Читать книгу Silk - Пенни Джордан, PENNY JORDAN - Страница 18

Chapter Eleven

May 1930

The weeks were flying by so fast now, that Amber felt she barely had time to draw breath.

Under the strict chaperonage of the countess, she and Beth had attended luncheon parties, fashionable race meetings, afternoon teas and, of course, night after night of parties and coming-out balls.

A group of debs, including Beth and Amber, had even been taken to the Kit-Cat Club where they had all sat excitedly together, trying not to look too awed to see the Prince of Wales there with his entourage.

Amber had looked to see if she could see Lord Robert, even though she knew from Beth that he was visiting friends in Yorkshire. She hadn’t seen him since the night of the ball, and although she had tried not to do so, she still missed the fun they had had together, even if she no longer felt that little flutter of her heart whenever she thought of him.

Someone she and Beth were sure they had seen at the club, though, had been Louise seated in a corner with her escort, whom Beth swore was George Ponsonby.

‘Louise will ruin her reputation; no one will want to marry her,’ Beth had prophesied.

Although Amber and Louise slept under the same roof, Amber and Beth had been so busy attending the functions to which they had both been invited that Amber barely saw Louise any more.

She and Beth had tried their first cigarette, giggling together as they did so. Poor Beth had been dreadfully sick and Amber had felt almost as unwell.

It was hard to believe that it was over a month since her own ball, Amber thought, as she sat down to her breakfast, having said ‘Good morning’ to Lady Rutland.

Amber was drinking her coffee when Louise came in and sat down at the table, immediately lighting up a cigarette. Her nails were varnished a deep shade of red and the way she inhaled and then blew out a cloud of cigarette smoke was incredibly sophisticated, Amber thought slightly enviously.

Lady Rutland, who had begun to frown disapprovingly the moment Louise had lit her cigarette, announced sharply, ‘Amber, if you have finished your breakfast, I would like to speak with Louise alone.’

Although she had closed the door as she left the breakfast room Amber could still hear Lady Rutland telling Louise angrily, ‘Put that cigarette out at once, Louise. I will not have you smoking at the table, and what is this I have heard about you being seen in some nightclub with a man?’

Not wanting to eavesdrop Amber hurried upstairs.

She had been in her bedroom a matter of minutes when Louise burst in without knocking, plainly in a furious temper.

‘It was you who told Mummy about me being with George at the Kit-Cat Club, wasn’t it, you little sneak?’

‘No,’ Amber defended herself. ‘It wasn’t.’ Louise no longer had the power to intimidate her. Her confidence had soared since Lord Robert had taken her under his wing and Beth had returned from her finishing school in Paris to renew their friendship.

‘You told her because you’re jealous,’ Louise stormed, ignoring Amber’s response. ‘You want him for yourself. Well, you’re wasting your time. George would never look at someone like you, whose family are in trade.’

Amber didn’t bother dignifying Louise’s insult with a response. It was laughable that Louise should think she was interested in George Ponsonby. Amber thought he was selfish and self-serving, and didn’t find him in the least bit attractive.

‘Mummy can say what she likes,’ Louise continued angrily, ‘I’m not going to stop seeing him.’

Louise had gone before Amber could say anything, slamming the door behind her.

‘I can’t imagine ever doing something that Mummy had forbidden me to do,’ Beth told Amber, after Amber had related the incident to Beth later in the day.

They were in the countess’s private sitting room in the Levingtons’ Belgrave Square house, waiting for the countess, who was to accompany them to a luncheon party at the Savoy Hotel.

There was a copy of The Times on the countess’s desk, and Amber noticed that its main story contained yet more bad news about the growing number of unemployed. Jay had mentioned in his last letter that several of Macclesfield’s mills had had to lay men off because of the slump in trade that had followed the previous year’s Wall Street crash.

One could see poor people begging everywhere in London, and the Labour government seemed no more able to mend matters than the Conservatives had been.

