Making of a Scandal (The Gentleman Courtesans Book 3)

by Victoria Vale

  Yes.

  That was it. Calliope fucking him with wild abandon, those long tendrils of inky black hair falling over her shoulders in shimmering coils that shifted aside now and then to allow him a peek at succulent nipples.

  Nick panted and grunted, unable to stop his release as it slammed into him with a force that took his breath away. He released a low groan as his cock spurted hot streams of his mettle over his hand and across his belly. He pumped his shaft through every spasm, wringing himself dry as he imagined Calliope in the moment of her crisis, lips parted and eyes glazed.

  He went slack, temporarily sated. Taking deep, harsh breaths, he tried to untangle himself from his torrid fantasy. Try as he might, he could not make it stop, his mind refusing to let go even now that his cock had been satisfied.

  He hadn’t needed to resort to self-pleasure in years, as there was never any shortage of women waiting to warm his bed even before he’d been a courtesan. Now, he was paid to treat the lady of the moment to rousing bed-sport and never went long without wetting his cock.

  That had all been before the short span between one keeper and the next, before Calliope had twisted him up and turned him inside out.

  “Damn it,” he groaned, rolling out of bed and making his way to the washstand to clean himself.

  He hadn’t wanted it to come to this. Knowing she had rendered all other women unappealing, he’d hoped the little time they would spend in their arrangement wouldn’t be enough for feverish desire to obliterate his good sense. However, it seemed proximity to Calliope only made matters worse. In truth it was a constant torment, only making his need all the worse. It would only grow stronger now that he’d had a small sampling of her, had tasted the promise of so much more. His delusions had been built on her very real and untamed response to him and his kiss. She had seemed speechless before discovering that he’d cheated her with his trick coin, but had told him all he needed to know without saying a word.

  He was not the only one trying to fight his urges. She’d demonstrated that herself when she’d kissed him back. What was wrong with coaxing her into accepting that she desired him the same way he did her?

  Yes, that was all it had to be—him scratching a persistent itch, and her finally giving in to the passions she kept stifled beneath the prim and proper veneer, and nothing more.

  Nick had never been one to deny himself, nor did he avoid the inevitable. There was nothing for it. At the first opportunity, he was going to seduce Calliope Barrington into his bed. For one night or several, it didn’t matter.

  He had to have her.

  The next day, Nick set out to enjoy a day in the company of his uncle and sister, feeling a bit steadier now that he’d come to accept the inevitable. It was amazing, what facing the thing a man had been running from could do for his state of mind. Now that he’d stopped trying to deny that he wanted Calliope to distraction, he was far better able to function. Because now he had a plan, one with a clear and purposeful objective. He would lay claim to Calliope if it was the last thing he did, Martin Lewes be damned. For the moment, that meant coaxing her into his arms and into his bed before he lost his mind for want of her.

  If Benedict knew what he was up to, the man would probably wring his neck. The client had hired Nick for a very specific reason, and the leader of the Gentleman Courtesans was a stickler for the rules. One of the most important being that clients were to be satisfied no matter what. Nick couldn’t help but grin as he realized that he wouldn’t technically be breaking Benedict’s rule. Calliope might get more than she’d bargained for in him, but he’d ensure she achieved satisfaction several times over. He’d satisfy her until she couldn’t walk a straight line.

  “What’s got you in such a good mood?” his sister asked, breaking him out of his wandering thoughts. She watched him from her side of his uncle’s carriage, lips quivering with amusement.

  “I’m simply glad to spend time with you and Uncle Paul. The weather is perfect for a day of shopping, don’t you think?”

  Charity met Paul’s gaze, and the man erupted into laughter from Nick’s side.

  “Should we be flattered that he cares to try to fool us, Charity? Or should we be insulted that he thinks we can’t tell what’s really put a smile on his face?”

  Nick frowned. “What are you talking about?”

