Fucking.
Her ears had burned when that coarse word had fallen from his lips, rough and clipped. It had sounded completely improper, and frightening. It was, perhaps, the naughtiest word she’d ever heard anyone utter. She was ashamed to realize that even thinking the word created the oddest effect within her. It made heat erupt in her middle, and sent her pulse galloping.
“Callie!”
She snapped back to attention at Diana’s sharp tone, embarrassed at having been caught woolgathering. “I’m sorry?”
“I said, you ought to give him a chance. After all, he likely walked into that room expecting to seduce a willing client. I daresay he was caught off guard by the discovery of your true motives.”
Calliope recalled the man’s shocked expression as she had declared her need for a husband. Mortification washed over her yet again. She had done a horrible job explaining herself, but it had been entirely his fault. He’d muddled her senses with his nearness and lewd speech.
“That’s what Mr. Sterling said. Apparently, he had no idea what he was walking into.”
“There you have it,” Diana declared, taking up her needle and hoop once more. “Mr. Burke is wildly popular, which makes him an ideal candidate for our plan. Mr. Lewes won’t be able to ignore the attention he pays you, which is all we need to coax him into offering for you. I should think it would take no more than a few weeks, if that.”
“I certainly hope so. Mr. Burke is a drunkard and a lecher. I don’t want to spend any more time with him than necessary.”
Diana gave her a knowing look. “A lecher, yes … but a devilishly handsome one. Wouldn’t you agree?”
Calliope could offer no protest. Even inebriated and irreverent, he had been a feast for the eyes. His mahogany-brown hair had been disheveled and a bit too long, but it suited his angular features all the same. Even in the dim lighting of the office, she had been struck by the startling hue of his eyes—a vibrant emerald shadowed by rich, dark eyebrows. She squirmed in her chair at the memory of having him take her into his arms, a hard, sinewy body pressing against her.
She had to admit—even if grudgingly— that it was easy to see how such a man could have women falling at his feet. However, Calliope knew herself to be beyond such shallow attraction. Yes, the man was alluring in his own way, but she wanted none of what he had so crassly offered. She didn’t want meaningless encounters with a man who seemed likely to forget all about her when it was over. If Calliope wanted that, she could have accepted the offer of Rufus Gordon.
No, what she wanted required a different sort of man—a man of character and honor. A man like Martin Lewes.
“I suppose, if one likes that sort of man,” she hedged.
Diana issued a rough snort. “Tall, dark, and virile? Darling, everyone likes that sort of man.”
Calliope was saved from having to retort when a scratch at the door preceded a footman. He presented Diana with a calling card, and her sister grinned as she read the named etched onto the thick paper.
“Well … it seems Mr. Burke doesn’t intend to waste any time. He has just arrived. I suppose I’d better get the courtesies out of the way so you can meet with him. Give me ten minutes and then come downstairs.”
Calliope’s heartbeat accelerated, her palms beginning to sweat as she clung to her book. Odd, she hadn’t been this nervous when going to meet Mr. Burke this morning. There was an added awareness that had her on edge, and she hated that it had anything to do with the way he had accosted her. Thinking of the man conjured the image of those heavy-lidded green eyes, the clench of his arms around her waist, the hard press of his masculine organ digging into her belly.
Heavens! What an odd reaction to have toward a man. She was thoroughly agitated, and she hadn’t even laid eyes on him yet.
The minutes seemed to creep by, the ticking of the clock on the mantel resounding through the room like the crash of a gong with every second. She barely got through a paragraph, her gaze flitting to the clock too often for her to concentrate. When nine minutes had gone by, she stood and made her way downstairs.
She entered the drawing room to find Diana seated in her favorite armchair, a cup of tea in her hands. Of Mr. Burke she saw only his head and broad shoulders over the back of the sofa.
“Ah, Calliope, there you are,” Diana said, with a bright smile. “Please, do come and join us.”
