The Accidental Courtesan

by Cheryl Ann Smith

  Gavin watched his Lady courtesan flee him, the clack of her boots like rifle fire on the wooden ladder leading up to the deck. He wanted to go after her, bring her back, lock her in the cabin with him, and make love to her delightful body all afternoon long. If not for the deep sense of propriety that always lay beneath her seductive surface, he would at this moment be relieving her of her clothes.

  Her boots clomped across the deck, speaking her ire through the heavy footfalls that passed over his head as she found her way off the ship. He moved to a small window and peered out, watching the stubborn sway of her hips. Keeping a careful watch to make sure she returned to the waiting hackney unmolested, he chuckled when she climbed inside without assistance and slammed the door closed behind her. Once the conveyance could no longer be seen, Gavin turned and leaned back against the wall.

  He closed his eyes, remembering her slightly parted lips and the hunger in her eyes in the moment he lowered his head to kiss her. He’d felt her heartbeat against his chest and heard her breath catch. Though she denied their encounter in his bedroom and refused to acknowledge her attraction, she couldn’t control her body’s response to him, no matter how hard she tried. She wanted him with a vigor equal to his desire for her.

  “I will have you in my bed, My Lady,” he whispered, and chuckled at the image of her pink flush when she’d fled the cabin. Her desire was strong. She’d be back. “And you will eagerly welcome me when that moment arrives.”

  Lady Noelle Seymour was a fiery witch with amber eyes and a passion that took his breath away. Beneath her cool exterior and silky white skin beat the heart of a courtesan.

  Patience would bring her around.

  And he would not be satisfied until he taught her all the carnal delights he had to offer.

  Noelle thought the courtesan school would offer a distraction from her riotous emotions, but when the driver pulled up to the town house, she found she could not alight from the hackney. Her boots felt nailed to the gritty floor.

  Though there were only two courtesans in residence and class would not begin for two weeks, Bliss and Edolie made more racket than a flock of magpies. At times their endless chatter could be diverting, but Noelle had no desire for it now. Gavin’s attempted seduction was too fresh, his taste still lingering on her lips.

  So she urged the driver on to Mayfair, requesting to be let off a distance from her house and using the walk in the brisk air to clear her mind.

  The dreaded American had launched a volley of cannonballs over her defenses and breached the line behind which she carefully kept ardent suitors at bay. It wasn’t that she didn’t enjoy the company of men; she just didn’t care to be courted if marriage was the end result.

  Sometime between the carefree moments of her childhood and her marriage to Noelle’s father, Mother had grown drawn and bitter. Noelle’s fear was to become the same, should an arranged marriage turn out badly. She much preferred to continue living off the good graces of her absent uncle and to slowly and happily slide into spinsterhood.

  And once the bloom had diminished from the rose of her youth, she’d no longer have to suffer the amorous attentions of men, and she’d be content. Well, as content as she could be, never having children of her own. That was the one negative to her plan: giving up motherhood.

  The first thing Noelle noticed when she finally pushed open the door to her uncle’s town house was the overwhelming smell of roses. The second was the scent of lilies mingled with the roses, then other flowers she couldn’t quickly name. Then came the strange sensation that she was passing through a garden of flowers in full bloom. The combination made her want to sneeze.

  “What have you done to the house, Alfred?” she asked, easing her bonnet from her head. “Has the gardener brought the garden inside?”

  The middle-aged butler smiled, showing a small gap between his two front teeth. He’d been with the family for ten years and well knew how to keep the family secrets.

  “The garden is inside, Milady; however it is not Mister Brown who brought it in.” He indicated the parlor. “You must see for yourself to believe it.”

  Noelle handed him her bonnet and began to walk hesitantly down the hallway. She’d never been one to enjoy surprises.

  She stopped in the open parlor doorway and gasped. The sound brought Brenna to her feet. In vases on every surface of every table, and in one particularly large vase that had no surface on which to rest and was left in the center of the floor, were every kind of bloom, in every color one could imagine. It was a horticulturist’s dream.

