A Pregnant Courtesan for the Rake

by Diane Gaston

There were bedrooms in the club, the rooms where willing men and women could retire and indulge their passions. Or in the case of some of the women, make some money.

  ‘I will ask.’ If Oliver refused her, Cecilia would take her to her own rooms to spend the night. ‘Will you wait here?’

  ‘Here or in the servants’ hall,’ Flo said.

  Cecilia nodded. ‘Tomorrow morning I will come back here and we will cover your bruise.’

  They would be alone, then. Maybe when they were alone, Flo would tell her who was beating her.

  She hugged Flo and left to put a dusting of powder on her face and tint on her cheeks and lips like Vincent had taught her, with a light touch. She found her mask, made from feathers dyed purple. She filed past the dancers and wished them a good performance.

  Lanie waited for her in the hallway. ‘How did you manage it, Coquette? Coquette. Such a silly name.’

  ‘I agree,’ Cecilia responded, determined not to make an enemy of the girl. ‘Coquette is a silly name.’

  ‘That is not my question.’ Lanie looked peeved. ‘How did you manage to snare Oliver? He has refused any attachment to the rest of us.’

  ‘Lanie.’ Cecilia spoke as kindly as she could. ‘Do not fret over this. I’ve explained the nature of my relationship with Mr Gregory. There is no reason to be in such a high dudgeon.’

  ‘The nature of your relationship?’ Her voice mimicked someone haughty.

  What truly was the nature of her relationship with Oliver, though? Cecilia did not know. His actions were kind and generous, but she often caught him looking at her with anger in his eyes. He did not trust her or believe her.

  But if he touched her, even to help remove her cloak, her senses flared in response as if there was still something romantic between them. Like in Paris.

  She shook the thought from her head.

  ‘Leave it, Lanie,’ she said.

  She continued down the corridor to the stairs leading to the hall where Snyder stood guard. At least that was how Cecilia always thought of it. She was pleased the large man was always nearby. Just in case.

  She had been propositioned many times by the men in the game room. Some were very displeased she did not accept their offers. Some offered her as much as Madame Coquette earned in Paris.

  She passed the ballroom and glimpsed Oliver standing near the stage. He turned and watched her walk by. She felt his gaze upon her as if it were a touch.

  Members and guests were already arriving. The Queen’s death increased attendance, as if mourning the Queen was less important than card-playing, gambling and watching bawdy entertainment.

  At the door of the game room she hesitated. Taking a breath, she closed her eyes and transformed herself into Coquette.

  * * *

  Oliver walked to the door of the ballroom after Cecilia passed. At the door to the game room her demeanour changed. She became more fluid, her posture more relaxed, her neck looser. When she entered the room, her hips swayed.

  She’d become Coquette.

  He watched this transformation almost every night the club was open. Could she feign such sensuality?

  How could she be two such different women?

  Coquette was sensual, approachable, light-hearted. She drew men out so that suddenly they were talking with her, confiding in her. Cecilia was guarded, wary and cool.

  No, she was three women, not two. The Cecilia he’d met in Paris was vulnerable, sad and passionately loving.

  These changes intrigued him as much as they fed his suspicions of her. Who was she really? And why did she hide her true self?

  He entered the game room, but remained at its doorway, pretending to check the room, but really watching her.

  She greeted several of the members she undoubtedly recognised and soon was laughing with them and encouraging them to play hazard. Was she pretending to be excited by each roll of the dice? She must be, although she did it so well she had him believing it.

  After a few minutes she left the men at the hazard table and walked towards the door. When she saw Oliver there, she seemed to lose Coquette for a moment and become Cecilia.

  ‘Fetching drinks,’ she said to him as she passed him.

  She brought two of the members at the hazard table glasses of brandy, watched them for a little while and made her way to the faro table. There were only three members there. Two of them greeted her. The third man sidled up to her, effectively separating her from the other men.

