The Courtesan Duchess

by Joanna Shupe

  At Nick’s terse nod, Winchester began. “I’ve known your wife since she was seven.” Nick gave a sound of impatience, and Winchester snapped, “I know this is not new information, but let me get it all out.

  “Though I am almost nine years older, your wife is the sister I never had. Every holiday, I came home from school and there she was, running around with the villagers as if she wasn’t the daughter of a marquess. Their title can be traced back to Charles II, but Julia wasn’t snobbish or judgmental. Everyone liked her. She’s one of the best people I’ve ever known, man or woman.”

  Nick shifted, uncomfortable. He didn’t want to hear of his wife’s virtues just now—or ever, really—but he didn’t interrupt as Winchester continued.

  “Now what you are unaware of is that her father had creditors banging down the door. We didn’t find out until it was too late, of course, but he had quite a gambling problem. She had no dowry. And because your father and the marquess were friends, the duke paid a good deal of money for Julia. Money that was soon gone a few years later.”

  Winchester took a sip of claret. “This is important because of what happened when you left. Julia’s father died a year after your wedding. Upon his death, she discovered everything would need to be sold off in order to pay his gaming debts. She received no inheritance from him whatsoever.”

  Nick cursed softly, and Winchester nodded. “Indeed. Julia had a little money of her own, left to her when her mother died many years ago, but it was not much. She did, however, receive a stipend from the Colton estate, arranged by her father at the time of the wedding. It was little more than pin money, really. Your mother did not even want Julia to have that, but could not prevent it. She did prevent Julia from living in any of the ducal properties, however. So Julia was forced to be careful and frugal, and along with whatever money her aunt had, the two of them rented their small town house in Mayfair. Remember your second cousin, Lord Templeton?”

  Nick shrugged. “Barely.”

  “A few years after your father died, Templeton produced documents asserting his position as guardian to the Colton estate in your absentia. Your mother could have stopped him, but she didn’t, and Templeton continued to wrest more and more control—and money—away for himself.

  “He’s been whittling down Julia’s stipend for the last three years. When she realized her funds were desperately low, your wife paid a visit to your mother.”

  Nick winced, thinking as he swirled the brandy in his glass. Julia must have been quite desperate to see the dowager duchess. No doubt his mother would refuse help to anyone having anything to do with her least favorite son. So why hadn’t Julia written to him? Winchester had known where to find him over the years. His wife could have asked for help, and he . . . might have interceded on her behalf.

  Winchester said, “One can imagine how that conversation went over. Julia became desperate when your mother refused to help her. And then Templeton came to see her one more time, informing her of a further reduction in her stipend. This made her quite frantic because they were already financially strapped. When she protested, your cousin told her how she could supplement her stipend—by performing sexual favors for him. And if you dare suggest she agreed to it, I will strangle you with my bare hands.”

  Nick said nothing. Several theories swirled in his head but none were suitable for sharing with Winchester. The man would defend the duchess with his dying breath, apparently.

  “You’ve left her alone for eight bloody years, Colton. She’s been preyed upon, cheated, and left nearly destitute because of your family. You are the one who stood before God and promised to care and provide for her—and you’ve done neither. The scheme to seduce you, while unwise, was her last effort to gain a bit of control for herself. She believed if she could give birth to your child, the Colton heir, your mother would provide more financial support for her.”

  Nick swallowed more brandy, absorbing Winchester’s words. Yes, he had promised to love and honor his wife, but it had been a vow made unwillingly. He’d never wanted to be married. But perhaps leaving her to fend for herself for eight years had been rather . . . uncharitable of him.

  Still, she had no right to trick him. And the idea she’d been a virgin that first time was ludicrous. She’d ridden him in a chair, for God’s sake. Ladies of quality were raised to undertake marital relations only while in bed, in the dark of night, under the covers with only the smallest amount of contact. He’d spilled his seed in her mouth. No gently bred lady would allow such a thing. No, he and Julia both knew the truth. Time would prove him right.

