A Pregnant Courtesan for the Rake

by Diane Gaston

  A roving, A roving, since roving’s been my ru-i-in,

  I’ll go no more a roving, with you fair maid.

  She remembered her day of roving with Oliver, how perfect he’d been. Would that day, though, be her ruin? She needed this job. She must not appear weak.

  ‘I am able to work.’ She stood again and walked to the door, but could not make it without holding on to the furniture.

  He came to her side. ‘Stop this nonsense,’ he said sharply.

  Warning bells sounded inside her.

  ‘You will not work the rest of this night,’ he said firmly. ‘I’ll walk you back to your hotel. Now.’

  Her anxiety rose. ‘Are you discharging me? I can do the work, Oliver. Believe me, I can do it. Let me return.’

  ‘I am not discharging you,’ he said. ‘But you are not working any more tonight. If you feel well enough tomorrow come back and I will give you the club schedule.’

  ‘You are not discharging me?’

  ‘No,’ he said, his voice lower.

  She would have another chance. ‘I need to change my clothes.’

  ‘No, you do not. Bring the dress back tomorrow.’ He placed her in another chair. ‘Where is your hotel? Do I need to summon a coach?’

  She shook her head. ‘Grenier’s. Nearby.’

  He gave her a puzzled look. ‘I asked for you at the Grenier. They did not know you.’

  ‘I gave them another name, Coquette Vincent.’ She switched to French. ‘Visite de Paris, France.’

  He did not ask her why. Instead, he said, ‘Sit here until I can have Snyder collect your cloak.’ He poured her another cup of tea.

  She tried sipping it again, but the nausea was worse. All she really wanted was to sleep for a week or more.

  He returned, wearing a topcoat and carrying her cloak. He helped her rise from the chair and wrapped her in the cloak. He put an arm around her and supported her while she walked.

  They left Vitium et Virtus by a private door that led to the garden. Her dizziness seemed to worsen with each step. Suddenly everything went black. For a moment she could hear the coaches and horses in the street, the music from the club.

  Then even the sounds stopped.

  Chapter Nine

  Cecilia woke in a strange room dimly lit by daylight peeking through curtained windows. She was in a bed, so comfortable she almost did not care that she had no idea where she was. She forced herself to sit up and look around.

  She wore her shift and corset, and was still in her stockings. Her hair was loosened from its pins.

  The room was not large, but cheerful with brightly coloured birds painted on vivid blue wallpaper. The chairs and bedcovers were a rich red and the mahogany furniture was accented in gold. She’d never seen a room quite like it.

  Where was she?

  Still feeling shaky and weak, she climbed out of the comfortable bed and found her slippers nearby. A man’s banyan was draped over a chair. The dress she had worn at Vitium et Virtus was folded neatly on a chest.

  She donned the banyan and tied it with a sash. There was plenty of fabric to cover her. The garment even reached the floor. Her hairpins were in a dish on a dressing table next to a brush and comb. She smoothed her hair back with the brush, twisted it into a chignon, and secured it with the hairpins.

  The room had three doors. One revealed a dressing room, another a cosy sitting room. She walked to the last door and opened it to a hallway across from which was another door, presumably another bedchamber. The stairway was in between.

  She paused in her doorway, trying to remember what happened. She remembered becoming dizzy at Vitium et Virtus. She remembered Oliver taking her to some private rooms in the club and insisting she go back to the hotel. She remembered him walking with her. After that, what?

  Waking to him carrying her. Taking her inside a house and calling for someone to help him. Being undressed and tucked into that glorious bed.

  She started down the stairway. Reaching the landing on the first floor, she could see to the hall below.

  A manservant stood there, but looked up at her approach. ‘Mrs Lockhart.’ His greeting was cordial.

  She remembered him. ‘I am in Mr Gregory’s house?’ He’d answered the door the day before.

  ‘That you are, ma’am,’ the servant said. ‘Mr Gregory asks that you join him for breakfast. I will show you the way.’

