Roger frowned, uncertain where her convoluted speech was leading. “All right. I will not judge you. Just tell me.”
Beatrice took a deep, slow breath and turned to face him, hands folded before her. “I’ve been having an affair with a man ten years my junior. He’s handsome and funny, and while I cannot pretend our connection is based on anything other than physical lust … well, he’s made me very happy.”
Roger raised an eyebrow, but didn’t allow his face to betray him beyond that. Within, he was hiding a plethora of reactions, not the least of which was the urge to find this man—whoever he was—and wring his neck. He reminded himself that Beatrice was not only a woman grown, but one who had been married and widowed. She was beyond him in such experiences, and it was not his place to question her decisions. Besides, Beatrice was hardly the first widow to indulge in a little fun and frivolity. As long as she was discreet, she could enjoy her life however she saw fit and Roger had no right telling her otherwise.
“I see,” he murmured.
“You must wonder what my confession has to do with a solution for your problem.”
Roger’s only response was a dip of his head, prompting Beatrice to go on.
“You see … David is … well, he is a courtesan.”
Giving his head a swift shake, Roger told himself he couldn’t have heard her correctly. “What do you mean … he is a courtesan? Courtesans are women.”
Beatrice snorted. “Of course you think that. Apparently, there were at least a handful of men out there who recognized the need for courtesans of the male sex. Because they do exist and they operate right under your nose.”
It would seem this day would be full of surprises, as this was the first Roger had heard of such a thing. He wasn’t a gossip or anything so undignified, but since he rarely spoke in public settings, he often overheard things. People talked about a number of subjects with Roger standing within earshot, because his silence had relegated him to the status of ‘inanimate piece of furniture.’
“I see,” he replied, still fumbling for words—and not because he thought he might stutter, but because he literally couldn’t think up an appropriate response.
“The Gentleman Courtesans operate in complete secrecy,” she went on, speaking faster as if afraid he might stop her if she didn’t press on. “And for their discretion and expertise, they are compensated handsomely.”
Roger’s curiosity was piqued, though he could never allow himself to consider such a scheme. There were a number of reasons it would never work.
“I applaud these men for their ingenuity.”
Beatrice grinned. “Don’t you see? You could be one of them!”
“You’ve gone mad,” he quipped, though beneath his amusement, anxiety lurched within his gut. “You cannot be serious.”
“But I am! David mentioned that the agency is stretched thin by a growing demand. As word spreads among the women of the ton, they are running out of courtesans to service them.”
Roger pursed his lips in distaste. “Service. You make it sound so … sordid.”
Beatrice shrugged. “It is no more than the men get up to behind closed doors. How many men of your acquaintance have mistresses? How many spend their evenings in brothels? Even you cannot claim to be innocent.”
“Right.”
There was nothing more he could say, lest he risk divulging the truth. While she might have no problem telling him about her affair, Roger wasn’t keen to inform her that his lack of experience made him unqualified to serve as any woman’s paramour.
“You are averse to the idea,” Beatrice said, shoulders sagging. “I knew you would be, and I cannot blame you.”
Roger forced a smile for his cousin’s benefit. “I think no less of you, cos. In fact, I am glad this man has made you happy.”
“You could make some lucky woman just as happy.”
“Bea—”
“Come back tomorrow evening to meet David. Let him explain how it works. If you are interested, he can introduce you to the proprietor of the agency. This time of year, I imagine there are many women desiring companionship.”
“I’m not certain that is wise.”
Arms folded across her chest, she gave him a knowing look. “You haven’t asked me the most important question yet.”
“What question?”
“How much I’m paying David to be at my beck and call. You really want to ask me how much.”
Roger knew it was a bad idea to give in to curiosity on this matter. He wouldn’t do it, so what did it matter if she told him how much money could be made? Still, he never decided anything without having all the facts, so it couldn’t hurt to know. He doubted it would be enough to provide Emily with a dowry. How much money could a man earn selling his body?
“How much?” he asked.
As it turned out, a man could make quite a lot of money in the bed of a wealthy woman. Enough, in fact, to provide a young lady with a dowry with a tidy sum left over. Roger couldn’t stop the downward drop of his jaw when Beatrice rattled off an initial payment, along with a monthly fee to be paid as long as she wished to retain David’s exclusive services.
“Of course,” she added with a furious blush, “David’s services come very dear because he’s considered … a special commodity. His skill set is … well, I don’t think you wish to hear such details.”
“No.”
“I only meant to say that if you have any … unique sorts of talents that might make you an attractive prospect for a potential client, it can only increase your value.”
Roger nearly burst out laughing at that. She’d likely be shocked if he told her just how ‘special’ he was among his peers, and not just because of the effort it took for him to string a sentence together. No client of this agency would want to hire him once they found out he’d never bedded one woman—let alone enough women to be considered courtesan material.
And yet, he wasn’t ignorant of the mechanics. He’d read enough books and studied the depictions of erotic etchings to know how things were done. God knew he had fantasized endlessly about finally applying his knowledge with a willing woman. A whore, a mistress, a wife … as the years passed, he’d begun to think any woman would do if he could only push aside his crippling fears. Compounding them was the one and only time he’d made such an attempt. The humiliation Roger had suffered afterward stayed with him still, over a decade later.