  “Good lord.” Noelle pressed her hands to her chest and glanced at her cousin. “Brenna, what have you done?”

  “It wasn’t I,” Brenna said, pressing her knuckles to her smiling mouth. “I think my dearest Noelle has an admirer.” She turned an encompassing glance about her at the vast array of blooms. “A very zealous admirer.”

  Noelle stepped slowly into the room. She loved to spend time reading in the garden but never thought to bring the whole inside. Add a buzzing bee and a skittering butterfly or two, and the picture would be complete. “I’m worried that if I don’t leave a trail of bread crumbs for Alfred to follow, I may become lost in the maze of vases, never to be found again.”

  Brenna laughed lightly. “I shall send for a full king’s regiment should the need arise to launch a rescue.” She joined Noelle, and they stood shoulder to shoulder. “Perhaps you should look for a card.”

  “I suspect I know the sender.” There were several men who’d made overtures toward her this Season, gently rebuffed of course, but none as bold as the dastardly Mister Blackwell. She would be shocked to her toes were the man behind the grand, and somewhat embarrassingly excessive, gesture any other than the outrageous American.

  The mystery remained: How had he pulled this off so quickly? She’d left him no more than two hours ago. The cost for the rushed purchase and delivery must’ve been staggering.

  “Mister Blackwell?” Brenna asked. “Do you think he is the mysterious suitor?”

  “He has expressed his, shall we say, enthusiasm for me several times.” Noelle stepped to the closest bouquet and leaned forward to search for a card. There was nothing but flowers. So she moved on to the next. “Unless you have another suspect with such abject boldness, and the wealth to pull off such folly, I think we need not find the card to name the culprit.”

  Brenna picked the vase nearest her and helped with the search. She sighed dramatically. “I so envy you, Cousin.” She plucked a pink rose from a vase and held it under her nose. “I have never been the recipient of such devotion.”

  Noelle scowled. She’d been trying to rid herself of the pesky American, and Brenna found the man admirable. If only Mister Blackwell had the same feeling for her cousin, Noelle would happily match the two.

  “Then you are welcome to run off to Gretna Green with him if he’ll have you.” On her fifth vase, she finally spotted a square of white paper. She gingerly reached between the lilies to extract the note. “He is not the sort of man one seeks as an admirer.”

  “Indeed?” Brenna put the rose back and walked over to peer at the envelope. It had Noelle’s name and address carefully penned in black. “Devastatingly virile? Wealthy? A face women swoon over?” Brenna cocked a brow and looked at Noelle like she’d clearly lost her mind. “You are absolutely correct, Cousin. He has absolutely none of the qualities one seeks in a mate.”

  The cousins frowned at each other.

  “And sarcasm doesn’t become you, Brenna.” Noelle ripped the envelope open and removed the folded paper. She snapped it open and scowled. “Wait until you stumble upon a man who annoys you and challenges you and feels free with his hands, and then tell me you will welcome the crush of his attentions.”

  I didn’t know which flower was your favorite. G

  Her hand and the note dropped to her side. Brenna reached to take the paper from her. Noelle wandered to the nearest high-backed chair and lowered herself into it. She hated that
the note, in his carefully penned hand, had the ability to send her stomach tumbling. She hated that part of her that found his gesture, though more than a little garish, impressive. The cost for the flowers alone must have severely lightened his purse.

  “G?” Brenna asked, drawing Noelle’s gaze. She waved the note. “Perhaps you should explain just how intimate your association is. This is not from a man who once kissed your hand and found the taste of your knuckles delightful. This man feels he knows you well enough to rush past any and all formalities.”

  “In spite of your suspicions, we have no intimate association. I have insisted several times that he end his pursuit, and he obviously has no intention to do so. I cannot allow this to continue.”

  “Has he taken liberties?” Brenna pressed.

  Maybe too vigorously, Noelle shook her head. One wrong word, and Simon would pound Mister Blackwell into the dirt. Though the idea had merit, she couldn’t do it. “No. Unless one calls a few stolen kisses liberties.”