  The man did not seem to take notice of her unusual dress. He led her out of the hall as if nothing was amiss.

  He brought her to a small dining room and announced her presence. ‘Mrs Lockhart.’ Then left her there.

  Oliver, the only person seated in the room, rose.

  ‘Cecilia. You are awake.’ His greeting was curt, a mere acknowledgement that she was present.

  He walked around the table and guided her to the chair adjacent to his. ‘Sit. I will fix you a plate.’

  At the mention of food her nausea returned. ‘Is—is there toasted bread? Please. That is all I want.’

  He turned to the sideboard, which seemed to have a variety of foodstuffs, some emitting smells that were making her stomach roil. He placed a plate with two pieces of toasted bread on it in front of her.

  ‘Butter or jam?’ he asked.

  ‘Nothing,’ she said too sharply. ‘Nothing,’ she repeated in a more grateful tone.

  He lifted a teapot. ‘Tea?’

  She nodded.

  ‘Why—why am I here?’ she asked him.

  He poured her tea and placed the sugar and milk within her reach. ‘You don’t remember?’

  ‘Only a little.’

  He returned to his chair. ‘I was walking you to your hotel when you fainted. It seemed wiser to bring you here than carry you to the hotel.’

  She took a nibble of the toast and hoped it kept her from vomiting. ‘I am not by habit so weak.’

  He attended to his food. ‘My housekeeper assures me that your symptoms are not unusual for a woman who is with child, but, just in case, I have sent for a doctor.’

  ‘A doctor!’ She did not wish to endure another examination. ‘I—I am certain I am quite recovered. I do not need a doctor.’

  ‘If you faint in front of me and barely regain your wits, I will consult a doctor.’ He spoke in that firm, no-nonsense tone that put her guard up.

  She was not about to argue the point and risk making him angrier.

  Cecilia took another bite of her toast and chewed it carefully. ‘So I am not allowed to leave until this doctor arrives?’

  ‘Not allowed?’ He looked surprised. ‘You are not a prisoner, Cecilia. But the doctor has already been summoned. When he arrives, I want you to be examined by him.’

  She nodded, but she did not like this turn of events. He spoke of freedom, then dictated what he wanted her to do.

  They finished the breakfast in near silence. Cecilia concentrated on eating slowly and taking small sips of tea. Oliver read a newspaper.

  Before they were finished, the butler announced the doctor’s arrival.

  She met the man in the drawing room. Oliver came with her and introduced himself and Cecilia to the doctor.

  ‘Dr Ebersham,’ the man said, shaking first Cecilia’s, then Oliver’s hand. If he thought it untoward that a single man asked him to examine an unrelated widow, dressed in a man’s banyan, the doctor did not let on. ‘Now what seems to be the problem?’

  ‘I—I am going to have a baby,’ Cecilia admitted. She recounted her symptoms.

  Oliver described her fainting spell and her lack of being fully conscious later and then he excused himself.

  His departure surprised Cecilia. She had thought he would want to hear everything she and the doctor said, given his doubting of her before.

  The do
ctor listened to her heart with his wooden tube and pressed down on her abdomen. Thank goodness he did not want to examine inside her. He asked a great many questions about what she ate and drank, how much sleep she’d received, how much worry afflicted her.

  When he was finished, he asked her if she wished Oliver to hear his conclusions. Her normal instinct was to keep anything about herself private. And she might have insisted upon doing so had he remained in the room. But because Oliver respected her privacy, she was willing for him to hear what the doctor said.

  The doctor left the room to ask for him.

  When Oliver and the doctor returned, the physician said, ‘There is nothing serious. All you have experienced is not unexpected when a woman is enceinte.’ He smiled at Cecilia. ‘I do believe you should not exert yourself, though. Only do what feels comfortable for you to do. Do not fatigue yourself or strain yourself in any way. The nausea should pass after a few weeks. The dizziness may persist if you do not eat correctly and achieve sufficient rest.’