Mr. Burke’s shoulders tensed beneath his navy-blue coat, then he surged to his feet and turned to greet her. He was a far cry from the man she’d met this morning—so much so that Calliope had a hard time reconciling this version of him with the one who had said such filthy things.
He was the very image of a gentleman. His dark brown hair gleamed in the light of the sun streaming through the open drapes, his face scraped free of stubble.
But then, their gazes clashed, and a subtle shift revealed the man hidden beneath the polite mask. There he was … the man whose eyes turned into molten pools of green fire as he trailed his gaze from her face and down her body. She flushed hot, and annoyance prickled her spine.
“Miss Barrington,” he said with a boyish, lopsided smile. “It is lovely to see you. I thank you for agreeing to meet with me again.”
“Good afternoon, Mr. Burke. I trust you are rested and ready to continue our previous conversation.”
A slight tick at the corner of his mouth hinted at amusement, but he did an adequate job of keeping a straight face. “Quite.”
“Well,” Diana said, coming to her feet and setting her teacup aside. “Now that the proprieties have been observed, I will make myself scarce. You needn’t worry about the intrusion or gossip of servants. Our staff is very discreet.”
This she said for the benefit of Mr. Burke, for Calliope already knew this to be true. The servants were unfailingly loyal to Hastings, and that allegiance extended to the countess and her sister. Ekta would bluster and protest at her being left alone with a man who was not a relative, but the maid was having her afternoon nap and would never know. If she asked, Calliope would simply insist that Diana had never left the room.
Then, they were alone, with no sound but the pop and snap of the fire interrupting the quiet.
Mr. Burke cleared his throat, leaning his hip against the side of the sofa. “Calliope, I—”
“Please, I would prefer it if you called me Miss Barrington, even in private. Such familiarity is unseemly.”
The man furrowed his brow as if he found her request utterly ridiculous, but he shrugged. “Very well … Miss Barrington. I wanted to apologize for our misunderstanding this morning.”
“Only for the misunderstanding? You aren’t sorry for taking liberties with my person, or … or the things you said?”
That infuriating smile of his was back, half his mouth turning up. “I cannot pretend to be anything other than what I am. I am a courtesan, and I thought a goddess had come to be seduced, so I acted accordingly.”
She blinked. “Goddess?”
“Calliope … Greek goddess, chief muse of poetry, music, and song. It seemed apropos. You certainly live up to the beauty of such a moniker. Do you happen to possess a talent for singing as well? Or perhaps you are a poet?”
Calliope squared her shoulders and steeled herself against his flattery. Flowery words were something she could handle. What she didn’t know how to grapple with were the coarser words he’d used with her this morning.
Fucking Christ, you’re gorgeous.
What had he expected her to say to such a thing?
“That is hardly relevant. Allow me to assure you that compliments and flattery are not a necessary part of our arrangement.”
Instead of being cowed by her iciness, he simply slouched against the sofa, looking far too comfortable in someone else’s drawing room. She had a feeling this man made himself at home in every space. He seemed to suck all the air out of the chamber and dominate it with his presence.
His mouth quirked with mirth. “They are if anyone is to believe I
am enamored with you. That is what you require, isn’t it—for me to make your suitor jealous?”
“Well, that isn’t exactly what I am about. I only want him to … to see me as marriageable. Being on the arm of another man seems like a good way to go about it.”
“Call it whatever you like to make yourself feel better. The fact is, if this fellow cares anything about you, seeing you with me will make him green with envy.”
Calliope swallowed, but she couldn’t rid herself of the bitter taste in her mouth. She didn’t like the blunt terms he used to describe her objective, but couldn’t deny that he was right. Deep down, she realized that provoking Mr. Lewes’s jealousy was the perfect way to urge him to declare himself.
“Yes, well … I suppose you are right, but perhaps you could hold back in your displays of affection until we’ve been seen together long enough to warrant such behavior. I will not risk anyone thinking our association is improper.”
“Understood. So, tell me about this suitor. How long have you known him? Has he ever given you reason to believe he is interested in you in a romantic sense?”
