Gail Ranstrom

by The Courtesans Courtship

  Holding her ground, she fended off one advance after another until el-Daibul was panting. He narrowed his eyes and asked, “Is that all you learned, Miss Deauville? How to deflect my blade?”

  “It was you on the path in Vauxhall, wasn’t it?” she asked, ignoring his taunt, hoping at least her words would put him on the defensive. “And at the house on Curzon Street?”

  “Clever chit.” He lunged, his blade grazing her arm as she spun away.

  Geoffrey called out a warning, but it was too late. The sting and warm flow of blood down her left arm surprised her, and made it clear that her life was hanging in the balance.

  El-Daibul turned, saw Geoffrey twisting the ropes, and started for him. Dianthe knew he intended to stab Geoffrey, and sprinted past him to stand between them.

  El-Daibul laughed. “Touching. But you are both going to die. You first, Miss Deauville?”

  He brought his sword up and assumed an aggressive stance. He was going to rush her.

  “Sotto, Dianthe,” Geoffrey whispered behind her.

  Without thinking, she closed the distance between herself and her opponent, dropping to her injured arm as she reached him, passing under his arm and thrusting upward.

  Astonishment registered on el-Daibul’s face. Crimson stained his shirt as he raised his sword for a downward slash. She seized her blade in the middle with her left hand. The vibration of the contact passed through her as she blocked the mighty blow. El-Daibul staggered, clutching his side from the wound she had inflicted and the desperation of his attack.

  She scrambled to her feet and slashed at the rope holding Geoffrey. He fell to his knees, his hands still bound, and started sawing his bonds on the edge of Dianthe’s sword. She turned back to el-Daibul and found him advancing, slower, weaker than he’d been before, but all trace of amusement gone. There was death in his dark eyes.

  “Geoffrey! Hurry!”

  Sudden pounding, deafening in its intensity, startled her. The ballroom door burst open and Lord Lockwood rushed through, pausing to assess the scene. El-Daibul glanced at him and then redoubled his advance, focused entirely on Geoffrey now.

  The ropes fell away and Geoffrey seized the hilt in time to bring the blade up and deflect el-Daibul’s attack. As the two men faced one another, Dianthe knew one of them would not walk away. Lord Lockwood pulled her back from the fight, and she bit her knuckle to keep from crying out and breaking Geoffrey’s concentration.

  El-Daibul sacrificed form for sheer brutal strength, dealing one bone-jarring blow after another and forcing his opponent into the defensive. She saw the cold detachment in Geoffrey’s eyes and knew he would not let his anger make him careless. But el-Daibul’s reckless fury was his undoing. His hatred, pain and frustration took a toll and left him vulnerable. Geoffrey found the opening and launched his riposte, forcing the man backward.

  In a single swift move, Geoffrey’s sword found its mark. Surprise registered on el-Daibul’s face. As Geoffrey stepped back to slide his blade from the man’s chest, el-Daibul pushed forward, impaling himself to the hilt. Geoffrey released the sword, allowing el-Daibul to fall to the floor, his sightless eyes staring upward.

  Lockwood went to feel his neck for a pulse, and Geoffrey, breathing heavily, came toward Dianthe.

  She was shaking with reaction. All she wanted was to have his arms around her and to know that he was safe. When he reached her, he touched her left arm, where the blood had slowed to a trickle.

  “A small cut,” she said. “Nothing more.”

  He lifted her left hand to examine the faint red crease across her palm where she’d held her blade.

  “Nothing there, Geoffrey,” she sighed.

  “Just my heart.” He raised her hand to kiss it, and she shivered with the seductive gesture. “I love you, Dianthe,” he confessed against her palm.

  The unutterable sweetness of his words made her light-headed with joy. Tears filled her eyes and she blinked them back. “Even though I’ve become a courtesan?”

  “Mine,” he growled possessively. “Only mine.”

  Lockwood cleared his throat apologetically. “El-Daibul is dead. I think it would be best if he wasn’t found here,” he said. “Do you—”

  “Leave him in the street outside his holding house,” Geoffrey suggested.

  Dianthe stepped into Geoffrey’s arms, not caring who might see or what they might think. She only wanted to feel the warmth of his touch, the strength of his love.

  Lockwood nodded. “I’ll take care of it,” he said quietly. “Are you coming to Bow Street?”

  “Tomorrow,” Geoffrey murmured, looking only at her. “Lock the door behind you.”

  Lockwood lifted el-Daibul and slung him over his shoulder. He turned to go and a moment later she heard the front door close. And still Geoffrey searched her eyes.

  “You saved my life,” he said as he lifted her in his arms.

  She felt a blush steal up her cheeks. “I most certainly did not!” she retorted. “You saved mine.” She did not want his gratitude. She wanted his love.

  He carried her up the stairs. “You could have run, but you didn’t. You placed yourself between me and danger. You protected me, Miss Lovejoy.”

  She stifled a chuckle. “You are mistaken, Lord Geoffrey. I would never do that. I…I always tend to my own business.”

  “I don’t believe you,” he said.

  “Well, it is your fault. You insisted I take those fencing lessons.”

  He laughed. “It is those other lessons I’m curious about. Shall we see how well you’ve done there?”

  “I am Aphrodite.” She smiled. “I am Venus. I am more than you can handle, Geoffrey Morgan.”

  “There’s no doubt about that, Miss Lovejoy. That’s what I deserve for courting a courtesan,” he said as he kicked his bedroom door closed.

  Geoff poured himself a cup of coffee from the service on the tea cart, settled in the chair behind his desk and prepared for the worst. He glanced at Lockwood and Rob McHugh and nodded. Whatever came of this meeting, he would be certain Dianthe did not suffer for it.

