David shouldn’t be thinking of how lovely she was, or how diverting it would be to peel her out of all those starched, black layers to bare that perfect skin to his view. He ought to start considering how he was going to get out of this mess without insulting Mrs. Hurst or annoying Benedict. Surely his friend could not know this client’s true aims, or he never would have sent Lyons with the contract. If anything, her proposal spat squarely in the face of the rules of the gentleman courtesans—one of which barred complications that would put the integrity of their agency at risk. David was fairly certain that purposely impregnating someone counted as such.
She pushed open a door leading outside, revealing a stone pathway leading to a small garden enclosed by a wrought-iron fence. Many of the plants had gone to sleep for winter, their bare branches brown and uninspiring beneath a dreary gray sky. But here and there, the winter-blooming hellebore, pansies, and crocus offered bursts of color against some still-green shrubbery. Between the rows of blossoms, earthen paths led the way to a massive evergreen growing up from the center. The shade lowered the temperature by several degrees, but David found the air milder than it had been in days and was glad for a reprieve from the wet and fog.
He could no longer see Powell, but felt the man’s presence and decided it was prudent to keep his distance from Mrs. Hurst. The giant footman looked as if he could rip both his arms off with a single tug, and David quite liked having use of all four of his limbs.
This time, he remained on his feet while Mrs. Hurst settled on an iron bench, staring up at him with pleading eyes. She looked so forlorn that David wanted to give her whatever she needed to erase the sadness from her eyes and turn that frowning mouth into a smiling one. But that would require surrendering a part of himself he wasn’t certain he wanted to give.
A child, by God. His seed purchased in what felt like a far too mercenary and heartless transaction.
“I should explain myself,” she murmured. “Though, I am not certain where to begin. If you have any questions …”
Running a hand over his jaw, David emitted a sarcastic snort. Questions … he only had about a hundred of them. He settled on the first one that came to mind.
“You were married for eight years. If your husband could not get you with child, what makes you think someone else can?”
Twin spots of pink appeared on her cheeks, and she jerked her gaze away from him. “I was led to believe that our inability to conceive was my fault. However, anyone of importance in Lancashire can attest that my husband was a man of … voracious appetite. His conquests numbered many, and he did not cease after he married me. None of his mistresses or lovers ever came up with child. I investigated the matter myself, because I had to know whether I berated myself for my failures all this time when the affliction was his and not mine. Not a single child was ever born of Mr. Hurst—legitimate or otherwise. I’ve been inspected by no less than five doctors who have assured me there is no reason I cannot carry and birth a healthy child.”
Now David was the one pacing, hands folded behind his back as her words began to sink in. Whenever he thought of a life that included children, he imagined some faceless woman as his wife. David hadn’t envisioned himself settling down for at least another ten years, if that. But he’d taken the hour’s ride to meet this woman and discuss the contract. The least he could do was hear her out.
“I see,” he replied. “If you are able and desiring to have children, why hire a courtesan? Why not take a discreet lover, or marry again, or—”
“I never intend to wed again.”
Mrs. Hurst’s fervor drew him up short, and David found her fairly vibrating with a mixture of fury and indignation. She flushed to the roots of her hair, and her small fists were clenched. Her eyes had gone wide, dark pupils expanding to eat away at her sea-foam irises.
“I was not fond of the bonds of matrimony,” she added. “Another marriage is out of the question.”
There was definitely something more behind her vehement opposition to remarrying, but it was none of his affair. She didn’t look as if she would appreciate him prying further. “Understood. I assume you would have no qualms about subjecting your hypothetical child to the scorn they’re sure to experience as a bastard.”
“Mr. Hurst has been dead less than a month, and news of his demise is not yet widespread. It is my hope that I might become pregnant quickly enough to pass the child off as his. If I can manage that, there would be nothing to worry about.”
He shook his head in disbelief. “But why—”
“Why a courtesan?”
“Yes!”
She lifted her chin, the gesture almost defiant. “Because paying you ensures there can be no complications or entanglements. Your profession alone leads me to believe that you are not on the hunt for a wife? You have no immediate plans to settle down and begin a family?”
David could hardly afford to feed himself, his mother, and sisters, let alone a wife and children. “No.”
“There, you see? I need someone who is willing to give me what I want with no strings attached. You should not worry that I will make any demands of you. As Mr. Hurst’s sole heir, I am more than capable of caring for a child on my own, and have every intention of doing so. Were I to take a lover without such parameters in place, the risks would be too great. He might come to expect something I would rather not give. He might think I intend to entrap him and get cold feet. You are a professional, Mr. Graham, and that is what I need. Someone whose business is …”
“Fucking?”
“Precisely,” she replied, without even batting an eyelash at his crudity. “This need be no different than your usual liaison, except that you will neglect to use whatever methods you prefer for avoiding conception.”
“That’s all? Forgive me if I find it difficult to be as blasé about all this as you, Mrs. Hurst. What you are asking goes far beyond simply failing to sheath my cock.”
