Tarnished Amongst the Ton Part 16

'That was not what I meant. I do not court a lady I am not faithful to, nor would I marry one and keep a mistress.'

'Oh.' Then, more softly, 'Oh.'

Ashe looked sharply at Phyllida, but her face was unreadable in the shadows. Surely that little exclamation had not been one of dismay? Surely no woman wanted her husband to take a mistress?

'Down here,' she said, turning into an alleyway before he could put the question into words. She led him into a yard and up to what must be the back door of the shop. 'Wait while I get the key.' She bent, there was a sc.r.a.pe of brick on stone, then she straightened with the key in her hand. 'Ugh. I hide the spare behind a loose brick and I encourage a nice slimy puddle just in front of it to help keep it safe.'

She let him in, shaking her fingers fastidiously as she did so, but turned before the inner doorway and led the way up a narrow flight of stairs and into a room that covered, Ashe estimated, the whole area of the shop below.

'There is a tinderbox on that table. Can you light the candle? I always fumble for ages with it and end up breaking a nail.' Phyllida went to close the curtains and then fidgeted about the room, her jewellery and the golden embroidery on her clothing making her look like an exotic moth in the gloom.

Lord, but she is nervous, Ashe thought as he struck a spark and nursed the wick into flame. He must be very, very careful, gentle, this first time for her.

The wick flared up and he touched it to the other candles around the room. It was not the bleak storeroom he had feared it might be, but a strangely practical, very feminine den. The walls were hung with tapestries, tattered and worn, but rich with shades of old rose and blue and gold. The curtains at the window were deep-red velvet, obviously salvaged from some grand suite of bed hangings. His feet sank into carpets, spread to overlap and cover the wear and holes.

There was a desk and chair, a deep armchair, a daybed and a bookcase overflowing with books. 'This is a beautiful room,' he said. 'It reminds me of chambers in my great-uncle's palace, snug, private little caves of luxury.'

'The luxury is threadbare and not all it seems. Few things are what they seem.' There was that bitter note in her voice again, as though she was mocking herself.

'Phyllida, what is wrong? You know I would never force you. It would make me very happy to make love to you here, but if you want to leave, I understand.' Ashe pulled out the desk chair and sat down. Not a gentlemanly thing to do when a lady was still standing, but he did not want to loom over her.

'I need to tell you something.' She sat down on the end of the daybed with an inelegant thump as though her legs would not hold her up any longer. 'You will not wish to marry me once you hear what it is.'

'That I very much doubt,' Ashe said robustly, even as he tried to ignore the stab of apprehension in his gut. Debts, that was all, nothing to worry about there.

Phyllida stood up again and this time he rose too, something in her face warning him that she was serious. Whatever this was, she was not exaggerating its importance to her.

'I am not a virgin,' she said, as though pleading guilty in a court of law.

Ashe blinked. That was not so bad. 'Neither am I, oddly enough.'

Her lips thinned. 'Men appear to set much value on virginity.'

'Are you still involved with him? Am I likely to meet him?' She shook her head vehemently. 'Then, if you can refrain from comparisons which would wound my pride, I do not see it as a problem.' As soon as he said it, he saw the attempt to introduce some humour into the exchange was a mistake.

'Hardly! You do not understand, and I am not explaining it properly.'

'Was there a child?' Ashe struggled to understand, to read the messages her voice, her rigid body, were sending him. He tried to take her hands, but she batted his away.

'No, thank G.o.d.'

And then he realised. 'Phyllida. Were you unwilling? Mere jaan.' My darling. He caught her in his arms, held on to her despite her attempts to twist free, cradled her against his chest until she stilled and let her head rest against his breast. 'Sahji, jaani.' He murmured the love-words as he stroked her hair. 'Tell me who it is and I will bring you his heart and his manhood on a platter.'

'It was a long time ago. When I was seventeen,' she said, her voice so low he could hardly make out the words.

Worse and worse, if anything could make it so. So young, so innocent.

Phyllida straightened. 'Let me go, please. I...' He opened his arms and she sat down again, her hands tightly clasped. 'You sit down too, Ashe. I told you because you had a right to know and because I do not think I can make love, not without it all coming back, not without panicking. I am sorry I let you believe that was what I asked you here for tonight.'

He sought for the words to say this right. 'When I kiss you, you respond, Phyllida. In the carriage, when I caressed your breast, that was not feigned, the fire I felt in you. When that man attacked you, hurt you, it would have been nothing like making love with someone who cares for you.'

'I don't... I cannot marry you, not knowing if I can bear that part of it. I should have told you at once, when you proposed this marriage.'

