His Courtesan Bride (Brides of Mayfair 3)

by Michelle McMaster

  She felt the same way now.

  Slowly, something made her turn.

  Two men stood in the doorway of the billiard room, grinning, yet their expressions held no warmth. They were well-dressed in evening attire, like the duke himself. It was obvious that these men were not burglars. And the duke was not surprised to see them.

  Yet Serena knew in the depths of her soul that these men had not come here to play billiards.

  They intended to play at a different sport, altogether.

  Chapter 27

  “When faced with a sticky situation, there are several ways with which to remove oneself. Quick thinking and a cool head are paramount to achieving success. But unfortunately, even these skills may not be enough to avert disaster…”

  –from Memoirs of a Courtesan, by Lady Night

  “Tarrington. Dudley,” the duke said, greeting his guests. “So glad you were able to drop by. Have you met my newest acquisition? May I present my private courtesan, Miss Serena Ransom. Serena, this is Sir Edward Tarrington and his cousin, Lord Dudley. Served with me in the Peninsula. ‘Tarry’ and ‘Duds,’ I call them.”

  Serena regarded them silently, forcing herself to remain calm. Panicking was not going to help her escape, if there was anything to escape from. And she did not want to look like a fool if her suspicions were ill-founded. Perhaps the duke’s friends had indeed come for a game of billiards. But that explanation somehow rang hollow.

  The two men did not bow, or in any other way politely acknowledge her. They merely studied her intently, as if she were an object they might purchase.

  The duke puffed on his cigar. “Well, boys, what do you think of her?”

  “Very nice, Bal,” Tarrington said, walking about and looking Serena up and down. “Very nice, indeed.”

  “And you, Duds. What say you?”

  Lord Dudley followed suit, perusing Serena as if she were horseflesh. She supposed to these men, a woman like her might be exactly that.

  That was what worried her.

  “A beauty, she is. When do you get to ride her?” Lord Dudley asked, crudely.

  “Soon, boys, soon.” The duke smiled, twirling the cigar between his fingers as he stared at Serena. “Don’t worry, we’ll all have a turn.”

  Serena sprang into action, darting for the door, but she was too late. Tarrington was a big man, but light on his feet. He moved to block Serena’s escape, slamming the door shut behind him and grabbing a clawing hand out to catch the fabric of her gown. Serena heard the fabric tear as the gold netting was ripped from her dress.

  She danced between the three men, managing to stay out of reach just long enough to scream. Sharif was nearby. He had traveled along with her, seated on top of the carriage. Upon their arrival at Balfour House, he’d slipped quietly into the night, fading like smoke as Serena alighted the steps of the mansion. She would have to use her martial arts skills to keep these thugs at bay until her bodyguard arrived.

  Serena’s heart pounded with fear, yet she had to remain coolheaded or she would never get out of this mess. The duke and his cohorts laughed and smirked as she eluded them, seeming to enjoy the challenge of capturing her.

  “Bal, she’s capital! Did you pay extra for her to do this?” Dudley chortled, swiping a meaty hand at Serena as she flew past him.

  “I confess, I did not,” Balfour replied, grinning. “But she is quite good at it, isn’t she? Much better than the light-skirt we had in Brighton.”

  “This one’s prettier by far,” Tarrington remarked. “But she won’t be for long.”

  Serena’s blood ran cold at the man’s words. These men were animals. Whatever they had planned for her didn’t bear thinking about.

  “Quiet, Tarry, you’re scaring her,” the duke said in a stage whisper. “We wouldn’t want to let on too much about our plans for our little whore, now would we?”

  Keep them talking…keep them distracted. That’s what Lady Devlyn had said to do in a situation like this.

  “What do you plan to do with me, Your Grace?” Serena demanded, darting behind a chair and pushing it over to block Dudley’s pursuit.

  “You really want to know?” Balfour asked, darkly.

  “I think I have a right,” Serena said, kicking off her slippers. Footwear would only be a hindrance to her now.

