Behind the Courtesan

by Bronwyn Stuart

  Behind the Courtesan

  By Bronwyn Stuart

  When courtesan Sophia Martin returns to the village she fled as a young woman, she knows it won’t be a happy reunion—but she can’t refuse her brother’s request to attend his expectant wife. Trapped until the baby arrives, she must navigate the social rift she caused when she left to pursue a disreputable life—and keep the true reason for her departure from the man she once loved, the bastard son of the Duke who ruined her.

  Blake Vale has never forgotten Sophia, but he can’t accept the decisions she made, the courtesan’s life she leads, or the fact she’s cast aside her true self. Plain old Sophia has to be inside this hardened woman somewhere, and he’s determined to make her see she doesn’t need rich men to be happy, and that their future has nothing to do with the past.

  When the dukedom suddenly falls within his reach, Blake must come to terms with his own past and his birthright, and what that means for his future...and Sophia.

  73,000 words

  Dear Reader,

  April is when the romance conference season really starts to get busy for me. Every spring, I attend the RT Book Reviews convention, a gathering of about 500 authors, readers and publishing professionals who come together to celebrate their love of both romance and genre fiction. Each year, I come away from that conference, and the many others I attend that are focused on the love of books (like the Lori Foster Reader Get Together in Ohio), with a renewed enthusiasm for diving back into my to-be-read pile. As well as a long list of authors and books to add to that to-be-read pile! But because it’s a busy travel time of year for me, that also means more time on the plane and in airports for reading.

  Maybe you’re like me—traveling to conferences and in need of some plane reading. Or maybe you just need one more book to add to your to-be-read pile. Possibly you’ve got a newborn baby who keeps you up at night and gets you up early in the morning, and you need something you can read on the ereader in one hand while the baby is in the other. Or perhaps you’re just in search of a good book. You’re in luck; our April books can fill all those needs!

  The first book in our newest genre addition, New Adult, releases this month. If you love contemporary romance, sports romance, a (mostly) Jewish, spunky heroine and a hero who will make your heart melt, you’ll want to read Rush Me by debut author Allison Parr.

  This month, I’m pleased to introduce the first book in a six-book series written by four authors. Ginny Glass, Christina Thacher, Emily Cale and Maggie Wells kick off a series of contemporary romance short story collections with Love Letters Volume 1: Obeying Desire. Each volume will center around a different seriously sexy theme. I’ll bet you can’t guess what the theme of the first volume is, with a title like Obeying Desire! Look for the second volume, Love Letters Volume 2: Duty to Please, releasing in May 2013.

  Fans of contemporary romance will enjoy Saved by the Bride, the first book in a new trilogy by RITA® Award-winning author Fiona Lowe. Who knew that being a klutz and combining it with a distrust of wedding bouquets could lead to a black eye?

  Joining Fiona and Allison in the contemporary romance category is Kate Davies, with Cutest Couple, book two in Kate’s high-school reunion trilogy, Girls Most Likely to... Look for the conclusion of the trilogy, Life of the Party, in May 2013.

  Co-authors Anna Leigh Keaton and Madison Layle deliver another scorching Puma Nights story with Falke’s Renegade, while Jodie Griffin joins them in heating up your ereader with her third erotic BDSM Bondage & Breakfast book, Forbidden Fires.

  On the paranormal and science fiction front, we have a number of titles for fans. Veteran author Kate Pearce begins a new series with Soul Sucker, in which Moonlighting meets The X-Files in San Francisco Bay and two worlds collide. Kat Cantrell, winner of Harlequin’s 2011 So You Think You Can Write contest, joins Carina Press with her first science fiction romance, Mindlink, while returning author Eleri Stone gives us another jaguar shifter in Lost City Shifters: Rebellion, book three in this compelling series.

  Clockwork Mafia by Seleste deLaney brings us back to the Western steampunk world of Badlands. Inventor Henrietta Mason is retiring from airships and adventuring to return home to Philadelphia. Determined to erase all trails leading to her late father’s duplicity, she dismantles his lab and removes all records of the Badlands gold. And last but certainly not least in the paranormal category, Night of the Dark Horse by Janni Nell continues the adventures of Allegra Fairweather, paranormal investigator.

  This month, Bronwyn Stuart follows up her fantastic debut historical romance, Scandal’s Mistress, with her unique regency romance, Behind the Courtesan, featuring—you guessed it—a courtesan heroine.

  On the non-romance side, Jean Harrington brings us the third Murders by Design cozy mystery installment, Killer Kitchens.

  And joining Carina Press with an epic fantasy trilogy, Angela Highland tells the story of a half-elven healer with no control over her magic. Faanshi has always been a pawn of the powerful, but after healing two mysterious and very different men, she faces a choice that may decide the fate of a whole kingdom. If you love fantasy, pick up Valor of the Healer, book one in the Rebels of Adalonia trilogy.

  As you can see, April is full of books to distract you wherever you are, whatever you’re supposed to be doing, and even if you have a baby in your arms. I hope you enjoy these titles as much as we’ve enjoyed working on them.

