Nick followed him out of the carriage, which had let them off at the back of Madame Hershaw’s dress shop. Benedict’s secret office could be accessed this way, keeping them from sight. This late—or rather, this early—there wouldn’t be anyone of importance about, but they could never be too careful.
He really had spent the entire night at the gaming tables without being aware of how much time had passed. Perhaps Benedict was right to insist he had a problem. It wasn’t a good sign that he’d wasted the entire night, as well as a good deal of his money.
Of course, there were also the betting books, horse races, cock fights, and Benedict’s boxing matches. He would have to be vigilant if he truly planned to stop letting his little habit get the best of him.
The door to Benedict’s office stood open, and Nick detected the glow and crackle of the fire from the hearth within. Farther into the shop, he could hear the jingle of keys and click of footsteps—likely the modiste and her seamstresses preparing to begin business for the day.
As Benedict approached the door, Nick held out a hand to halt him.
“I hardly need you to hold my hand. I’ve begun enough liaisons to know how it’s done without your apron strings to cling to.”
Benedict cast him a dubious look. “Miss Barrington isn’t like the others, Nick. I think you should—”
“And I think you should relax and let me do what I do best. I’ll have that contract signed, and this Miss Botherton chit eating out of my palm in ten minutes flat.”
Benedict’s lips quivered as if he fought not to laugh, and he crossed his arms over his chest. “Is that so?”
Nick ran a hand through his hair. “Quite. Stand aside.”
His friend raised one blond eyebrow, but did as he was told and waved a hand toward the cracked door. “Whatever you say. I wish you luck.”
“This is one area where I don’t need luck,” Nick drawled before pushing open the door.
He strode inside, confidence in his gait and determination steeling him. It didn’t matter if this client were twice his age or had the face of a badger; he was going to charm her right out of her clothes. But she could keep her stockings on … Nick liked it when they kept their stockings on.
The form of a petite woman rose from a chair that faced Benedict’s desk, and at first all Nick could make out was a chignon of glossy black hair and a slender figure. But then, she turned to face him and he nearly choked on his own tongue.
Miss Whatever-her-name-was certainly wasn’t twice his age, nor did she have the face of a badger. Benedict had been right that she didn’t fit into the imagined mold of his ‘perfect’ woman. Yet, somehow, Nick had never beheld a more magnificent creature in all his life.
He’d never seen such round, dark eyes—like velvety brown pools a man could fall into and happily drown. A heart-shaped face with a delicate little chin was carved with high, regal cheekbones and slashed with an aquiline nose. And her mouth … he’d never seen a more perfect mouth in his life. His cock went hard in an instant as he imagined licking at that plump bottom lip, then biting it until she moaned. He wanted to trace the cupid’s bow of the upper lip with his fingertip, then plunge into her mouth, testing the feel of her tongue. Those lips trailing across his naked chest, parted as she moaned in ecstasy, wrapped around his prick …
He nearly groaned at the images his wild imagination had conjured, but managed to remain composed.
She stared at him, silent and assessing, hands clasped neatly before her. Nick’s mind went completely blank and he found himself at a loss for words.
Words were never a problem for him. In fact, they were something of a specialty, whether he was charming society matrons, making his friends laugh with well-timed jokes, or whispering filth into the ears of the women paying to be debauched. He swallowed and spat out the first words that popped into his head.
“Fucking Christ, you’re gorgeous.”
She blinked as if startled, then furrowed her brow. “Thank you.”
Her words held a questioning note, almost as if she couldn’t believe what he’d just said.
Brilliant.
Clearing his throat, he tried to shake off the stupor that had fallen over him at the sight of her. Even before he’d become a courtesan, wooing women into his bed had never been a trial. He would recover from his little blunder and make this woman his next client—and not just because he needed the money.
“Dominick Burke. At your service.”
Seeming to recover from her shock, she gave a stiff nod and extended a hand to him. “Yes, I know who you are, Mr. Burke. I am Calliope Barrington.”