“I don’t … think I am all that special,” he argued.
Beatrice grinned. “You sell yourself short, and I know I’m not the only woman who would think so. Come and meet my David tomorrow. If after you talk to him you are still averse to the idea, I will never speak of it again.”
Roger sighed, realizing he really had no choice. He had promised Emily a solution to the problem of her missing dowry, and thus far this was the only viable option. He owed it to his sister to consider every possibility … even, it would seem, prostitution.
No, he wouldn’t think of it that way. This wasn’t slinking about in slums and darkened alleyways seeking quick tumbles for a tuppence. If Beatrice could be believed, such an arrangement wouldn’t be unlike those of many lords of high society and their mistresses. He’d heard rumors of women who commanded several thousand pounds a year, plus opulent gifts and other luxuries, courtesy of their keepers. As much as he’d like to pretend he had too much pride to let himself be kept like a pampered pet, he couldn’t. He’d crawl over broken glass for Emily, so why couldn’t he do this?
You know very well why, you dolt.
And still, he kept his mouth closed around further protestations and offered his cousin a tight smile.
“Very well. I will meet him. Thank you, Bea.”
Roger’s idea of what a male courtesan ought to look like was affirmed at the sight of Mr. David Graham. The man was prettier than any person had a right to be, while still presenting an air of masculinity. Tall and broad-shouldered, David had a hair full of glossy black hair and bright blue eyes. After
Beatrice had introduced them, he proved to be easy with his smiles. Charm dripped from his every pore. Beatrice was clearly smitten, and Roger found himself taken aback by the girlish smiles and giggles the courtesan prompted from her with well-timed jokes and sly glances laced with lascivious promise.
The man was eleven years his junior, but possessed the sort of polish gained with a university education and time spent in elevated circles. He would be at home in any ballroom in London, thereby making it easy to go about his business undetected.
Roger had to admit that this notion of male courtesans had merit, and whoever had thought of it was a genius. He also had to be as rich as Croesus, considering how much Beatrice was paying for the services of her lover. According to David, there were nearly a dozen of these gentleman courtesans, operating throughout London. Each arrangement facilitated by the proprietor of the agency.
“The agency employs men of all sorts,” David told him. “There is definitely a demand for the strong, silent type.”
Not surprising that Roger had been pegged with such traits, as he’d hardly spoken a word since arriving at Beatrice’s townhouse to meet this courtesan.
“My sentiments exactly,” Beatrice agreed. “Do you think Mr. Sterling could find an arrangement for him right away?”
Roger held up a hand before David could answer. “I haven’t said I wish to do this, Bea.”
“I’m assuming that your financial situation is rather dire, otherwise you wouldn’t be here,” David said. “Trust me, none of us would be in this business if we weren’t in the same boat.”
“There are other ways of making money,” Roger protested, though feebly. He hadn’t slept last night, lying in bed and ruminating over all the ways he might go about scraping together a dowry for Emily. There was nothing that wouldn’t take years of employment, on top of selling everything he owned of value. There wasn’t much; he had always been a man of simple tastes. Efficient, plain clothing, minimal jewels or finery. His one concession to excessive spending was on books, which littered every surface in his bedchamber and filled the small library at Thornton House.
David grinned, seeming to sense the trajectory of Roger’s thoughts. “There is no business more profitable than this one, believe me. Whatever your reasons, they are certainly honorable. For my part, I send funds to my family in Lancashire. Our estate has been buckling under the strain of debt and mismanagement for years, and I’m now in a position to make it right. Family is important to me … enough to do whatever it takes to assure their security.”
“We have that in common, then,” Roger replied. Family was all he had, after all. Despite Angus’s flaws, he was still Roger’s brother. Perhaps this courtesan business might prove lucrative enough to benefit their family in other ways. There were debts that needed paying, and matters of their country estate that would require both attention and an influx of ready capital. There was also the matter of Roger’s own future to think of. If he could ever work himself up to hunting for a wife, he’d need to be able to provide for her. He cringed at the idea of caring for a wife with funds earned by such salacious means. But what other choice did he have?
“I understand your reservations,” David said, though Roger had voiced none. He supposed the truth was evident enough in his silence and expression. “I hope I can put your mind at ease. All contracts are negotiated to best benefit the courtesan, and you’d never be forced to accept an arrangement you find objectionable. You may find it more pleasant than you’d think. Our business isn’t just about the physical duties involved. Our clients require our time and attention, an escort to the theater or dinner parties, someone to provide a steady presence and a listening ear.”
“And they are very good at it,” Beatrice chimed in, though her enthralled gaze was rapt upon David.
There was clear affection between them, and Roger had to admit they seemed to suit one another. Beatrice was happier than he’d seen her in a long time. If she was willing to pay for such companionship, then Roger wished her well. As unorthodox as it seemed, they weren’t harming anyone by partaking in an agreement based on mutual enjoyment.
“How long does a typical arrangement last?”