  All Cecilia could think was that she must work. She could not just rest!

  Oliver saw the doctor out and returned to the drawing room.

  ‘Do not tell me I cannot work!’ Cecilia cried as soon as he entered the room. ‘I have no money.’

  That was precisely what he’d been about to say, but the doctor warned about her getting upset.

  ‘I told you, Cecilia, I will support you, as you asked.’

  She averted her face as if he’d slapped her. ‘And I have told you, I need money of my own in case you do not.’

  * * *

  Perhaps he should settle a sum of money on her right now. If he did so, he was certain his friends—and his father—would consider him a gullible twit.

  Besides, if he gave her the funds now, she would leave and he was not ready for that to happen, not until he knew whatever it was she held back from him. And not until he knew her health was restored and she could give birth to this baby safely.

  He sat in one of the chairs.

  She still stood, her arms folded across her chest. ‘Well?’

  He tapped his fingers on the table, trying to determine what he should say to her. Something that would keep her healthy—and here—but would reassure her as well.

  Finally, she sat as well, tucking the banyan around her.

  ‘The doctor said you need to rest, to not exert yourself,’ he began.

  ‘Being a hostess is no exertion,’ she burst out. ‘All I do is stand around and talk.’

  He’d watched her. It took some energy to feign excitement over the roll of dice. And he doubted she’d ever sat in a chair. She’d certainly flagged quickly during the singing.

  He held up a hand. ‘Let me finish.’

  Her lovely lips pressed together in a stubborn expression, but she gave him her attention.

  ‘I cannot discharge you, not when Jacob hired you, but I certainly could attempt to exert some influence over his decision.’

  Her eyes flashed. ‘You would not dare.’

  He met her gaze. ‘Believe me, if I felt that was what I must do, I would do it and see it through.’

  Her defiance flickered.

  ‘Here is what I propose.’ He was making this up as he went along. ‘You may work, but you must rest in between. And if you cannot finish out an evening you must stop and leave before you make yourself ill.’

  She lifted her chin. ‘I’ll make it through next time. I’ll show you.’

  Did she not understand? ‘I don’t want you to show me, Cecilia. I want you to take care of yourself and the baby inside you.’ After the doctor’s visit, he at least knew there was a baby. ‘If you are worried about money, then it would behove you to leave that expensive hotel.’

  ‘I intend to find a less expensive place to live,’ she assured him.

  Any place less expensive was likely to be further away which meant she would be travelling the roads of London at two in the morning.

  ‘I can offer you a place to live that will cost you nothing.’ What was he thinking? ‘You will be close to Vitium et Virtus so if you do get fatigued you can quickly go home.’

  ‘Where can there possibly be a place that will cost me nothing?’ she scoffed.

  He fixed his gaze on her. ‘Here. Come and live here.’

  Her eyes widened. ‘Here? In this house?’

  He nodded. ‘In this house. It is not a large town house, but there is room enough for you. You saw the second bedchamber. It has a sitting room. When you are here, you can be as private as you like.’

  She peered at him. ‘What sort of payment is expected of me?’

  ‘Cut line, Cecilia,’ he said sharply. ‘I may not look like a gentleman, but I am one.’

  He’d heard his stepmother call him names because of his appearance. Even some of the women with whom he’d had affairs called him savage.

  ‘I am not talking about how you look,’ she shot back. ‘Gentlemen of all shapes and sizes give gifts so they might get something in return.’

  He glared at her. ‘You have been around me enough to take that much measure of my character.’

  She crossed her arms over her chest. ‘Then are you not worried it is too scandalous to share a house with a widow?’

  He shrugged. ‘By whose estimation? I am a bastard son and you work in a gentlemen’s club that I part-own. I do not think anyone expects propriety from either of us.’

  Her eyes flashed at him. ‘At least you did not say it was my interesting condition that makes me scandalous.’