Calliope could stand still no longer, bearing his close scrutiny. The way he looked at her only heightened her agitation.
Pacing to the nearest window, she gazed out at the street. “Mr. Martin Lewes … do you know of him?”
“His brother and I attended university together. I believe Lewes was a few years ahead of us. Our families are acquainted. Upstanding fellow.”
“Yes,” she replied, relaxing as she thought of the handsome man who had stolen her heart. “He is a friend of Hastings, but we were only acquaintances up until recently. We’d been introduced, danced together at a few balls. It was all very innocuous.”
“Until?”
“Until a few weeks ago, when I …”
She felt his gaze, hot on her back as he waited for her to continue. Calliope couldn’t understand why speaking of her feelings aloud to Mr. Burke should discomfit her so. She’d only just met him, but he had come here knowing she was pursuing someone for marriage. What did it matter if he knew that she’d developed a tendre for Martin Lewes?
“We’ve become friends. He is considerate and kind. Unlike the other men who have courted me in the past, he seems to genuinely listen to me when I talk. He does like me, I think. But, perhaps his friendship with Hastings has made him reticent, or—”
“Trust me, if the man wanted you badly enough, the fact that he is friends with Hastings wouldn’t stop him.”
“Oh.”
Her heart sank at his words. If Mr. Lewes felt the same way she did, he ought not care who her brother-in-law was. As well, he couldn’t be blind to the fact that Hastings and Diana had been playing matchmakers.
“But then,” Mr. Burke added, “many young bachelors are simply slow to declare themselves. He feels he has all the time in the world, but you do not wish to wait. You want to be married, and you won’t settle for anyone else.”
“Yes,” she said in a rush, relieved by his reassurance. “Yes, that’s it, exactly.”
She lifted her gaze and found that his eyes were no longer on her. He was staring off across the room, one hand braced at his chin. He was silent for so long that Calliope grew restless. She cleared her throat and took a step toward him, anxiety making her hands shake.
“So … will you do it? I’ll only need you to be my public escort and pay particular attention to me whenever Mr. Lewes is near. It is my hope that it will not take very long to produce the desired result.”
He straightened, reaching into his breast pocket and retrieving a folded sheet of parchment. Unfolding it, he offered it to Calliope. She opened it to discover the contract Mr. Sterling had presented to her last night. Right below her own signature was Mr. Burke’s, surprisingly neat with sloping lines and looping flourishes.
“I will help you snare your husband. I’ll make him so jealous he’ll be tempted to call me out just to remove the competition.”
Calliope folded the contract and handed it back to him. “Thank you. I think it would be ideal for us to be seen together as soon as possible.”
“Of course. I have a stack of unopened invitations to sift through. I’d wager I’ve been invited to the same events as Hastings, which means there will be plenty of opportunities for me to make a spectacle of myself over you. It will not be a great trial, I can assure you.”
A sharp breath burned in her throat at the way his gaze moved over her as he said those last words. His voice had dropped to a soft, seductive purr, and the trajectory of his wandering eyes made her feel as if invisible hands stroked over her body. It was far too easy to recall him pulling her against him, his hands gripping her buttocks and pressing her flush against that hard, male part of him. An odd sensation quivered low in her belly.
“Mr. Burke, I must ask that you refrain from such …”
She didn’t even know how to name what he’d just done; it had been such an imperceptible shift. But he seemed to know exactly what she meant, because he merely smiled. This grin was nothing like the mocking one he’d given her earlier. This one was full and bright, and completely disarming. He took up her hand, raising it to his lips. He placed a chaste kiss on her knuckles, then glanced up at her with those glittering eyes.
“Sorry, goddess … birds must fly, fish must swim. There are some things about me you’re simply going to have to get used to. I’ll send a note this evening with a list of events I’ve been invited to. Do let me know which ones you will attend.”