  Dudley came near again, backing Serena toward a corner. The other two men stared with interest, as if they were watching a performance of the newest play at Covent Garden.

  She waited until he came a little closer, then saw her opportunity and took it. Hitching up her skirts, she jumped into the air and landed a well-placed kick under the man’s jaw. She felt the force of the kick clatter Dudley’s teeth together as his head snapped backward. As his body stretched up and back, Serena turned and kicked her foot sideways, connecting with his gut. He yelled, doubling over in pain. But she was not done with him. Another sideways kick landed on his knee, popping the kneecap out of place.

  With another painful cry, he crumpled to the floor at her feet. Serena stepped back, watching Balfour and Tarrington stare in disbelief at her success. While they gaped in amazement, she took the opportunity to rip off her skirt above the knees. She needed her legs free if she was going to use them in self-defence. She had momentarily incapacitated Lord Dudley, but Serena did not doubt that the man would be on his feet again before long.

  The duke stood still, making no move toward her. Instead, he raised his hands before him and applauded. “I must say, I am impressed! Brava, Miss Ransom. A more inspiring performance I have never seen. My Lord Dudley is a big man. Stupid, but big. And now that he has so conveniently sacrificed himself, I have learned a bit about your hidden talents, and what to expect from you. It’s an old military tactic. You send a scout out before the troops, then watch what happens to the poor bugger.” He cupped his hands around his mouth and called down to his injured friend, “Well done, Dudley!”

  A movement caught Serena’s eye—something moving outside the tall window directly behind Tarrington. They were on the second floor of the mansion. Neither the duke nor his compatriot would expect anyone to come through the window. But Sharif could climb like a monkey. It had to be him. Serena would attempt to buy her bodyguard some time.

  “Perhaps I shall dust the floor with you next, Your Grace,” Serena said, trying to bait the duke.

  Balfour clasped his hands together, gleefully. “You are making this so very exciting for me, my pet. I shall enjoy taming you even more than I had hoped I would.”

  “You like excitement, do you?” Serena taunted. She saw Sharif’s face in the shadows outside the window. His eyes blazed like a demon, his shiny scimitar raised for combat.

  The duke laughed. “I eat it for breakfast.”

  “You’ll enjoy this, then,” Serena replied.

  An ear-splitting sound echoed in the air as Sharif came crashing through the window.

  The next moments were a blur—the duke recoiling in surprise, Tarrington hitting the floor as shards of glass flew about him, and Sharif, as wild and terrifying as a fiendish creature of nightmares.

  Then, his scimitar flashed in the lamplight, the blade swiping hungrily across Tarrington’s neck. A blood-curdling scream pierced the air, followed by Sharif’s Bedouin battle cry. Then Tarrington’s lifeless body crumpled to the floor.

  Sharif sprang round like a tiger, looking about for his next victim. He moved quickly toward the duke, who had dashed behind one of the billiard tables. Sharif raised his scimitar, the blade arcing back and forth as he prepared to dispatch Balfour.

  Then, a noise suddenly cut through the air as Sharif clutched at his chest and fell face-down onto the floor. His scimitar clattered to the floor beside him.

  “Sharif!” Serena cried, leaping toward his inert form.

  “Stay where you are, Serena,” Balfour ordered, a smoking pistol pointing toward her. “You can’t help him, now.”

  He stepped around the billiard table, keeping the pistol leveled at her.
“I always found it pays to keep a weapon hidden under the table, in case a game gets out of hand.” He stepped over the fallen man, poking the body with the toe of his boot. “Very clever. I must say. I didn’t see that one coming. Your bodyguard, I presume? As dead as Tarrington, I’d wager.”

  Serena felt shock wash through her as she looked from one body to the other. Sharif was facedown, she could not see his fatal wound. But Tarrington lay on his back, his throat glistening with blood. His sightless eyes stared heavenward.

  “I think I’m going to be sick,” she said to no one in particular.

