Serena took a deep breath. “Yes. That’s what it’s all about.”
“But where are the other girls?” Lady Devlyn asked. “We cannot greet our guests without them.”
“We’re here!” Bliss called, as she and Felicity bustled into the room, the silk of their gowns swishing across the floor. Bliss’ strawberry blonde curls were complimented by flowing sapphire blue silk, while Felicity’s dark glossy locks were offset by a gown of emerald green. Felicity and Bliss were to make their debuts at a later date, but the men of the ton would get a peek at them tonight…and talk about them for weeks.
It was all part of Lady Devlyn’s plan to make the Courtesan Club a wild success.
“Serena, you look breathtaking!” Felicity enthused, stepping forward to hug her.
Bliss gave her a quick hug as well. “You’re a vision. You look like a Greek goddess in that golden gown. The men will go wild.”
Lady D gave a languid smile. “Yes, my dear—the men will go wild for it. For her. For all of you. And isn’t that what we set out to accomplish with the creation of the Courtesan Club—to bring the richest men in London to their knees?”
The girls regarded each other, their expressions a mixture of excitement, disbelief, and female pride. Now Miss Serena Ransom was about to make her debut as the first member of the Courtesan Club.
A confident smile danced across her lips and her veins hummed with excitement as she and her friends made their way toward the salon.
She hoped London was ready for her.
* * *
Darius Manning, Earl of Kane, took another sip from his crystal champagne flute and gazed about the opulent room. In one corner, a string quartet played a Mozart sonata. Footmen milled about serving hors d’eouvres from silver platters. It seemed to all the world like any other high society party. Except that the room was filled with men only, most of whom looked like wolves waiting for the poor little sheep to show up. Darius had to admit, his curiosity was getting the best of him as well.
Where was she?
“What do you think, Dare?” the man beside him asked languidly, popping a grape into his mouth. “Will you entrap this virgin courtesan in your web tonight? Or will she entrap you?”
Darius flicked a brow at his companion. Major Havelock Price had stood by his side through the bloodiest battles of the Napoleonic Wars and knew him better than any other human being on earth. Still, Darius did not enjoy being thought predictable, especially regarding a woman he hadn’t even met yet.
Darius admitted to being many things, a notorious rake being chief among them, but predictable? That could sully a man’s reputation.
“Gads, let’s have a look at the chit before you have me bidding for her, will you? She may not be to my fancy,” Darius said coolly.
Havelock tasted a morsel of soft cheese. “Not to your fancy? The only woman I ever knew who didn’t strike your fancy was your wife. And considering what a harpy she was, it was completely understandable—God rest her soul.”
Darius turned and shot a dark look toward Havelock. “It does not become you to speak ill of the dead, my friend.”
“Bloody hell—I did say, ‘God rest her soul,’” Havelock said. “Forgive me, but Henrietta gave you nothing but grief. Ah, but that is not exactly true. She also gave you her father’s immense fortune which saved your family name and estates. But then, that was your plan all along, wasn’t it? I shouldn’t have skipped over that part. Now you have the wife’s fortune, the earldom in good standing, and you’re on the market for a courtesan to entertain your nights without any messy complications. I’d say you’re on top of the world, Darius.”
Darius pondered his friend’s words as he studied the other men in the room. Perhaps he should feel that way, considering he could outbid any man here, even the young, brash duke at the billiard table.
He, the seventh Earl of Kane, was one of the wealthiest men in England. That fact alone had made him many enemies, namely the old families with ancient titles but no money left to run their crumbling estates. Havelock had spoken the truth. Darius had made a fortuitous marriage to Miss Henrietta Barton, heiress to a huge shipping fortune. He had not loved her, though his poor wife had fancied herself in love with him.
That had unfortunately been her undoing.
Darius reached for a succulent strawberry and pushed the unwelcome thoughts away. He’d spent enough time thinking about the women of his past. He was ready to move on.
And the first step in doing so was to find himself a willing partner to warm his bed.
