Making of a Scandal (The Gentleman Courtesans Book 3)

by Victoria Vale

  His gaze fell to their hands, his jaw winding tight as he dragged in a harsh breath. “Touching me is a bad idea, goddess.”

  The warning in his tone made her snatch her hand away, but he grasped her wrist, preventing escape.

  “It makes me forget that you aren’t mine anymore,” he growled, jerking her closer and lowering his head until his mouth brushed her ear. “It makes me want things you no longer wish to give, for you cannot condescend to let yourself love a whore.”

  She stiffened, trying to pull her arm out of his grip but failing when he tightened his fingers. “I never said—”

  “But you’d fuck a whore, wouldn’t you? I’m good enough to bed you, but little else.”

  “Dominick, please … that isn’t how I feel. Surely you must know that.”

  “I don’t know how you feel, as you did not respond to my note, nor did you bother to show your face after you returned to London with your precious fiancé.”

  He finally released her arm when she stepped away, glancing up and down the corridor to ensure they hadn’t been seen. They were fortunate this time, but she would take no chances. Gesturing toward the nearest door, she motioned for him to follow her.

  She waited until they were ensconced inside a closet where Mrs. Fisher stored various supplies, with barely enough room for them to stand toe to toe.

  “I’m sorry if you took my failure to tell you the news in person as some indication that I don’t care, or that I think of our time together as cheap and meaningless.”

  “Don’t you? I believe you called it a mistake.”

  She pressed her hands against her face, grappling for words to sooth him while still avoiding damning herself. “Dominick—”

  “Does Lewes know the whole of it?” he demanded, chasing her as she backed away, coming up against the shelves. She whimpered when he pressed a palm beneath her chin, his thumb stroking along her jaw. “Does he know how you fell apart in my arms, or how you spent so beautifully against my fingers, in my mouth, on my cock?”

  His lips hovered over hers, and she tipped her head back, eyelids growing heavy as he weaved his seductive spell. Her body responded as if they’d never parted, her nipples tingling, her thighs clenching as a nagging pulsation started between them. She leaned back against the shelves as her knees went weak, right along with her resolve.

  “He is aware of what transpired between us.”

  Dominick snorted, his breath huffing against her cheek. “And you can bring yourself to marry him after that? I don’t know which of us I feel sorriest for—him for knowing he can never have what you gave me, myself for being forced to go on without you, or you for what you are very soon going to learn.”

  “And what’s that?”

  His hand moved to her nape, tipping her head back as he gave her a hard, menacing smile. “Every night, when he takes you to bed, it’s me you’ll be thinking of. I am the one you will long for while he’s rutting on top of you with no thought to your pleasure. He will never touch the parts of you that I have, Anni.”

  She reared against him, fists raised to strike, to hurt him as he was hurting her. Yet, when her hands made contact, they were clutching at him and pulling him close instead of punishing him, clinging instead of pushing. He fell into her with a rough growl, hands brutal and commanding at her waist as he captured her lips in a ravaging kiss. Crates and baskets rattled on the shelves as he pressed her backward, dominating the kiss with a demanding tongue and hungry lips. His hands were everywhere, running down her neck and shoulders, cupping her breasts, palming her hips and moving around to squeeze her buttocks and lift her so her mound pressed against his stiff cock.

  “Does Lewes make you feel like this?” he taunted, biting at her breast through her gown. “Do you get wet for him when he kisses you, like you do for me?”

  He laughed at the glower she gave him, its edge blunted by the clear evidence of her need. Her chest heaved with every breath, her lips parted and swollen from his kiss. As he drew her skirts up and slipped a hand between her legs, he found irrefutable proof of his accusation.

  “Fucking Christ,” he ground out as his fingers slipped over her clit and down to her entrance, finding her slick and swollen. “I knew it.”