  “Come now, buck up, my girl,” the duke said, darkly. He came to stand beside her, all the while keeping his pistol trained on Serena’s heart. “Because you will encounter many more trying situations than this in the coming months. You’ll be surprised at exactly how much unpleasantness a human can bear. I will take great delight in showing you the depths of your personal strength.”

  He moved about her, reaching out with cold fingers to touch her face. Serena steeled herself against it, and refused to recoil from the monster’s touch. She would not start cringing from him now.

  “I can hardly wait to begin,” he said. “By the end of our contract, you will be a very grateful little slave. You will kiss the ground I walk on. Really. You will.”

  Serena gave a bitter laugh. “I’ll kill myself before I do that.”

  Balfour’s pale blue eyes glittered maliciously. “You’ll find that harming yourself will be rather difficult, my dear, when you are chained to a bed.” He must have noticed Serena’s expression grow pale. “Yes, that’s right. You will not simply be my courtesan, but my captive. Everything is arranged. We will travel to Ridgeley Manor, my estate in Norfolk. It’s quite remote with only a handful of servants, who are completely loyal to me. They are used to such comings and goings, and I pay them well to keep quiet. None of them will lift a finger to help you. It will just be you and me, day after day. Doesn’t that sound like fun?”

  “You’re sick,” Serena spat. “Darius was right about you.”

  “Ah yes, Lord Kane,” he replied. “Your former lover. I wondered that he didn’t warn you.”

  “He did. I was too stubborn to listen to him.”

  Balfour smiled. “Stubborn, eh…? Yet another of your notable attributes. At least for what I have planned. The most spirited filly becomes the most devoted mount when properly broken, you know. And you, Serena, will be no different.”

  “That will never happen,” Serena countered, wanting to believe her own words, but doubting them all the same. Her blood began to slowly chill, like ice crystals forming in water.

  This was a nightmare she could have never imagined. Lady Devlyn’s faithful servant, Sharif, was dead. Serena was now the prisoner of a madman bent on torturing her. And though she had been trained in self-defence, her skills were no match for a pistol.

  She was alone here, in Hell.

  No one was coming to rescue her.

  Least of all Darius.

  He was miles away at Yardley Grange, the estate in Berkshire. Besides, he had made it quite clear that he would not be coming after her, regardless.

  Oh, how Serena yearned to see his face once more, before the true nightmare began. She tried to conjure Darius’s image in her mind, to give her strength. But it only brought a debilitating wave of sadness to her heart.

  The duke’s voice broke her dark reverie.

  “And now, my dear,” the duke said, “it’s time for you to begin earning your fee as my courtesan.”

  “No,” she said, backing away.

  “There’s no one coming to help you, Serena,” he said, slowly coming toward her. “Your bodyguard is dead. It’s just you and me, now. And that’s how it’s going to be…forever.”

  As the duke stepped closer, Serena prayed the duke was wrong. For if he wasn’t, her life was soon to become a living nightmare with no escape.

  Chapter 28

  “The life of a courtesan is not for the faint of heart. It can be filled with untold excitement…and the darkest dangers.”

  –from Memoirs of a Courtesan, by Lady Night

  Darius sat forward in the seat of the high-perch phaeton, urging the horses to go faster through the congested London streets.

  “Good God, man, sit back!” Havelock shouted. “If you sit any further forward you’ll be riding one of the blasted animals.”

  Darius paid him no heed, impatiently flicking the reins.

  They had to reach Serena in time.

  He and Havelock had already wasted precious moments looking for Serena at the townhouse. Expecting to break up a tryst between her and the duke there, Darius had been surprised to find the house empty. Only the staff were at home. Luckily, they had provided the information Darius and Havelock required in order to put a stop to the biggest mistake of Serena’s life.

  His heart full of anger, Darius had ridden west toward his estate in Berkshire as he’d promised. He’d vowed that he was through with Serena Ransom. He would not let himself care for a woman bent on her own personal destruction.