Roger could hardly believe the question had fallen from his lips when he had already firmly resolved not to go through with this. Or had he? His mind was spinning him in circles, swinging between refusal and acquiescence.
“That depends on the needs of the client,” David replied. “I have taken contracts for as short as a fortnight, and as long as six months. Our proprietor can tell you more about what goes into arranging a contract. I take it your question means you are interested?”
Beatrice gave him a hopeful look, and Roger knew it was only because she wanted to help him find a solution for Emily’s problem. His sister held the distinction of being the youngest member of their family, and thereby the one requiring their protection and guidance.
Roger rubbed at his aching temple, his eyes bleary from lack of sleep. Perhaps it was his state of exhaustion and helplessness that drove him to do the unthinkable.
“Yes. I’m interested.”
“Capital!” David declared. “Are you otherwise engaged this evening? I warned our proprietor to expect me to call on him this evening with a prospect.”
Roger raised his eyebrows. “You were that certain I would agree?”
David chuckled. “Bea seemed to think all you needed was a little convincing. What do you say?”
Roger glanced to Beatrice, who gave him an encouraging nod. Trepidation twisted his stomach, but there would be no banishing such feelings without pressing onward. He had to go through with this for Emily’s sake … and perhaps for his own. Being forced to face his anxiety in female company might be good for him. It could force Roger to consider a future in which he wasn’t destined to die alone and virtually untouched. If he could charm, woo, and bed a woman for money, perhaps someday he could do it for other reasons.
“Very well. Let’s go before I change my mind.”
They all came to their feet at once, and David turned to Beatrice. Taking her hand, he bent to kiss her knuckles.
“I’ll return immediately after, my little honey Bea.”
Roger rolled his eyes as his cousin giggled and patted David’s cheek affectionately. “I’ll be waiting.”
Seeming unembarrassed at such displays of affection in front of a stranger, David led him from the room.
“We’ll take my phaeton,” he declared. “He doesn’t live far from here.”
A groom came from the mews with the vehicle a few minutes later. In short order, Roger was seated on the perch beside David, tapping his fingers against his thigh as he tried to convince himself he’d made the right decision. For better or worse, he had set his feet upon a path that would either solve all his problems or see him ruined.
One thing was certain; it would be easy to go about undetected, as no one acquainted with Roger would ever believe him to be a courtesan. He supposed a reputation as a quiet, albeit boring, gentleman of good family would work to his advantage.
They arrived at a townhouse in Berkeley Square in short order and were admitted into a study by a long-faced butler. Once ensconced within the room, he was introduced to a man whose reputation preceded him.
The Honourable Mr. Benedict Sterling was whispered about in elevated circles for his scandalous lifestyle. The son of a viscount, he flaunted his mistress without shame, competed in bare-knuckle pugilist matches—which he seldom ever lost—and generally acted as if he didn’t give a damn about the opinions of society. That he was the mysterious proprietor of The Gentleman Courtesans should come as no surprise.
Once the introductions had been made, Mr. Sterling studied Roger with sharp blue eyes and a mouth pinched tight. He was a large man—an inch taller than Roger and so wide through the shoulders and chest that he strained the seams of his coat. He looked more like the champion pugilist he was, and less like a man who moonlighted as a cock-bawd. It would seem Roger wa
sn’t the only one who didn’t appear, on the surface, to be cut out for this business.
“Have a seat, Mr. Thornton,” he commanded in a gravelly voice, waving a hand at the twin armchairs facing his desk.
“I’ll leave you to it,” David said, already heading for the door. “Thornton, I will wait to carry you home once you’ve finished.”
They were alone then, Roger trying not to fidget as Mr. Sterling took his place behind the desk and went on staring at him as if trying to take his measure.
“David assures me you will be discreet, whether you go through with this or not,” he said.
“Of course,” Roger replied. “Before we begin, there is something you should know.”
Sterling raised one blond eyebrow. “I’m listening.”
Roger swallowed, preparing to be laughed out of the room. He hadn’t had the bollocks to tell David, but if Sterling was going to arrange for him to take a lover, he needed to know everything.
“I am not … that is, I may not be suited for …”
Roger cleared his throat and took a deep breath. He felt himself on the verge of stammering, and this would be embarrassing enough without revealing his other little foible.
“For being a courtesan?” Sterling prodded. “Most men believe the same, though find themselves … up to the task readily enough.”
The other man’s lips quivered at the double entendre in his own words. It only made Roger’s throat burn with bile.
“That may be so,” he replied, measuring each word and taking care with his speech. “But you should hear me out before deciding to accept me.”
Sterling gave him a nod, prompting Roger to go on.
“You see, I … while having some knowledge about how things are done, I’ve never actually … been with a woman.”
The most surprising thing happened then. Sterling didn’t laugh. His eyes didn’t widen with shock, and he didn’t stand and demand Roger get out of his sight.
Instead, his mouth spread into a wide, cat-who-ate-the-canary grin. He leaned forward, eyes glittering as if he’d just discovered a bit of buried treasure.
Have Yourself a Merry Little Scandal: a Christmas collection of Historical Romance (Have Yourself a Merry Little... Book 1) Page 144