  She squeezed her eyes shut and gave in to the electric currents of pleasure racing through her at every stroke of his fingers. He kissed and bit at her lips while he added fuel to her arousal, making her burn with light pressure against her clit and shallow thrusts inside her channel. She clawed at him like a wildcat, fingers raking his scalp and clutching at his hair, nails scraping down his chest. He hauled one of her legs up, forcing her skirts high so he could watch his fingers disappear inside her. She clenched around them, hips surging as he fucked her with them, his thumb steadily teasing her clit. It seemed like a lifetime had passed since he’d touched her like this, and it was as if he were teaching her all over again what her body was capable of, what he could make her feel. Her breaths came in short pants, an occasional whimper slipping out as she hurtled toward climax.

  “Nick!” she cried, the lightest fluttering beginning deep in her core.

  He snatched his hand free of her and she clutched at him, grinding her teeth around a desperate scream. He balled his hands into fists and closed his eyes, neck straining as he appeared to wrestle with himself. Calliope gripped the edge of a shelf behind her for balance, her legs weak and her clitoris pulsing in a demanding rhythm, her inner channel clenching for want of what she’d been denied.

  “I won’t be the villain here. Tell me to stop, right now, Callie … or tell me you want me and I’m yours, I don’t give a bloody fuck about him.”

  His eyes snapped open and he waited, watching her lips as if listening for the right words to fall from her lips.

  “I want you,” she whispered, too far gone to feel shame or regret. It was the truth, and it felt right to admit it to him, in this small space where there was only the two of them.

  He lunged for her again, spinning her around and hurriedly lifting her skirts. She was thrown off balance as he pushed against one shoulder, bending her at the waist. Grappling at the shelves for purchase, she steadied herself just in time, because then he was kicking her legs wide, spreading her for his use. She ought to be shocked, having never realized people could couple this way and feeling as if there must be something degrading in it. But, she could only raise her hips and wait for him, willing to take whatever he gave, needing it with an intensity that left her breathless.

  The press of the blunt crown of his cock nudged her opening, but he simply pressed against her without entering. He gripped her shoulder and his mouth came against her ear, his tongue teasing the lobe.

  “Fuck me, Nick,” he prompted. “Say it.”

  She swayed against him, trying to coax him in deeper, but he remained just within her opening. A sharp sting erupted along one of her buttocks—Nick’s palm cracking against her in a light slap. Her sheath contracted, heat blossoming where his hand had struck and heightening her desire.

  “I’m waiting.”

  Bowing her head, she gave over the last shred of her dignity, not caring how licentious it made her to respond to him this way.

  Her cheeks warmed as she repeated his words, her lips struggling to form the epithet she’d never used in her life. “Fuck me, Nick.”

  He surged into her with one swift stroke, his hand leaving her shoulder to clap over her mouth and muffle her sharp cry. Their position allowed him deep into her, and her sheath stretched and throbbed, her wetness making it easy to accommodate him. She breathed through her nose, her moans muffled by his hand as he began to move, his pelvis pushing against her rear, his other hand gripping her hip to pull her back into each thrust. His cock drilled into her, unrelenting and thick, pressing against places within her that made her eyes roll back into her head.

  He wasn’t the man who had so sweetly initiated her that night in her bed. There were no tender words or soft caresses. This was exactly what he
’d promised her the first time they’d met; a good hard fuck—filthy and raw and breathtaking. She wasn’t the same woman she’d been that night, either. She was free, more herself than she’d allowed herself to be in weeks, and she took hold of that with both hands and clung to it. For the first time since she’d accepted the proposal of a man she did not love, she felt alive.

  Nick’s forehead dropped to her shoulder, his body curling around her as he took her with savage ruthlessness, his breaths rough and harsh in her ear.

  “You’re such a little wanton, letting me take you like this. You like me sweet and gentle, but I think you like me this way, too—hard and rough and fucking you senseless. Don’t you, goddess?”

  She brought her hands up to clutch at his neck, holding him and rocking back to match his rhythm, her insides clenching and quivering with impending climax.

  “Yes … yes!”

