His Courtesan Bride (Brides of Mayfair 3) (28 page)

“You had every right to be angry with me, Serena,” he said. “I hurt you terribly, and treated you poorly, because I was weak. My desire for you made me so. I should have stayed away from you, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I knew I had to marry Henrietta, and still, I sought you out at every ball, every musicale and assembly. Because I needed you. I needed to see your beautiful face smiling up at me, needed to feel your arms about me as I kissed you, needed to bring you pleasure as you brought it to me, just by breathing. I knew it was wrong, and yet when we were together, it seemed anything but. I ask now for your forgiveness, for every wicked thing I’ve done.”

Serena felt her heart clench painfully in her chest. If she forgave him, what then? She had clung to her hatred of this man for so long, and she understood why. It had protected her from her true feelings, those which had once made her weak and had left her with a broken heart. If she relinquished that well-honed armor, would he hurt her again?

Yet, she was exhausted from fighting that battle. She gazed into his blue eyes, as deep as midnight, and saw herself reflected in them. It was as if Heaven itself was trying to tell her she belonged to him, and there was no changing the fact.

She curled a hand about his neck and brought his mouth toward hers. “I forgive you, Darius.” Her lips touched his and sweet warmth suffused her body. The kiss was tentative at first, innocent and pure. Then Darius’s mouth grew more demanding. Serena opened her lips fully to him, inviting him to take his pleasure there. He needed no prodding. In moments, he’d swung her into his strong arms and was carrying her upstairs to their little bedroom.

“I want to make love to you,” he whispered hotly in her ear.

“Yes. I want it too.” She knew what she was saying. For the past six months they’d had wild, passionate, unforgettable sex. But they had never made love.

This would be the first time.

He pushed open the door with the toe of his boot and carried her to the bed. Gently, as if she might break if he were not careful, he laid Serena down upon the homespun quilt that covered the soft feather bed.

Sitting beside her, Darius pulled off his boots and tossed them unceremoniously across the room. He joined Serena on the bed, stretching out his large form beside her.

Serena had never felt so at odds. Here she was, a well-trained courtesan, and she felt as nervous as a virgin on her wedding night. She had not felt thus even during her first time with Darius. Perhaps because she’d fought so hard to remain in control of her body and emotions that night. But now, she had given up control, and placed herself completely in her lover’s hands.

It was both frightening and wonderful, all at once.

Darius traced a finger over the bodice of her dress, looking down at her with an expression of profound desire. A sweet ache spread throughout Serena’s body, unlike anything she had ever felt before. This was more than just lust or physical passion. It seemed that every inch of her body was sweetly aroused by his caress.

She relaxed back into the pillow. “Oh, Darius….”

His hands, usually in a hurry to get her out of her clothes, instead caressed her body slowly, over the thin fabric of her dress. It was almost more arousing then if he’d been touching her bare skin.

She reached out to do the same to Darius, running her hands gently over his muscled back and buttocks. His clothing seemed to magnify the strength of his body, as if it were a wonder that mere threads could contain him.

She reached up to cradle his face intimately in her hands, stroking the rough, masculine skin of his cheek, before pulling him down for a tender kiss.

Darius moaned inwardly, burying his hands in her hair. He rolled his large body on top of hers, holding himself above her so that his weight was on his forearms. When he pressed his sex against hers, it felt so right, so good. It was completely unlike the wicked games they usually played together in the bedroom.

Reaching a hand beneath her back, Darius gently lifted her to a sitting position. He began to undress her as if she were as delicate as a porcelain doll. When he was finished, he lay her gently back down on the quilt. Serena closed her eyes, reveling in the sensation of being so cherished, so cared for by this man.

Who would have predicted that such tender desire could outdo a courtesan’s practiced skills of passion? She had never been so fully or sweetly aroused before. As Darius pressed his lips to the naked skin of her belly, a soft moan escaped from the back of Serena’s throat.

She felt an overwhelming need to feel his hard erection inside of her, as if that were the only thing in the world which could make her complete. Her hands found the fastenings of his trousers and undid them, sliding inside to touch his warm, hard shaft.

“Let me make love to you, darling,” he breathed.

“I’ve never wanted anything so badly in my life.”

He reached down to slide his trousers down, then pulled himself away from her to shuck off his linen shirt. They were both naked, now—physically and emotionally.

Serena had never felt so free.

His hand dipped between her legs, to see if she was ready for him.

Serena was more than ready. “Please, Darius. I ache for you. I need you inside me.”

He smiled down at her, tracing a finger along her face. “I ache for you too, darling. More than I ever have before. I never knew such sweet torture was possible. You have brought me to the heights of desire. Now, you bring me to the gates of Heaven.”

He pressed his mouth to hers as he positioned himself at her opening. Slowly, ever-so-gently, he buried the length of his shaft within her.

Serena closed her eyes in rapture. Surely, she had never felt this good, weightless as a feather floating on a soft, warm breeze. Her entire body suffused with warmth as she wrapped her legs around Darius’s waist. A part of her mind—the well-trained courtesan part—tried to summon the name of this position from the Kama Sutra. But the other part of her mind realized that she didn’t give a fig what it was called. It simply felt wonderful to be joined to her lover this way, as if they were one body instead of two.

She had never felt so gloriously united with Darius before. Fleeting images of angels danced in her mind. She kept thinking of Adam and Eve, and Adam fashioning his rib into a woman. That was how she felt right now, as if Darius had created her from a part of himself. With him, she felt whole, the depth of which she had never felt before with any living soul.

Serena sighed, as if her very womb ached for the essence him, for his hot, powerful seed. She wanted to feel him pulse within her when he came. The very thought of it intensified her arousal to a mind-numbing heat.