  They had become closer to each other in the last three weeks than he could have ever thought possible, confessing their love to each other, mingling their naked souls as well as their bodies in the quiet darkness of the night. And shockingly, Serena had insisted that it was not enough to build a life upon. In fact, she had insisted it was the very reason they should live their lives apart.

  After the exquisite intimacy experienced between them, the pain of Serena’s rejection had been more than Darius could bear. It had cut him to the quick. Darkest grief had mingled with white-hot anger to make a deadly, boiling brew. His heart had swirled with the stuff. It flowed rank and bitter through his veins. Like poison, the powerful toxins had to run their course through his body, before they weakened and waned.

  Finally thinking clearly, Darius had realized the truth.

  Serena was the love of his life.

  He could no more change that than he could the color of his eyes or the height of his frame. No matter what happened between them, he would always love her.

  As he’d ridden alone through the beautiful English countryside, his mind and heart had called out to Serena. The further he traveled away from her, the more his soul had railed against him, insisting upon pointing out this painful truth.

  Certainly, Serena had been wrong to leave him.

  But he had been wrong to leave her, too.

  In the heated throes of anger, Darius had done the most cowardly thing imaginable. He had run away.

  He recalled the old soldier’s saying, had said it himself to inexperienced troops during his time in the Peninsula: “Many a soldier runs away, and lives to fight another day.” Some of those young men had gone on to become the best soldiers Darius had ever served with. One unfortunate moment of panic in a terrifying situation had not been a true indication of their character or bravery to come.

  As Darius had traveled through the countryside, he realized it had been the same for Serena as well. Her rejection of him had been the result of fear. She believed that if they remained together, Darius would undoubtedly hurt her again. In truth, he could not blame her for succumbing to such trepidation. He had hurt her once before, very badly. She had every reason to want to protect her herself against such pain.

  Love was a double-edged sword. The more one loved, the more pain one would be forced to endure if that love was taken away. There was no getting around such a truth. The intensity of such an emotion could make it the most precious of gifts, or the deadliest of weapons. It all depended on how such power was used.

  Darius had wielded that double-edged sword once before, and though he hadn’t intended such a thing, it had cruelly cut Serena down. He had a lot to make up for. And he wanted to spend the rest of his life doing exactly that with the woman he loved.

  “So, what’s your plan?” Havelock asked over the din of traffic. “Though I know you do not want to consider it, what if Serena and
Balfour are in flagrante dilecto? Are we just going to pull him off of her, or pull her off of him, or in some other way untwine their naked bodies?”

  Darius shot his friend a dark look. “It’s early, yet. They might still be having dinner.”

  “Or they might be having dessert.” Havelock’s meaning could not be missed.

  “Just prepare yourself for the worst,” Darius barked.

  As they turned a corner at high speed, Havelock hung onto the sides of the seat in order to keep himself from flying out of the vehicle. “Let’s see—I’ve heard that before. Usually when we had French Cuirassiers bearing down on us and we were completely outnumbered.”

  “By the looks of things, you survived those skirmishes in one piece,” Darius replied.

  “Of course you would bring that up,” Havelock replied, “when we’re going into the private residence of a duke, pistols blazing. What if Miss Ransom refuses to come with us? Did you think of that, Dare?”

  “She’ll come,” he said, flatly.

  “How do you know?”

  “Call it ‘soldier’s intuition.’ She needs me, Hav. I can feel it in my bones. The duke can’t be trusted not to hurt her, if he hasn’t already.”

  Amazingly, Havelock didn’t argue the point. “Your instincts have usually been right before, but forgive me if I hope that in this instance, they are quite wrong.”

  Darius made no reply. Instead he concentrated on his singular goal, reaching Balfour House and Serena as quickly as possible.

  Because deep in his soul, Darius knew that his instincts were dead right.

  * * *

  Though she knew it was pointless, Serena struggled against the duke as he held her down on the billiard table. The duke had smashed the back of her head against the tabletop, making her weak and dizzy with pain.