The Courtesan Duchess

by Joanna Shupe

  Continuing to the sitting room, Julia joined Aunt Theo to await the barrage of callers. She felt a bit like a woman receiving condolences on her way to the gallows.

  “You look quite smart today,” Theo said, taking in Julia’s lilac muslin day dress. “How is your stomach?”

  “Shaky. However, I’m not sure if it’s the babe or Colton causing my nerves.”

  Theo poured her a cup of tea. “Your duke’s merely feeling the sting to his pride. No man likes to be duped, no matter the reason. They wish to believe themselves superior to the whole female race, you know. Give him a few weeks to recover. He’ll come around.”

  “I wish I shared your confidence,” Julia muttered, and accepted the tea from her aunt’s hand.

  Their butler opened the door and announced Simon. “Please show him up,” Julia said. “And turn away all other callers until Lord Winchester leaves.”

  A minute later, Simon bounded into the room, a dark, large bruise on his left cheek.

  Julia gasped as he bowed. “Oh, Simon. It looks awful. I feel wretched. This is all my fault.”

  Theo squinted, holding up her quizzing glass for closer inspection. “That’s a beauty of a facer. He gave it to you good, my lord.”

  He dropped into a chair, leaned back, and smiled. “Wouldn’t have been nearly so bad if Colton hadn’t snuck up on me. And I knew the consequences when I agreed to help you, Julia. I’ve been a friend to Colton for ages, and he’s fairly predictable. Besides”—he crossed his legs—“I’m more worried about you. Has he been to see you yet?”

  She nodded glumly. “He found me last night at the Collingswood ball. Scared me half to death out on the terrace.”

  “Tell him the best part,” Theo prompted.

  Simon raised an eyebrow in question, and Julia blurted, “I vomited on him.”

  His bark of laughter reverberated off the sitting room walls, blue eyes sparking with delight. “Oh, how I wish I had been there to see that.”

  “Be relieved you did not. It was quite embarrassing, and Colton was furious. What I cannot figure out is how he knew me. Right away, he addressed me as Your Grace.”

  Simon shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “That was my fault. I did not tell you, but I left him a note in Venice. I confessed to who you were and apologized for helping you—”

  “Simon!” Julia gasped. “Why did you not tell me?”

  He held up his hands. “I honestly did not expect him to follow you back to London. But I knew you would write to him in any event, explaining your side. So I wanted to . . . prepare him, I suppose. Are you angry with me?”

  She gazed at her longtime friend. “How could I be angry with you? You’ve helped me at great expense to yourself, Simon. I will always be grateful to you. By the by, I am curious as to what Colton said after he hit you.”

  “Nothing of consequence,” Simon answered. “He’s furious, naturally, but I plan to deal with him later.”

  “Did you also tell him I carried his babe?”

  “No. Did he know?”

  “Yes, but perhaps the sickness gave me away.” She sipped her tea, now blessedly tepid. It was easier on her stomach that way. “He spoke of revenge, Simon. Said I made a fool of him and that I would live to regret it. What will he do?”

  Simon rolled his eyes. “Colton is getting quite dramatic in his old age. But he won’t hurt you, Julia. I’ll make sure of that.”

  “You may not be able to prevent it,” Theo warned. “The man is her husband, after all.”

  Simon mulled that over. “If you need me, day or night, send for me. I will come. I don’t believe Colton will hurt you. But he may make things . . . uncomfortable for awhile.”

  Just as Julia was about to ask what uncomfortable meant, the door slammed open and the subject of their conversation marched inside.

  Dressed in an elegant royal blue frock coat with a cream-colored brocade waistcoat, tall boots over tan breeches, the Duke of Colton surveyed the room with cold gray eyes. “My, what a charming little scene this is.”

  Simon shot to his feet. “You are making a habit of sneaking about, Colton. You used to be much more direct.”

  Colton seemed to grow larger, the stark planes of his face etched in fury. “How is this for direct, then, Winchester? Get the hell out of my wife’s house,” he snarled.