  “Sorry to come so early,” Lockwood began. “McHugh insisted that he assure himself of Miss Lovejoy’s well-being at the earliest opportunity, and to know where matters stand.”

  “Where shall we start?” Geoff asked the others, rubbing the bandages around the rope burns on his wrists, and glancing at the clock to note the time. He needed to be at the Chancery Court as early as possible.

  McHugh studied him with a wary narrowing of his eyes. “I’d better hear it all,” he said.

  “Let’s begin with the night in Vauxhall Gardens,” Geoff stated. “If you have questions afterward, I’ll answer them.”

  A few minutes later, he paused to take a breath, and Lockwood took the initiative, with a cautionary glance in Geoff’s direction. “Then, last night, Lewis Munro met with an unfortunate accident. His neck was broken in a fall down the stairs at his town house. When going through his papers, we discovered that he had been corresponding with a Spaniard by the name of Juan Ramirez, who subsequently arrived here in London. Upon investigation, it was found that Ramirez was actually a Berber—Mustafa el-Daibul.”

  McHugh sat forward, scarcely breathing. “Here? In London?” he asked. “Where is the ill-begotten son of a—”

  Lockwood continued as if he hadn’t been interrupted. “He’d revived his trade in white slavery, and had come for Morgan. Realizing that we had discovered his identity, el-Daibul came here last night to kill Morgan and anyone else he could. There was…a fight, and el-Daibul was killed.”

  After a long silence, McHugh stood and began pacing. “Dianthe? What has she to do with this?”

  Lockwood studied his fingernails. “As you know, Dianthe was the primary suspect in the murder of a courtesan. She got it into her head to investigate the murder on her own.”

  Geoff sighed. “It does not stop there. She was determined to find Miss Brookes’s killer, and hatched a plan. Common reasoning and ba
ld threats would not deter her. Without going into details, let me just say that only Lockwood and I know the lengths to which she went. The upshot is that her investigation entangled her with the demi—with el-Daibul. He killed Miss Brookes, who was trying to find Miss Lovejoy at the time, and Miss Lovejoy innocently stumbled into the mess.”

  McHugh nodded and, after his initial surprise, asked, “But what is she doing here?”

  Geoff wished it was not too early for brandy. He sipped his coffee and sat forward, resting his forearms on the desk. “I ran into her in Leicester Square the day after Nell’s murder. She could not find lodgings. I put her up in my house on Curzon Street with my housekeeper and butler as chaperones. There was a break-in—el-Daibul, but we didn’t know it then—and she was nearly killed. I couldn’t leave her there, and I couldn’t turn her out. She wouldn’t take my money, so…”

  McHugh’s lips twitched as if he were fighting a grin. “That must have been uncomfortable for you, Morgan. I know how my sister-in-law feels about you.”

  Geoff glanced at Lockwood and back at McHugh. He wouldn’t speak for Dianthe—that was her privilege. If she chose not to acknowledge him, he would live with that, and keep her secret to the grave. “Regardless of how she feels, I am very much afraid she has been seriously compromised. We have lived here alone for weeks with only Giles and Hanson to serve us. I stand ready to correct the error, of course. I would have done so already if I could have used Miss Lovejoy’s name on a license without inciting arrest. Lockwood, I know you have connections at the Chancery Court. If you will help me acquire a special license, I will have this taken care of by nightfall.”

  His guests stared at him in disbelief. “Marry? You and Dianthe?” McHugh asked. “Does she know your plan?”

  “I have not informed her of it, but she must realize where this was headed.”

  McHugh resumed his pacing. “She can be a stubborn little minx. How will you persuade her when she dislikes you so?”

  “She thinks he may just be redeemable,” Dianthe said from the doorway. Her arm was swathed in bandages, but otherwise she looked stunning. “His reputation has been much maligned. And mine has been much exaggerated. You do realize, do you not, Geoffrey, that marrying me will be quite a comedown for you?”

  Lockwood stood and headed for the door. “I’m off to Chancery Court. Meet me there in two hours, Geoff.”

  Dianthe rose on her tiptoes to kiss her brother-in-law’s cheek. “Thank you for coming, Rob McHugh. I knew it was just a matter of time.”

  McHugh folded his arms across his chest, doing his best to look stern. “Not soon enough to keep you out of trouble, Dianthe. Now you will have to marry Morgan. And before nightfall.” He waved his hand when she opened her mouth. “Tsk! No arguments, missy.”

  Dianthe looked at Geoff and her heart was in her eyes. “I wasn’t going to argue, McHugh. I was just going to say that I’m exactly what he deserves.”

  “I remember the day you told me I deserved to be loved. Do you love me, Miss Lovejoy?”

  “More than my own life, Lord Geoffrey.”

  “Then I am content, since you are my life.” He held his arms open and she walked into them. “I love you, Dianthe.”

  “Well, you know the old axiom, Morgan.” McHugh laughed. “Lucky in love, unlucky in cards, or something of the sort.”

  Ah, that made perfect sense! He’d been losing at cards steadily from the day Dianthe came into his life. And now he’d won the greatest prize of his life.

  ISBN: 978-1-4592-3177-1

  THE COURTESAN’S COURTSHIP

  Copyright © 2006 by Gail Ranstrom

  All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, Canada M3B 3K9.

  All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.

  This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

  ® and TM are trademarks of the publisher. Trademarks indicated with ® are registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office, the Canadian Trade Marks Office and in other countries.

  www.eHarlequin.com