Making of a Scandal (The Gentleman Courtesans Book 3)

by Victoria Vale

  Nick’s expression became like stone as he stared down at her. Only, his eyes erupted with jade fire, defiance shining from the deepest prisms. To her surprise, he merely nodded, though there was a stiffness to the movement, as if he hadn’t wanted to agree.

  “I think we’ve been seen together enough this evening. I’ll part ways with you now. Good evening, Mr. Burke.”

  His jaw ticked in response to her formal address of him, but again, he said nothing. He stood there, his gaze burning into her back as she rushed toward the terrace doors.

  They couldn’t have been out of sight for very long—a few minutes at most, though it had felt like a lifetime, as if a part of her had died and something new had been born. Something that missed the nearness of him already, the delicious touch of long, dexterous fingers between her legs and hot, filthy words whispered in her ear.

  No, you mustn’t think of it, she chided herself, pasting a bland smile on her face as she re-entered the ballroom and sought out a footman for a glass of champagne. It happened, but you must not allow it ever again.

  Dominick might be adept at coaxing these mindless, voluptuous responses from her, but that was all he would ever give her. What else could there be with a man who sold his body for a living—whose very existence was a study in debauchery and excess? She would do well to remember that the next time he tried to seduce her, and despite her warning Calliope knew there would be a next time. Dominick seemed incapable of keeping such urges at bay.

  Spotting Martin across the ballroom, she put Dominick out of her mind. Physical compatibility was something that could be conjured with anyone; he had taught her that. Which meant even if her stomach didn’t erupt with butterflies at the sight of Martin, even if her knees didn’t grow weak when he kissed her hand, he could still be everything else she wanted in a husband. He could still make her happy. He could make her forget about salacious whispers and writhing bodies in the dark, and the glittering green eyes of a man who would prove her destruction if she allowed it.

  Calliope avoided Dominick for several days following the ball, hoping to recover from the incident on the terrace. She’d spent the rest of the evening dancing, after going into supper with Martin and doing her best to keep her gaze on him and off Dominick. Try as she might, she couldn’t ignore him. He was always in the periphery of her vision, his gaze on her no matter where she stood. The prickling awareness caused by his unguarded perusal set her on edge, making her feel as if what she had done was written all over her face.

  She’d been relieved when Diana announced that she wished to leave, the cloistering heat making her feel ill. Her sister had still been feeling poorly this morning, retching into a chamber pot and complaining that every bite of food she consumed came back up with a vengeance.

  “She is with child,” Ekta declared while helping Calliope dress. “The signs are there, I witnessed it all when your mother carried you.”

  “I am happy for her, even if I hate to see her so ill,” Calliope replied, while secretly reeling with an unexpected moroseness.

  She was elated to know she would soon be an aunt, but could not help but think of what it would mean for her to fail at her own mission. Diana would bear this child, and others, creating a growing family with Hastings. If Martin couldn’t be made to come up to scratch, she would never again believe that marriage or a family could be in her future. She would move out of Hastings House, for she knew it would be too difficult to feel as if she were an intruder in the lives of Diana and her family.

  Perhaps she would live with her father and his two elderly aunts—who spent their spare time gossiping about those who did not live up to their lofty standards of comportment. Few people ever went unscathed. She would grow old alone, wasting away untouched, unloved, and filled with regret.

  The thought distressed her until tears pricked her eyes, and when she blinked, she found Ekta standing before her. The old woman’s wrinkled face was lined with sympathy, her bony hands wiping away Calliope’s tears. Her dark eyes glittered with fierce determination as she took hold of Calliope’s chin.

  “Your time will come, my dear Anni. The men who could not see what a jewel you are do not deserve your tears.”

  Calliope sniffled and smiled at the woman who had raised her, wondering how she would have survived without Ekta. Hers was the only face she looked upon daily that reflected her own self back to her, the only one that reminded her of a home she remembered little of and a mother whose memory grew hazier with time.

