The Courtesan's Bed

by Sandrine O'Shea

  Ivy sidled closer to the clerk while pretending to be absorbed in some perfumes displayed behind glass. The gossiping clerk had to be wrong. The earl obviously worshiped Régine. He’d hung on her every word at Maxim’s. And now they’d gone their separate ways? What she wouldn’t give to hear the whole juicy story.

  She felt cold all over. If—when—Serge learned that the woman he desired no longer had a protector, he’d see his way clear to possessing her.

  And once that happened, Ivy would be out in the cold.

  Chapter Nineteen

  London

  The Dowager Duchess of Sefton’s ballroom was too hot, too noisy and too crowded. Darius stood on the sidelines, wishing he were in Paris, lying blissfully sated in Régine’s arms after a bed-shaking orgasm.

  In the three weeks since she’d torn his heart out and stomped it to death, he’d felt like he was walking underwater, every movement an effort, his senses blunted, an overpowering listlessness robbing him of mental and physical strength. His mind was always elsewhere, usually in Paris with Régine.

  He thought that by immersing himself in the social whirlwind of Kate’s Season, he’d be able to forget his fiery mistress, but all he accomplished was making himself available to a sea of ravenous sharks wearing silk ball gowns and carrying fluttering ivory fans.

  The heat and the noise suddenly became too much to bear, and he had to leave before he passed out.

  Of course, his father would have to choose that exact moment to plague him like a bothersome rash.

  The marquess placed his hand on Darius’s shoulder. “I’m proud of you, son. You finally realized that you have a duty to the family to marry well. I know Regina’s one of a kind, and giving her up and returning to London took a great deal of courage, but you did the right thing.”

  Darius shrugged off his father’s hand, irritated by his sire’s hale, jolly tone, as though Darius had done nothing more drastic than shake off a bothersome cold. “As I told you, she discarded me. If she hadn’t, I’d still be with her, in her bed, fucking her senseless.”

  Blackwall turned pink but ignored the crude comment and scanned the ballroom as if picking out Thoroughbred broodmares for his stables. “Quite a crop of beautiful, eligible women here tonight, son.” He nudged Darius with his elbow. “Take the Viscount of Dedham’s daughter over there. Pretty little thing of impeccable breeding. She’d make you a fine wife.”

  Darius lifted his hand to his mouth to cover an exaggerated yawn. “Just thinking about that poor simpering creature puts me to sleep. All she talks about are her favorite West End shops. I assume she spends a great deal of time in them, wearing her papa’s fortune on her back.” He could listen to Régine talk about the most mundane things for hours and never be bored. She could also converse knowledgeably about art, literature and politics.

  The marquess made an exasperated sound. “You’re much too particular and critical. She’d make a fine wife and mother of my grandchildren.” He continued his perusal of approved prospects. “If she’s not to your taste, there’s the Duchess of Leeds’ granddaughter.”

  “The one with no tits?” He thought of Régine’s lovely breasts, and how he adored baring and caressing the warm, abundant flesh, and listening to her moan with such abandon with every flick of his tongue on her sensitive nipples.

  “Don’t be crude.” Blackwall craned his neck and continued his search. “What about the Viscountess Saint-Germaine? She’s a widow, poor thing, but at least she’s known a man and won’t be afraid of you on your wedding night.”

  Darius doubted the virtuous widow would allow him to tie her to a bed or be willing to pleasure his ass.

  Sensual memories of the first time he’d seen Régine naked flooded his mind, causing the walls to close in on him. He couldn’t breathe. He had to get out of here before all these marriage-minded harpies converged and pecked him to death.

  “I need some fresh air.” Before his father could protest or extol the virtues of yet another eligible young lady, he strode over to the wall of French doors and let himself out onto the patio.

  He closed the door behind him, and the music softened. He walked over to the stone balustrade and leaned against it, staring out into the empty gardens now bathed in bright silvery light from the full moon just clearing the roof of the house. He wondered what Régine was doing right now. Was she thinking about him? Did she regret sending him away? Was she with that callow Villemessant fellow, tying him to the bed and giving him the pleasure that rightfully belonged to Darius?