He took a bite of the tart, luscious berry and decided that whoever this courtesan was, he would have her, for she was exactly what he needed.
Now that he was a widower, Darius was one of London’s most sought-after bachelors. The Mad Mamas of the Marriage Mart hounded him at every turn. They all wanted their daughters to be the next Countess of Kane. Well, they could all go to Hades. After Henrietta, he had earned a respite from the shackles of matrimony. As his marriage had left him without an heir, of course he would have to marry again at some point. He had a duty to ensure the family legacy.
But duty could wait.
What he wanted now, was sex.
Pure and simple.
And who better than a courtesan to provide him with imaginative, passionate, uncomplicated bedplay? Even a mistress was uncomfortably close to being a wife, in his book. But a courtesan was something altogether different. She existed only to beguile and intrigue. Any courtesan trained by the famous Lady Night was bound to be a legend in her own right. The London papers had been talking about her for weeks, speculating about her identity, as well as to the level of her sinful skills. Yes, he would have this “mystery woman” as his own private courtesan. Only she could banish the memories of his past, which haunted him like malevolent ghosts.
A loud gong sounded, echoing throughout the salon and causing the men to murmur amongst themselves when they observed a strange sight indeed. A man appeared at the bottom of the curved, marble staircase. He stood at least six foot five inches tall, dressed in flowing pale orange silk pants and a brilliant gold vest that barely covered his massive bare chest. His skin was the color of bittersweet chocolate, his dark eyes flashed dangerously, and his face was adorned with strange tattoos. On his head sat a turban of darker orange silk, with a brilliant sapphire at the center of his forehead. A single blue feather stood proudly in the air above the sparkling stone. The man’s feet were clad in jeweled leather sandals, and a curved scimitar hung from his waist. His folded arms boasted bulging muscles the size of grapefruits.
Havelock gave Darius a nudge, looking impressed. “I don’t know who this bloke is, but I certainly wish we’d had him with us at Waterloo. Boney would have pissed himself.”
Some of the other gentlemen in the room appeared to be close to doing that, themselves. They had nervously taken a few steps back from the dangerous-looking man in the turban.
Darius tapped his finger on the armrest of his chair. “What else would you expect from a courtesan as experienced as Lady Night? She’s bound to have a bodyguard or two in her employ. And this one looks as if he could take on ten men without breaking a sweat.”
“So right,” Havelock agreed. “Best not to upset him, I suppose. So when Lady Night and her new protégée appear, try to act like a gentleman.”
“Don’t I always, when dealing with the fairer sex?” he asked.
“You don’t really want me to answer that, do you?” Havelock said wryly.
Darius quirked a brow. Just because he didn’t offer to marry any of the women who gave themselves willingly to him for a night of passion, didn’t mean he treated them with anything less than respect.
And he always paid for their carriage ride home in the morning.
The bodyguard clapped his massive hands twice. In a booming voice, accented with the inflections of a far off land, he announced, “Gentlemen, may I present to you, Lady Night.”
At that, the lady in question mad
e her entrance, drawing appreciative murmurs and applause from the gentlemen present. She wore a gown of pale lavender silk, her arms clad in white gloves that stretched to the elbow. She fairly dripped in sparkling diamonds and amethysts. Her face was mature, but exquisitely beautiful. It wasn’t difficult to imagine emperors and princes falling at her feet, which, apparently, more than a few had done.
“Handsome woman,” Havelock said. “Didn’t you say you’d met her once before, Dare?”
“Yes, in Bath, just before the war,” he answered.
Though Lady Night had been attached to a rich Marquess at the time, the beautiful courtesan had flirted with an impoverished young earl named Darius Manning who was about to go off and fight Napoleon. She had even let him taste a kiss or two, completely free of charge. When he’d left that soiree, he’d felt like a king. The memory of her kiss had sustained him on more than one occasion during his darkest days in the war. For that, he would always thank her.