With that, he dropped her hand and strode from the room, his gait easy and relaxed. Meanwhile, he left her feeling completely unsettled and at odds with herself. Calliope didn’t understand this effect he had on her—the one that made her want to slap his face again and take him to task for his impertinence.
Issuing a labored groan, she sank into the nearest chair, one hand pressed to her roiling belly.
She certainly hoped Mr. Lewes could be coaxed toward the altar sooner rather than later. Calliope didn’t know how much of Dominick Burke she could withstand.
Chapter 3
“News of the arrival of the Earl of H has set London ablaze. The scandalous gentleman of half-Scottish parentage is hardly ever seen in Town … though one need not look very far for the reason for his sudden appearance. A certain red-haired lady of ruined reputation has apparently snared the confirmed bachelor’s attention. Does he intend to make a wife of the hoydenish Lady D … or are his plans of a more scintillating nature?”
The London Gossip, 21 August, 1819
After his successful meeting with Calliope Barrington, Nick promptly returned to his lodgings on Picadilly, his head pounding from the aftereffects of last night’s revel. As he trudged up the stairs of Albany, where he let a suite of bachelor’s rooms, he decided he wasn’t certain whether he was happy about his new arrangement. On one hand, the amount he was being paid to play a doting suitor was more than he’d ever earned warming the beds of other ladies. However, the assignment came with an annoying drawback—one he knew Benedict would insist was of no consequence. For a man with Nick’s healthy appetite, it was a problem of catastrophic proportions.
His new keeper was the most alluring woman he’d ever laid eyes on, and he couldn’t lay a hand on her—at least, not in the way he wanted. She’d been just as stunning in the bright light of the drawing room as she had in the dim interior of Benedict’s office—perhaps even more so. With the rays of the sun shining through the windows he’d had a better look at that thick, dark hair, gleaming with an almost bluish tint. He’d studied her mesmerizing face, full lips, and arching black eyebrows. Her figure was lithe and supple, her breasts just big enough to fill his hands, and the flare of her hips creating a promising outline through her skirts.
He supposed he could always take his relief with whores. Benedict had waylaid Nick’s plans last night, and he hadn’t finished what he’d started with the bit of skirt at the gaming hell.
He issued a labored sigh as
he stumbled through the open door of his bedchamber, and told himself to have done with this arrangement as soon as possible. While it might be in his best interest financially to drag the matter out for months, Nick wasn’t one for self-denial, and reckoned spending so much time around a woman he lusted after but couldn’t take to bed would be akin to staring into a bakery window with a quivering belly and empty pockets. Why torture himself needlessly?
Plopping into the chair before his cluttered desk, he pushed a few items aside to find the ignored stack of invitations. He typically only attended dinner parties—the better to enjoy the talents of someone else’s cook. But now, he would have to consider them all. The sooner he made the social rounds with Calliope on his arm, the sooner he could shove her into the arms of her would-be groom and move on to his next real conquest.
“You were up and about earlier than I expected today, sir.”
Nick glanced up from the open envelope in his hands to find his valet and servant of all work, Thorpe, entering with a silver tray. On it sat a glass containing a familiar-looking potion.
“Thorpe, you are a Godsend,” he muttered, accepting the man’s tried and true concoction for curing the headache and nausea caused by too much drink. “And, I assure you, if it weren’t entirely necessary, I would still be snoring into my pillow.”
He wrinkled his nose at the odor of Thorpe’s mysterious brew, but then forced it down in a few swallows.
“You received a message while you were out.”
Thorpe balanced the tray in one hand and reached into his coat, retrieving a folded slip of paper sealed with red wax. Nick recognized the crest of his father and suppressed a groan. Whatever the earl wanted, it couldn’t be good.
Nick wanted nothing more than to shed his clothes and fall into bed until he no longer felt as if the world tilted under his feet, but there was work to be done. He ignored his father’s missive in favor of the invitations—his own little form of spite, even if the man wasn’t here to see it.
Making of a Scandal (The Gentleman Courtesans Book 3) Page 6