  Simon’s nostrils flared, and the two men stared intently at one another. Julia didn’t know what to do. She glanced at Theo, whose eyes were as big as saucers. With their clenched fists and tight jaws, Simon and Nick were carrying on a silent conversation only they understood.

  “Fine,” Simon gritted out. “But I’ll be by later to deal with you, and you had better be receiving, Colton.” He turned to Julia and Theo and gave a curt bow. “Ladies.”

  He stalked out of the room and closed the door behind him with a snap. Colton turned to Theo. “Lady Carville, I would like a private word with my wife.” He gritted out the last word as if acutely painful to say.

  So he’d learned Theo’s identity as well. Her aunt shot a nervous glance at Julia. “Of course, Your Grace. If you’ll just excuse me,” she said before scurrying out of the sitting room.

  Julia sat back and lifted her chin. She refused to cower in front of this man. He’d ignored her for eight years, leaving her to fend for herself. Obviously what they shared in Venice was over, and he resented her. Fine. She resented him, too.

  Ignoring the pain in her heart, she steeled herself. “Well, you’ve scared everyone off, Colton. What is it you want?”

  Her direct approach took him aback. He looked slightly confused, but only for a moment. “You didn’t think you’d seen the last of me, did you, sweet wife?” Walking over, he gracefully folded himself down into a chair, flipping up the tails of his coat. “No, I plan on staying.”

  She didn’t want to notice his handsomeness, how his silky black hair fell artlessly back away from his angular face. He was clean-shaven, but she could remember vividly the feel of his whiskers on the soft skin of her inner thighs. And at night, she still dreamed of the hard push of his erection as he first penetrated her wetness.

  Julia caught herself, and her eyes flew to his. He was watching her carefully, and a spark in those gray depths told her he knew exactly what she’d been thinking. Heat broke out on her skin as a flush worked its way up her neck.

  “So beautiful,” he murmured. “So deceitful.”

  She straightened. “And does your visit have a purpose?”

  “Yes. I want to know the father of your child. I plan to kill him before the day’s out.”

  Dramatic indeed, she thought. And what did he mean? Oh God . . . he didn’t believe . . .

  “You are the father, Colton.”

  He tipped his head back and laughed, the sound harsh and lacking any joy whatsoever. “Christ, you must think me gullible.”

  She gaped at him. “Colton, you are this baby’s father. I haven’t . . . been with anyone else.”

  His whole body tensed and he leaned forward, angry. “Stop lying to me, wife. You were no virgin when I first took you.”

  She flinched. At least now she knew why he thought she’d made a fool of him. He believed that she’d found herself with child, whereby she came to Venice to legitimize it by bedding him.

  It was tempting to tell him about Templeton, but pride stopped her. Perhaps explaining her financial troubles would reach the cold place in her husband’s chest where his heart should be. But Julia found she couldn’t do it. She wanted him to believe the baby was his because he trusted her.

  “It’s the truth, whether you want to believe it or not. I washed the blood off so you wouldn’t know. I wanted you to think I was a courtesan, Colton.”

  “I don’t believe you.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “Is it Wyndham’s?”

  Her eyes widened. Who had told her husband about Wyndham?

  “Yes, I know about your cicisbeo, madam. If Winchester hadn’t already told me about him in Venice, there were a handf
ul of people positively eager to inform me when I arrived in London.”

  “There was never anything other than flirtation with Lord Wyndham, which is more than I can say for you, Colton. How many women have you bedded since we recited our marriage vows?”

  “That is immaterial,” he snapped. “I don’t run the risk of carrying a bastard.” He gestured to her abdomen.

  “This child is not a bastard, you dolt.” Oh, he made her furious. Her blood almost boiled inside her skin. She sat up straighter. “You will acknowledge it, and then you will leave London. Go back to Venice. Or go to St. Petersburg. All I need is for this child to carry your name.”

  “That will never happen. I know that babe belongs to another man. Any child of yours will not carry my name.”

  She saw he really believed it. There would be no telling him otherwise. She was furious, yes, but also had the sudden urge to cry. With her emotions rioting, she wished to be alone. To think over how to resolve the mess she’d made. “Get out, Colton.”