  Charity snorted. “Come now, Nicky. You can’t possibly think we haven’t noticed your sudden interest in a certain lady? Miss Barrington is lovely and a wonderful match for you. I couldn’t be more pleased.”

  “Never thought I’d live to see you settle down,” Paul teased.

  Nick took pause before answering, though it sat on the tip of his tongue to deny any intention of settling down. A man who had spent years avoiding attachment suddenly turning his attentions on a respectable woman sent a certain message.

  “I cannot deny that the lady is beautiful, charming, and would make any man a fine wife. Though, I do believe I have competition in the form of Martin Lewes. He’s danced quite a bit of attention on her of late.”

  Irritation plagued him as he remembered sending a message to Calliope that morning asking if she wanted to arrange a night at the theater—the perfect chance for them to be seen, and for him to take advantage of her proximity. He’d been disappointed to receive word that she had plans already—with her sister, Hastings, and Martin.

  Fucking Martin, with his golden hair and weak chin and courtly manners.

  “Oh, poppycock!” Charity exclaimed. “That pretentious popinjay doesn’t hold a candle to my handsome, charming brother.

  “Wonderful alliteration, my dear,” Paul quipped.

  “Thank you.”

  “You’re speaking as if I’ve actually announced my intention to marry,” Nick cut in. “Nothing is certain, and our association is still very new.”

  “But you have developed a tendre for Miss Barrington,” Charity declared with a sniff. “I can tell.”

  “After their waltz at the Covington’s ball, everyone can tell,” Paul added.

  Nick gave his uncle a quizzical look. “You weren’t even there, old man!”

  His uncle shrugged. “Everyone’s talking about it. That London Gossip woman even wrote about it in her column.”

  Nick hadn’t been aware of that, but then, he didn’t subscribe to that insipid scandal sheet. Benedict kept abreast of the latest news from London’s notoriously anonymous gossip writer, but only because she had once alluded to the knowledge of the existence of male courtesans in London. After a few months had passed without the woman revealing anything else of substance, Nick had mostly pushed the column and its author out of his mind.

  The carriage came to a halt at their first stop of the day—a pawn broker with whom Nick had a bit of unsavory business to conduct. Patting his breast pocket, he found he hadn’t forgotten the funds needed to pay the principal and interest on a loan he’d taken on a ruby tiepin, and a gold and diamond pocket watch.

  He’d turned to pawnbrokers often in the years before the Gentleman Courtesans had saved him from facing debtor’s prison. Benedict had been incensed to learn that he’d had to make use of the undesirable establishment again a few months ago, when a few unfortunate turns of dice and cards had emptied his accounts. Now that he was flush again, he could pay to get his things back. With Benedict controlling his purse strings a bit, and a strong-willed effort to stay far away from the hells, he might never return.

  “I’ll be back shortly,” he informed his companions as the footman opened the door for him.

  They waved him off as he stepped onto the street. Pushing open the door to the broker’s establishment, he squinted at the change from the afternoon light outdoors to the dim interior. He moved slowly while his eyes adjusted, approaching a rough wooden counter where Mr. Gould, the broker, was busy seeing to a blond man who waited for him to finish inspecting an array of costly-looking baubles. From where he stood, Nick identified a collection of jeweled tiepins, a sapphire ring, and a an orn
ate snuffbox.

  Nick lingered near the middle of the shop to wait his turn, eyes narrowed as he realized the man had a familiar air about him. Curiosity propelled him forward and he craned his neck to try to get a better look at the stranger.

  “This is preposterous!” the man railed, pounding a fist against the counter. “Surely even a man of your station can see that these are easily worth twice what you are offering, and at such a ridiculous interest rate besides!”

  Nick knew that voice. His interest in the encounter had just been piqued.

  Mr. Gould merely straightened, lowering a round jeweler’s loupe from his eye. “My assessment is a fair one, as is the interest. Need I remind you that you are in need of my assistance, and that no broker in London will offer you such a fair price?”