  The music from the ballroom suddenly grew louder, indicating that someone had opened the doors and was coming out onto the patio. Next came quick, determined footsteps.

  “All alone, Lord Clarridge?”

  He turned to see the odious Lady Kidd standing there. “Until now.” He hoped his rudeness would chase her away.

  She laughed and fanned herself. “I don’t blame you for wanting to escape the crush.”

  “And the unwanted attentions of desperate, husband-seeking women.”

  Of which she was the worst. He had disliked Lucy Kidd from the moment the well-meaning Kate had introduced them. From a distance, she resembled Régine, statuesque, with auburn hair. But as she drew closer, her hair looked as dull as rust, rather than ablaze with fire, and her tall frame moved with as much grace as a camel. Her eyes were a forgettable shade of watery blue, not as intense and sparkling with intelligence like Régine’s, and her mouth large and broad, with sharp, predatory teeth capable of snipping off a man’s balls. Her figure lacked Régine’s voluptuous curves as well, and the thought of seeing her angular body naked sent a shudder of revulsion rippling through him. She was nothing more than a coarse caricature of Régine, not his vibrant Queen of Fire. Why would he want a poor copy when he’d had the original? And Lady Kidd sought him out with the persistence of a cat that tried to insinuate itself despite knowing it was disliked.

  “It’s such a lovely night.” Even her voice sounded overly loud and brassy.

  He lifted one shoulder in an uninterested shrug. “I’ve always found moonlit nights boring in their consistency.”

  She tapped his arm playfully with her fan. “Oh, come now, Lord Clarridge. Such cynicism in one so young.” She slipped her arm through his before he could move out of range, holding him captive.

  “Really, Lady Kidd—”

  “Call me Lucy, please, and may I call you Darius?” Before he could open his mouth to refuse, she rolled on, oblivious. “I won’t take no for an answer, sir.” She tugged on his arm, determined to lure him into the secluded garden like a lamb to the slaughter.

  He was too much of a gentleman to push her away, even though he seethed inside at her presumptuousness.

  “Such a lovely night.” She squeezed his arm as they walked down the steps and took the path to the right.

  He clenched his teeth. Was that the extent of her conversational abilities, the loveliness of the night?

  “The duchess’s gardens are quite remarkable,” she said. “You should see them by daylight.”

  “I have no interest in gardening.” He’d rather drive through the Bois de Boulogne with Régine, go to Durand’s for supper, and later Maxim’s for champagne and caviar.

  She leaned against him, holding his arm tighter. “What does interest you, then?”

  “Fucking my beautiful mistress.”

  If he thought he could shock her, he was mistaken. Lady Kidd just laughed, a sound suspiciously like the braying of an ass, and once again batted him with her fan. “How very outrageous of you to speak so frankly to a lady.”

  “I am frank by nature.”

  When he saw the folly up ahead, a place of dalliance for lovers, he immediately divined her intentions and stopped dead in his tracks.

  She tugged on his arm. “Come, Darius. Surely you’re not afraid that I’ll compromise your virtue.”

  “If you’ll excuse me…”

  Just as he turned to leave, she stepped in front of him to bl
ock his escape, her watery eyes as bright as a hungry wolf’s by moonlight. She clutched his arms. “Don’t be coy with me, sir. I’m a worldly woman. I’ve seen the way you look at me when you think I’m not looking.”

  He grabbed her wrists to restrain her from sliding her arms up to his neck for a kiss. “You’ve grossly misinterpreted my intentions, Lady Kidd.”

  “Oh, I don’t think so.” She licked her lips and tried to pull away. “You want to make love to me, and I want you to make love to me. Now!”

  Darius flung her from him and ran down the path, away from her grasping hands, away from the marriage trap looming before him like a great yawning pit.

  The following morning, the minute Darius walked through the door of his father’s townhouse after a reckless, breakneck gallop through Hyde Park, Kate came sweeping into the foyer. She’d obviously been lying in wait for him.