She felt as if she were drugged, or somewhere between sleep and waking. The sensations were dreamlike. One moment she felt as if she were floating in shallow water, being effortlessly buoyed by the tide. The next, she felt as if her veins had turned to liquid gold, slowly shimmering in exquisite yearning.

Darius reached down between them and with the pad of his thumb, began to rub gently at the throbbing pearl of Serena’s sex. She moaned anew, pressing her head back into the pillow as she allowed him full access to the most private places of her body.

“I love you, Serena,” Darius whispered. “I always have.”

Serena felt exquisite passion building deep inside her. Hot, sweet tremors rocked within her, originating in her very womb. She clutched at Darius as she held on for dear life, as pure sensation consumed her. “
I love you, too, Darius
,” she heard herself say, as if from a far distance.

Darius curled an arm around her waist as he thrust himself deep, groaning in ecstasy as he climaxed. Serena clutched her legs around him tight as she felt him explode within her, setting off yet more waves of sweet pleasure deep inside her throbbing womb.

Then, Darius pulled out and rolled to the side, wrapping his arms about her as he cradled Serena spoon fashion. In moments too quick to count, they were both fast asleep.

Chapter 22

“
Sometimes, removing oneself from the company of a protector is much like removing a splinter from skin; the process is somewhat painful, but in the end, the only sensible option.”

–from
Memoirs of a Courtesan, by Lady Night

Serena lay awake in bed, the soft, warm quilt pulled up around her neck to stave off the early morning chill.

She had never felt so physically satisfied. Or more emotionally fragile.

Last night with Darius had been like a dream, the culmination of her secret heart’s desire since the first moment she’d met him. They had made love. Gloriously, wonderfully, and oh-so-tenderly. And as they worshipped each other this way, more than their bodies had united. Their souls had joined as well.

It was a most incredible feeling.

Even now, as Darius tended to his duties about the estate, Serena seemed to feel his every movement tugging on her heart. It was as if they were somehow connected by an invisible cord, attached by pure emotion.

And it simply wouldn’t do.

Lady Devlyn had warned her students about this very thing—how the last days with a protector could be the most emotional of the entire association. Was it the ticking of the clock that made it so? The knowledge that they possessed only a handful of days left together, which heightened such feelings and blew them out of proportion?

No, Serena knew that with her and Darius, there was much more to it than simple drama. The revelation of the pain he’d been through, and the terrible price Henrietta had exacted from him had changed everything. For the first time, Serena had become acutely aware of Darius not just as her protector, but as a person with a heart and soul, just like her. A person who’d had his own share of tragedy to deal with. A man who had sold himself to the highest bidder in order to save his family from ruin, much as she had sold herself to him.

Darius had played the role of rakish earl almost as well as she had played the role of haughty courtesan, both impervious to the frailties of emotion. But that’s all it had been: play-acting. Last night, they bared their souls to each other. It had elevated their lovemaking to even greater heights, resulting in the most memorable night they had ever experienced.

And yet, their newfound unity was a double-edged sword. Life was filled with a strange duality of light and dark, beauty and ugliness, joy and pain.

Last night, Serena had allowed Darius to penetrate her heart as well as her body. When Cupid’s arrow penetrated your skin, it could hurt a bit. Like a splinter, it hurt even more when you attempted to pull it out.

That was what Serena feared. And yet, she couldn’t leave the piercing splinter of Darius’s love under her skin, to fester and worsen with time. As surely, it would.

Lady Devlyn had devoted the last part of her courtesan lessons to this very subject.

Love.

Worse than fading beauty, worse than disease or pregnancy, love could end a courtesan’s career in a heartbeat. If there was but one golden rule in Serena’s profession, it was to never fall in love with one’s protector. Only pain and suffering could come of it.

Lady D had told them a tragic tale of a courtesan she had once known who’d fallen victim to her own emotions, and ended her days alone, in financial ruin.

Lady Barrow had once been the beautiful mistress to a handsome marquess, who had kept her exclusively employed for a number of years. Over the course of their association, Lady Barrow had fallen in love with the man, and as Lady D told it, he with her. They shared wonderful times together. Until one day, his ardor cooled.

She had grown old.

In truth, they had grown old together, like an old married couple, but the marquess did not see this as an attribute in a mistress. For the first time in almost a decade, he did not renew his courtesan’s contract. Instead, he chose to employ someone younger, someone without any wrinkles or streaks of grey in her hair. Someone who did not know him quite so well.

Lady Barrow had been devastated, both emotionally and financially. For though the marquess had given his mistress compensation for her company, each year it had been less and less. She had not minded, for she had been in love. Simply being with her dashing protector—her soul-mate, as she believed him to be—was reward enough.

The elegant townhouse which had been her home during their liaison had never been deeded to her. One day the marquess asked her to vacate the premises, so he could install his new mistress there. Lady Barrow found herself suddenly homeless. The monthly allowance he had given her had been spent on her wardrobe—the marquess liked to see her in the latest fashions—and for household expenses such as staff wages, food, and horses. At the end of it all, save for a few items of jewelry, there was nothing left.

At the advanced age of forty-one, Lady Barrow could no longer compete in the marketplace as a mistress. Not that she would have wanted to. She had become so accustomed to the marquess as a bed-mate, that the thought of letting another man touch her had grown distasteful.

She lived off the proceeds of her jewelry for almost a full year until her funds ran out. Then followed sickness, poverty, and despair. Lady Barrow ended her days in a moldy rooming house in Cheapside, with only the rats to watch her breathe her last.