  Mr. Martin Lewes was beyond hearing the man. Swiping his things up from the counter with a noisy clank, he whirled to take his leave.

  “I think I’d rather take my chances with the other scheming, thieving—”

  He drew up short as he recognized Nick, eyes going so wide the whites flashed bright in the dim light. Nick raised an eyebrow and bowed.

  “Lewes, what an unexpected surprise, seeing you here.”

  The man’s face reddened to the shade of an apple, his throat working as he seemed to try to overcome his sudden embarrassment.

  “Mr. Burke,” he snapped.

  For the first time since meeting Lewes, Nick recognized the signs of a man living above his means. While his clothing was well made and of high quality, his boots were worn, and his waistcoat was a color that had been in fashion two years prior. The next time he would encounter Lewes in the evening, he was sure to notice the absence of jewelry or any other opulent adornments, as most of them would likely have been sold.

  It would seem the man was as desperate as Nick had been, pawning his finery in order to make it a few more months.

  What then? Did Lewes somehow have an inkling of the amount of Calliope’s inheritance? While she’d said her wealth wasn’t widely known, a cunning man need only take notice of her contributions to the London Home for the Care of Foundling Children to realize she was well-off. For some reason, knowing he might be after Calliope’s fortune rankled, despite the fact the majority of the ton’s marriages were made for the purpose of money, connections, and power. Calliope wasn’t a high-standing lady of the nobility, but she was wealthy and had a viscount for a father and an earl for a brother-in-law. It was enough to tempt a man like Lewes, who had yet to inherit and might not for years to come.

  Lewes seemed to have recovered from the shock of being seen in a pawn broker’s shop, and gave Nick a knowing look. “Having heard of your love for the gaming tables, I must say I’m not actually surprised to encounter you here.”

  “And yet, I am the one who is here to retrieve his belongings rather than sell them. Stroke of bad luck?”

  Lewes’s face deepened in color until it was nearly purple. Before he could offer a retort, Mr. Gould called out from behind the counter.

  “Mr. Lewes, wait!”

  After giving Nick a murderous look, Lewes turned back to the counter. He and the broker spoke in hushed tones, and Nick heard snatches of what sounded like a renegotiation.

  “It’s the best I can do,” Gould said, giving Lewes a sympathetic look.

  With a sigh, Lewes laid his bits and bobs back on the counter with a defeated nod. “Very well.”

  They completed their transaction, and Nick passed the other man on his way to the counter. Lewes glared at Nick, jaw working as if he chewed on the words he wanted to let loose. He made his exit, and Nick turned his attention to his own business.

  Yet again, he was struck by the notion that Calliope was prepared to marry a man she hardly knew anything about. It shouldn’t bother him, when many newly-wedded couples of the beau monde went into their marriages practically ignorant of one another. It was none of his affair.

  Only, it had become his business the moment he’d decided to pursue Calliope for himself. It disturbed him to think of her having to dim her brilliance to snare a man as undeserving as Martin Lewes.

  It didn’t take him long to pay Gould and receive his pawned jewelry, after which he promptly returned to the waiting carriage. The rest of the day would be long and tedious knowing he wouldn’t be seeing Calliope at the end of it. However, he had every intention of seeking her out at the first opportunity. She couldn’t hide behind her other suitor for long; Nick wouldn’t allow it.

  Chapter 8

  “The enthralling spectacle incited by one, The Hon. Miss B seems to be coming to a head. During last night’s soiree in the home of the Marquis and Marchioness of A, the lady in question received quite a bit of attention from her two suitors. The Hon. Mr. L partnered her for multiple dances, while she seemed to have quite a tête-á-tête with The Hon. Mr. B. I am predicting it here and now; we’ll have a proposal and a wedding by the end of the year. All that’s left to determine is which of the competitors will turn out to be the groom.”

