safe, but would Edward come?
They’d not spoken at all in the intervening weeks. He’d taken no more risks. She’d seen him less than half a dozen times at Madam’s, and when he was there she’d not even dared to meet his gaze.
Holding the short note to her breast she willed him to feel the same—to come. He was life and breath to her now. She’d written nothing other than that she could meet him, where and how, and signed herself E, afraid someone else may see it.
She prayed he would come.
“Please take it to White’s, the Gentlemen’s club on St James Street, Millie. Hand it to a footman there. Say nothing to him other than that it must be placed into Lord Edward’s hand. Here.” She drew two shillings from her reticule and gave them to the maid. “Give one to the footman to ensure he does as you ask and there is one for you.” Ellen had begun stealing shillings from Gainsborough’s purse as he slept for just this cause. Millie knew she had no money. Now Millie knew her mistress was both a whore and a thief.
“Yes, Ma’am.” The maid bobbed. Millie was aware of the risk Ellen was taking too. “Thank you, Ma’am.”
“Thank you, Millie. Go, hurry. Do not speak to anyone.”
“Yes, Ma’am,” Millie confirmed, curtsying again before leaving the room.
Leaning back in the chair, Ellen looked to the moulded plaster frieze edging the ceiling, uncertain how to pass the time until tomorrow. What if Edward was no longer in town? It had been days since she’d seen him. What if he’d lost interest in her? What if he had thought better of becoming embroiled in her life? She could hardly blame him if he chose not to come. He owed her nothing.
And yet she hoped. It was a living, breathing, deep-seated sensation inside her. She had tried so hard to quell it, but she simply could not. Hope had been unleashed and it would not go back into its cage. It was a constant turmoil of emotion roiling inside her, waiting desperately for its chance to run free. She’d barely slept and hardly eaten, her thoughts reeling.
Now she must wait again and try to tame it.
~
Leaning back in the armchair, Edward