'You did not know me very well. Now, I think, you trust me rather more.' It was not a question, but she nodded. 'You know I would never force you, Phyllida.' That time he did want a response and steeled himself for her hesitation. He had been a rogue, to put it at its lowest. He had done his best to persuade her into his bed, despite her reluctance. Then it had almost been a game, now he was not certain he could forgive himself.

'Of course I know.' She seemed startled that he had to ask and, as she looked at him, her unhappy face softened into a smile of such tenderness that his heart melted. 'But it might come to that, or not have children.'

Ashe got up and walked to the window, needing to move while he absorbed that realisation. An heir. The son to whom he would hand the estate that would be saved from decline, the t.i.tle he would one day hold. The daughters, the other sons. He had never given them any thought, except in the abstract. Suddenly they were tangible, ghost children who might never become real.

'Then I will abandon persuasion for seduction,' he said. 'We know I can kiss you, hold you, even caress you a little and you are not afraid. It was a terrible wound, but it was not fatal-you will heal with the right medicine. We will take all the time it needs and you will be in control.' He knew he sounded confident. Inside he was unsure, but determined. He had committed himself to this woman and he was not going to abandon her now. Ashe walked back and hunkered down in front of her, took her hands. 'Will you think about it?'

'I will not marry you unless...' She took a deep breath and looked at him. 'I have never been with any other man, you understand, so I do not know if I would be able to make love. I might be creating a problem that does not exist.'

'No one would be unaffected by such cruelty,' Ashe said. 'But if you learn that making love has nothing to do with what happened, then I believe you will be able to separate the two.'

She nodded. 'I did not expect you to be so understanding. I did not know how to tell you, although I knew I had to.'

This was what had been behind the ambiguity he had sensed in her agreement to marry him. She had not decided if she could tell him of this and, being a woman of honour, would not marry him unless she did.

Phyllida leaned forwards and linked her hands behind his neck. 'Shall we try? Make love to me, Ashe.'

He did not answer, simply letting her pull him closer until he could caress her mouth with his, gently, deeply, increasing the demands of his tongue as she began to melt against him. He pushed just a little ahead of her tentative responses until he felt her relax entirely, begin to tease him a little with nips and sucks and the wandering caresses of her fingers at his nape.

Ashe eased back and unb.u.t.toned his coat, let it fall to the ground, then took her in his arms again and kissed her while his fingers dealt with the fastenings at the front of her tight jacket. She did not resist when he slid it from her shoulders to reveal the swell of her bosom above the constriction of the choli, so he kissed across the creamy skin while his fingers caressed her bare midriff.

If she would relax a little he could ease her back on to the daybed, but there was still a tension in her that warned him that might be a step too far. How could he rea.s.sure her?

He lay down himself, on his back, and smiled up at her. After a moment she gave a little nod, as though she understood, and bent to kiss him. She was endearingly clumsy, he thought, then realised with a shock when she changed the angle of her mouth and her position on the bed that his reaction was, to put it mildly, patronising. She was thinking too hard, but she was working out what pleased her and, he realised as he fisted his hands in the covers to stop himself grabbing her, she was working out what pleased him at the same time.

Her hand brushed his right nipple, almost certainly by accident, but he was so tense that the sensation shook a groan out of him.

'Ashe?' Phyllida's eyes were wide and dark in the candlelight. 'Did I hurt you?'

'No,' he lied. This was exquisite torture.

'Don't you want to get on top of me?' she worried.

Yes. 'No,' he lied again. He could hear the fear threading through her voice. That b.a.s.t.a.r.d would have thrown her down, crushed her with his weight, trapped her. Somehow he had to let her feel in control, as if she could escape at any moment.

'Do you like it when I do this?' He cupped her b.r.e.a.s.t.s boldly, let his thumbs find the nipples tight under the silk.

'Oh, yes.' Her lids drooped, her lips parted in a sensual sigh that had his already-hard body almost arching off the bed. He found the ties at the waist of her skirt and loosened them until he could slip his fingers down over the curve of her belly. The delicate skin shivered and twitched to his touch, but she did not fight him. 'Ashe, I... ache.'

'Good.' He tugged gently to bring her down to lie beside him and buried his face in the angle of her neck, filled his senses with jasmine and the betraying scent of her arousal. Slowly, he told himself. So slowly. 'Will you let me pleasure you?'

'How?' She stiffened, curled away from him. 'You won't-'

'No. I won't move from lying here beside you. Just let me touch you.'

He could feel the effort it took her to trust him, to let him brush the nest of curls, to ease one finger between the soft, damp folds. He found what he sought and stroked, just there, as her hips came off the bed with the shock of it.