  The London Gossip, September 9, 1819

  Calliope fanned herself, feigning interest in the couples crowding the dance floor. The last thing she wanted was to attend yet another ball and suffer the attentions of her courtesan for the benefit of Martin and the rest of the ton. Not only had she begun to grow weary of the pretense, she had also come to see that she was playing with fire. It had been ill-advised of her to take him up on his ridiculous wager, and realizing he’d cheated to win his kiss only reminded her of why.

  The man was without honor, and obviously intent on toying with her. Whether because he saw her as a plaything, or because he was somehow provoked by a woman who didn’t fall at his feet at the snap of his fingers, Calliope couldn’t be certain. It didn’t matter, anyway. Her objective had not changed, and the man she wanted to marry was firmly within her sights.

  Both men had been vying for her attention all evening. Dominick hadn’t danced with anyone else tonight, a departure from his behavior at the previous ball. Others were sure to notice, and that included Martin. She couldn’t help but wonder if Dominick done it for nefarious reasons. Did he think a single kiss was enough to crumble her resolve—that she would shun a respectable match with Martin for a moment of reckless passion?

  She told herself he was fool to think it, but had to admit how close she might have come to succumbing to him had they not put a stop to that kiss. Just now, the heat creeping over her face and neck had nothing to do with the crowded ballroom and everything to do with the perfidious wanderings of her mind.

  One thing was certain, it was clear why the price for Dominick’s services was so dear. If he made love the way he kissed, it was a wonder women weren’t fighting over him in the streets.

  He didn’t only kiss with his lips, but with his entire body. She now understood why a kiss could be so dangerous, and why young, unmarried women were encouraged to preserve such intimacies for their husbands. Because now, she could better imagine what might follow a soft touch, a lingering glance, a whisper of breath just before the meeting of lips.

  Her nipples tingled and hardened whenever she remembered the delicious friction of his chest against hers. Her belly roiled when she relived the touch of his hands roaming her body, skimming her waist, teasing the curves of her breasts, gripping her hips and pulling her against that most male part of him.

  Every night following the kiss, she had lain abed and thought of his lips and tongue in other places—because now his promise of licking her from neck to toes made perfect sense. The fevered dreams that plagued her sleeping hours had her awakening dizzy, shaking, and sweating, her body yearning for something she ought not want. It was Martin she wanted for all the right reasons. Marriage, children, true and lasting love. If she gave in to Nick and tasted of wicked carnality, what then? The man would move on as a bee flits from blossom to blossom, leaving her used, plundered, and ruined. Surely Martin wouldn’t want her after that, and her chances at a secure and happy future would
be destroyed.

  It wouldn’t be worth it.

  “You are still angry with me,” Nick’s voice murmured in her ear.

  She flinched at his sudden nearness, the deep, silky tone of his voice sending liquid heat pouring through her middle, as he hovered at her side.

  She flicked her fan and avoided his gaze. “Of course not. Whatever gave you that idea?”

  “You’ve hardly spoken a word to me all night. You won’t even look at me … which is truly a shame. This is my best waistcoat, and I had my valet take special care with my hair in anticipation that you would notice how dapper I look.”

  She snapped her fan shut and glared at him, unable to avoid it when he was goading her. He always seemed to know just how to get a rise out of her.

  Unfortunately, he did cut a dashing figure in his evening clothes. His eyes glittered with their usual mischief and seductive promise.

  “You clean up nicely,” she conceded. “So well, in fact, that one cannot tell they stand in the presence of a snake in men’s clothing.”

  To her surprise, his response to her insult was a hearty laugh. Many curious gazes fell on her, as if they wondered just what she’d said to amuse him. Calliope shrank under the scrutiny, trying to put a bit of distance between them lest someone think she was behaving improperly. Before she could take more than two steps, Nick had smoothly taken hold of her hand and tucked it into the crook of his arm.

  “Walk with me so everyone can see how well we look together. It’ll drive Lewes mad.”

  Calliope gritted her teeth but went along with his suggestion because, of course, it was a good idea. He steered her toward the perimeter of the room, his gait slow and leisurely.