‘Mummy will be here soon,’ Beth told Amber. ‘There’s something she wants to discuss with you, but I’m not supposed to say anything. Oh—’

Beth stopped speaking as her mother came into the room and looked at them, shaking her head at Beth wryly, before turning to Amber to smile and say, ‘Amber, my dear, the débutante dances will soon be at an end, and I was wondering if your grandmother has discussed her plans for you for the summer?’

‘Grandmother hasn’t mentioned anything in her letters,’ she answered the countess shyly, not sure where the conversation was leading.

‘Very well, in that case I shall write to her to ask her permission for you to accompany us to the South of France next month – that is, of course, if you are happy for me to do so?’

If she was happy? Could it really be in any doubt?

‘Oh, yes. Yes, thank you,’ Amber responded fervently.

How could she not be thrilled at the thought of spending the summer in the South of France, and with Beth, her best friend in the whole world?

She gave Beth a look of gratitude, which Beth returned with an excited smile.

The countess went on to inform Amber that their party was going to include Beth’s father, the earl, and their eldest son, Henry, Viscount Hollowes, both of whom were currently in Australia where, as Beth had already told Amber, her father had business interests in a sheep station and in mining. They would also be joined by the nursery party, comprising Beth’s two younger brothers and the baby of the family, her sister, Arabella, and that they would be staying in Juan-les-Pins where the earl was renting a villa for the summer.

‘I’m so happy that you’ll be coming to the South of France with us,’ Beth confided excitedly to Amber later over luncheon. ‘It’s going to be such fun.’

‘Yes,’ Amber agreed.

She could hardly take it in that she was to visit the South of France, the haunt of so many famous artists. She couldn’t wait to see the places and the colours that inspired them. It would be a relief not to be constantly looking over her shoulder to see if she could see Lord Robert too.

The South of France. How very lucky she was to have such a good friend as Beth and how grateful she was to the countess for inviting her to join them.

‘But you said you were going to take me somewhere exciting, not some dingy horrid hotel in Brighton,’ Louise objected, taking several nervy drags on her cigarette.

They were standing in the bedroom of the hotel and although she had known all along what George had in mind, now that she was confronted with the unattractive reality of their surroundings, defying her mother for the delicious thrill of taking such a dangerous risk no longer seemed either exciting or glamorous. And, in fact, somehow George himself no longer cut the dashing figure here in these drab surroundings as he had done in the prim drawing rooms of Mayfair and the correspondingly louche nightclubs.

In fact, if she was honest with herself, what Louise actually felt right now was not excitement but distaste. She had hated the way the man in reception had smirked and looked her over when George had registered them as Mr and Mrs Smith, but she had been too shocked by the fact that he had done so to object.

When George had suggested driving her down to Brighton for ‘something special at a discreet little place I know’, Louise had envisaged herself sweeping into a glamorous establishment where heads would turn admiringly in her direction and suave handsome men would leave their companions immediately to demand an introduction to her.

They would have lunch – with champagne, of course – and then cocktails in a piano bar.

Carelessly Louise had ignored the small problem of how she was going to manage to stay out so late without explaining her absence to her mother.

Now, faced with a bedroom smaller than her maid’s at home, its wallpaper peeling, and the smell of damp and greasy cooking pervading everything, the issue of her mother’s likely reaction to her absence suddenly became vitally important.

‘I really can’t stay,’ she told George, affecting insouciance. ‘I had no idea it would take us so long to get here. Mummy will be simply furious if I’m not back in time for cocktails at the Edales’.’

‘Really?’ There was a look in George’s eyes that warned Louise he was not going to take ‘no’ for an answer.

How exciting. And how powerful it made her feel to know that he wanted her so much.

‘Yes, I want you to take me home now,’ she told him.

‘And I want – you,’ George responded.

Louise tried to sidestep him as he came towards her but the bedroom was too small and all he had to do to throw her down on the bed was take hold of her arms and force her backwards.

‘No, George. You mustn’t,’ Louise protested, feigning anger. This was just as she had imagined it would be: the delicious feeling of power and wantonness, the knowledge that George was overwhelmed by his desire for her. If she could do that to George then how much more easily would she be able to manipulate someone older – and richer. Avarice gleamed in her eyes.

