“I admire her gumption,” Havelock said. “To play court to Balfour while you were off having a smoke…she doesn’t waste time, does she? Serena Ransom is no shrinking violet. Pity she wasn’t in the Peninsula with us, Dare. She’d have made a magnificent spy.”
“Thank you,” Darius said, as the waiter filled his glass, then admonished Havelock. “Don’t even suggest such a thing.”
“Why, because you don’t want to imagine her in bed with anyone but you?” Havelock asked. “I suggest that you start imagining it, for it seems inevitable, given her chosen profession.”
“Nothing is inevitable,” Darius said crossly. “You just have to want something bad enough to make it happen. That is all.”
“What is it that you want, exactly?”
“Her.”
“Why?” Havelock prodded.
“Because—”
Darius paused. Why did he want Serena? And for how long? Another six months? A year? He’d just spent five of the most amazing months of his life as her lover. How could he ever willingly walk away from such pleasure?
And it wasn’t just the physical side of their relationship that enthralled him. He was content simply to watch her as she read the paper or sipped her coffee in the morning, or listen to the soft sound of her breathing as she lay next to him, completely spent after hours of amazing sex. On top of all that, their conversations were lively, engaging and intelligent, and he always appreciated her opinions on everything from the arts to politics to history, and more.
The thought of another man, particularly his old enemy, Balfour, touching Serena—let alone spilling his seed inside her—ignited a fury deep within Darius’s breast which threatened to consume him.
Was it simply jealousy, or was it something more?
Finally, he answered his friend. “Because she’s the most unforgettable woman I’ve ever known.”
Havelock made a face. “And here I was, hoping you wouldn’t say something completely asinine.”
“You’re not helping,” Darius said.
“Neither are you,” Havelock countered. “She’s a courtesan, for God’s sake. You couldn’t have picked anyone more unsuitable as your perfect match. Especially when she’s basically told you that she’s planning to leave you in a little over three weeks’ time.”
“You were all for it when we first saw her that night at Lady Devlyn’s soiree,” Darius pointed out.
“That was when I thought you were simply going to employ Miss Ransom as your private courtesan in order to enjoy the hell out of her services,” Havelock replied. “You made no mention of becoming sentimental about the arrangement, you bloody, doddering fool.”
Darius’s mood was not improving. “Enough. I get the gist.”
Havelock sighed. “Well, now that you’ve admitted you have fallen in—” he made a sound halfway between coughing and choking “—love with Miss Ransom, I suppose we must come up with yet another plan to secure her for your own and keep her away from the Duke of Balfour. Tell me, why doesn’t Miss Ransom like you?”
“You know why,” Darius said crossly.
“Yes, but I want to hear your interpretation of those sordid events,” Havelock said.
Darius took a deep breath. “Because I ruined her reputation.”
“And in so doing, you set off a chain of events,” Havelock explained. “We both agree that Serena had feelings for you. You broke her trust, Darius. She gave you her heart, and you stomped on it. In the past five months you have taken her to bed, pleasured her, I assume, as well as given her expensive baubles and clothes. Still, Serena remains elusive. Why? Because she doesn’t trust you. Think of a way to restore her trust, and you’ll have a fighting chance. If not, these next three weeks will be the last you’ll ever spend with her.”
Darius lifted the crystal glass to his lips and let the brandy burn a trail down his throat.
Havelock was right, of course. Darius had been going about this all wrong.
The jewels, the gowns—those were not what would ultimately influence a woman like Serena. He knew firsthand how deeply passionate she was, deep in her soul. And though they had shared much physically during their current association, she had raised an impenetrable wall around her heart that was immune to such a strategy.
“Think back to the war,” Havelock said. “More than once when we laid siege to a castle, so to speak, we didn’t win by pounding the hell out of the stone walls. Do you remember our strategy?”
Darius said, “We had to outsmart the enemy. Eventually, they walked out and surrendered.”
“Exactly,” Havelock replied. “That is the way to win this one, too. Make her drop her defences and walk straight into your arms. But you better know what to do with her once you get her there. You’ve already hurt her once. It would be bad form to do it again, don’t you think?”
That was one of the things Darius liked about Havelock. Though he was Darius’s friend, the man didn’t mince words or sugar-coat anything. It went both ways, of course.
“What will you do with her, Dare? Marry her?” Havelock asked, finally.
“I hadn’t thought that far ahead,” Darius answered.
Havelock frowned. “Well, you had better, my friend. You had better.”
Darius felt his chest tighten with unease. That was the crux of his dilemma as well. He wanted Serena more than any other woman he’d ever known. The thought of her being with another man caused him extreme torment.
But was he willing to marry her?
Could he marry her?
Darius had made his own sacrifices in marrying Henrietta. Their tumultuous marriage and his feelings of guilt from his wife’s death still haunted him. How could he make a scandalous marriage after all he had done to save the estate and restore the family name?
He was damned if he did, and damned if he didn’t.
But he had to try to keep Serena with him. If Darius accepted defeat now, he would be no better than a cowering fool like Balfour, who turned and ran at the first sight of the enemy’s guns.