“Call me Dominick,” he urged, taking hold of her hand and giving her a tug. “Or Nick, if you prefer. Really, you can call me whatever you like while I’m buried inside you.”
She gasped, pressing her hands against his chest and arching against him. That only served to press her pelvis tighter against his. They both stiffened, his cock thickening against her belly, and her entire body going rigid.
“Actually … that is what I wanted to talk to you about, Mr. Burke. My request is a rather singular one, I’m afraid, and I want you to be aware of what I require.”
A shy woman. No matter … he’d broken down the defenses of his fair share of reluctant women.
“Oh, I think I know exactly what you need,” he murmured, his lips caressing a path down her cheek.
She shivered in his hold, squirming as his mouth brushed the shell of her ear. She smelled of vanilla and roses, a combination he never realized could be so erotic. His cock certainly seemed to like it, throbbing and pulsing as he dragged the heady scent in through his nostrils.
“You need a man who will pleasure you in a way no man ever has,” he whispered, running his hands down until his palms were filled with her buttocks. “Someone who will lick this delectable body from neck to toes until you beg him to take you. Someone who can handle the little wildcat you turn into once he’s lured you into bed. Someone who can fuck you so thoroughly you forget your own name.”
“Mr. Burke!” she squealed when he squeezed the firm cheeks of her arse, pulling her tighter against him.
He chuckled, seeking out her delectable mouth for a kiss. “I’ve never been called Mr. Burke in bed before, but I think I rather like it.”
His mouth brushed hers, but before he could turn it into a proper kiss, pain exploded along the side of his face. He staggered back, reeling from the force of what he was certain must have been a well-timed slap.
His right ear was ringing, and his jaw tingled from the residual heat of the blow. Pressing a hand to his cheek, he stared at her in wide-eyed shock.
The chit was shaking from head to toe, lips pressed tight, jaw clenched. It wasn’t desire he saw making her eyes simmer like hot coals—it was anger.
“Mr. Burke, you are clearly mistaken about the nature of my need. Did Mr. Sterling not explain it to you?”
Nick winced, remembering that Benedict had been trying to tell him something about their new client. He’d hardly thought he would need to be primed before coming into this room. Any woman coming to the Gentleman Courtesans looking for Nick must be aware of what he was known for: a filthy tongue and the thin veneer of a gentleman laid over the truth of his licentiousness and lack of scruples. Benedict had a penchant for matching clients with the perfect courtesan after interviewing them to assess their needs. He’d never paired Nick with a woman who didn’t know exactly what she was getting herself into with him.
Apparently, this was not the case. Instead of meeting an experienced woman looking for someone to warm her cold bed, Nick found himself faced with a woman who was outraged—by his deeds or by his words, he wasn’t completely sure.
He’d been too drunk and caught off-guard by his startling and sudden attraction to her. But, he could see it clearly now. Benedict had assigned him the sort of client he was never entrusted with.
A virgin. Calliope Barrington was clearly a wide-eyed, inexperienced, untouched virgin
.
He was suddenly stone cold sober, her slap having knocked some sense into him. He was so drunk he hadn’t been able to read the signs clearly marking her as a thorny rosebush. A beautiful rose bush, but one with sharp spines along her stems nonetheless.
“Erm … no, actually. Mr. Sterling did not explain it to me,” he replied, rubbing at his watering eye. “Truthfully, I didn’t think he needed to. In my line of business there’s only one reason a woman comes here to meet a man like me.”
She tilted her chin at a defiant angle.
“It isn’t a courtesan I am after, per se.”
“Is that so?” he asked, raising his eyebrows. “Then what exactly are you after, Calliope?”
“Miss Barrington, if you please. And I am not some loose woman looking for … for …”
“A good, long fuck?” he drawled, amused.
Despite now knowing her to be an innocent, he couldn’t help needling her a bit. It was fascinating to stand in the presence of such untouched purity, when Nick had gone through his adult life avoiding such women. Give him a loose chit any day.
“Are you always so crass and offensive?”