‘It’s too late to play teasing games now, Lou,’ George warned her. ‘You’ve been coming on to me for weeks, and you know it. Stop worrying, you’re going to love it. Your kind always does. Careful, you don’t want me to go tearing that pretty blouse you’re wearing, do you? What would Mummy say?’

She was genuinely angry now – she hadn’t planned for things to go this far. Teasing George was one thing, actually letting him do ‘it’ was another.

Somehow Louise managed to fight him off and push her way past him to the door, but it was locked and whilst she struggled helplessly with it he caught hold of her, dragging her back to the bed.

This definitely wasn’t what she wanted or how things were supposed to be. George was tugging at her clothes, undressing her swiftly and expertly, despite her protests and struggles, until all she was wearing was her pale pink silk chemise and her matching French knickers with their lacy edging.

Automatically when George let go of her and stood up to remove his own clothes, she lifted her hands to cross them over her breasts. She wasn’t going to let him know that she was apprehensive. Men like George didn’t feel any sympathy for women who cried and pleaded; a woman had to stand up to a man like George. Louise knew that instinctively.

She might be nervous but she was still curious enough to risk a look at him. She hadn’t seen a man naked before, not properly, although she was familiar with the feel of that thick jut of flesh rearing up in swollen urgency, having allowed George to put her hand on it on several occasions, including one time when he had unbuttoned his trousers and pushed her hand inside his underwear to really touch ‘it’.

She hadn’t expected that it would look so ugly, nor have that awkward-looking pouch of flesh hanging beneath it.

‘Like what you see?’ George asked. ‘Want a closer inspection?’

She tried to look nonchalant as she gave a small shrug, but she was wasting her time, she realised, because George was more interested in pushing down the straps of her camisole to bare her breasts, before cupping them in his hands and then kneading them and tugging almost painfully on her nipples.

She relaxed a bit when he started to kiss her – she was, after all, on familiar territory here – but when he transferred his mouth from her lips to her breasts she tensed again and then tensed even more when she felt him tugging – sucking – on her nipples, first one and then the other. An unfamiliar sensation zigzagged right through her body, causing a dull ache low down inside her that began to grow in intensity. George’s teeth suddenly raked her nipple, causing her to cry out and jerk away from him, but he pulled her back, sliding his hand into the open leg of her knickers, and touching her almost roughly where she had secretly and daringly touched herself before but never like George was doing, working his fingers into her, ignoring her protest that he was hurting her, rubbing that special magical place she had found during her own explorations until suddenly Louise wasn’t thinking about how she could bend George to her will any more because she wasn’t capable of thinking anything, only doing; arching her back, moaning and crying out, protesting when George abandoned the source of her pleasure and instead pushed a pillow beneath her hips and then rolled on top of her, raising her knees and then pushing slowly into her, ignoring the stiffening that accompanied her demand for him to stop.

But he refused to stop, and then miraculously the pain disappeared, and the sensation of him thrusting deeper and faster inside her became a challenge she felt driven to meet, and then a need that had her crying out to him.

When he groaned and tensed Louise wondered what was happening, fearful that something was wrong, and even that he might be stuck inside her, but before she could panic, he groaned again and pumped furiously into her, before exhaling in satisfaction and slumping over her.

It hadn’t been at all like she had thought it would be. George had been so rough, too rough at times. And all that sweat and hard work, and that sticky wetness she could feel leaking from her now that George had removed himself from her.

‘There, I told you you’d like it, didn’t I?’

Louise was sitting up in bed, the sheet dragged up to cover her breasts whilst she smoked the cigarette George had just lit and passed to her. George was lying beside her, his head propped up watching her with a smug expression on his face.

‘No, I didn’t like it at all,’ she denied sharply. She was still angry at having her hand forced.

George laughed. ‘No? Then what was all that, “Oh, George, please, oh, George. Oh, oh …” all about then?’ he laughed.

She had enjoyed it, Louise admitted, but she was still furiously cross with George. After all, this was not the kind of place in which she had expected to lose her virginity. She deserved better. But she’d make him pay …