For God’s sake, in the Peninsula, Darius had fought and won skirmishes with worse odds than this.
But none of those battles had involved his heart.
This was new territory for him. He only hoped he could learn the lay of the land in time to save his one chance at happiness with Serena.
Chapter 15
“Most men are stupid and easily led. When dealing with the other type, it is best not to challenge them directly, but to outfox them using subtlety, ingenuity, and lots and lots of sex.”
–from Memoirs of a Courtesan, by Lady Night
“Surely, you are joking,” Serena said in disbelief, placing her coffee cup back in its saucer and regarding the man before her. Darius had dropped by during what had been, up to now, a very enjoyable breakfast.
“I can assure you, I am not.” He folded his massive arms across his chest and stared down at her, his legs braced wide apart, as if he stood on the deck of a warship and was barking orders at the crew.
“You want me to accompany you to your estate in Surrey, now?” she demanded. “But our contract is almost at an end.”
“Almost, yes. But not completely, Serena,” he said. “You are still in my employ for three more weeks. I have business to attend to at Manning Park which cannot wait. And I have checked our contract. It does not stipulate the location in which you are obligated to render your services to me. So you have no legal means of protest. If you refuse to accompany me, I shall deem the contract null and void, and you will be free. But you will also be free of the collection of jewels I have bestowed upon you, as well as this house. Of course, if you feel that strongly about remaining in London….”
Serena struggled to hold her temper in check as she said, “I know exactly why you are doing this, Darius.”
“Oh?” he asked. “Why, pray tell?”
“To keep me away from the duke.”
At the mention of his rival’s name, Darius’ expression grew d
ark. “Is that so? I didn’t realize you needed ‘keeping away’ from Balfour.”
Serena continued, “You think to influence me in renewing my contract with you. I can assure you that your efforts will be for naught, as I have already made up my mind.”
“As you mentioned before, my dearest, I have rented out your body—not your mind,” Darius replied. “I care not about how you have made it up. But I do care about having access to the services you agreed to provide me in our contract. So you see, you will be accompanying me to Surrey and remaining there until our contract is at an end.”
Serena glowered at him. He had her in an awkward position. He was right, of course, and she hated when he was right. Their contract was very clear about each party’s obligation to the other. So far, Darius had fulfilled his part quite well.
If she reneged on her duties now, she would forfeit this townhouse, as well as her jewels. Aside from the financial advantage it would provide, Serena had grown very fond of this house. She considered it her home now, and she’d be damned if she would give it up so easily.
Let him try to trick her into doing it.
She would accompany Darius to Timbuktu if she had to.
“When do we leave?” she asked, breezily.
“Tomorrow morning.”
“That doesn’t give me much time to pack,” she pointed out.
He grinned, darkly. “You needn’t bring much. A few simple frocks, some sturdy boots. A warm shawl. We’re going to the country, Serena, not to Paris.”
Darius was doing this to punish her, she knew. Because of Balfour. Because she’d had the audacity to suggest that she might prefer another man over him.
He thought to make her last few weeks with him such hell that she would give everything up, just to get out of their agreement. Well, Serena Ransom was made of sterner stuff than that. Darius was about to learn that he’d bitten off more than he could chew, this time.
Serena took a deep breath and pasted on a smile. “Tomorrow morning, then. I shall be waiting with my trunk packed. And now, my lord, you must excuse me. I have much shopping to do if I am to be ready for our little sojourn to the country. I shall charge everything to your accounts, as usual?”
“Of course, my dear,” he said, bending to kiss her hand.
Serena tried not to react to the heated sensation of his lips upon her skin, for it made her remember his mouth on other parts of her body. The man was too wicked to live.
She only hoped she could survive the carriage ride to Surrey without succumbing completely to Darius’s sinful charms.
* * *
The next day, as the carriage neared Manning Park, Serena gazed out the window at the pastoral splendor surrounding them. Acres of rolling pastures stretched as far as the eye could see, sometimes dotted with fluffy white sheep, sometimes with a herd of cattle. Great manor houses stood regally off in the distance, like sovereigns gazing down at their subjects. Charming little cottages filled quaint, picturesque villages. It was like a painting come to life.
Too bad its beauty was as artificial as a painting, too.
Serena had taken Darius’s instructions to heart, visiting her favorite modiste and cobbler, raising more than a few eyebrows with her requests for serviceable country attire. She had tried to pick the most flattering of the drab colors they presented to her. Chocolate brown, forest green, and slate grey would adorn her now, instead of the lavish fabrics and glittering hues she was accustomed to wearing in London. She’d left most of her jewellery behind as well, locked in a safe. She had no desire to risk losing them if their carriage was set upon by ruffians. A pair of plain, pearl ear bobs would have to suffice, as they would go with everything.
She wore a muslin carriage dress and matching velvet pelisse in a flattering shade of royal blue. Her crepe bonnet was conservative, with only a thin ribbon of satin trim. But Serena had insisted on a half-plume black ostrich feather to curl over the blue brim to provide some adornment.
She hoped she looked suitably somber for Surrey.