A mature woman, she was still breathtakingly beautiful. Though a few strands of grey appeared in her chestnut hair, it seemed to compliment the planes of her face—the high cheekbones, the intelligent blue eyes and full mouth. Legend had it she was now one of the richest women in the Kingdom; some of her fortune acquired through the generosity of her benefactors, and some through clever investments. Either way, Lady Night was a woman to remember. If her new protégée was anything like her, Dare mused, the men of London were about to be set into a tailspin from which they would never recover.
Lady Night flashed an entrancing smile at her guests in the packed salon. “Gentlemen, thank you for coming to my little soiree this evening. I am delighted that you have chosen to attend what surely proves to be the most unforgettable night of the Season. Though I have tried to keep news of my protégée under wraps, there has been much speculation about her existence in the press, no doubt which many of you have read. Why, a recent article in The Sentinel advised ladies of the ton to insist that their husbands remove themselves to the country, so as to protect them from this corrupt creature of Lady Night’s creation. One article even suggested a most dreadful course of action: fleeing to the wilds of Scotland for safety!”
At this, robust laughter rolled through the crowd.
One man yelled out in a thick Scottish brogue, “I hail from Scotland, Lady Night, and I can tell ye, a Londoner would nae be safe up there, except for ye and yer bonnie lass we’ve come ta see!”
More chuckles sounded at this, and Lady Night joined in as well. “Indeed,” she said. “A rather drastic scheme. And why? To deny you, the most powerful men in the kingdom, the chance to make the acquaintance of a beautiful, educated, fascinating young woman—a woman who is unlike any you have met before. Be warned, she is fiercely independent, highly intelligent, and selective. She knows what she wants and will settle for nothing less. On top of all that, she is a virgin…as yet untouched by the passion of a man, but skilled in the knowledge of how to stoke that fire. I know this description will alarm some of the gentlemen here tonight,” she said, with a sly look in her eyes, “but to the right man, one who is truly worthy of this exquisite creature’s company, these will be attributes that will increase the pleasure—and yes, gentlemen, there will be much pleasure—of their association.”
Lady Night paused a moment, seeming to size up each man in the crowd before she continued.
“Before I introduce you to my new friend,” she continued, “I ask that you remember two things: please keep the fisticuffs to a minimum, and duels, if they must be fought tonight, should be conducted on the East Lawn.”
“That was quite the sales pitch,” Havelock said in a low voice. “I particularly liked the closing remarks. Genius, really.”
Darius glanced at his friend, and said, “The thing about it is, if this girl is half as good as her predecessor, there might indeed be a duel on the East Lawn.”
“Did you bring your pistol?” Havelock asked casually.
“Of course, but I won’t be needing it,” Darius said. “I can outbid every man here.”
“Even our friend, the Duke of Balfour?”
“Even him, though I should much prefer the excuse of shooting him,” Darius answered.
“Balfour hates to lose. You might require that pistol after all,” Havelock pronounced.
Darius raised a brow. “Be glad I’m a crack shot. As my second, you will only have to stand there and look pretty. Much as you did at Waterloo.”
“Ha, ha,” Havelock said, dryly. “If they only knew how many times I saved your sorry arse from Boney’s cronies, not to mention Balfour’s idiot regiment.”
Darius grinned, but didn’t reply. He and Havelock had both saved each other’s hides during the war. They had lost count who had saved whose more often. By Darius’ calculations, they were tied, though Havelock liked to insist he was ahead by one.
“And now, gentlemen, Your Grace,” Lady Night nodded at the Duke of Balfour, as he was the highest ranking peer in attendance. The King had promised to come, but his current mistress, Lady Conyngham, had apparently put up quite a fuss at the suggestion. “I give you, the Incomparable Serena….”
A hush descended upon the room as a figure appeared at the top of the wide staircase. Clad in a shimmering golden gown, she stood for a moment, as if she were in no hurry to even acknowledge the throng of salivating men who awaited her on the salon floor. Glittering diamonds adorned her ears and neck, with one magnificent teardrop pendant hanging enticingly between the tops of her creamy, full breasts. Beautiful, thick auburn locks crowned her head in an intricate arrangement, interwoven with gleaming white pearls. Finally, this woman—whom the most powerful men in London had come to see—faced her audience in the salon below.