  Winchester was watching him carefully, so Nick asked, “Are you finished?”

  Winchester sighed and nodded.

  “You might believe that tale, but I do not. I bedded her, and I’m telling you she was no virgin. Experienced in ways no untried lady could ever claim to be.”

  Winchester began to protest and Nick held up a hand. “No, I listened to you, so now you listen to me. While the story of financial woe certainly rings true—which I will rectify at my first opportunity—I believe she found herself with child, coerced you into bringing her to Venice, and seduced me to legitimize her bastard.”

  “That is preposterous!” Winchester bellowed, claret sloshing in his glass as he flew to his feet. “She was experienced because she’d hired a courtesan to give her advice. Jesus, Colton!” He began pacing. “Must you think the worst of everyone? I know your mother ignored you and your father was an arse, but the rest of the world is not all like that. Julia would never trick you in such a manner. Not in a hundred years. She has too much pride.”

  Nick rose as well. “Well, I suppose we’ll find out when the child is born, will we not? I’ve done the counting. If the baby is mine, it shall be born in September.”

  “And Julia is supposed to wait seven months for you to acknowledge the child she carries? God, you are stubborn. Do you know what the tabbies and printmakers will do to her reputation in that amount of time? I know you are angry, but to allow them to rip her apart is extraordinarily cruel—even for you. And what of your child’s reputation? Think of someone other than yourself for a change, Colton.”

  Nick had not considered the gossip, but he wasn’t about to admit it to Winchester. A small amount of guilt nagged at him. Then he came up with a solution that solved both the problem of Julia’s reputation as well as whoever was cuckolding him. “Fine. I’ll send her away from Town, to Seaton Hall.”

  Winchester chuckled. “If you think she’ll agree to that, you’re cracked.”

  “She won’t have a choice.”

  “Nick, you should know—” Winchester started, then stopped. He shook his head and looked away.

  “What?”

  “No, I will not involve myself further. You are on your own and may God help you both.” He tossed the rest of the claret into his mouth and placed the glass on a table, then gave Nick a hard look. “Just do not hurt her. Or I’ll come after you, I swear.”

  Late that afternoon, a footman from Colton’s staff arrived with a note. It was brief:

  Pack. You leave for Seaton Hall in the morning.

  N.S.

  Julia’s eye began twitching, so she pressed two fingers on the area, massaging.

  “What is it?” Theo asked.

  “I am being ordered to Seaton Hall.” She looked up at the footman. “I’ll need to send a reply. If you’ll give me a moment.”

  He nodded and went to wait in the corridor while Julia showed the note to her aunt.

  “Not a man of many words, is he?” Theo mumbled. “What will you say?”

  “Tell him no, of course.” Julia went to her writing desk where she picked up her pen. “Is ‘Go to the blazes’ too harsh a reply?” she asked Theo.

  “Not in my opinion, but you’ve got to soothe his pride, I’m afraid. A little sweetness goes a long way with a man.”

  Julia muttered all sorts of horrible things about male pride under her breath before putting pen to paper. She wro
te:

  I appreciate your concern, but I believe that course of action unwise. It is much too soon for my confinement.

  J.S.

  She sent off the reply, then had a good chuckle with Theo over it. The very idea of being shipped off to his country estate . . . Why would he ever think she’d agree to such a thing? She went back to her book, satisfied the matter would be dropped.

  Twenty minutes later, the duke’s footman returned.

  You are my wife, madam, and shall therefore go wherever I tell you. My carriage will arrive at eight o’clock tomorrow morning. If you are not ready and waiting, Fitz has instructions to collect you as you are.

  N.S.

  Theo clucked her tongue when she read the note. “I suppose we best get you packed.”

  “I have no intention of going,” Julia stated emphatically. “Let Fitz come and take me, then. Colton cannot force me to do anything.”

  Theo raised her eyebrows. “Really, Julia. I am not sure such a battle will benefit the babe.”