  We love to hear from readers, and you can email us your thoughts, comments and questions to generalinquiries@carinapress.com. You can also interact with Carina Press staff and authors on our blog, Twitter stream and Facebook fan page.

  Happy reading!

  ~Angela James

  Executive Editor, Carina Press

  www.carinapress.com

  www.twitter.com/carinapress

  www.facebook.com/carinapress

  Dedication

  This book is for my girls who thankfully no longer want to be circus lions when they grow up. Now they want to write love stories just like their mum.

  Reach for your dreams and don’t let anyone or anything ever hold you back.

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  A note from the author

  About the Author

  Copyright

  Chapter One

  What men and women of the ton neglect to consider is that behind every courtesan is a woman, who, given another opportunity, would have been a duchess. Or perhaps a queen...

  Somewhere on the road to hell

  England, 1805

  Lions have lionesses, Maharajahs have their many wives and sheikhs, their harems. It seems no matter what manner of species one belongs to, all males think it their gift and right to have more than one female at their beck and call. It is no different with the men of the ton.

  Sophia Martin snorted and threw the leather-bound book to the damp carriage floor. It was all about sex. Family, duty, king and country all came second for males seeking sexual gratification.

  Drawing a long deep breath, she held it for four counts and then exhaled. Whenever her anxiety grew too grea
t, she would take a deep breath. So many times in her life it had worked. Not now. Not when she faced her largest hurdle to date.

  Blake.

  Brambles danced thorny cartwheels in her stomach until her breath once again came in short pants and her damp hands crushed the velvet of her lavender gown. What scared her most—being near a new baby, surrounded by happy families, or returning to the place where her life first fell to pieces? Already the condemnation reached out to greet her, to suck her in and spit her out, defeated and deflated. She half imagined sharpened pitchforks awaited her.

  Why had Matthew requested that she attend the birth of her niece or nephew? Why had she said yes? The whole situation seemed a cruel reminder of that which she would never experience. Tears pricked her eyes and made them burn as her hand drifted to her abdomen. Too late to change her mind now and far too late for regret.

  Once the carriage stopped rocking and creaking, the silence became oppressive. She waited for the driver to leap down from his perch to hand her down.

  Nothing happened.

  Sophia stood, her body stooped so she wouldn’t hit her head, and opened the carriage door. The first thing she saw was the reason the driver hadn’t done his job. The dirt yard of the tavern she remembered from her childhood was churned to wet, dark mud that would cover her soft kid boots and more if she were to jump down on her own.

  Not an option. “Johnson.” She called the driver’s name through clenched teeth.

  “Yes, ma’am?”

  “Get down here and do what I pay you for.”

  A snort reached her ears followed by his chuckled reply. “You don’t pay me enough to slog through that.”

  Had she known her frugality would make the difference between assistance and abandonment, she would have loosened her purse strings somewhat. It’s what she got for hiring the only man interested in driving a courtesan to the middle of nowhere during the wettest winter in years. Now she regretted not taking the Duke of St. Ives up on his offer of a carriage and driver but at the time, anonymity was foremost in her thoughts. No one could know where she had gone. “I’ll pay you a further guinea if you get down here and help me.”

  Johnson snorted again and the carriage rocked slightly but still he didn’t climb down. “Not for all the gold in London, lass.”

  “You can’t expect me to...to...” Her bottom lip quivered. She closed her teeth down on it in an effort to remain calm.

  “Don’t much care how. I could sit up here all day.”

  “Drive around another way,” she hissed.

  “Ain’t no other way. Rain’s washed everything to the same kind of sludge.”

  Cursing under her breath, she looked to the door of the tavern where a small crowd gathered for what was turning out to be their morning’s entertainment and wondered how they had all reached their destination. What she longed to see were boards or a paved walkway to the door but it seemed none of her wishes mattered that day.

  “An ale she falls flat on her face,” a voice cackled from the open doorway.

  “Two she falls on her arse.”

  The pair roared with uncouth laughter.

  The urge to huff and scream overwhelmed her, but she tamped down her fury for the moment. She gritted her teeth and said, “I’ll buy you both three if I can get some assistance.”

  One dirty face looked to the other and for a moment hope blossomed. Then, “No deal, lass.”

  “Four?” Useless tears stung her eyes once again and exhaustion made her heavy skirts drag at her legs and back.

  This time they didn’t reply, only guffawed and continued to watch.

  “What have we got, boys?” The voice that now echoed from the inn didn’t laugh. She sucked in a breath and started counting. She hadn’t expected to see him so soon. She wasn’t ready.

  Sophia straightened as fully as the low ceiling allowed. Slow drizzle made it difficult to see from where the voice would emerge, but before long, a man—familiar and yet not—emerged, his bulk filling the entire door frame.

  “Little Sophie, is that you?”

  Even from across the courtyard, she felt his gaze like a sudden pressure to her chest. It had been an age since anyone had called her Little Sophie. She pressed her lips together and tried to ignore the sarcastic tone to his question.

  “I suppose you’ll be wanting a hand, Madam?” he called from the dry stoop of the inn.