  ‘Your interesting condition makes it sensible for you to live here.’

  ‘I do not see how,’ she protested.

  ‘Because it is free and you are close.’ He was puzzled by her, but exasperated as well. ‘What is your objection?’

  Her brow furrowed and she pursed her lips.

  ‘You say it is my child inside you,’ he went on, because his doubts about her story were growing again. ‘But perhaps it is not and that is why you do not wish to accept my offer.’

  ‘The baby is yours,’ she insisted.

  ‘Then live here.’ If he was ever to discover the truth about her, he needed her close by. ‘You do not need to return to the hotel. I will send Irwin to collect your things and pay your bill.’

  ‘Irwin?’

  ‘My butler,’ he explained. ‘You stay here and rest.’

  ‘Where will you be?’ she asked.

  ‘I need to go to the club for a while.’ He did not need to go to the club, but her reluctance to share his house kindled memories of his stepmother refusing to live with him as soon as they reached England. He was immediately sent away to school.

  She stared at him. ‘What will the rules be if I live here?’

  ‘Rules?’ He’d always been against rules. He gave her a blank look. ‘Do not destroy the furnishings?’

  She blew out an exasperated breath. ‘I mean, I must be free to come and go as I please.’

  ‘Of course.’ He thought more about this, though. ‘I may want to restrict who may visit you, however.’

  She caught on right away. ‘No scores of men in my bed, do you mean?’

  He met her eye. ‘That is precisely what I mean.’

  ‘That is hardly a worry.’ She laughed drily. ‘Even if I wished to entertain gentlemen—which I most assuredly do not—who would call upon me?’

  Men she met at Vitium et Virtus, perhaps?

  She took a breath. ‘So... I will abide by your terms.’

  He should not be this glad. ‘We have a bargain, then?’

  He reached over to her, extending his hand.

  She hesitated. ‘Will I have to pay for food?’

  ‘No,’ he responded. ‘You will not have to pay for your rooms or your food.
I offer them at my pleasure.’

  She finally clasped her hand with his.

  Her touch set off a flare of desire within him and a memory of bare skin against bare skin, of lovemaking and shared pleasure.

  He released her and wondered what he had done to himself by inviting the intimacy of sharing this house.

  * * *

  Cecilia could still feel the warmth of his hand on hers even though their handshake was quick. In Paris she’d thought he would merely be a pleasant memory. Never did she conceive of actually living with him day after day. She’d never wanted to live with a man again. Never wanted to be under a man’s control again.

  But this was simply too tempting an offer. Free food. Free room. She could save every bit of what she made at Vitium et Virtus. And if he did give her enough money for her and the baby to live on, all the better.

  But not expecting anything of her in return? That made her suspicious.

  ‘Is there pen and paper?’ she asked. ‘I will write a note for the hotel.’

  He rose and walked over to a table with a drawer. He took out a sheet of paper, an inkpot and a pen. He handed them to her and sat back in his chair.

  She leaned over to write the note on the side table. When she was finished she handed it to him. ‘I have some coins stitched in my valise. If Irwin could pay the hotel bill, I will pay back the money when he returns.’

  Oliver took the note. ‘I am well able to afford your hotel bill.’

  He would pay her hotel bill? That meant even more obligation to him. She knew how it would be. The more he did for her, the more control he would have over her.

  But she must go along with it for the baby’s sake.

  ‘Irwin should have no difficulty,’ she said. ‘My valise is packed with everything I own.’ In case she had to leave in a hurry—a habit she’d acquired from living with Duncan.

  ‘I am certain Irwin will have no difficulty,’ he assured her.

  She stood. ‘May I retire to the bedchamber now?’

  He stood as well. ‘You do not need my permission, Cecilia.’

  She nodded. ‘It is just that I am suddenly fatigued again.’

  ‘You do not need to explain.’ He gave her a concerned look. ‘Are you feeling unwell? Do you require anything?’