  “If you think tears will sway me, madam, you are sorely mistaken.”

  Her fingers came up to her face, feeling wetness on her cheeks. She hadn’t even realized she’d started crying. She took a long, shaky breath. Her morning meal threatened to make another appearance, and the last thing she wanted was to humiliate herself in front of her husband again.

  She stood up. He remained seated, the arrogant arse, merely quirking a brow at her. “Good day, sir.” Stepping around his chair, she moved toward the door.

  In a flash, he jumped up and grabbed her arm, stopping her. “You cannot dismiss me, duchess,” he gritted out, his breath hot against her ear. “And you cannot get rid of me in order to carry on with your pack of lovers here in Town.” She stiffened and tried to pull away but his grip was strong. “Is it Winchester’s? Are you having Simon’s baby?”

  Her free hand flew up and, before she could prevent it, cracked across Nick’s face. She froze, shocked at what she’d done, as the sound, harsh and ugly, echoed throughout the room. He slowly turned his head back to look at her. His gray eyes glittered with hatred, rage, and—much to her surprise—desire.

  He dragged her up against the hard planes of his body, her breasts crushed to his chest. Her pulse picked up, but shamefully, not out of anger. She was stunned. How could she still feel anything for this man after the hurtful things he’d said?

  Then his free hand slid up the side of her rib cage to rest beneath her breast, his thumb tracing the plump underside lazily. She closed her eyes against the swift and sharp rush of need that swept through her. Her breath came fast and harsh, and it was all she could do to not push her breast into his palm. They were tender, the pregnancy making them more sensitive, and they ached, desperate for his touch.

  “You were so willing to play the whore for a duke,” he murmured, his thumb gliding higher to tease her nipple through her layers of clothing. “Would you be so willing to play one for a husband, I wonder?”

  Gasping, she jerked away from him—and this time he let her go. “You bastard,” she hissed before stomping out of the room.

  Chapter Nine

  Men are but petulant children at times. If he leaves your bed in a fit of pique, let him go. He shall return.

  —Miss Pearl Kelly to the Duchess of Colton

  Nick left his wife’s town house and strode to his carriage, more shaken than he wanted to admit.

  Damn her. No matter what she’d done, his body still wanted her. Nay, craved her. She’d stared daggers at him, furious and indignant, while all he could think about was pulling her down to the carpet and thrusting his cock into her sweet slickness, fucking her. Hard.

  After what she’d done, he should hate her. And he did hate her. But the instant he’d grabbed her and felt the heavy weight of her breasts on his chest, his cock hardened to the point of pain. Bloody hell, what a mess.

  “Home, Fitz,” he snapped before climbing inside his carriage. He settled against the squabs and watched the familiar streets of Mayfair out the window. Eight years he’d managed to stay away, lived in places where no one knew or cared about his reputation or the scandal. Eight blissful years of near anonymity, free from his past. Now he was back. Forced to return home by his lying, cheating wife.

  His chest bursting with rage, it was all he could do to sit still as the vehicle carried him home.

  She was every bit as beautiful as a blonde—perhaps more so. The golden color of her hair—rather than the bold, brassy red locks from Venice—made her seem delicate and ethereal. Though she’d been anything but delicate when he insisted he was not the father of her child. No, then she’d been a warrior queen with regal posture and snapping blue eyes, adamant the child was his.

  Not that he believed her.

  They turned the corner and the Seaton town house came into view. A stand-alone monstrosity made of gray stone and black ironwork, it was forbidding and cold—exactly what you’d expect from the Seaton legacy. His ancestors, including his own parents, were not exactly known for being warm, kind-hearted people.

  At least his parents were dead. When he returned to London, it had been a relief to discover that his mother would not be here to torment him. The last time he’d seen her, after Harry’s funeral, she’d informed him he was no longer her son.

  I wish you had died instead of Harry.

  She hadn’t even attended Nick’s wedding, as brief and forgettable as it had been. Not that one could much blame her—he hadn’t wanted to attend his wedding, either. But his father had seen to that. Apparently, nothing worked like threats and blackmail to force your son to fall in line.