  Once her tears were gone, Ekta threw up her hands and bustled back across the room, the moment of tenderness passing as quickly as it had come.

  “I still say your father ought to be involved in this. It is best to allow the head male of the family to arrange such unions. This Mr. Lewes could be your betrothed already, had you wrote to him as I suggested.”

  Calliope laughed, taking up the shawl laid across the foot of her bed. “Well, you may soon get your wish. I believe Diana has been plotting again, because I received a letter from Father this morning. He has sent for us to visit him and the aunts. They are in Surrey, and he plans to host an intimate house party and invite many of our friends and acquaintances. He made sure to inform me he’d caught wind of the gossip surrounding the two men who have been publicly courting me.”

  Ekta murmured a low sound of approval. “Your sister has sent word to him, and now he will bring both men under his roof to take their measure.”

  Calliope cringed behind the maid’s turned back at the thought of her father thinking Dominick a serious contender for her hand. She would be devastated for him to ever know the truth, so she must allow him to think she was seriously considering the man for marriage.

  “Yes, well, that might be Father’s intention, but I can see what Diana is up to. She is hoping Dominick’s presence at the party will push Martin to finally propose. Father’s estate in Surrey isn’t as large as his other, so the guests will number few. Such a small gathering will force us all in close proximity. Martin will hardly be able to ignore Dominick’s efforts.”

  Ekta turned slowly to face her, a pair of slippers gripped in one hand and Calliope’s dressing gown hung over the opposite arm. “You refer to both of these men by their Christian names.”

  It wasn’t a question, but Calliope could hear the accusation in the maid’s voice. She avoided Ekta’s gaze and fussed needlessly with her hair in the mirror.

  “Martin and I are friends, and we are well on our way toward a betrothal. It is all right for us to use our first names when no one else is about.”

  “And this man who is also a whore? You refer to him as Dominick?”

  Calliope’s face burned. “It is nothing.”

  “That isn’t what I’ve overheard when you speak to Diana of this man. You talk about him as if you—”

  “Ekta, please!” she said sharply, unable to listen to another word. “It is my hope that by end of the fortnight, Martin will have made his offer and this will all be over. Now … if you would please ensure my things are prepared for the journey to Surrey …”

  Ekta raised one black eyebrow and pursed her lips. “I hope you know what you are doing, girl. You are not my little Anni anymore, and I must accept that. But, I will be here when this is all over—whether it ends with a wedding or a broken heart.”

  With that, the maid went into the adjoining dressing room where Calliope’s empty trunk awaited. Ekta’s words seemed a harbinger of doom, but she pushed them aside with grim determination. Her plan was working, and Dominick Burke was nothing more than a small complication—one that she did not intend to let distract her any longer.

  She left her bedchamber, only to be met by a servant come to inform her that she had a visitor. Warring feelings of relief and disappointment overwhelmed her when she entered the drawing room to see it was Martin who had come to call, not Dominick.

  Traitor, her mind railed as she forced a smile for her visitor.

  “Martin,” she choked out, trying to ke
ep the confusion and conflict out of her eyes. “What a lovely surprise.”

  Extending both hands to her, he returned her smile, though his perusal of her was both guarded and wary. “Calliope. You are looking quite lovely this afternoon, but of course, you always do.”

  His compliment fell on her with none of the effect of the words of a certain courtesan, which only made her more cross with herself as well as Dominick. The man had ruined her without ever actually making love to her, filling her mind with thoughts no unwed lady ought to ponder. Thoughts that did not concern the wonderful man standing before her.

  “Thank you,” she murmured, allowing him to take her hands and inspect her from head to toe. “I am glad you are here, actually. An invitation will come to you in a matter of a few days, but now I can invite you in person myself. My father is hosting a small house party at his home in Surrey, and I do hope you will attend.”