“Yes. A man has a reputation to uphold after all, and women don’t come to me for my gentlemanly manners. I’m still waiting for you to tell me exactly what you want. Whatever it is, I can assure you I’m up to the task.”
She issued a huff of annoyance and shook her head as if he were an exasperating child. “What I want is a husband.”
Well. He certainly wasn’t up for that. The absurdity of her statement as she stood in the office of the Gentleman Courtesans was too much. Nick couldn’t hold in the laughter that bubbled in his chest, disbelief tinging the sound.
“A … a husband? My dear, I think you’ve come to the wrong place.”
His laughter only seemed to infuriate her, and she let out a sound that was something between a grunt and a growl as she snatched up the pelisse hanging over the back of her chair. She jerked it on while glaring at him. If looks could kill, he’d be incinerated on the spot.
“I can see that this was a mistake. I’m sorry for wasting your time, Mr. Burke. It is clear to me that despite Mr. Sterling’s insistence, you are not the right man for this job.”
“Wait,” he called out, trailing her to the door. “I’m sorry … I just … I thought you were joking. But you weren’t, were you?”
She whirled to face him after snatching the door open to reveal Benedict, who stood on the other side watching them with undisguised curiosity.
“No, Mr. Burke. I was in earnest, and I was willing to part with a good deal of my inheritance for your services … but I can see now that I was foolish to think this would work. Good day.”
Nick stared at Benedict as she took her leave, dumbfounded.
“Just wait there, you idiot,” Benedict said between snorts of muffled laughter. Then, he strode off after the retreating lady. “Miss Barrington, please wait …”
She halted, glaring at him over her shoulder as Benedict murmured something to her that Nick could not hear. Her expression softened, and whatever Benedict was saying seemed to sooth her ruffled feathers. However, she did not return.
Benedict came back while Calliope made her escape, her footsteps echoing sharply over the floorboards.
“What the devil was that about?” Nick exploded the moment they were closed away. “Did you know that woman came here looking to get leg-shackled?”
Now that they were alone, Benedict gave in to the laughter making his shoulders shake and his face turn red, further stoking Nick’s annoyance. He didn’t know whether his friend had knowingly set him up to be made a fool of, but he didn’t appreciate walking into such a trap. The poor woman had likely been embarrassed by the entire affair, and now Nick’s hopes for a new arrangement had been dashed.
“I’m glad you find this all so amusing,” he muttered, striding over to the cabinet where Benedict kept several decanters stocked with spirits.
He selected brandy and half-filled a tumbler. By the time he’d taken his first sip, Benedict had calmed, moving toward his desk and settling behind it.
“She doesn’t want to marry you, you dolt. What she needs is someone to court her so the clueless fop she really wants will take notice.”
Nick dropped into the chair Calliope had abandoned, his head spinning as he tried to make sense of that. “I don’t understand.”
“She has her eye on a specific gentleman,” Benedict said slowly, as if speaking to an imbecile. “The man sees her as a friend, but Miss Barrington is desiring that he see her as a potential bride. She has surmised—quite rightly, I think—that the illusion of competition will bring him up to scratch.”
Nick frowned down at his brandy. “This woman wants to pay me to court her?”
That was certainly disappointing. He could think of a number of things he would do to the electrifying Calliope Barrington, but courtship was not on that list.
“She wants to pay you to pretend to court her. Just until her suitor takes notice.”
Nick wrinkled his nose, as he could think of nothing he’d like less than escorting some unmarried girl about Town and pretending to be enamored with her. He accepted any number of invitations every week, mostly because a man in his position couldn’t afford to turn down the opportunity to eat and drink at someone else’s residence. But, he made it a point to stay away from the prim and proper debutantes, despite how shamelessly the mothers threw their daughters in his path. It didn’t matter that he was only the third son of an earl. He was handsome, charming, and his blood was bluer than a sapphire. His lavish lifestyle led many to believe he was flush in the pockets, and he’d die before letting any of them know how untrue that was.
