lips smiled. Her
gaze hovering on his, she mirrored his smile, her heart pounding as though she
was already coupling with him. She imagined his mouth on hers and a hot blush
touched her skin. The sweeps of her fan increasing, her imagination drifted on
towards indecency—impossibility—picturing tangled limbs and warm flesh.
Light caught the jet-black
pools in his eyes, as though he saw the pictures she was forming in her
thoughts and his captivating smile twisted with implied agreement. It turned
his features from handsome to utterly devastating.
A hot flush spread like a
caress down her throat to her breasts and lower, racing across her skin.
“I shall raise you a hundred,
Marlow. Will you match me?” Lord Gainsborough’s brusque challenge sliced
through the silent communication she shared with Lord Edward.
His gaze tore away, his blank
expression cutting her, apparently dismissing their flirtation. Instead it
focused on 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 center 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’d 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 shut her fan 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 from 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 ease 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,