'Ashe!' Phyllida had expected discomfort. Whatever a man did there, however gentle, would hurt, surely? But the shaft of sudden, shocking pleasure lanced through her as if a lightning flash had run from his fingertip to her womb, to her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, to every quivering nerve in her body.

'Priya,' he said, his voice husky. 'Sweetheart. Just let go, allow yourself pleasure.'

Allow? She twisted, frantic with not knowing how to deal with the onslaught of delight when she had expected pain, out of control in a way she had never imagined, overcome by her own body's reactions, not his strength. She was aching and needing only the heat of Ashe's body next to her, his arm holding her safe, his wicked, wicked fingers driving her insane.

'I don't know how,' she gasped.

'Let go,' he repeated. 'Your body knows.' And he kissed her and suddenly the pleasure peaked into an almost-pain that made her cry out against his mouth, arch her body hard into his hand to make it last for ever and then she lost herself, utterly, as she clung to him, knowing she was dying, not caring.

'Phyllida?' Ashe's voice, soft and dark as the caress of black velvet, as sensual as sin, as gentle as... the man I love.

'What happened?' She was still lying beside him on the daybed. In his embrace, still dressed, although her clothing was disordered. Her body thrummed with a deep, sensual relaxation and quivered with tiny aftershocks of pleasure.

'That was an o.r.g.a.s.m.'

She blushed. She knew the word, had even looked it up in a dictionary. 'But that is something men experience.'

'Both partners in lovemaking can experience it.' He pulled her close, shifting her position so her cheek rested comfortably on his chest.

'But you did not.'

'No. I can wait.'

Phyllida looked down his body. He was clearly aroused. It hurt men to be in that condition and frustrated, she had heard that somewhere. 'Can you?' She put her hand on the hard ridge, the thought of which had so frightened her, and he gasped. She had the power to make Ashe groan, to arch into her hand as though begging her. If he could give her pleasure with a touch, could she do the same for him?

'Let me.' Before Ashe could protest she tugged at the ties of his trousers, slid her hand inside. She had expected the hardness, the heat. She had not realised the skin would be soft, that it would be so sensitive that it seemed to grow as she closed her fingers around it.

She was clumsy, she knew that. Clumsy and shy, but not afraid of him, or of what she was doing. After a moment of resistance Ashe fell back on the bed and let her have her way with him. He moved into her hand, showing her the rhythm he needed, giving her the confidence that she was not hurting him and she could be firmer, bolder. He gasped, his body arched, he thrust hard into her circling fingers and then fell back on the bed as the heat flooded over her fingers.

Phyllida curled into his body, loving the total relaxation, the musky scent, the way the feel of him changed in her hand as his body calmed. After a minute his arm tightened around her and he pulled her close so he could kiss her. 'I'm sorry, sweetheart, that must have shocked you,' he murmured.

'I liked it,' she mumbled into his shirt front, too shy to meet his eyes. 'Ashe, I think it might be all right after all. When we do it properly, I mean.'

'That was properly,' he said and sat up. 'There are all kinds of ways to make love-think of a banquet, lots of dishes. Some great solid roasts, some sweet fluffy concoctions, some rather sinfully sweet, others dangerously spicy.'

He was on his feet, investigating behind a screen. 'Is there water in this ewer? Yes, rather dusty, very cold, but it will do. And a towel.' There was the sound of splashing behind the screen. Phyllida sat up and pulled the coverlet over her bare toes.

'Ashe, do you want to do it again?' That had been wonderful beyond words and the relief of knowing that she could lie in a man's arms, be intimate with him and enjoy the experience, was huge. But whatever Ashe said, sooner or later s.e.x would involve the same act that had taken place in the tawdry room in the Wapping brothel, the act that had taken her virginity. The act she had been paid for by Harry Buck.

Chapter Nineteen.

What she had done would brand Phyllida a wh.o.r.e. Any man would say so, she knew that. She had allowed Ashe to think she had been forced, when in fact she had taken money, removed her clothes, lain on that bed and had done nothing to resist. The fact that if she had not then she would have starved, that she needed the money to find her father, to make him come back, or give her enough money to get food and medicine for her mother, food and shelter for all of them, did not alter the fact of the transaction that had removed her claim to be a woman of honour.

It made her angry, that double standard, but that was the way things were. And if she had to do it again, if someone's life depended on it, if Gregory was in trouble and it was the only way to save him, then she would sell herself again without hesitation. Her screams, she had learned in the course of that one bitter night, would only fuel the excitement of the man taking her.