Darius stared up at her and almost dropped his champagne flute onto the marble the floor.
“Sweet Christ,” he growled. “It’s her.”
Chapter 2
“When making the acquaintance of a new gentleman, the courtesan should take pains not to seem too interested in anything the man is saying, but instead should cultivate a distance and aloofness that would befit a queen…”
– from Memoirs of a Courtesan, by Lady Night
“Her?” Havelock almost choked on a grape. “Her who? You mean the courtesan?”
“Otherwise known as Miss Serena Ransom,” Darius said. He struggled to control himself as he watched the beautiful vision descend the staircase with all the grace and poise of a princess. But she was no princess—she was a bloody courtesan! And she was advertising her wares to every man in this room in the hopes of snaring the highest bidder.
And most impressive wares they were, too, Darius thought. Lord knew, the memory of sampling them still burned in his mind…and in his loins. The full, pouting mouth that begged to be devoured, the soft, glowing skin that made a man feel desperate to touch, and the bewitching, cat-like green eyes that challenged one to unlock the mystery of the woman that dwelled within.
Darius could only imagine how those natural attributes had been refined under the tutelage of Lady Night. If Serena had been unforgettable before, she would be even more so now.
Which was only one of the reasons Darius had to have her as his own.
And have her, he would.
His very salvation depended upon it.
Darius glanced about the room. Most of the other men here looked as if they were thinking the same thing he was. Well, they would all be terribly disappointed. He had lost Serena once, due to circumstances beyond his control, and he’d be damned if he’d let any of these men so much as think about touching her.
Havelock popped a raspberry in his mouth. “Call me as daft as George the third, but I think perhaps you should have married this girl instead of Miss Barton.”
Darius glared at Havelock. “You know perfectly well why I married Henrietta. And it was a love match—at least from her point of view. Now, I’ll have you say no more about my late wife, if you please. Else the two of us can make use of the East
Lawn.”
“Don’t get your knickers in a twist, Darius. I’ve no wish to stand as target practice for you this evening, or any other. Oh look, the beautiful Miss Ransom approaches.” Havelock grinned. “I can hardly wait to see this.”
* * *
Serena closed her ivory fan and tapped it flirtatiously against her chin as she made her way through the crowd to meet yet another of her gaping admirers.
“Why, Lord Bainbridge, I had no idea you were interested in botany. I have so many questions for you, as it is a great passion of mine as well. You will find time to speak to me about it later, won’t you?” She touched his arm and looked full into his eyes. “I shall be crushed if you do not.”
Lord Bainbridge seemed at a loss for words as he bent forward and kissed the back of Serena’s gloved hand. “Of course, my dear. I should like nothing more than to discuss our mutual passions.”
Lady Devlyn smiled, ushering Serena slowly through the throng of enthusiastic men. As soon as Serena had finished making the acquaintance of one, there were two more at her elbow, fighting over who was to be next.
“May I introduce Sir Radcliffe Parry…”
“Viscount St. Albans…”
“The Marquess of Summerton…”
All of them bowed and reverently kissed Serena’s hand, as if she were a visiting queen from a far off exotic land. In each of their eyes she saw something different. In some there shone awe at her beauty, in some she saw unadulterated lust, and in others, heartbreaking loneliness. But each gentleman had one thing in common—they all wanted something from her. Desperately, it seemed.
Serena turned toward the next gentleman to be introduced.
“The Earl of Kane.”
For a moment, time seemed to stand still. She was aware of the blood pounding heavily in her veins, and a hint of nausea pooling in her belly. Serena took a deep breath, taking quick rein of her wildly spinning emotions.
For the one man she had never wished to see again stood before her now, looking as wicked and dangerous as her tortured heart remembered.
His Courtesan Bride (Brides of Mayfair 3) Page 2