“I will never forget her particular cruelty toward me,” Régine said, “but I know the heartbreak of a daughter who loses her mother, so Kate and Emma have my sympathies.”
He inclined his head. “I’ll tell them.”
Régine delicately stifled a yawn. “This is all very interesting, but I’m afraid I don’t share your fascination with your family, so if we can get back to the reason you have tracked me to Paris…”
Darius leaned forward, placing his elbows on his knees and drawing closer to her. “I need to hear your side of the story.”
“My side of the story?” Now the anger that Régine had been suppressing for so long roared through her. “You mean the truth as opposed to your father’s lies?” She rose in one quick movement and strode over to the tall window, where she looked out over the street and fought to control herself. She turned. “Do you know what I am, Clarridge?”
He rose and looked at her in silence, as though trying to find the right words that wouldn’t offend her. “You’re a courtesan.”
She plunged her hand into her pocket and grasped the rosary. “You needn’t mince words, monsieur. I’m a whore. I sell my body for money. Oh, I am very, very good at it, as my popularity and many a satisfied ex-lover will attest. But I’m not respectable. Most women like your sainted stepmother and her daughters would put their dainty aristocratic noses in the air if they passed me on the street, and wouldn’t give me a sou if I were starving. Not that I care. But that is the reality of my existence, and I place the blame squarely on your father’s shoulders.”
A flush of anger or possibly shame stained Darius’s lean cheeks. “My father took advantage of you, true. He admitted as much to me when I demanded to know why you had been dismissed. But there were other paths you could’ve taken, Régine. You didn’t need to resort to prostituting yourself to survive.”
She burst out laughing. “Oh my poor, privileged little lordling…how astonishingly naïve you are for such a sophisticated man.” She walked back to the settee, sat down and insolently draped her arms across its back, displaying herself to mock him. “Well, have a seat, monsieur, because I’m going to give you an education I’m sure you never got at Oxford.”
He sat down. And while he listened, Régine told him about her parents’ untimely deaths while mountain climbing in the Alps, and her own need to support herself, since none of her few remaining relatives possessed enough charity to offer her a home. So she embarked upon the only avenue open to an impoverished, genteel young lady of good family. She became a governess. She related how the head of the employment agency had warned her about lustful aristocrats and their sons.
When she first came to Blackwall Manor, everything was fine. As long as Kate and Emma excelled at their lessons, she was safe.
And then the master of the house noticed her, and she was no longer safe at all.
Darius turned white and his eyes blazed. “Did he force you?”
“He would never be so crude. The clever marquess seduced me, slowly, skillfully, until I truly believed we were destined to be together. Foolish of me, I know, but I was an innocent girl of only eighteen who fancied herself in love, without anyone to guide me and point out the folly of such a liaison.”
She studied his son, seeing the best of Penbry Granger. “Your father is a very good-looking man, very distinguished and commanding. Many of the younger maids in the house couldn’t take their eyes off him and fancied themselves in love with him. As did I.”
Darius regarded her with surprise.
Régine lowered her arms and folded her hands in her lap, knotting her fingers together tightly. “So when he came to my room that night and several nights thereafter, I welcomed him into my bed, little realizing that I was making a horrible, life-changing mistake.”
She took a deep breath. “And then your stepmother found out. I suspect that one of the maids betrayed me in a fit of jealousy. I foolishly thought that your father would proclaim his love for me and we would go away together, and if not that, at least he would set me up in my own establishment as his mistress, so we could continue our idyllic liaison. But of course, I was the one sent packing with nothing but train fare to London in my pocket. I thank my lucky stars that at least he didn’t leave me with child.”
Darius stared down at the carpet. “Why didn’t you find another position as governess?”
Régine’s laugh sounded so harsh and brittle. “Your stepmama sent me off without that precious letter of reference. Do you know what that means, for a servant to be turned out without a reference? It’s a death sentence. The employment agency washed its hands of me. What lady of the house would employ a beautiful governess who will seduce her husband or her sons, as I seduced my last employer’s husband?”
Compassion softened Clarridge’s gaze. “Why didn’t you come to me at Oxford? I would’ve helped you.”
She rose abruptly, went to the drinks table and poured herself a large glass of brandy. She took a fortifying sip. “I wrote you a letter telling you of my plight. And you never answered.”
He looked as though a dagger had just pierced his heart. He rose and stared at her. “But I never received any such letter.”
His words hung in the room between them.
“As God is my judge, I never received it!” He dragged his hand through his hair. “I would’ve helped you, if I had known what happened. You know I would.”
He never received my letter. The room tilted and swayed. Régine steadied herself and took a large swallow. Her eyes watered, whether from the spirits or the cruel twist of fate, she couldn’t tell. “Ah, too late now.”
Seven years too late.
He stood before her. “I’m so very sorry.”
She raised one shoulder in a careless shrug. “C’est la vie, as the French say.” She turned and poured him a brandy with surprisingly steady fingers and handed him the glass. “I can’t complain. I live a life of luxury and want for nothing, which is preferable to living in a two-room London tenement with a dozen other poor, hapless souls.”