  “Darius! I have the most wonderful, exciting news. Sefton asked me to—” She stopped dead in her tracks. Her eyes widened in alarm. “What on earth happened to you?”

  “Not a damn thing. I went riding.”

  “In this downpour? Are you mad?”

  Her scrutiny made him aware of his heavy, sodden riding clothes that clung to his body and annoying rivulets of icy water trickling down his neck. He shivered. Funny, until now he hadn’t felt like he’d been dunked in the Thames.

  “You’ve got to get out of those wet clothes before you catch your death.”

  He wiped his dripping face with the back of his hand, suddenly realizing that he’d gone riding in the pouring rain without his hat. Why hadn’t his valet stopped him?

  “My poor horse. I hope the groom gives her a good rubdown, throws a dry blanket on her and feeds her some hot mash. Wouldn’t want the old girl to sicken and die on me.”

  Why was Kate staring at him like he was speaking in tongues? Silly sister. Hadn’t she ever heard a man express concern for his horse?

  Anger flared in the depths of her eyes. “This can’t go on another minute. It’s intolerable!”

  Kate’s odd behavior quite bewildered him. “What’s intolerable?”

  “All the damn lies!” She balled her hands into fists, her eyes suspiciously bright. “What I’ve done to you and Miss Willett.”

  Now the cold seeped deep into his bones, and he fought to keep his teeth from chattering. “What did you do to me and Miss Willett?” His beloved Régine, now lost to him. He wanted to cry, but that would be maudlin and unmanly, and he wouldn’t disgrace himself in his sister’s admiring eyes.

  She looked for all the world like a general marshalling his troops to march into battle. “First, get out of those wet clothes.” She turned to the butler hovering discreetly in the background. “Take his lordship upstairs and find him something of the marquess’s to wear.” She turned back to Darius. “Then join Papa and me in the dining room. I have something important to tell you.”

  “Sefton must’ve proposed to you,” he said, “because you’re turning into an imperious duchess right before my eyes. Practicing, are you?” What had she said about doing something to him and Régine? His brain was still a little foggy this morning. Too much alcohol last night and too little food this morning.

  She smiled wanly. “Yes, he has, and I’m blissfully happy.” Her smile died, draining all the light from her face. “But that’s not what I have to tell you.”

  Before he could question her further, she turned on her heel and strode away, her back rigid with determination.

  After Darius went upstairs with the butler and changed into warm, dry clothes and slippers that were too big for him, he toweled his sopping hair into some semblance of order and went down to the dining room.

  His father was seated at the table eating a hearty breakfast of eggs and sausages, while Kate sipped coffee and quietly seethed. He knew that look. She was furious and trying to hide it. Unsuccessfully.

  “Morning, Blackwall.” He squinted at his sister. When had she blossomed into such a beauty? Sefton was one lucky bastard indeed. “So, what is your big mystery?”

  She rose and faced him with all the resignation of a prisoner headed for the gallows. “I’m responsible for Miss Willett renouncing you.”

  “Kate!” Their father jumped to his feet. “No!”

  “Yes!” She glared at him. “I can’t stand to see my brother in such terrible anguish, turning into a befuddled ghost of his former self. He deserves to know what we did. He deserves to know the truth.”

  Darius looked from one to the other. “The truth about what?”

  She took a deep breath. “Miss Willett broke off your—your liaison because I begged her to.”

  Surely Darius was going deaf. Did his beloved little sister just say she had asked Régine to end their liaison?

  The marquess rounded the table. “Lady Katherine Granger, stop this at once. I forbid you to say anything more.”

  “I’m an engaged woman. You can’t forbid me to do anything.” She turned back to Darius. “When Papa returned from Paris, he told me that you and Miss Willett were lovers, and that she’d chosen a life of vice and became a courtesan. He convinced me that you two had to be separated because you needed to make a good marriage, and you wouldn’t seek a suitable wife if you were ‘shackled to that whore’, were his exact words. He also claimed that he had tried to talk some sense into you, but you refused to listen, and he was at his wits’ end. Then he demanded that I go to Paris and convince her to give you up for my sake.” Kate’s lower lip trembled. “I was afraid Sefton wouldn’t offer for me if he knew my brother was consorting with a notorious fallen woman.”

