Her breasts pressed against the lace, rounded and voluptuous, the nipples dark through the transparent white. Ethan’s body stirred again. Their eyes met. That lush mouth had a tiny smile lifting the corners now. She knew he wanted her and it pleased her. He felt another kick of lust. He leaned forward, kissed her.
She made no move to twine about him or press her body against his as a more accomplished courtesan might, skillful and eager to please. She stood quite still, her lips warm and soft, slightly parted, beneath his.
He stepped back wanting her all the more.
“How old are you?” he asked abruptly.
Her smile vanished and he saw a flash of expression in her eyes—calculation?—but she answered readily enough. “I am eight and twenty.”
“I had heard,” he said, “that you are three and thirty.”
She did not trouble to hide her annoyance. She stepped back from him and scooped up her shawl, once again wrapping it close about her, hiding her nakedness from him.
“If you knew, why did you ask?” she snapped.
“Why bother to lie?” he countered.
“Because, as Mrs. Tong has not scrupled to point out to me,” she said bitterly, “I do not have many more years left before I will end on the street. If I can steal a few back then why not?”
Ethan felt a curious stirring of sympathy. So it was more than hurt pride. She was fearful for her future. He suspected that it would make her more inclined to accept his terms. She was desperate to escape the tyranny of the whorehouse and the threat of a life as an old doxy, eking out an existence in the gutters. How low she had sunk.
He resumed his seat, settling back, watching her. “So what do you think of my proposition?” He asked. “Do you accept—or not?”
She sat down on the edge of the bed, her feet in their swansdown-trimmed slippers, swinging.
“How blunt you are,” she said, watching him with those brown eyes.
Ethan smiled. “It is a simple proposal,” he said easily. “I am aware that you dislike this new life upon which you have embarked. I’ll not force any woman to my bed. So—” he shrugged “—if the offer is not to your liking then I shall go elsewhere.”
She took her time thinking about it. He respected that. He had not expected her to be clever. Surely no intelligent woman would have got herself into the situation Lottie Palliser was in, cast out by family and friends, destitute because the sum of money her former husband had been obliged to pay her on their divorce had apparently been spent on settling dressmakers’ and other merchants’ bills. He wondered idly if there could have been more to her downfall than was commonly known and then acknowledged that it hardly mattered. He needed a woman with an outrageous reputation, someone who was scandal personified. Lottie fitted the bill to perfection. He wanted her to accept because she was ideal for his purpose.
“Are prisoners of war allowed to keep mistresses?” she asked mildly. “I would not expect you to be accorded so much freedom.”
“I could keep a pet lion if I wished,” Ethan said, “as long as I could afford to feed and house it. I have every freedom except my actual liberty.” He spoke with more bitterness than he had intended, looked up and saw that she was watching him with interest but with as little compassion as he had accorded her, as though he were a specimen on a doctor’s slab. It was odd to be watched with the same detachment with which he customarily viewed the world. It made him feel a curious flash of kindred spirit for her.
“And can you?” she asked. “Afford to feed, house and clothe me?” She stretched, her body rippling beneath the negligee. It was consciously erotic and his body reacted instantly even as he knew his response was being manipulated. “I should warn you,” she continued, “that I am more expensive than any pet. My former husband—” dislike colored her tone “—claimed that I cost more to keep than his most valuable racehorse.”
“I can believe that.” Ethan gave her an appreciative smile. “Yes, I am rich,” he added. “I’ve done well for the bastard son of a circus performer.” He took several bags of coins from his pockets and placed them on the table. The money clinked softly and he saw her eyes widen. Some of the gossip had evidently been true then—Lottie Palliser did have a mercenary and acquisitive nature. That was good. It meant that she could be bought if the price was right.
“Those sound like guineas,” she said.
“They are.” He pulled on the neck of one of the bags, allowing the golden coins to spill out across the table and watched the expressions flit across her face. Greed, calculation. “There is sufficient to pay Mrs. Tong for the cost of losing your services,” he said, “and to buy you a new wardrobe and pay your fare to Wantage on the mail coach on Friday.”
“Friday would not give me enough time to purchase a new wardrobe,” Lottie said. “Such matters are not to be rushed.”
Ethan smiled. “You will have to buy ready-made gowns,” he said.
Lottie frowned. “How cheap and vulgar.”
“But necessary. I have to return to Berkshire in two days’ time. You will have one day to go shopping before you join me.” He glanced around the gaudy room. “I’ll give you enough money to pay for lodgings until then. I doubt Mrs. Tong would wish you to stay here and I imagine you wish it even less.”
Lottie chewed her lip thoughtfully between straight white teeth.
“Wantage, you say?” She raised her finely arched brows. “I have family living near there. From what I remember, it is the back of beyond.”
“It’s not such a bad little town, though you will find it parochial,” Ethan said. “It is up to you,” he added gently. “You can be a whore in a London brothel, prey to all those men who used to bow respectfully over your hand in your own drawing room, or you can be my mistress in the back of beyond—with enough money at the end of our association to set you up wherever you please.”
Again he watched her as she weighed the benefits and drawbacks of his offer. It was an emotionless negotiation, he thought, which was exactly how one should appoint a mistress.
Lottie slipped off the bed and came over to the table. She cast him a suspicious look and then opened the other two pouches to check the contents. She even bit one of the guineas.
“It is not counterfeit,” Ethan said. “I do not cheat.” He smiled. “Do you not trust me?”
“I do not know.” Lottie gave him a searching look. “There is something about this whole business that does not feel quite right.”
She waited. Ethan kept his expression blank. He was a consummate card player and this was one hand he was not going to reveal. She was right—there was much more to the business than he had told her—but the less she knew the better.
After a moment she laughed. “Don’t tell me—you will be paying me to keep quiet and ask no questions as well as to occupy your bed. Well—” she gave a slight sigh “—I am accounted most frightfully indiscreet but I can try to hold my tongue, I suppose, if there is money in it for me.”
“That,” Ethan said, “would be ideal.”
She