Clarridge took the glass and rocked back on his heels. “Is that how you lived after my stepmother threw you out?” He sounded both astonished and appalled.
“Not at first.” She returned to the settee before her knees buckled. He returned to the chair. “The employment-agency head took pity on me and referred me to a Bond Street shop that sold fabric. The owner gave me a position and a small room over the shop. The work was hard and exhausting, but honest, and his customers liked me. I hadn’t been there two weeks when he made me a proposition. In addition to serving his customers, I would also serve him as his mistress. When I refused, he grew furious and threw me out.”
She sipped her brandy, savoring its bracing bite. “I found myself a bed in a rat-infested two-room tenement.” She shuddered in revulsion at the memory. “The stench, the filth…”
Seated across from her on the edge of his chair, his arms resting on his knees, Clarridge grasped his glass so hard that his knuckles turned white. He stared down at the floor, obviously at a loss for words.
Régine looked around her luxurious drawing room that smelled sweetly of hothouse flowers and beeswax furniture polish. “Feeling desperate and desolate, I contemplated ending it all. I was standing on London Bridge, ready to throw myself into the Thames, when a businessman driving home saw me and guessed my intention. He was very kind and solicitous, and cajoled me into returning to his townhouse. Even though he was a stranger, I went with him because I was tired, hungry and had nothing left to lose. He was very sweet and very compassionate, but also brutally candid about what my future life had in store for me, a young woman alone, without money or prospects.”
Clarridge’s anguished gaze rose to her face. “So he offered to become your protector.”
She nodded. “He was a kind, witty man, and pleasing to look at. Best of all, he wasn’t married, so I wouldn’t be committing adultery. Once I embarked down this particular road, I would never have marriage to
some nice young man from a good family, or respectability. But what choice did I have?”
A muscle twitched in Darius’s jaw.
She smiled cynically. “Your father had already ruined me. I faced years of drudgery and an early death as a factory worker, or worse. And since I do have a weakness for clean, pretty clothes and financial security, I marched down the primrose path with my head held high. At first it was difficult, becoming intimate with a stranger, but we suited, and after a while I thought of the boudoir as a classroom where I received pleasurable lessons in the amatory arts. He was an even better teacher than your father, and I became a very apt pupil. My survival depended on it.”
Her candid words brought an unexpected flush to Clarridge’s cheeks. “How did you come to be living in Paris?”
“I acquired richer, more powerful protectors, one of whom took me to visit this lovely place. Here I met and befriended Odile de la Montaigne, who convinced me that the City of Light had much more to offer an enterprising young woman than London.” She drained her glass. “She was right.”
“I’m so, so sorry,” he said softly. “My father’s deplorable, cowardly behavior makes me ashamed to be a Granger.”
“You didn’t control your father’s deplorable, cowardly behavior.” She smiled. “Now that I know you never received my letter at Oxford, I do regret thinking ill of you for so long, and I do apologize.”
A wan smile touched his mouth. “Thank you for that.”
She set down her empty glass and regarded him curiously. “So there you have my story, monsieur. Now it’s your turn to tell me why you’ve come to Paris.”
“I—”
A knock sounded on the drawing room door just before Molly opened it. “Forgive me, mademoiselle, but Monsieur de Groument from Cartier’s is here.”
Régine smiled in childlike delight. Monsieur de Groument always appeared bearing quite beautiful and extravagant gifts. What bauble had Luc bought for her this time?
She should’ve had Molly show the jeweler’s representative to another room, but she wanted to emphasize to Darius that she didn’t need his regrets or his pity, that she enjoyed the material rewards of the life of pleasure and vice she had chosen.
“Show Monsieur de Groument in.” She excused herself to Darius and greeted the dapper Frenchman. “Bonjour, monsieur. To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?”
He bowed over her hand and wished her good day. Then he reached into his valise and removed a flat box, which he proceeded to open with a flourish.
Régine’s eyes widened when she saw the exquisite diamond and carved emerald necklace lying in a bed of white satin.
“If you’ll allow me, mademoiselle…” Monsieur de Groument took out the necklace, and Régine turned around so he could fit it around her neck.
She smiled at Darius to show her delight with Luc’s gift, and once the necklace was secure, she walked over to a mirror and studied her reflection, delighting in the way the stones caught fire and sparkled.
She turned to the Frenchman. “I am most pleased with Monsieur Valendry’s gift.” Worth a small fortune, if she was any judge of diamonds.
De Groument looked bewildered. “But—but the necklace is not from Monsieur Valendry, Mademoiselle Laflamme. It’s a gift from Count Serge Dragomilov.”
Chapter Six
Darius watched the color drain from her face and a spark of anger light her eyes. She fumbled impatiently with the necklace’s clasp, and when she couldn’t undo it, he stepped forward. “Allow me.”
She turned and lifted her hair away from her long neck, releasing the faint scent of some beguiling floral perfume. As he unfastened the clasp, his fingers touched her nape, and the brief, intoxicating connection made him yearn to kiss the places his fingers had brushed.
“Done.” He stepped back.
Régine caught the necklace as it slid down and thrust it at the jeweler’s man as if the sparkling stones were a handful of snakes.