  Darius slid into the nearest chair, her astounding revelation quickly banishing the fog that surrounded his brain. “Why on earth would you ever think that? I’ve spoken to Sefton on several occasions. He’s a decent chap, one I’d be proud to count as my brother-in-law. He certainly loves you, and I doubt that he would let something as insignificant as my behavior deter him from marrying you. I’m surprised you had so little faith in him.”

  She bowed her head. “I know that now and am truly ashamed, but Papa played on my insecurities and convinced me otherwise. He also told me to beg Miss Willett not to tell you of my visit to Paris and my request. It was to be our secret.” She placed a remorseful hand on his shoulder. “I never thought she’d agree, but when you returned from Paris alone and so despondent, I realized she was exactly the same woman I’d remembered, kind and unselfish.” Her hand fell away. “Seeing you in such pain these last few weeks has been agony for me, but Papa insisted that we had no other recourse. We had to do this for your own good.” She fell on her knees beside his chair and looked up at him. “I am so, so sorry, Darius. I have been very selfish and done a horrible thing. I have no right to ask for your forgiveness.”

  He placed his hand gently atop her head like he always did when she was a little girl in short skirts and pinafores. “Of course I forgive you, but I wish you had come to me when you were in Paris. I would’ve put your fears to rest.” And he never would’ve left Régine.

  “I know that now. But I was so afraid Papa was right about Sefton, and I’d lose him because you and Miss Willett were lovers, living in sin and leading a scandalous life. His mother is good friends with the Queen and very disapproving by nature.”

  Darius sighed deeply. Kate was still so young and insecure, so madly and blindly in love with the first man who’d caught her fancy, she failed to see past their father’s clever machinations. He rose, pulling her to her feet. “Don’t you worry your pretty little head a moment longer. Everything will be fine now that I know the truth.”

  He looked over at his fuming father, and a murderous rage filled his heart.

  The marquess didn’t appear repentant. He reached for his coffee cup as casually as you please, took a sip and set it back down. “This changes nothing. Régine threw you over and has had a score of lovers by now.”

  Darius thought of that blond Adonis embracing her in the drawing room, and h
is blood boiled.

  Blackwall waved his hand. “So you may as well accept that you’ve lost her, son, and get on with your life. Buck up and have a little pride. Find a suitable woman to marry, and—”

  “This isn’t about my finding a suitable wife.” His father’s true motives hit him like a lightning bolt. “I was right all along. You want her back.”

  A telltale guilty flush swept up his father’s face.

  “Don’t deny it. Now that you think you’ve gotten me out of the way, I’m surprised you didn’t return to Paris by now and try to woo and win her.” He laughed at the absurdity of it.

  “You both needed time to accept the fact that your liaison is over,” Blackwall said. “Besides, I’m a widower. My situation is different from yours. If I keep a mistress, it’s of no consequence.”

  Kate stared at her father in shock and disgust. “Is that true, Papa? Did you manipulate me so you could be with Miss Willett, after what the both of you did to my poor mama?”

  “You are so young, my dear. You don’t understand the needs that drive a passionate man.”

  “I am not a child anymore.” She stamped her foot. “I am old enough to marry, and I am old enough to think for myself. I can’t believe my beloved Papa could be so arrogant and—and unbelievably, incredibly selfish.”

  “Such hysteria is unbecoming.” He regarded them both contemptuously, ever the imperious lord of the house. “Go to your room at once, young lady. You’ve done enough damage for one morning.”

  Darius turned to her. “Do you want to stay here?”

  “Not after what Papa has done.”

  “Then pack a bag.” Darius fought to keep his temper under control. “You can stay in my house for as long as you like.”

  “I’ll only be a moment.” With one final, disillusioned glance at her father, she stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind her.

  Darius folded his arms to keep from strangling his sire. “That was low, even for you. To use your own daughter so shamelessly…” His lip curled in a sneer. “You’re pathetic.”