  Oliver tensed. He recognised a man attempting a conquest. Why should it bother him? He had no claim on Cecilia.

  Still, it roused his emotions to think she might accept.

  Instead, she stepped away from the man and abruptly left the table. She walked swiftly to the doorway, her expression one of distress.

  She passed Oliver without seeming to see him.

  He went after her, catching up to her in the hallway. ‘What is it, Cecilia? What did that member say to you?’

  ‘Nothing.’ She could not look at him, though, and she backed away as if wanting to flee.

  He seized her arm. ‘Come with me.’

  He brought her into the private rooms of the club and removed his mask. ‘Now, tell me what happened.’

  She pulled her mask off as well. ‘Nothing happened. It is just that...’ She paused and seemed to have difficulty composing herself enough to speak. ‘I—I recognised him.’

  ‘Someone you knew from before?’ he asked cautiously.

  She laughed with disdain. ‘I should say so.’

  She’d met Bowles in Paris. But the man who’d spoken to her was not Bowles; Oliver could tell. There must have been other men. ‘Who is he?’

  Her eyes narrowed. ‘You told me never to reveal a member’s identity.’

  ‘Cecilia, tell me who it is.’

  She met his eye again, but this time hers were full of pain. ‘My father.’

  ‘Your father?’ Her father was a member? ‘Who is your father?’

  She glanced away as if considering whether or not to tell him. She glanced back. ‘Baron Dorman.’

  Dorman? She was Dorman’s daughter? A member of the aristocracy?

  ‘He did not recognise me.’ Her voice cracked.

  Oliver took her in his arms and held her tightly against him. She clung to him and repeated in a more agonised tone, ‘He did not recognise me.’

  He wanted only to soothe her. ‘Of course he did not recognise you. You wore a mask.’

  ‘I recognised him!’ she cried.

  He probably did not look above her neck, Oliver thought.

  She pulled out of Oliver’s embrace. ‘How dare he gamble! When I was at home, all he did was complain about how much my sisters and I cost him. How he could not afford decent dowries for us. How dare he be so foolish as to play faro!’

  Faro was simply a game of chance. The cards were either with you or against you, no skill involved whatsoever.

  She paced in front of him. ‘I hardly know what to say or do!’

  ‘Would you like me to confront him, Cecilia?’ he asked.

  She stopped and faced him, obviously considering this. Finally, she met his eye. ‘No. Not you. I want to confront him.’

  ‘Then I will bring him to you.’

  ‘Here?’ she asked.

  ‘Here.’

  She had a look of steely resolve. ‘Yes. Bring him here.’

  ‘I will remain nearby.’ In case that feeling of panic returned, the one with which she entered the room. Her panic had swiftly transformed into anger, her apparent feelings of weakness, into strength.

  She nodded.

  He tied his mask on once more and left the room to make his way back to the public rooms and to Lord Dorman who was still at the faro table, losing his money.


  ‘Sir?’ Oliver did not call him by name. ‘Coquette would like a private word with you.’

  The man puffed up like a rooster. ‘Coquette? Private? Yes, indeed. Thought she would.’ He followed Oliver eagerly. ‘Back in the private rooms, no doubt.’

  ‘My private rooms.’ Oliver escorted him through the owners’ entrance, taking off his mask as he crossed the threshold.

  ‘Should I remove my mask?’ Dorman asked.

  ‘If you so desire,’ Oliver replied. ‘It is entirely up to you.’

  Dorman removed his mask and combed his thinning hair with his fingers.

  When they reached the door to the drawing room, Cecilia stood with her back to them. She turned as they entered. She’d donned her mask again.

  Her father approached her and bowed. ‘Lord Dorman at your service, my dear.’

  She lifted her chin. ‘I know who you are.’

  The man simpered. ‘Then I am excessively honoured.’

  ‘Are you, sir?’ she responded haughtily.

  This was yet another Cecilia, Oliver thought. Strong and sure. He could not help but be fascinated.

