Chapter 4 #2
“My parents had five children,” she said, bringing the cup to lips and tasting to bittersweet cheap tea that she had managed to barter for the day before.
“Two boys, three girls. Both boys died in childhood, and I never knew them. My elder sister, Lydia, had a vague memory of a little blond haired boy, but my younger sister Helena and I had no memories of them at all.”
Alexander looked at her, and said nothing, but he smiled gently, and she continued.
“My mother died giving birth to Helena, and our father was a fisherman. A simple, working life with his beloved Julia was all that he wanted, but,” and Teresa shut her eyes for a moment to try and ignore the memory of her father, sobbing as their mother was buried.
“But he was left a widower of three daughters. Three daughters that he could not afford.”
“There must have been others,” Alexander said quietly. “Other family members, someone in the parish who could have helped.”
She shook her head. “He is a proud man, my father. There was a couple in the village over, a couple who had tried for many years to have a child, but God had not smiled on them. He went to them, and offered them . . . offered them one of us.”
Teresa definitely saw it then: his eyes widened as the revulsion of what she was telling him was suddenly understood.
“He – he gave you away?”
Teresa sipped at her tea. “‘Tis more common than you would think. It is usually within families: a sister gives her barren sibling a child, that sort of thing. And so, Lydia went off to become a Marchwood, and Helena and I were raised by our father.”
A log crackled in the grate, and it drew her gaze, a welcome relief from Alexander’s staring eyes. The disbelief was too strong to bear.
“When I turned eighteen, it became clear to us – Helena and myself, I mean – that my father was slowing down. He was still fishing, still supporting us, but as he got older, the fish became fewer, and the money was dwindling. Something had to be done.” Teresa tightened her grip around her cup. “I had to do something.”
“It seems you know just as much about familial sacrifice than I do,” said Alexander quietly.
“It is strange; you may not believe it, but I know a little about hunger. My grandfather lost the family fortune, and although my father was eventually able to recover it, I can easily remember the pain of hunger.”
Teresa stared at him. “You – you went hungry, too?”
He nodded, and her mouth fell open. “But you are a Duke!”
Alexander laughed. “I was not always one! In fact, I have only been a Duke for just over a twelvemonth. And you cannot eat a title; it cannot sustain you, it cannot bring bread to your table and meat to your plate.”
It was almost impossible to comprehend, that this man before her had gone without meals as a child. Teresa smiled wryly. “To think, we could have both almost starved at the same time, at different ends of the country.”
Alexander matched her smile, and put his teacup down on the mantlepiece. “So when you and your sister – Helena, was it – decided that you needed to work, why did you not find . . . well, a more respectable profession?”
Teresa smiled sadly, and placed her own cup on the floor beside her chair, her thirst quenched.
“There are a very limited number of ways that a woman can earn her keep in this world. I was not lettered enough to be a governess, working as a servant in a great house would not give me enough money to send on to my sister – the postage alone would eat most of my earnings. And so, I went to the nearest town, waited for evening, and found – ”
“You do not have to tell me.” His interruption was brief, and Teresa looked up to see his hands clenched.
“A lady of the night,” she finished, with a comforting smile.
“Helena and I had talked. We agreed that there was one way that we could think of that would enable us to earn a great deal of money, and that would help keep us. Father is not getting younger, and very soon he will not be able to work at all.”
She watched the tension dissipate out of him, and continued. “This woman – Madame Blythe – was sympathetic. Mine is not an unusual story, and it was one that she had heard before. She took me in. She taught me.”
Alexander stirred in his seat, and said in a rather strangled voice. “T-Taught you?”
Teresa nodded. “Madame Blythe had been working for a good many years, and she was still young. She knew what would tempt a man; what would draw him away from his friends, and into her bed. She knew how to tease,” and now she saw Alexander stiffen, and felt a stirring in herself that had nothing to do with her memories and everything to do with the man before her, “and how to pleasure, and how to drive a man so wild that he could not help but come back to her again, and again.”
What was she doing? She wanted him, that was now certain – there was no way to ignore that rising warmth between her legs, even if she had not felt it for many years – but riling Alexander up with these taunting and delicious words?
“And – and you know those things now?” Alexander managed.
Teresa felt a spark of pleasure flow through her veins at the tightness of his throat. She nodded. “Most of my tricks I never use. I never have to. I like the idea of saving them for a man who is able to raise my own yearning, who makes me plea for release.”
And he was definitely sweating now, and his fists were clenched, and Teresa found herself wondering what it would be like to have those strong hands hold her, and touch her, and caress her.
“It has been so long,” she whispered, leaning forward and wetting her lips as she moved, her breasts swaying slightly and she saw Alexander swallow as he tried to fight down the lust, “so long since any man has given me any amount of pleasurable agony.”
She knew exactly what she was doing now, and part of her cried out for him, and that part was growing and she did not want to ignore it any longer.
It was time for her to take back control. It was time for her to take back pleasure. It was time for her to take Alexander to her bed.