  A twinge of guilt lodged in her chest. The last thing she wanted to do was harm her child. Could Theo be right? “How long does Colton expect me to stay there? The idea of forcing me from my home is . . . medieval.”

  “Well, we cannot be all doom and gloom. It will be best for the baby to be born in the country. Merely approach it as an opportunity to get settled before you’re too far along.”

  Julia drummed her fingers on the table. She had thought to travel to the country in her sixth or seventh month. Perhaps going earlier made sense. She sighed. “If I go, please tell me you’ll come with me.”

  “You know how I hate the country, my dear. All that fresh air and tedium. I shall make you miserable.”

  “Please, Aunt Theo. I need you there. Just until the baby’s born.”

  Mentioning the baby did the trick, as Julia suspected it might. Theo’s face softened and she nodded. “I cannot refuse when you put it like that. Of course I’ll go with you. Lud, I had better go see to the packing right away.”

  Julia smiled. “Thank you, Theo. I don’t know what I would do without you.”

  Theo came over and hugged her. “I feel the same about you. You’ve kept me from being a lonely old widow all these years.”

  Julia wiped her eyes. “Heavens, I’ve never cried this much in my life.”

  “It’s the babe,” Theo said, heading to the door. “It’ll get better.”

  Julia penned a reply:

  I have decided to go, as the country air will benefit the babe. My aunt has agreed to join me. Are you coming as well?

  J.S.

  It wasn’t until dinnertime that the duke replied. Julia and Theo were in the small dining room, enjoying turtle soup, when the duke’s footman reappeared. She opened the note and read Colton’s response:

  No.

  N.S.

  No explanation, no promise to visit her. One word had been all her husband could spare. A single word from the man who’d pursued Mrs. Leighton so ardently in Venice. Angrier than she wanted to admit, Julia crumpled the paper in her fist and dropped it in her nearly untouched bowl of soup.

  The small, childish gesture made her feel better.

  “Would Your Grace care to send a reply?” Colton’s footman asked, his eyes aghast at seeing the duke’s missive float atop the turtle soup.

  “No, that will not be necessary.”

  When she and Theo were alone again in the dining room, Julia told her of the exchange.

  “He’s not coming?” Theo shrieked.

  “No. I do not know whether to be furious or relieved. Eight years that man has been gone, and the minute he comes home, orders me to one of his country estates. Alone! What is he thinking?”

  “I fear you have your work cut out for you when it comes to your husband.”

  Julia sighed. “I know. He’s angry and it’s clear he does not want to see me. Perhaps it is for the best.”

  “Best, my arse. How are two people supposed to—” She sighed and picked up her spoon. “No wonder someone wants to kill that man.”

  “Aunt Theo!” Julia loved her aunt, but the woman sometimes said the most outrageous things.

  “Well, it’s true. Now, it might be the sherry, but I cannot seem to recall where Seaton Hall is located.”

  “Just outside Norfolk. I’ve only been once, when I sought help from the dowager duchess. It’s a beautiful property. We’ll need bread crumbs, however, to ensure we can find our way around it.”

  “I’ll make sure to pack some,” Theo said with a grin. She gestured to Julia’s bowl. “Would you care for more soup, dear?”

  Irritable and restless, Nick paced in his study. It was too late to deal with Templeton tonight, so he had no outlet for this burning, itchy feeling beneath his skin. Part frustration, part anger, and part something else that felt close to guilt had him unable to sit down.

  Winchester’s earlier words still haunted him. He didn’t like contemplating the pain and suffering Julia had gone through in his absence. What had his mother been thinking? Turning the estate over to Templeton was nothing short of foolish, and his mother had always been a shrewd, calculating woman. Had it been a ploy to get her son to return to England? Now that she had died, he’d never get the chance to ask her.