“It can mean exactly that if you could only choose to see it that way. When you think about it, siring a babe is a risk you take every time you enter into an arrangement with any woman.”
She was right, damn it, but David was still wrestling with the part of himself that wanted to cave to her wishes and the part that wanted to find his horse and ride back home as fast as physically possible. This was utter madness, and he had entertained it long enough. And yet …
“You must realize there is a chance I cannot sire children? I have always been careful, but even so … as far as I’m aware there are no consequences of my past affairs, of which there have been many. What then?”
She came to her feet, hands folded neatly before her. She was calm again, the befuddling reaction caused by mention of her dead husband melting away. The man must have been a right bastard for her to react to the mere thought of him with such disdain. Thinking back to her mention of numerous affairs, David decided it made sense. No woman wanted to be made a fool of, and it sounded as if Mr. Hurst had had little regard for her feelings in the matter.
“I understand the risk, but it would be no different were I to take a lover in the hopes he could see the job done. I am willing to put my money and my best efforts into it if you are.”
“And if not me, then someone else, obviously.”
“I ask you not to judge me too harshly, Mr. Graham,” she said, her voice low but bolstered with a steely edge. “You cannot fathom what I have endured, what I have lost over the years, and what I have been deprived of. A child of my own is the one thing I want most in the world, and I will not be made to feel as if there something wrong with me doing what I must to have it.”
David’s shoulders sagged, and he was struck once more with what a pitiful, lonely sight Mrs. Hurst made. The haunted depths of her eyes held a thousand secrets, lending truth to her assertion that he had no idea what she had endured or the reason for her desperation.
“I would never judge you, Mrs. Hurst. I am only taken aback by your request, as I’m certain you can understand.”<
br />
She came to her feet, but took care not to get too close to him—something that was beginning to press on his curiosity as well as his annoyance. The woman was inviting him into her bed while acting as if he were a viper.
It was certainly a departure from what he was accustomed to.
“If you need any further inducement, consider that I am prepared to offer you a very generous bonus of five thousand pounds if we are successful. I cannot pretend to know what drives a man to become a courtesan, but I suppose money must have something to do with it? If funds are any enticement to you at all, perhaps that might help you push any reservations aside. I am quite desperate, Mr. Graham.”
He blinked, uncertain he’d heard her correctly. Five thousand pounds on top of his usual monthly rate was nothing to turn his nose up at. In fact, even if it only took him one month to impregnate Mrs. Hurst, the bonus would be more than enough to pull the estate back from the brink of ruin. It would give him the sort of security he so desperately needed. He could refuse her offer, but there was no guarantee Benedict would be able to secure another arrangement so close to home. There would never be an opportunity like this one, and David was as desperate as she.
Was he really considering going through with this? The proposal was about more than the use of his body for a short time. In the past, there had only been pleasure and a parting of ways with David confident he’d done his best to satisfy the client. Never had he finished an arrangement knowing he had left something behind—something tangible and real, with ten fingers and toes and his blood coursing through its veins.
“Would you permit me time to think it over?” he asked. “I understand time is of the essence, so I promise not to take too long. I’m sure you understand that this is more than I was expecting when I arrived today.”
Her placid expression underwent a slight shift, sympathy and understanding showing through. “Of course. It is a lot to ask.”
That was a gross understatement. Thankfully, he had just bought himself a few days, at the very least, to consider the ramifications of such an agreement.
“You may send a message with your response,” she added. “I will understand if you refuse. Thank you for listening, at least.”
“You’re very welcome.”
At a loss as to what else to do or say, he executed a stiff bow and then turned in the direction of the house. Mrs. Hurst remained where he’d left her, but Powell fell in step with him. The servant guided him through the house and to the entrance hall, where he called for another footman to send for David’s horse. While they stood waiting for the beast to be brought from the stables, Powell turned to David, pinning him with a hard, dark gaze.
“A word, if I may, sir?”
David was surprised that the man had thought to ask permission to speak, but then remembered a footman was addressing him. Livery aside, Powell’s size and bearing struck him as decidedly authoritative. That, and the fact that he looked as if he could crush David like a grape.
“Erm … of course.”
“My mistress deserves whatever happiness she can get after what she’s been through. It isn’t my place to divulge the details, but you should know … no one would be a better mother than Mrs. Hurst. You are in a position to give it to her, and better your own circumstances while you’re at it. What have you to lose?”
A groom arrived with David’s horse, freeing him from having to respond. And what was he to say to that? The man made it clear he wouldn’t give voice to whatever had happened to Mrs. Hurst under the thumb of her late husband. However, it was abundantly clear that she was a miserable sort of person. If having a child would change that, could David be the one to provide that for her? Could he knowingly sire a child on someone and then walk away without a look back?
His head had already begun to pound as he set off for the ride home, and he had a feeling it would get no better. It seemed he was damned no matter what he decided.
