Always the Courtesan (Never the Bride Book 3)

by Emily E K Murdoch

Josiah’s interest was piqued. Was there, then, some hidden secret that some gentlemen—like Braedon—knew? Even as the thought crossed his mind, he took in Braedon’s appearance, a little ruffled and untidy where the best gentlemen were groomed and sleek.

  “No such thing,” Devonshire said flatly.

  Braedon snorted. “Here it is. Marry one of them and sleep with the rest!”

  Devonshire shook his head with a smile, but Josiah could not see the joke and sipped his drink to have something to do with his hands.

  Perhaps, with the benefit of hindsight, it had not been wise to invite his friends this evening. Perhaps, individually, they would have been bearable, but this mixture? Mercia, head in the clouds on his recent marriage; Devonshire, never able to take anything seriously; and Braedon, his love of wine just beaten by his love of women.

  What a group. And where did he fit into it? Desperate for human connection.

  Braedon started singing, encouraged by the chuckling Devonshire, as Josiah sunk lower into his chair. All he wanted right now was to be left alone with his thoughts. Thoughts of Hannah.

  Your own personal courtesan.

  The vehemence of her words echoed through his chest, as though she had punched them into his gut.

  “Aha!”

  The sudden noise made Josiah jump, and he saw Devonshire pointing an accusing finger.

  He spoke defensively without thinking. “What are you pointing at me for?”

  If he had thought about it, he would have taken a breath before responding, so his voice did not quaver—but it was too late. Devonshire gave the same grin from twenty years ago when Josiah had been caught scrumping apples.

  “I should have known,” he said triumphantly. “Josiah, you are no longer talking about women in general, are you—but a woman! Josiah Stanhope, Earl of Chester, which woman has finally utterly beguiled you?”

  Mercia laughed at the look of horror on Josiah’s face.

  Braedon blinked groggily. “Hmm? Who is it?”

  “No one.” No other words came to mind and were clearly not sufficient to quell their curiosity.

  Mercia was still laughing. “God’s teeth, Chester, don’t give us all that! If you do not tell us, we must be acquainted with her!”

  Josiah clenched his fingers around his glass.

  Spotting the genuine tension, Devonshire muttered in a low voice the others could not hear, “In all honesty, Chester, you can tell us. We will not quiz you overly much—after all, you would not have chosen a woman whom we could not respect.”

  Josiah swallowed. The bile in his stomach had risen to his throat. The thought about being honest about Hannah—revealing who she was, what she was, how they had met…

  It did not bear thinking about. Nothing in heaven or earth would drag it from him.

  And what was the point, when he did not even know her name? He could not fathom what she thought of him. She was a mystery, and each time he attempted to move closer to her, she shied away from him.

  He smiled. “You have all made a mistake, I fear. I am not courting anyone—did you not hear me? I am tired, I say, of all these games.”

  Braedon grinned and raised his glass to his mouth again, evidently unconcerned and uninterested. Mercia’s smile lasted too long for Josiah’s liking, but he, too, eventually shrugged.

  “Tell me then, Braedon, that horse you bet on. Did you win?”

  The chatter moved on until only Devonshire was looking at him suspiciously.

  “There is no more to say on the matter,” said Josiah.

  Devonshire did not look convinced. “You could tell me, Chester. If anything was happening, if there was a woman who was a little…different. Or in trouble.”

  That was the trouble with old friends—or at least, friends as old as Devonshire. How long had he known him? Since Harry and he were three, four? Their families were cousins somewhere back, it was said, and they had been much thrown together. School together, Christmas and Easters together. They had even gone on a tour of Europe in their youth, exploring the beauty and mystery of the continent.

  No one knew him like Devonshire did, except perhaps Harry. Could he sense the lie? Could he tell there was something more to his calm rebuttal?

  Josiah gripped Devonshire’s hand. “You are a good friend to me, Monty. Do not fear, if I were ever truly in trouble—or Harry, come to that—I know we could depend on you. Another top-up? I have another bottle somewhere.”

  A crease appeared between Devonshire’s eyes, but the lure of a newly opened bottle of port was too good to miss. After a swift nod from his friend, Josiah rose and moved to the sideboard as Mercia and Braedon’s debate rose about the best horses in the derby.

  Hannah. Even as he opened his favorite port, he could not stop thinking about her. The idea that he could tell some of the greatest nobility in England he had met a woman he truly cared about—in a brothel?

  You may be a fancy lord or gentleman or whatever you are, and you may be able to come and go wherever you so choose, but I have a job to do, and it is here.

  Besides, they were barely on speaking terms, let alone courting. It had taken sufficient effort to make her look him in the eyes and not flinch, though he had given her no cause to fear him.

  All of this was true and rational, and even right. None of it explained why his mind wandered to her day and night.

  It would be better if he forgot her. If he was overwhelmed by shame about her past, was there truly any future for them?

  The memory of her glare made Josiah smile. There were so many questions he simply had to ask. What was her real name? How did she find herself in such a place?

  And perhaps most importantly of all, though she may not be able to answer, why did he find it impossible to reach out and touch her, make love to her, just as he had done to countless women before her?

  What was holding him back?