  So Julia and Winchester had not been lovers. Who had it been, then? Who had his wife invited to her bed? Wyndham seemed the most likely. But there could have been more than one lover in her past. After all, Julia’s depth of experience would not have come from one or two quick tups in the garden during a ball. Nor did it come from a conversation or two with a courtesan. No, some man had gone to a great deal of effort to educate his wife. Taught her where to touch, how to kiss. Shown her the exact way to drive a man wild.

  And Nick planned to find out exactly who it had been.

  He pictured her, the last time before they parted in Venice, her luscious lips wrapped around the head of his cock, and he almost groaned. The need for her was there, simmering in his gut, despite the fact she had duped him. Unfortunately, his body did not care what his mind knew. And he wanted her so badly he feared he would go mad from it.

  Well, the time had come to do something about it.

  Nick strode to the door. “Marlowe,” he shouted. “Have my carriage sent round.”

  Marlowe appeared and instructed a footman to run out to the mews. “Your coat, Your Grace?”

  By the time he’d gathered his coat, hat, and cane, the carriage had pulled around to the front door, Fitz at the reins. Nick gave an address he hadn’t forgotten in eight years.

  The trip did not take long, and soon Nick bounded up the stairs of the unassuming three-story house. One would never guess from the outside that this was the most elite brothel in London, a place Nick remembered quite well. A man nearly Fitz’s size opened the door, and Nick sauntered inside.

  Madame Hartley rushed over. “Your Grace. I heard you had returned. I so hoped you would come and see me.”

  With her delicate features and graceful manners, Madame Hartley was a beautiful woman. Nick took in her tasteful lemon-colored silk evening dress and gloves. If one saw her on the streets of London, one would never know she was the abbess of the most exclusive nunnery in the city.

  “How could I stay away?” Nick murmured as a footman offered a drink on a salver. Whisky. She had remembered. “I see little has changed in eight years.”

  In the main salon off to the right, richly patterned red wallpaper surrounded elegant furniture, where the fashionable men of the ton socialized with Madame’s girls. Right now, business was brisk. No fewer than six men relaxed around the room with drinks in hand, settled in for an evening of civilized debauchery.

  Nick inhaled deeply, the familiar scent of cheap, cloying perfume mixed with sex like a balm to his lascivious soul. For him, this was home. He’d spent more nights here than he could count.

  A fact his brother had thrown in Nick’s face that one fateful night. You’ve treated my wife no better than one
of Hartley’s whores. Perhaps Father is right. Perhaps you don’t know the difference between a whore and a lady.

  “Do you have any specific requests this evening, Your Grace? Or would you care to wait and see if anyone strikes your fancy?” Madame Hartley started to lead him toward the main salon but Nick stopped her.

  “I trust you, Madame. We know each other well enough.”

  Her lips tilted upward. “Yes, we do, Your Grace. A redhead this evening, I think.” She turned and whispered to a girl nearby. Nick almost called her back to say under no circumstances did he want a redhead. But God, he did. He wanted one redhead in particular.

  Maybe tonight he could forget her.

  A few minutes later, Nick was led to what he knew to be the largest and plushest of the second-floor rooms. Having once been a regular customer had its benefits, he realized. The bed was large and a nice-sized marble fireplace rested on one wall, a cheerful fire blazing in the grate. The room was masculine, done in dark greens, blues, and heavy wooden furniture. Erotic drawings adorned the walls.

  Nick was left alone to wait—but not for long.

  When the door opened, a girl appeared and his heart almost stopped. It was uncanny. She looked so much like Juliet, he could scarcely breathe. Luscious, bountiful breasts, a small waist, fiery red hair piled on top of her head. Then his eyes flicked to her face and he immediately saw the differences. This woman didn’t have Juliet’s fine features or creamy white skin. No, she was coarser, less refined. And her eyes were brown where Juliet’s were the clearest blue you’d ever hope to see....

  Nick shook himself. He would forget her.

  Lifting a finger, he beckoned the girl toward him. She moved forward with a saucy swing to her hips then bobbed a curtsy. “Your Grace. Would you like to have a drink first?”

  Nick shook his head. “No, that won’t be necessary.”