  He gave her hands a tug to urge her close, paying no mind to the open door or the specter of nearby servants. Shock rippled through her at his sudden familiarity as well as his disregard for propriety. It was an expected change; one she had been anticipating for weeks. Only now, she couldn’t help comparing the touch of his naked hands against hers to that of Dominick. It was bad of her to think Martin’s hands too soft, lacking the strength and commanding allure of her courtesan’s. It was even more wrong of her to wish he stood a few inches taller, that his hair wasn’t such a bright shade of blond, or that his eyes were the color of spring leaves instead of a morning sky.

  No, no, no. You cannot think that way. This is happening just the way you wanted … do not ruin it with thoughts of Dominick.

  “Nothing could keep me from it,” Martin replied, oblivious to her inner turmoil. “I am anxious to make your father’s acquaintance, and find a house party to be the perfect opportunity. He and I will have an important matter to discuss.”

  Dread curled in her belly, and Calliope could not understand why she should feel this way.

  “Oh?”

  Martin chuckled, his thumbs making slow circles against her palms, his gaze intent as it met hers and held. “Surely you cannot be ignorant to my feelings, Calliope. I realize I might have led you to believe I see you as a mere friend, when in truth, you mean so much more to me. May I be so bold as to hope you might return my regard?”

  Regard. Feelings. Words that would have sent butterflies flitting through her belly a month ago—words she had longed to hear from this man’s lips. Only now they sounded benign, far too shallow to ears which craved murmurs of passion and devotion, fiery need and filth.

  Damn Dominick, he had ruined even this moment for her.

  “Of course I do,” she replied, squeezing his hands to reassure him.

  The chaste kiss he brushed to the inside of her wrist was dry and lacked impact. There were no goose bumps, no tremors of longing, no innate response. Absolutely nothing.

  “Good. I know it might be too soon for me to declare myself this way, but I cannot help it. As well, I’ve been beset by an urgency as of late, as it has not escaped my notice that I face competition.”

  Calliope stiffened as the threat of Dominick settled between them, a threat to the future she aspired to. “Martin—”

  “You have nothing to apologize for. Why shouldn’t Mr. Burke notice what a fine catch you are? But, I want you to know that I am willing to do whatever it takes to win you. I hope you’ll take this into account when making your decision.”

  Calliope stood frozen as he closed in on her in an uncanny replication of the way Dominick had stolen a kiss from her. Long, blond eyelashes closed over flashing blue irises, and soft lips puckered to descend on hers, gentle fingers sliding back into her hair. She responded by rote, her mouth moving against his, her hands coming up to clutch at his arms. Eyes still open, she stared at his lowered lids, his arching eyebrows, his smooth forehead and the golden forelock that fell artfully over it.

  The man was handsome, sweet, and perfect … but his kiss left her feeling hollow. There was nothing fundamentally wrong with it. He was gentle and slow about it, as if accounting for her lack of experience—as if he assumed she’d never been kissed.

  Dominick had treated her with no such delicacy. He might have been gentle at first, but he had been demanding all the same, forcing compliance and a response that had come from her without a fight. Try as she might, she could not feel the same urgency for Martin, could not make herself surrender to the moment without realizing none of it was how she had envisioned. There were no tremors or soft moans of capitulation, no weakening of her knees or wandering of seeking hands into his thick, blond hair or over his broad shoulders.

  He pulled away with a satisfied sigh, his lips curved into a smile as he stroked her cheek. Calliope bit her lip and lowered her eyes, ashamed to stand in his arms and feel nothing, and instead long for the lips of someone who did not deserve her desire or regard.

  “I’m sorry,” Martin murmured, releasing her face and stepping a respectful distance away. “I have wanted to do that for quite some time. It is my wish to leave you without a shred of doubt regarding my intentions. After I have spoken to your father, perhaps we might revisit the subject?”

  She peered up at Martin, who seemed charmed by what he interpreted as maidenly reticence. No doubt, he imagined her shy and overcome by his ardor—which she supposed could work to her advantage. It would never do for him to know the real reason for the blank stare she leveled at him.

  “I would like that very much.”