  “If it isn’t too much trouble.” Sophia waited and watched as Blake slipped his worn leather boots from his feet and yanked his woolen socks off. He then rolled his rough work pants to his knees, revealing long muscular calves—much to the amusement of the cackling animals.

  Sophia was so cold her lips wouldn’t do what she wanted and her teeth began to chatter against one another. “You needn’t undress. Just come and fetch me.”

  “I’ve already lost one pair of shoes to that mess and the stepping boards. I won’t lose anything else to it. I don’t know what the fuss is anyway. I’m sure your fine carriage is more comfortable than my inn.”

  The pits of hell couldn’t be any more uncomfortable, though at least there she’d be warm.

  As Blake took his first step into what had to be ice-cold mud, Sophia gave in to curiosity and studied the man he’d become. Brown wavy hair cropped short, a hint of gold shining through as a lone ray of sunshine pierced the clouds overhead.

  What drew her eyes more than anything else—and kept them fixed—were Blake’s arms. A workman’s muscles now bulged from shoulder to elbow where over a decade ago he had been skin and bones.

  Instant and unexpected warmth curled through her torso as she imagined those strong arms holding her close.

  Sophia shook her focus free, disgusted at herself.

  “Your chariot, Madam.” Blake held those arms out in front of her and waited, yet to meet her eyes with his.

  “I don’t think this is a good idea. I’m really heavier than I look.” Would his fingers curl about her back and legs? Was he as warm as he looked?

  Blake raised one dark brow, his gaze contemptible as he took in her gray half boots, her ruined, travel-stained gown, lingering on the swell of skin rising above her neckline to finally—finally—meet her eyes. The swirling color nearly swallowed his pupils whole, fairly stealing her breath away.

  Until he spoke.

  “If I can handle the cows in the paddock, I think I can handle you.”

  The guffaws of laughter and back-slapping made Sophia’s cheeks hot. Her anxiety made her words harsher, more childish, more defensive. “You cannot speak to me like that!” she huffed. “Where is the owner? Perhaps he will be a gentleman and rescue me.”

  “I doubt it, Duchess. Now will I carry you or would you like to go over my shoulder?”

  She lifted her chin. “You wouldn’t dare.” Blake’s mouth curved into a grin to rival Lucifer’s and he took a menacing step forward. Too late she recalled the words wouldn’t, couldn’t or can’t only ever served as a challenge. Clearly what occupied the space between his ears hadn’t developed as much as his body had.

  “Make your decision.”

  But Sophia didn’t really hear his words. She was caught up imagining what those long fingers and strong hands were capable of. She must be delirious. There was no other explanation. Surely a decade and a half away from the place she once called home made them veritable strangers?

  Within a breath the world around her tilted and she found herself upside down, her cheek rubbing against the ratty wool of Blake’s hard back as she struggled and tried to slip from his shoulder.

  His hold tightened. “Cut that out, or we’ll both be swimming in filth.”

  With his command, Sophia struggled in earnest until a large, warm hand closed over her bottom. Shock held her immobile, unable to utter a syllable, unable to tell him to remove both of his hands, the other of which now gripped her thigh to hold her legs still. His touch wasn’t harsh, it wasn’t repulsive or lecherous, but it was unwanted and unasked for. It had been year
s since a man had touched her without her permission and be damned if Blake got away with it either.

  Gritting her teeth, Sophia tried to find somewhere to put her hands, tried to find some purchase in case the buffoon decided to drop her. She looped her thumbs into the top of his worn trousers. If he let her slide into the mud, she was going to take some of his pride with her.

  “What are you doing?” he yelped and jumped a little, his deep voice no longer gravelly. “Your hands are like ice.”

  “If you drop me, Blake, your trousers are coming too.” If he wanted to put on a show for those watching, she would ensure she wasn’t the only clown in the act.

  The back beneath her cheek lurched with poorly concealed laughter.

  “This is not amusing,” she fumed, scrabbling to hold on.

  His body shook. “It has been the highlight of my day.”

  She protested with a violent wriggle to shore up her position. But then the unthinkable happened. The body beneath hers went rigid as she started to slide. Blake’s grip became bruising with the effort to hold her. She was jostled as he fought to keep his footing, but it was no use. One moment one of London’s most sought after courtesans hung over the shoulder of a brute, her hands tucked indecently into the waistband of his trousers, and the next they were both flailing for purchase, uselessly sliding, slipping, until they landed in the mud only two short feet from the doorway. Only one thought hovered in her mind in that indescribable moment...

  Mud was infinitely softer than stones or pitchforks or condemnation, but the sting was just as sharp.

  * * *

  Laughter built inside Blake’s chest until he could no longer contain the guffaws. It was the last sound she would want to hear but the situation was just too ridiculous.

  The noises she made suggested her mouth had filled with something even fouler than her disposition, which made the men in the tavern wild with hoots and calls of a lewd nature.

  “You did that on purpose,” she cried, flinging mud from her hands with a wild, angry shake.

  “I did not,” he replied, but a smile still stretched his face. He knew she wouldn’t believe him but he truly hadn’t intended to drop her. “The last thing I needed today was to go traipsing through the mud with your royal highness.”