  She smiled at Dorman, slipping back into Coquette’s seductive style. ‘How has your luck been at the faro table?’

  ‘About to turn at any moment.’ Dorman laughed. ‘But you must not worry your pretty little head over it.’

  ‘Must I not?’ she simpered.

  She was playing him with finesse, Oliver thought. He had no idea where she was leading the man, but he admired her for it.

  She smiled again. ‘Are you pleased that I asked to see you in private?’

  Dorman lowered his voice. ‘I am very pleased, my dear. I trust you will not be disappointed that you requested me.’

  Dorman took another step towards her. Cecilia took a step back and Oliver braced himself to intervene on her behalf, should it become necessary.

  ‘I am disappointed.’ Her tone turned sharp.

  ‘Disappointed? But, why? How can I change your mind?’ Dorman sputtered.

  She fixed her gaze on him. ‘You do not recognise me, do you?’

  ‘Should I?’ he asked.

  ‘You should.’ She pulled off her mask.

  Chapter Eleven

  It took several painful seconds for Cecilia to finally see recognition dawn on her father’s face. Had she truly been so unimportant to him that he had not committed her face to memory?

  ‘You!’ he said breathlessly, his face blanched.

  Not even using her name.

  ‘I know I am not so altered that a father would not remember me after a little more than three years,’ she said. ‘A loving father, that is. Not one who declares me dead to him.’

  He turned red. ‘You disgraced the family!’

  ‘You could have prevented that if you had accepted the marriage.’ That had been what Duncan expected. If her father had accepted the marriage, society would have forgiven the elopement and that would have been an end to any scandal.

  ‘Accept the marriage?’ Her father huffed. ‘He was a nobody!’

  She glanced over at Oliver, who stood by the door in the shadows so she could not see his reaction. She’d told him about her marriage, at least about eloping and being disowned.

  ‘Look at you now,’ he said scathingly. ‘He has you working as a strumpet. I dare say if anyone does recognise you, it will be more scandal for your sisters and your mother.’

  ‘Take care, sir.’ Oliver spoke in a sinister tone. ‘Your daughter works here as a hostess, nothing else. And, since you were so eager to accept her favours, do not think your hypocrisy is lost on either of us.’

  Cecilia added, ‘What is more, I would not be forced into this position if you and Mama had taken me in. Mr Gregory was kind enough to hire me so I would not starve.’

  Her father laughed derisively. ‘What? That no-good husband of yours is not even supporting you?’

  ‘He is dead.’

  Cecilia touched her abdomen and thought of the baby growing inside her. She once thought that her parents would welcome her back because of the baby. Now she did not consider her father worthy of learning of the baby’s existence.

  She went on. ‘I wonder how much money you have lost gambling at this club? As much as my dowry would have cost you? How very convenient to refuse to provide that money to Duncan so you could lose it gambling. Tell me, are my sisters still fighting over the dwindling resources?’

  ‘Your sisters married. Respectably,’ he shot back. ‘But, if it had not been for you, they could have married much higher.’

  She ignored that statement. ‘Does Mama know you gamble at Vitium et Virtus? Is she still forced to make economies? To deny herself?’

  His eyes flashed in panic. ‘You would not tell your mother I am a member!’

  ‘Or that you were ready for a dalliance with your own daughter?’ she added with sarcasm.

  Oliver stepped forward. ‘Except you are no longer a member of Vitium et Virtus.’

  ‘What?’ Her father sounded outraged. ‘You have no cause to expel me.’

  ‘I do not need a cause, except that I do not like the way you treat your daughter,’ Oliver said.

  Her father took a step towards him. ‘Why, you half-caste bastard! Wait until I take this to the Duke. Or to Challenger. We will see who is expelled.’

  Oliver stood his ground. ‘I implore you to take this to the Duke. Or to Frederick. Do not forget to explain how eager you were to be private with Coquette.’