  He pounded into her harder, muffling his groans against her shoulder, the hand at her hip shifting to cup between her legs. The press of his fingers against her clit set her off, and she bucked and writhed against him, her nails digging into the back of his neck as she splintered. He kept up his pace through her orgasm, drawing it out and making it last as she screamed against his palm. Only when she went limp against him did he follow on her heels. Except, this time he pulled away instead of pushing deeper, grunting and muttering oaths under his breath. Calliope glanced over her shoulder to find him slumped against the opposite shelves, using a handkerchief to clean the milky streams of his seed from the back of one hand and the tip of his cock.

  His head remained lowered as he tucked his shirt and buttoned his fall, his handkerchief disappearing into his coat pocket. Calliope lowered her skirts with shaking hands, feeling somehow bereft as he withdrew from her—not just physically, but in every other way that mattered. She’d reveled in every moment of their coupling up until the second he’d pulled away, robbing her of the deep intimacy of sharing in the moment of his release, of the blissful haven of his arms once they were finished. Tears stung her eyes as she realized she had no right to want those things from him. That he still desired her at all was nothing short of a miracle. Or, as he had so deftly shown her the day of their first kiss, a matter of simple biology.

  By the time he straightened and met her gaze again, he was composed, cold and hard as he reached out to tuck a loose pin back into her hair.

  “I would have been anything you wanted me to be,” he said, his tone clipped. “But you made it clear that you see nothing more in me than what I first presented to you. I can hardly blame you for that.”

  She reached for his hand, but he snatched it back with a dire warning flaring in his eyes.

  “It was a mistake for me to come here … it won’t happen again. Should we encounter one another again, have a care. If you value your betrothal, your reputation … you’ll keep your distance. You’ve never seen a scandal like the one I will incite if you get too close again, and next time I won’t care who sees or what they say.”

  He left without a glance back, stepping into the corridor and slamming the door behind him. Calliope sank to her knees, hands clutching at her throat as she fought to breathe and put herself back together. She was torn apart again, aching and yearning as if all the emotion she’d tamped down had come spiraling up once more. She took great gulps of air and lowered her head until she calmed.

  Diana and the other patronesses were waiting, but she didn’t care. She couldn’t go to them until she had erased every trace of Dominick’s effect on her. Only then could she face a world in which her heart belonged to one man, while another owned everything else.

  Dominick stared into the depths of his tumbler, his untouched brandy gleaming red in the firelight. The silence in his flat was deafening, despite it being filled with people. His fellow courtesans sat around him, trying to hide their pitying glances. Benedict had come after word reached him of Paul’s death that morning. When Nick had told him to go away, the man had obeyed—but only for as long as it took him to gather the others and return. They wouldn’t leave, and he didn’t want to disturb the other residents of Albany, so he’d let them in.

  Benedict had arrived with brandy, and the others had simply come with their condolences.

  Hugh had returned weeks ago from his wedding trip, but Dominick seldom saw him, which was for the best. He didn’t want to be faced with seeing how things had worked out for Hugh while they’d all gone to hell for him. Adding insult to injury was the news of Aubrey’s engagement. Ironically, he’d fallen in love with his own client and was set to marry her on the same day Calliope was to wed Martin Lewes.

  Surprisingly, Benedict had taken this news all in stride, and Nick suspected it was because they’d all known Aubrey wouldn’t last as a courtesan. If anything, Nick was shocked he hadn’t been the first to step away.

  He forced himself to raise the glass and take a slow sip, the brandy tasteless on his tongue, but still spreading warmth on its way down.

  Hugh was the first to break the silence as he reached for the bottle. Filling his glass, he raised it and smiled.

  “To Paul Burke, who was Nick’s uncle, but somehow also felt like mine, too.”

  The others raised their glasses and took a drink, then Aubrey spoke up.

  “I always admired him for his sense of style. Never a hair out of place, nor a limp cravat or a shabby waistcoat in sight. To Paul.”