'I only used half the water.' Ashe emerged from behind the screen. 'Do it again? I would like to very much, but not tonight. And the next time, then we will talk about what other dishes on the menu you would like to sample. You choose what we do, when we do it. The control is yours. There is no need to rush anything.'

She shot him a look of grat.i.tude as she pa.s.sed him, then went to tidy herself. No wonder she loved him. His past had not, she guessed, been blameless-she recalled the amus.e.m.e.nt with which he had told her he was not a virgin-but he was a decent, honourable man and she was thinking about deceiving him about something he would believe touched on that honour.

Phyllida wrestled with her conscience. She had not meant to make love when she had asked him here, only to confess that she was not a virgin. Ashe's closeness, his response, had overset all her scruples, swept away everything but the desire to be in his arms.

Now she knew how wrong, how weak, that had been. Ashe wanted to marry her out of honour. There were many reasons why she was the wrong bride for him and Ashe believed he knew them all and could make it work despite them. He admitted he was attracted to her. He even knew now that she was not a virgin. His parents and sister seemed to like her and were prepared to welcome her into their family. The benefits to her and to Gregory were too numerous to name.

I love him and I had let myself dream I could marry him. Ashe and love and children. Ashe for as long as we lived.

So, temptation murmured, do not tell him the truth. How would he be harmed by the secret?

But shouldn't a marriage be based on honesty and truth? Phyllida argued back as she fiddled with the ties on her skirt and trousers, reluctant to emerge until she had come to some conclusion. If she did not love him, she suspected it would be much easier-never mention her past. But she did love him and so she felt compelled to tell him. If he reacted badly-and what man wouldn't?-she would have lost him for ever.

But I should not be marrying him in any case, she reminded herself with bitter realism. Marriage is a dream, happiness with Ashe is a dream. Those children will never be born. Phyllida leaned back against the wall, her hand pressed to her mouth to stifle the sobs that seemed to come from nowhere.

Oh, Ashe, my love. She should never have spoken of children, never have let him be so certain she would marry him. Now, even though he did not love her, she would hurt him, not just his pride, when she broke this off.

'Are you all right?' Ashe did not sound impatient.

'Yes.' She found her voice and managed to strike a light note. 'I must admit to feeling a trifle bemused,' Phyllida admitted. Ashe chuckled. He had made her dizzy with his lovemaking. Perhaps that was why it was so difficult to think clearly and logically, to resolve to end this here and now. They were going to make love again, she knew that. It was as inevitable as sunrise.

'Ashe, what is the time?' She made herself come out from behind the screen. It was hard to meet his eyes, although she felt warm and safe with him. Her guilty conscience, she supposed.

'Three. Time to go home. Here is your jacket.' He held it out to her, then stopped and touched one finger to the top of her left breast. 'What is that? A birthmark? I meant to ask when you took off your jacket, but I became... distracted.'

'Yes.' Phyllida squinted down to where his finger traced the coffee-brown mark the size of a strawberry. 'Luckily it is towards the side so, if I am careful, the bodice of a gown covers it.'

'But why would you want to hide it?' Ashe helped her into the jacket. 'It is a perfect heart. Charming.'

'It is a blemish.'

'Nonsense. It looks fascinating on your white skin, tantalising. Promise me you will not cover it up any more.' He bent and kissed it, then pulled her sides of the jacket together and began to do up the tiny b.u.t.tons.

'Very well.' It would not be a problem, not with her evening and half-dress gowns and if Ashe liked it she was too flattered to resist. She would only need to remove some of the trim or turn under the edge of the bodice. There were a few days left before she had to end this. In day gowns, with their higher necklines, it would never show in any case.

'Ashe, stop that or we will never get back!' He laughed and ceased tickling between the b.u.t.ton holes.

'Come along then. Before you tempt me unbearably.'

Phyllida was sitting sewing with Sara the next afternoon when Gregory called. Lady Eldonstone had insisted that she sit down and rest after a morning supervising the despatch of crates to the auction house and it had seemed a good time to alter the neckline of some of her evening gowns so that the heart-shaped birthmark could be seen.

The lack of logic in doing something that could only inflame Ashe's enthusiasm for lovemaking, and entangle her even more in the deception she was caught in, did not escape her. It was as though she was two people: one sensible, honest Phyllida who should be cold-bloodedly planning the break with Ashe for his own good, the other a dizzy girl in love who could not think beyond the next moment in his arms.

Sara rang for refreshments and Gregory sat down, all long legs, tight pantaloons and gleaming Hessians. 'You are the picture of a perfect London gentleman,' Phyllida teased him. 'So neat and tidy and respectable-looking. And such a smart new crop!'