The Duke of Balfour was beside himself with worry. Serena had managed to dash off a note to him before her shopping trip to Bond Street, and he had responded to her later that day. He had written of his utmost regard for her, as well as his concern that Darius might hold her captive in Surrey and refuse to let her return to London when their contract was up. He had assured her too, that if she did not return to London at the end of the month, he would raise an army to march right up to the doors of Manning Park and rescue Serena by force, if need be.
That last bit had made her laugh. What would they call it, the Battle of Manning-loo?
The duke had begged to be able to meet with her before her departure, but Serena had replied that it was not possible. She was contractually obligated to Lord Kane for the next three weeks. She could do nothing to jeopardize what she had worked so hard to attain.
She had also managed a quick note to Lady Devlyn and the Courtesan Club, assuring them that she was fine and not to worry while she was away.
Whatever Darius hoped to achieve with this little detour, he would be greatly disappointed.
Serena had grown up in the country. She and her mother had survived near starvation as virtual prisoners on their ancient, crumbling estate. Gazing at the village houses and rolling fields they passed on their journey, Serena wondered at the painful truth hidden behind those pastoral facades…poverty, abuse, unhappiness and hopelessness. Those things could affect the gentry, too.
She was reminded of a line from the poem by Samuel Taylor Coleridge, The Rime of the Ancient Mariner: ‘Water, water everywhere, nor any drop to drink.’
That’s what it had felt like for her and her mother, surrounded by the lush beauty of green pastures like these, full of grazing sheep and cattle, yet they themselves were starving. The local vicar and his wife did the best they could to keep them fed. It had been depressing to realize that even farm animals had more to eat than Serena and her mother did.
She shook off the memory. That was ages ago…another lifetime. Serena had left that poor girl behind. She was a courtesan now, well on her way to financial independence. She had taken steps to ensure that she would never starve again, nor be shackled to a wastrel husband like her mother had been.
“Look, Serena—just over that rise,” Darius pointed at rolling green lawns in the distance. “Manning Park.”
She sat forward and craned to get a look at the illustrious estate that was Darius’s pride and joy. The mansion, built in a classical style popular in the seventeenth century, had been modeled after an Italian villa. The pale stone façade glowed golden against the green lawns that surrounded it.
The grounds were breathtaking as well. A mirror-like lake graced the bottom of a long, slightly graded hill. Atop it, a folly that resembled the ruins of a Roman temple stood sentinel, looking down at the expansive grounds below. At the far end of the lake, a Chinese bridge spanned the water, connecting the narrowed shores.
The carriage passed a group of farmers as they worked in a field. They looked up, and when they realized it was the earl himself, greeted him with hearty waves and a cheerful doff of the cap. Darius sat forward in the window, returning their welcoming smiles with a wave of his own.
“Some of my tenants,” he explained to Serena. “A harder working bunch you’ll never find.” He sat back in the seat and gave a contented sigh. “It’s good to be home.”
The carriage made a turn onto a wooded lane. Serena was not a crack navigator by any standards, but it seemed that they were moving away from the manor house, rather than closer to it.
“We are not going to the Hall?” she asked.
Darius continued to stare out the window. “My mother is in residence. She is not in the best of health. You can imagine the shock it would put her under if I installed my mistress in the family home while she was there.”
“I see.” Serena was not much insulted. She was after all, his paid courtesan, not his wife. “Where are we going, then?”<
br />
With a wicked sparkle in his jewel-blue eyes, Darius slid her a glance. “It’s a surprise.”
Serena sighed. “Oh, please do not tell me we are to sleep in a tent.”
“It’s a surprise, I told you,” he insisted. “You will just have to wait.”
“I feel completely within my rights to say that I generally do not like your surprises, Darius,” she countered. “They usually involve a tableau which features you holding me in an uncompromising position, whilst someone is looking on, who most decidedly should not be.”
“My dear Serena, you still haven’t forgiven me for that?”
“Certainly not,” she replied.
He looked pensive. “You know, whenever you tell that story, you never mention the priceless diamond necklace I had just fastened about your neck, moments before.”
“And you always fail to mention the look on the duke’s face when he saw us in that scandalous scene, moments later.”
“You always dwell on the negative,” Darius said, easily. “You should adopt a more positive view of life.”
She gave a jaded laugh. “Good advice from the man who single-handedly orchestrated my social downfall.”
“You see?” he said. “There you go again, seeing only the negative. If not for me, you would never have become a student of Lady Devlyn and learned the secrets of the art of love, where you are quite accomplished, by the way.”
“I would never have had to,” Serena pointed out.
“Come now, my dear,” he continued, “are you saying you would have rather remained free of scandal and ended up married to a vicar who believes that sex is for procreation only? Though I might admit that having sex with you is close to a religious experience, somehow, I can’t see it.”
In truth, Serena couldn’t either. Which only made her more cross, because she would rather die than give Darius the satisfaction of being right.
“I shall never know, shall I?” she commented. “And it is all thanks to you, my lord protector.”
His Courtesan Bride (Brides of Mayfair 3) Page 15