  Nick’s lips twitched with an oncoming smile as he raised his glass again to clink against the others. This was high praise coming from a man whose life was fabrics and fashion.

  “He used to frequent Gentleman Jackson’s years ago,” Benedict chimed in. “I watched him spar and was impressed with such strength and skill in a man of his age. To Paul.”

  David went next, rising to his feet and swaying a bit, clearly already soused. “And let us not forget his reputation with women, and the exploits of his youth that served as inspiration to rakes everywhere. To Paul!”

  This toast took a little longer than the others to finish as the men chuckled and traded knowing glances at the memory of Paul’s outlandish stories. Once they had calmed, every eye turned to Nick, and he grew solemn again.

  His voice came out gruff when he spoke, but he forced out the words as he lifted his glass one last time. “He was the best man I’ve ever known, and none can match him. His spirit was indomitable, and his determination to make his own way in the world was admirable. I may never live up to his example, but I will try to until my dying day. To Uncle Paul.”

  “Well said,” Benedict murmured.

  Nick slouched in his armchair and glanced around at each of them in turn. “After Aubrey and Lucinda’s wedding, I intend to leave London for a while. I’ve spent the week with my uncle’s solicitor and have everything I need to go to Newburn and take it all in hand. There is still much for me to learn, but he assured me that the steward would be ready to assist me. From there, I suppose I ought to travel to Cornwall. Apparently, I now own property there, as well.”

  “How long will you be gone?” David asked.

  “I can’t say,” Nick replied with a shrug. “Probably a good while. Being in London right now is … difficult.”

  Benedict and Aubrey exchanged loaded glances, communicating without words. They were the only ones who knew about his other crushing loss, while David and Hugh likely thought he referred to only his uncle.

  “We’ll certainly miss you, but I think that’s for the best,” Benedict replied. “After my next match, I’ll need someplace quiet to recuperate. Perhaps I’ll come impose upon your hospitality.”

  Nick chuckled. “Of course you’re welcome at Newburn.”

  They all fell silent again after that, passing the brandy bottle from hand to hand.

  David was the first to depart, citing a potential client who was awaiting his visit. Hugh was next, not needing to tell them he was eager to return to his wife. Benedict left for a night at the theater with his keeper. He squeezed Domini
ck’s shoulder on his way out, with a murmured, “Send for me if you need me.”

  Aubrey lingered for a while, watching Dominick with dark eyes that seemed to notice everything. He and Benedict were alike that way—perceptive and quick to concern themselves with the trials of those they cared about.

  “Before I leave, I want to ask you something, though I don’t wish to compound your grief.”

  Dominick leaned forward, elbows braced on his knees, his empty tumbler dangling from one hand. “There is nothing you could say that would make me feel more wretched than I do right now.”

  “I only wondered if you’ve decided it is too late to stop this wedding from taking place.”

  Nick flashed a grin to hide the sudden descent of his heart into his gut. “Dash it, Aubrey, if you don’t want to marry Lady Bowery, simply say so. No need to enlist my interference.”

  He’d expected a laugh, but Aubrey merely stared at him, lips pursed. Nick sighed and shook his head, dropping the facade.

  “It’s too late. She wants a respectable husband, and I am anything but.”

  “From where I sit, you look pretty respectable to me, having just inherited a sizable estate and putting aside your former profession.”

  “It’s that very profession that has damned me. I want to hate her for spurning me, but can hardly blame her for not wanting a man half of London’s ladies have had in their beds. She fears exposure and scorn. All her life she’s been made to feel as if she’s somehow lesser than the other ladies because of who her mother was. That is a problem I cannot fix for her, no matter how much I might want to.”

  Aubrey raised an eyebrow. “I know a little something about that, and you are right. You can empathize with her hardships, but not fully understand them yourself. It never goes away, but she can learn to form her own place in the world and be content to only allow in those who enrich it. I hate to think that she couldn’t do that with you at her side.”