Chapter 4
“The Earl of K and his wife of 6 years have taken up residence in London for Christmas, along with their gaggle of children—not a surprising development, though they rarely bring their entire brood to Town. More interesting is the presence of one, Captain W, a former army officer who has long been a friend of the earl and his wife. This writer does wonder why the couple is rarely seen without the man—a confirmed bachelor seemingly with no plans to take a wife. Curious, indeed …”
-The London Gossip, 7 December 1819
“Mrs. Hurst?” Petra murmured, peering at David over the rim of her teacup.
She and Constantia gave him matching looks of curiosity at his query concerning their neighbor—the woman who might potentially become his new client and the mother of his child.
No, not his child. The transactional nature of their arrangement meant that he was, in essence, selling her a part of himself. David would have no claim on the babe, and wasn’t certain he would want to if given the choice. He was barely hanging on by a thread, hands filled with matters of the estate and caring for his family. The last thing he needed was another mouth to feed.
That led him down his present course, in which he tried to push his reservations aside to give Mrs. Hurst what she wanted. While taking tea with his sisters, he had casually dropped her name, hoping not to arouse their suspicions.
“Mrs. Hurst,” Petra said again, drawing out the name as if tasting it. “Can’t say I’ve heard of her.”
“Yes you have,” Constantia chimed in. “Her estate is just down the road, you know.”
“Her estate?”
“Oh, yes. Remember? She’s the one whose husband died and left her everything, just a few weeks ago. Apparently, her husband called his solicitor to the deathbed in the eleventh hour. It is thought that he made the change to his will to bequeath everything to his wife … even though he has a male cousin who everyone assumed would take it all. Minus a dower’s portion for the widow, of course.”
Petra snorted. “Oh, yes … I remember the rumors if not the lady herself. Never laid eyes on her.”
“Hardly anyone in the county has. She is reclusive and prickly, and never attends dinner parties or soirées. Of course, now she is in mourning she cannot socialize.”
The twins sighed in unison, casting mournful looks at one another. They wore matching gowns, their hair concealed by coordinating lace caps. Since no new clothing could be afforded, his mother and sisters had resorted to dying everything black, using lace and other trimmings to cover worn patches and holes.
“How boring Christmas will be this year,” Constantia murmured while absently stirring her tea. “No parties …”
“Or parlor games,” Petra filled in with a childish pout.
“No visiting or merriment at all. Why do you ask about Mrs. Hurst, David?”
He shook his head, taken aback by his sister’s abrupt change of subject. “Erm … I met her by chance during my morning ride yesterday and am simply curious. Like you, I knew nothing about her.”
“What does she look like?” Petra asked, eyes bright at the idea of being privy to anything happening outside their house. The twins were used to spending their days calling on neighbors and indulging in the latest on dits. While he knew they missed Father sorely and that they grieved him, David also realized how difficult the mourning period would be. Virtually cut off from the world, they would miss out on the festivities of the holiday season. Then there were their dwindling chances at snaring appropriate husbands.
Next year, David promised them silently. You’ll have new wardrobes and dowries, and you may have your pick of any man you please.
“Mrs. Hurst is … lovely,” he mumbled, holding his cup out to Constantia to be refilled. “Red hair. Fair skin. Very petite.”
He took care to keep his tone light and even, though something in him reacted to the memory of those doll-like features and the contrast of vibrant hair against skin like Devonshire cream. Regina Hurst was beyond lovely, even if she was a bit haughty.
“Red
hair,” Petra said with narrowed eyes. “How unfashionable.”
“What of her husband?” David pressed.
Constantia wrinkled her nose. “Never heard a favorable word about the man. One of those with a high opinion of himself that is most decidedly unearned. You know the type.”
“Mama encountered him on occasion, I believe,” Petra chimed in. “I do not think she liked him very much.”
“Mama is the best judge of character. If she disliked him, we would have also.”
“Indeed.”
David glanced up just as Caruthers entered the drawing room, his mouth twisted in a worried frown. Coming to his feet proved a great chore, as David had been walking about all day feeling as if the weight of the world were on his shoulders. Whatever the butler needed to tell him was sure to compound the burden.
“I will see you at dinner,” he said to the twins before following Caruthers from the room. “What’s wrong?”
“There’s a Mr. Stone here to see you, sir.”
David frowned. “I don’t know a Mr. Stone.”
“He’s a tenant. He and his sons work as farmhands. Before Mr. Graham’s passing, Mr. Stone became rather vocal about the state of the tenants’ cottages. Several requests had been put to Wren, but …”
“The blighter put them off with claims that the repairs couldn’t be afforded.”
“So it seems, sir. I informed Mr. Stone that you couldn’t possibly see him so soon after you’d gone into mourning and urged him to return at a later date, but he was most insistent. In fact, he has stated his intention to await your convenience. I’m terribly sorry, sir, but I did try.”
He patted the butler’s shoulder. Caruthers really had gotten too old to go on working, but would hear nothing of retiring. His loyalty to the Grahams was absolute, and he refused to leave them until he was certain all had been set right. Yet another matter for David to consider; one more thing his father and the damned Mr. Wren had left on his overflowing plate.
Taming of the Rake (The Gentleman Courtesans Book 4) Page 7