  “He has kissed you?” Brenna slumped onto the settee. Her eyes narrowed. “Tell me his kisses were sloppy and repulsive.”

  “Unfortunately, they were not. His kisses are perfect. He makes me shiver in places I should not, and did not know one could shiver in. Every time he puts his arms around me and pulls me close, I cannot think outside of wanting him to kiss me again.”

  “Oh, dear.” Brenna placed the note on a side table. “This is a bother. Chasing him off is almost impossible now that he knows of your attraction.”

  “And I do try to resist,” Noelle said helplessly. “I resisted all of a full second this last time before I kissed him back. Surely he can sense my distaste.”

  Brenna giggled and leaned forward to put her elbows on her knees. “Perhaps next time you can offer him an onion scone before he pulls you into his arms. Then his breath will be so foul you won’t want to kiss him.”

  Onions would be a deterrent to kissable breath.

  “Remind me to ask cook to purchase a large bag of onions,” Noelle said, and closed her eyes. “I fear not even onions can stop my attraction for the beast. He has fully engaged my body. I do so ache for his touch.”

  Silence fell for a long stretch.

  “Perhaps you should wed him and be done with it.” Brenna toyed with her cream-colored skirt. “You could choose worse.”

  “I cannot.” There was no force behind her words. Mister Blackwell had battered her defenses so fully that she had no will to fight. “I will not.”

  Noelle looked around the parlor, with its plain white walls, dark furniture, and bland cream upholstery and drapes. The simple taste of her uncle had been transformed by the beauty of the flowers. This house had been a place of laughter when her father was alive. Then a place of mourning, then the place she escaped to when her mother became overbearing.

  Now Mister Blackwell had brought life back into this house, this room, and Noelle wasn’t sure what to make of the change.

  The only touch left of her father was a miniature painting on the mantel of him as a young man. Most of his personal belongings had been sent to her mother or stored when her uncle claimed the title. Noelle kept his pipe, a second miniature of him, and a few trinkets in her room. She supposed she should be grateful there were few reminders of her loss. Even now, years after his death, the pain was still fresh.

  Not once had she considered that her mad flight through life was a way of running from the grief that always seemed to nip at her heels. She loved her sisters, had a strained relationship with her mother, and possessed a general affection for others around her. But she did nothing, nothing, to risk her heart.

  As she thought about the man behind this audacious attempt to woo her into his bed, she worried that her one grand adventure was nothing compared to what he wanted her to risk. What she would risk for him if he pressed her.

  With a groan, she dropped her head into her hands.

  Chapter Seven

  What I can’t figure out is why he is so intent to seduce you,” Brenna said. “Other than your obvious physical merits, of course. This situation goes past a simple courtship. Certainly, having been raised American does not make him unable to control his baser needs. Well, as much as men in general can control their needs,” Brenna scoffed. “There has to be something he wants other than kisses.”

  Noelle wrinkled her nose. “Isn’t it obvious what he desires? It is what all men desire: a woman to warm his bed. And clearly his focus is on me.”

  “He’s well aware you are a Lady, and therefore not a common trollop with whom he can frolic below stairs. No, he has a reason for his keen interest, and I think you know exactly what it is. Now why don’t you tell me the truth? You can’t keep secrets from me forever.”

  Noelle worked very hard not to squirm in the chair and give away her guilt. She was a terrible liar. The entire family knew she couldn’t lie to save her hide. One stern look from Mother or Nanny, and she’d break down and confess all her misdeeds.

  Pressure pulsed in her temples. Knowing Mister Blackwell lacked a wife and children had taken away the one large barrier between them. And obviously he had plans to slobber over her at every stolen opportunity. The cad!

  Lud, if only he did slobber! But his kisses were divine!

  Perhaps confiding in Brenna would help ease her worry. Between the two of them, they might find a solution to the matter of the haughty American and discover a way to chase him off.