“I miss Hugh,” he grumbled. “This sort of client would have been perfect for him. He probably would have enjoyed playing the doting suitor.”
“Well, Hugh is a married man now … and besides, he isn’t nearly as popular as you are.”
“And for that reason, you decided this assignment was right for me? Dash it, Ben, you should have seen the way she looked at me. She fucking slapped me.”
Though in hindsight, he had deserved it. Her maidenly sensibilities must have been repulsed by his behavior.
Benedict shrugged. “I did try to warn you. Anyway, while Miss Barrington was put out by what she called your ‘abominable conduct’, she is willing to give you another chance. I told her you were not thinking clearly due to being up all night. She has agreed to receive you this afternoon. I suggest you take her up on her offer.”
Nick rolled his eyes. “Absolutely not. I’m not a glorified accessory to be worn on some woman’s arm. I don’t care how much she’s paying.”
Raising one eyebrow, Benedict slid the contract across the desk, his finger thumping down to indicate the amount Calliope had agreed to pay. Nick’s eyes widened as he read the amount. It was twice as much as the most lucrative contract he’d ever had. Enough to replenish his dwindling accounts, refresh his wardrobe, and keep him well fed for a year. If he invested some of it as Benedict had suggested, he could be well set for a long time.
“I’ll be damned.”
“You cannot afford to turn this one down, Nick,” Benedict urged. “I have no other clients waiting in the wings, and I cannot predict when there will be another. What’s the harm in escorting her to a few balls and pretending to be interested in her? She’s willing to pay, and she’s desperate.”
So was Nick, and Benedict knew too much about his personal finances for him to pretend he wasn’t. Despite his disappointment that he wouldn’t get to slake his sudden and visceral lust for Calliope, he couldn’t deny the contract was an attractive one.
“You’re right, damn you.”
“So, you’ll do it?”
“As you’ve pointed out, I really have no choice.”
“Excellent. Take the contract … here is her address, where she lives with her sister and brother-in-law, the Earl and Countess of Hasti
ngs. I suggest you put down the brandy and go sleep off your night of debauchery. You have quite a bit of groveling to do if you want back into her good graces.”
Working his jaw as the fading heat of her slap finally eased, Nick decided that was a good idea. He’d already had a taste of what it was like to fall out of that woman’s favor.
“For what she’s paying me, I’ll kiss her feet and call her Your Highness if she wants.”
Benedict chuckled. “That would be a start.”
Coming to his feet, he set his unfinished brandy aside and took up the contract, along with the scrap of paper on which Benedict had scrawled the address. He marched from the office with determination in his stride, hoping to convince himself that he didn’t want to fuck Calliope Barrington as badly as he thought.
Calliope glared at her sister, who had not stopped laughing since she’d begun relating the tale of her meeting with Dominick Burke. Diana nearly fell out of her chair, the embroidery hoop in her lap forgotten as she gasped for air, her giggles pricking Calliope’s nerves.
“This isn’t funny, Diana,” she groused, snapping her novel closed with an annoyed sigh. “The man was completely outrageous.”
Sitting upright, Diana swiped at her watering eyes and took a deep breath. “I’m sorry, Callie, but what did you expect? He is a courtesan … seduction is his business. And Mr. Burke is notorious as a rake of the first order.”
That was hardly surprising given the man’s behavior. He’d been despicable, speaking of the kinds of acts that made her stomach clench and her skin tingle.
It was completely improper. What kind of man spoke of licking a woman’s body? She’d never heard such a thing in her life. To her exasperation, Diana had remained tight-lipped about the goings-on of the marriage bed, and Calliope had gleaned little outside the fact that the man was supposed to insert a part of himself inside the woman. Nowhere in Diana’s fumbling explanation had there been mention of using one’s tongue. And, Diana had referred to the act in the most pleasing way. Making love, she’d called it.
But, Mr. Burke had referred to it a different way. She shuddered as she remembered the rough term he’d used to describe it.
Making of a Scandal (The Gentleman Courtesans Book 3) Page 5