  ‘I am certain Mama would like to know about that,’ Cecilia added. ‘As well as about the gambling.’

  Oliver extended his arm towards the door. ‘Unless Cecilia has more to say to you, let me show you out.’

  ‘I am quite finished,’ she said.

  * * *

  Oliver escorted Lord Dorman to the door to the club’s rooms.

  ‘Put on your mask,’ he ordered, pulling his own from his pocket.

  Dorman fumbled for his mask and managed to affix it well enough. When he again wore the disguise required by Vitium et Virtus, Oliver opened the door and led him to the hall where Snyder was in attendance.

  ‘This guest is leaving,’ Oliver said. ‘And he is not welcome to return.’

  ‘As you wish, Mr Gregory.’ Snyder was particularly astute in recognising members under their masks. If he was not certain, he could take them to a more private area and have them remove the mask and verify their identity.

  ‘I’ll not forget this, Gregory,’ Dorman snapped.

  Oliver gave him a contemptuous smile. ‘I’ll not forget either, Dorman. Neither will my friends. Cause me or the lady trouble and neither will the other members of Vitium et Virtus.’

  Dorman’s eyes flashed in alarm.

  Snyder handed the man his topcoat, hat and gloves. When Dorman had donned them, Snyder walked to the door to the outside and opened it.

  ‘An abomination! That is what this is. An abomination!’ Dorman strode out, and Snyder closed the door behind him.

  ‘So what did he do?’ Snyder asked.

  Since Snyder was the gatekeeper, he needed to know. It helped him bar members if they tried to return.

  ‘Coquette knew something about him, about his mistreatment of his family,’ Oliver responded. ‘If he tries to return, simply inform him that we will tell his wife all about him.’

  Snyder smiled. ‘I dare say I could threaten any of them with that statement.’

  Oliver answered in the same tone, ‘Unless the wives attend, as well.’

  ‘Indeed.’ Snyder grinned.

  Oliver returned to Cecilia, finding her seated on the sofa, her hands pressed against her abdomen.

  Without thinking, he sat down next to her and put his arm ar
ound her. ‘That cannot have been easy for you.’

  She leaned against him. ‘I cannot stop shaking.’

  He held her tighter.

  ‘I always knew I meant little to him,’ she said. ‘This was not a surprise.’

  But it hurt anyway. Just as his stepmother’s cruelty once hurt him. ‘He is a detestable man.’

  She turned to him so she was able to look him in the face. ‘You expelled him. I never expected that.’

  He shrugged. ‘I could not have him come back.’ Not to hurt her all over again. ‘The chances he would cause trouble are too great.’

  She shivered. ‘He gambles away large sums without blinking an eye. I know that would cause my mother hardship. And I am sure my sisters will have suffered. Their dowries must have been limited by his losses.’

  Oliver once relished the excitement of a game of chance, of risking large sums and hoping for the big win. He was lucky that he could always stop himself from risking more than he could afford. He saw it over and over in the game room of other establishments, the men and women whose losses were devastating, but still they could not stop.

  She sighed. ‘I suppose he will find some other place to gamble.’ She leaned against him again. ‘I should not care about it.’

  But she did no matter what she said.

  ‘You do not need to return to the game room tonight, if you do not wish to,’ he told her. ‘I will walk you home now, if you like.’

  She straightened. ‘No. No. I can go back.’ She laughed scornfully. ‘If I do not, those gentlemen in the game room, who certainly knew my father’s identity, will think I went to spend the night with him.’

  ‘You do make a point.’

  She put on her mask. ‘I wish I knew how my mother and sisters are faring. It sounds like life has been difficult for them.’

  ‘Would you like me to make enquiries about them?’ he asked.

  She shook her head. ‘No. At least I do not think so.’

  They walked out of the room and into the hallway.

  Cecilia touched Oliver’s arm and he faced her.

  ‘I—I did not deserve the kindness and support you showed me with my father,’ she said to him. ‘I do not know how to thank you.’