  “Very well. Now, as to the reason for my visit. I’ve recently acquired a new phaeton and was just about to take it out for the first time. I’d like it very much if you accompanied me.”

  Calliope forced a smile and hoped she looked more excited than she felt at the prospect of time alone with him. However, she realized what she needed was more time in Martin’s company and less in Dominick’s. Maybe, with enough time and effort, she would forget the earth-shattering power of his kiss enough to enjoy the attentions of her future husband.

  “I would love to. If you would give me a moment to retrieve my hat.”

  “Of course,” he replied, taking her hand to grace it with another kiss.

  It seemed that now they’d crossed the tricky territory from courtship into a near-betrothal, he felt he could be freer in his affections. Calliope pray it was enough to wash away the taste and feel of Dominick for good.

  Chapter 9

  “Rumor has it, a small house party is taking place in Surrey over the next fortnight in the home of the scandalous Viscount B. I regret to inform you that I received no invitation to this event, though I wish I had … purely in the interest of reporting the undoubtedly scandalous goings-on to my dear readers, of course.”

  The London Gossip, September 16, 1819

  Nick ignored the chatter of the men around him as he turned the heavy flintlock over in his hands, inspecting it with none of the enthusiasm he ought to feel. He and the other courtesans had been planning this outing to Manton’s Gallery for over a week now. An avid sportsman, Nick had always enjoyed shooting more than any other pursuit—with fencing a close second. Paul had taken him on his first hunting excursion when he’d been a lad, just the two of them, a pair of rifles, and the bracing air of the outdoors. Over the years, he had acquired and consequently pawned several firearms, and was currently in the market for a pair of dueling pistols. Not that he ever thought he’d have cause to use them. However, he had been lusting after this very flintlock for months, along with its twin resting in the cedar box before him. The other courtesans had simply come along for the fun of it, and the chance to practice their own marksmanship—all except Hugh, who had yet to return from an extended wedding trip with his bride.

  Benedict, David, and Aubrey stood at his back as he ran a reverent hand over the stunning mahogany finish and silver embellishments of the well-made flintlock, the most beautiful weapon he’d ever held in his hand. However, the excitement over finally being able
to afford a pair of the finest pistols money could buy was decidedly absent. All he could think of was Calliope, the dratted house party taking place at her father’s small estate in Surrey in a few days’ time, and the inevitable end of their arrangement.

  “Well?” David drawled, peering over his shoulder. “Are you going to stand there all day staring at the thing, or are you going to shoot it?”

  Nick rolled his head in David’s direction and scoffed. “A gun is a lot like a woman. You can’t just go jabbing your ramrod into the barrel. You must get acquainted with her, and that takes time.”

  Benedict snickered. “David doesn’t have that kind of patience, which is why he’s an abominable shot who’s still without a keeper.”

  “I’m an excellent shot and an even better lover,” David protested. “It isn’t my fault London is all but deserted this time of year. Dash it, Nick, if you don’t load and shoot the thing, I will.”

  “Hands off,” Nick protested, moving the gun away from David’s grasping hand as he half-cocked the hammer. “Let a real man show you how it’s done.”

  “I’ve lost track of whether we’re talking about shooting guns or pleasuring women,” Aubrey muttered.

  Nick tuned out the insults and jokes lobbed back and forth by his friends and focused his attention on the weapon. He needed to do something to keep his mind off Calliope, though he knew it to be a futile effort. He worked by rote, pouring gunpowder down the barrel, ramming the paper-wrapped ball in after it, and priming the pan—all the while thinking of the woman who was driving him out of his mind. He was hard-pressed to forget the feel of her in his arms, the exquisite arch of her body against his as she rode his thigh. Even as he raised the pistol and aimed for his target, the report of the weapon wasn’t nearly loud enough to drown out the echoes of her ecstatic cries from his mind. The flash just before the ball was expelled from the weapon wasn’t bright enough to chase away the image of her in the moment of her crisis, which seemed permanently branded onto the backs of his eyelids.