  “I offered to become his courtesan.” The simple statement brought Brenna to her feet. Her cousin had the surprised look of a woman about to be run down by a speeding mail coach, knowing there was nothing to do but brace for the impact.

  “You did what?”

  Noelle lifted her hands and hid a smile. The shock on her cousin’s face was delightful. Brenna wasn’t easily ruffled.

  Noelle felt better already. “Well, it wasn’t the proper Lady Seymour who made the offer, but a nameless adventuress who allowed stolen kisses in an effort to keep from being arrested.” She let out a wistful sigh. “That adventuress is certainly without control.”

  “An adventuress?” Brenna dragged the chair she was sitting in across the narrow space between them, the legs making a squawking noise against the polished parquet floor. Once the two cousins were face-to-face, she sat down and glared. “Tell me everything. Now.”

  For the next quarter of an hour, Noelle filled her in on every detail. From finding the sobbing Bliss on the courtesan school steps, to her little trip to the docks to beg her tormentor to leave her be. She skipped over the most heated exchanges between her and Mister Blackwell, dismissing his kisses as nothing more than brief pecks on the mouth. She couldn’t admit to her cousin that she’d almost allowed him to make love to her on a narrow bunk on a rocking ship, without one squeak of protest. The matter was too shameful to share.

  “Did you offer him any explanation for your appearance in his bedroom?” Brenna said. “If you continue to deny you were the desperate courtesan seeking a wealthy lover, you need to do a much better job of fibbing to the man. Blushing and plucking at your sleeves will give away your involvement.”

  “I have denied any knowledge of the break-in, and I do not pluck my sleeves when I’m lying. Not anymore, anyway. In fact, I denied knowing him at all. I still do.” Noelle rubbed her forehead. She tried to remember if anything she’d said or done would have given away her guilt. Truthfully, she couldn’t think of a single thing. Still, he’d not believed her, and she knew why. “It was the lemon-cinnamon bath oil I purchased from the peddler that gave me away. He followed it like a hound right to me.”

  Brenna snorted. “Men. They are dogged in their determination. They believe once they are on the scent of their prey, a woman no longer has a choice but to succumb to their paltry charms.” She tapped her foot. “If not for your absent mother who has given up on ever seeing you wed, and mine, who doesn’t believe in forcing her daughters into unwanted marriages, we’d both be chained to pompous lords who believe
women are to grace one’s arm and not be heard.”

  Noelle thought for a moment, then realized Mister Blackwell was not the kind of man who’d want a woman with little substance between her ears. He appeared to enjoy their verbal sparring. It certainly hadn’t dulled his ardor. She’d felt proof enough of his ardor against her thigh. More than once.

  “The question remains, what am I to do about my situation?” Noelle knitted her fingers. “I can deny our acquaintance until my face turns puce, and he believes I am just being coy. I can explain the real reason for my nocturnal visit and throw myself on his mercy. He might accept the return of the necklace with grace, but what of the earl? Would he be kind? I have a title behind my name, but what of Bliss? The woman has no family to protect her. The earl cannot take kindly to the theft of such a costly item, even if it was returned. She could hang.”

  Brenna’s eyes widened. Finally, her cousin seemed to grasp the seriousness of the situation. “Certainly he would not be so cruel?”

  “Does either of us know the earl? No.” Noelle flinched. He’d probably want a front-row seat at their double hanging. “I have never met the earl, nor had I met Mister Blackwell before that night. Have you?” Brenna shook her head. “Other than setting the ladies of society all atwitter, he could be a deranged murderer who’s left a trail of dead women from here to the colonies.”

  “You cannot think that!” Brenna said, appalled. “He seems like a very nice man. If he was a murderer, someone surely would have figured out his evil deeds by now.”

  It didn’t matter about Mister Blackwell’s history or whether he spent his free time changing the soiled nappies of baby orphans. A crime had been committed, and Noelle was a sort of accomplice after the theft. She jutted out her chin and briskly shook her head.