  All these questions and he was no closer to understanding her than he was when he first chose her. There is something about that woman, and until he knew what, it was impossible to leave her alone.

  There was a laugh from the chairs around the fire.

  “What in God’s name is taking so long?” Braedon was grinning. “Checking to see if any French smugglers found their way into your port?”

  Josiah snapped out of his reverie as though cold water had been poured over him.

  He turned. “Nothing of the sort, Braedon. I was weighing up whether it would be good manners to refuse you another drink—seeing as you are so blethered already.”

  The room echoed with laughter, and this time, it was not at his expense, and the conversation moved on.

  But until his three friends left—with great raucous shouting at a heathen time of the morning—Josiah tried and failed to forget about Hannah, trying to ignore the fact he would much rather be sitting and laughing with her.

  Chapter Six

  But no matter how fast she ran, or how the wind blew, it was nothing to the terror leaping inside Amelia’s heart—for try as she might, she was no further from Castle Black. With the wildness of her hair etched into the terror on her face, she looked around the forest where she found herself, and a shadow that was darker than the darkness moved toward her.

  With a scream that echoed around the glade but none heard, Amelia—

  The bell rang, and Honora dropped the novel. Lost in the story, she had forgotten she was working that afternoon. It was the most gripping thing she had ever read—and it had cost her two magazines.

  The barter had been worth it. She had been utterly intrigued by the tale of Amelia’s flight.

  She sighed. One hour. Just for an hour, she had been consumed entirely in the story, but now the ringing of the bell forced her back to reality. It was not a particularly nice one, although it did have fewer wolves than Amelia faced.

  Standing slowly, she tucked the novel under her mattress so it would not be ‘borrowed’ by any of the girls. Locks on the doors was actively discouraged by Madam. No girl
could ever be beyond her reach.

  There was a looking glass propped against the wall near the door, and she paused to check her reflection as she passed.

  She smiled wearily. It was strange, she did not look much different on the outside from when she had first been brought here. Yet, she felt ten years older.

  There was so much she had not known about the world then, so much she had been innocent about.

  She was not innocent now.

  The bell rang again, and a pair of heavy feet clattered down the stairs, accompanied by a shouting voice.

  “I know, I know!”

  Taking a deep breath, she opened her door, and the sound of a gentleman’s voice, irritated and harsh, floated up the stairs.

  And hope was on her side today. As Honora reached the bottom of the steps, Josiah’s tall frame became visible. Her heart fluttered as it had when Amelia was running through the forest.

  He came back. She had not been entirely sure he would, not after their stilted conversation during his last visit.

  “Absolute nonsense,” he was saying firmly. “You know as well I as do, Madam, that…”

  His voice dipped, and she could hear no more as she moved to stand in line with Ellen. As the conversation continued, snippets became audible, but they made no sense to Honora.

  “I do not see why not.”

  “Completely impossible, you must see, sir.”

  “Ah, but I can make it worth your while…”

  Honora gaped at Ellen, who shrugged. To be sure, a few gentlemen had particular…interests and would negotiate with Madam to ensure they did not leave her establishment disappointed, but this was unprecedented. For Madam to be so evidently set against Mr. Josiah’s proposal, it must be something very unusual.

  And she would do it.

  The scandalous thought crossed Honora’s mind before she could stop it, flushing at the idea of doing anything he wanted, anything at all. But there was something about him. She may be a lion, but he was a lion tamer.

  Madam and Mr. Josiah were shaking hands, both of them smiling. The grin on Madam’s face increased when he handed over a small leather bag clinking with the unmistakable sound of coin.

  Honora’s heart sank. That was a huge amount of money, too much. She was worth six shillings, and there could almost be a pound in that bag, perhaps more if there were some half crowns in there.

  What did he want with her—what did he want to do to her?

  Mabel had told her about women charging exorbitant rates to gentlemen in exchange for allowing…anything. Terrible things, terrible and wonderful things.

  Was that what Madam had agreed to?

  Wild, unbidden, and terrible thoughts flashed through her mind as Mr. Josiah turned and strode up to her, grabbing her hand.

  “Come on, Hannah.”

  Startled, Honora instinctively pulled away from his tight grip.

  Her fear grew as Mr. Josiah moved not toward the stairs but the front door.

  Honora flinched. She had been beaten for going too close to the front door before—they all had. Who didn’t want to feel the sun on their face, a cool breeze in the summer, the freshness of snow in the winter?

  But Andrews, the tall and brutish man that kept Madam’s front door, had seen to it that none had experienced such delights.

  “Come away now, girls,” Madam said, shooing Ellen and the other women back upstairs. “Mr. Josiah is—”

  “Mr. Josiah is not,” gasped Honora, struggling the closer he pulled her to the door. Andrews glared. “What is happening, where are you taking me?”

  Andrews reached out, and she flinched, but he ignored her and opened the front door.

  Sunshine fell through, heavy as gold.

  Three years of imprisonment taught her to shy away from such delights. She had not seen sunshine for so long, not properly.

  Oh, God, what had Mr. Josiah paid for? He was still dragging her, and Honora could not find the words to warn him she was not permitted to go through that door.