“Take this back to Count Dragomilov with my regrets,” she said coldly. “I cannot possibly accept such an extravagant gift.”
“But—but you must!” The Frenchman put it back in its case. A sheen of sweat appeared on his forehead, which he blotted with a handkerchief. “He will be very displeased with both of us if you don’t, mademoiselle.”
She gave de Groument a look of haughty disdain. “I am the Queen of Fire. Only my current lover is allowed to give me gifts.”
“Yes, yes, of course, Mademoiselle Laflamme. As you wish.” He backed toward the door, bowing obsequiously. “I will return the necklace to Count Dragomilov.”
He turned and fled.
When Darius and Régine were alone, he said, “Are you sure that was wise?”
She folded her arms and glared at him. “The Russian cannot buy me.”
“I would be careful, if I were you.”
She returned to the settee. She looked so fresh and delectable with her anger and heightened color. “What do you mean?”
He remained standing. “He’s a dangerous man. I saw his face when you refused his bottle of champagne in Maxim’s last night. He looked as if he wanted to lay you across the table and force his attentions on you in front of everyone.” She started, as if he’d shocked her. Good. “And if he did try, I doubt that the old gent you were with—Valendry, is it?—would’ve joined the rest of us to intervene.”
A faint, guilty blush stained her cheeks, and her direct gaze slid away. “I control my own destiny and can take care of myself.”
He smiled wryly. “By definition, my dear, a protector is one who protects.”
She dismissed his concerns with a blithe wave of her hand. “You still have not told me why you’re here, and your half-hour is almost up.”
He walked over to the tall window and looked out at the empty doorway where he’d stood in the soft rain last night, watching her house.
“I didn’t learn of your dismissal until I returned home for the summer. My stepmother had forbidden my sisters to write to me about the event, and when I arrived, I found the girls very upset that you had gone without so much as a goodbye. You’d been replaced by a strict, middle-aged woman who offered no temptation to my father. I felt like strangling both Blackwall and his cold, vindictive wife.” He looked at her. “You’re right. If he couldn’t offer you marriage, the least he could’ve done was set you up in a little house somewhere, or settle a yearly stipend on you, but he just cast you out like a dog.
“So I started searching for you. My stepmother reluctantly gave me the address of your employment agency, and Mrs. Routledge referred me to the Bond Street shop. But the proprietor—a smarmy little man—said you’d thought yourself too good to work as a shop girl, so he’d dismissed you and didn’t know where you’d gone. I could see from his demeanor that he probably had made advances and been rebuffed.”
Régine stared down at her hands. “Very perceptive of you.”
“I continued my search all summer. I placed notices in The Times and several surrounding local newspapers.”
She looked up, surprised. “I never saw them.”
“I made inquiries among my father’s peers, but that proved fruitless.”
“My first protector was a City businessman who didn’t run in your exalted social circles.”
“Dismayed with my lack of success, I returned to Oxford to complete my studies. But I never stopped thinking of you.”
His admission appeared to surprise her.
“I even hired a private inquiry agent to widen the search. It was as though you’d disappeared off the face of the earth.”
“Actually, I did disappear for a time,” she said. “I retired to a cottage in a small Sussex village, posing as a virtuous young widow. I soon grew tired of the quiet, dull village life, especially when the vicar came courting.” She laughed, a rich, melodious tinkle. “The vicar and the courtesan…what would the good ladies of the parish think?”
Darius smiled. She truly would’ve been a peacoc
k among common barnyard fowl.
“I returned to London and acquired several more protectors—”
These nameless, faceless men filing through her boudoir brought on a sudden hot surge of jealousy.
“—and then decided to seek my fortune in Paris.”
“My inquiry agent finally picked up your trail and tracked you here.”
She cocked her head and studied him out of those great, luminous eyes. “So you’ve spent years looking for me, a woman you met only twice. Why?”
“Because you haunted me,” he said quietly. “It’s like a form of madness that takes hold and won’t let go.” He told her about Oxford, his London townhouse and building his fortune. “I seem to have the Midas touch in that regard. But nothing could fill the emptiness.”
He tried to read her expression to see if his admission moved her, but she kept her feelings well hidden.
He smiled dryly. “Even other women couldn’t cure me.”
She put her hand into her pocket. “Now that you’ve found me, does my profligate life of sin and vice shock you?”
“It only pains me because my father set you on this particular path.”
“True, but I chose to stay on it. I’ve made my own choices, some good and others regrettably foolish. I could’ve remained in that village, living the life of a respectable widow, and perhaps marrying the earnest young vicar after all.”
Darius burst out laughing. “Perish the thought!” His smile died. “You weren’t meant to wither away in some boring, sterile vicarage, Régine, dining on piety and good works. You deserve diamonds and champagne and nights at Maxim’s. You deserve a man who cherishes you.”
“And who would that be, monsieur?” she asked softly.
He grasped the back of the chair, feeling as tongue-tied as a schoolboy. “Me.”
She looked at him as though he had just asked her to join him in a hot air balloon ride to the moon. “You can’t be serious.”
He leaned forward. “Oh, but I am.”
The Courtesan's Bed Page 5