  Two weeks after Harry’s funeral, the duke had roused Nick out of a drunken stupor to marry Julia. When he’d refused, the old bastard cleverly threatened to reveal the true circumstances behind Harry’s death. Nick felt guiltily enough over what happened. He knew Harry’s memory did not deserve to be dishonored in such a way, for the world to find out he’d hung himself in the study at Seaton Hall. So Nick had gone through with the ceremony, only to leave that very night, vowing never to return or consummate his marriage.

  Vows now broken because of his wife’s perfidy.

  Nick heaved a sigh and buried the old pain as the carriage rolled to a stop. Once on the ground, he turned to Fitz. “I want her town house watched. I want to know who goes in and when they come out.”

  Fitz nodded. “Round the clock?”

  “Yes, definitely round the clock.” If she received late-night visitors, he most assuredly wanted to know. “I want regular reports. Go find someone to start now. Take the carriage.”

  Fitz nodded again, and Nick headed for the house. He stomped up the steps, where the door promptly opened. Marlowe, the butler, appeared.

  “Good afternoon, Your Grace. I trust your appointment went well?” Marlowe relieved Nick of his hat and greatcoat.

  “Fine,” Nick muttered, and started for his study. He needed a drink.

  “Your Grace, you have a visitor,” Marlowe called after him.

  Nick froze. “Who?”

  “Lord Winchester awaits in the library. Would Your Grace care to see him now? He was quite insistent on waiting until you returned.”

  Instead of answering, Nick stalked to the library door, threw it open, and discovered Winchester lounging in a chair.

  Winchester glanced up, a glass of claret cradled in his palm.

  “Comfortable?” Nick sneered. “Somehow I do not remember offering you a drink.” He braced his feet and crossed his arms over his chest. Other than his wife, Winchester was the last person he wanted to see right now. “Or allowing you inside, for that matter.”

  “Marlowe has better manners than you ever did,” Winchester remarked. “So are you planning to hit me again, or are you ready to talk like a sane, rational person?”

  Nick took a step closer. “I couldn’t say. Why don’t you stand up and we shall find out.”

  Winchester sighed. “I think I’ll stay seated, then.”


  Nick strode to the sideboard lined with decanters. He picked up a crystal glass and poured some of his father’s best brandy. A cur, his father, but a fine judge of spirits nonetheless.

  Nick took a seat across from Winchester and glared at his former friend. He could almost picture him with Julia, their blond heads close together as they whispered and kissed. Plotted. A hot jealous rage bubbled in his gut. He threw back a good portion of his brandy, relieved when the fire from the liquor burned his insides instead.

  “Well?” he prompted.

  “You are not prepared to make this easy, are you?”

  “Why should I? You’re damned fortunate I haven’t yet demanded your seconds.”

  “My seconds?” Winchester exploded. “You . . . idiot. I should demand your seconds for the shameful way you’ve treated Julia.”

  “Careful,” Nick warned in a deadly soft voice. “I wouldn’t threaten me, were I you. And in the future, do not address my wife using her Christian name.”

  Winchester shook his head at the ceiling, exasperated. “You fool. You bloody conceited, arrogant fool. You are going to owe me quite a large apology when this is over.”

  Nick made a derisive sound, and Winchester’s eyes narrowed. “I see you don’t believe me. God, I don’t know why I care. If it weren’t for your wife . . .”

  “Yes? By all means, finish your sentence. I do so want to hear of your feelings for my wife,” Nick taunted. “Have you fucked her, Winchester?”

  Winchester glared at him with such indignant anger that Nick knew the answer. His friend hadn’t bedded Julia. Relief cascaded through him briefly, until he remembered she’d bedded someone other than him.

  “You know I have not. I would not dishonor you in such a fashion, and Julia has been like a sister to me. And if you do not hold your tongue and listen to reason, Colton, I shall be forced to knock your teeth back in your throat.”

  Nick opened his mouth to dare Winchester to try, but the other man held up a hand. “No, for God’s sake, man, do not dare me to do it. What I have to say is too important. Just cease speaking until I finish.”