  “What are you doing?” she cried out. Pulling desperately to release her wrist from his grasp, she managed, “H-Have you bought me like you think any woman can be bought and sold?”

  Mr. Josiah stopped in the doorway, and Honora blinked in the overwhelming light. It was so dazzling, she could barely make out what was beyond, and she did not bother to look. That world was not for her anymore.

  All she could see was Josiah.

  “Do you think so little of me?” he asked.

  Honora hesitated. She had stopped struggling and could concentrate on taking a breath, the fear in her stomach calmed.

  He had seemed kind, but could she trust that instinct when she knew almost nothing of him? All she knew was the…the physical.

  She had trusted a gentleman before, a long time ago, and look where that had ended up! Was she about to make the same mistake?

  Mr. Josiah must have seen the fear and indecision written across her face. “I have purchased time, Hannah, not you. Time with you, certainly, but not… Just an hour in a carriage, time for us to converse without being in this wretched place. That blasted Andrews will follow us on a horse, though, I was not able to overrule Madam on that count.”

  Honora was barely able to make out his expression. Was he teasing her, laughing at her—or was he in earnest?

  “I have informed Madam it’s what I like,” he said quietly. Was there a hint of self-disgust in those tones? “Sunshine, fresh air, a view. And then I will return you to her keeping.”

  Each of the individual words made sense, but what he was saying was nonsense. It was not possible. She had never heard of such a bargain before—had Madam ever permitted such a scheme?

  It would take a king’s ransom for Madam to permit such an escapade, even with Andrews following them.

  Mr. Josiah took a step forward, and this time Honora did not resist.

  She saw a tree. An oak tree, by the look of it, acorns budding on the branches but not ready for the autumn winds. Opposite was a field with horses and a ramshackle stable where presumably visitors to Madam would place their horses until they had need of them again.

  Madam had not lied. There was no other building, save the stable, for miles around. She could not even see a church steeple. They were so alone in the landscape.

  What she had not expected was a barouche waiting for them on the dusty road. It was fine indeed, with elegant painting along the side and a pair of horses, sleek with plaited manes.

  So, Mr. Josiah had money. A great deal of it. Who was this strange man who cared so much for her and was unable to touch her unless he was dragging her outside?

  A noise rang out in the silent air, and she flinched, turning to see what the noise was, and Mr. Josiah chuckled.

  Honora’s shoulders relaxed as she saw the culprit, a billy goat in a pen, glaring at her as though envying her freedom.

  A sudden lightness on her arm, Mr. Josiah had let go.

  Honora clutched it to her, conscious of the stinging around her wrist and the calming warmth of the sunlight. It was all too much to take in.

  For a wild second, the thought of running away crossed her mind. She would never get a chance like this again. Run, Honora, run, her mind shouted. Be free, get away from all of this.

  But where would she go? She could see no place to run to, nowhere to shelter if a storm came in, or protection if Andrews caught her.

  And there was no home to go back to, even if she was able to find civilization. She would never permit herself to see her family again, not after three years. She could never bring this shame upon them, never allow them to know what had happened to her.

  Surely if they had wanted to know, wanted to rescue her, they would have found her by now. Three years was a long time, and she had waited every day for the first year for one of her brothers to come crashing through the door and take her away. In her darkest moments, she had even hoped one of them would arrive as a customer and discover her, even if it would have been
mortifying for them both. At least then—

  “Will you go with me?”

  Mr. Josiah’s calm voice made her jump. She could forget he was even there and revel in the feeling of freedom.

  But he was there. Honora nodded and walked silently over to the barouche. She had not expected him to help her into the carriage. He was a gentleman, and his small act of kindness reminded her how she had been treated all those years ago.

  It was a bittersweet thought. No matter how far he drove them away from this place, she had to come back.

  Mr. Josiah pulled himself into the carriage with ease and clicked at the horses to get them moving. Within a minute, she could hardly believe her luck. Sun on her skin, wind in her hair, and freedom from servicing a gentleman for the next hour!

  Not that bedding Mr. Josiah would have been a huge sacrifice. Honora warmed at the thought, but it was impossible to ignore his presence now that they were seated together in the small carriage.

  She had known little of pleasure in her encounters with gentlemen, but there was something about him, something that made her tingle, her fingers flex, and a shiver move down her spine whenever his eyes caught hers.

  They did again as he clicked the horses into motion. She did not look behind them, but she could hear the hooves of another horse. Andrews was indeed following them, ensuring she did not make a break for freedom.

  “I will continue to call you Miss Hannah if you wish, but I hope I do not offend you when I say I am quite aware ’tis not your true name.”

  Honora colored. He looked away to steer the horses around a corner, and her fingers knotted themselves in her lap before she spoke. The barouche was small, and they were pressed up against each other. Her arm up against his shoulder. Their legs touching. His masculinity overwhelmed her.

  “If you were in my situation,” she said quietly, “would you tell a stranger your name?”

  He shook his head. “Probably not. Why not instead tell me about yourself?”

  The connection between them was broken before she could understand it.

  “Perhaps not then,” he said easily with a brief smile. “’Tis no matter, I will go first. Did I mention I am the eldest born?”