by Sharon Page
He could do good.
He could prove he wasn’t a monster.
Except he’d lost Sophie now. She’d run off, and he had no idea where she lived. When he’d talked to the other courtesans to ask what they knew about Sally Black, he had also asked about Sophie. He had tried to find out where Sophie lived, but the other courtesans had no idea. He believed that—he didn’t think they were lying out of jealousy. They honestly knew nothing about Sophie.
She came into your life, then you were attacked again, and a woman was murdered....
He was always suspicious now. Yet instinct told him Sophie was innocent.
But there were two times in his life when his instincts had been wrong. Once, when he was a five-year-old captive and believed a girl a little older than he was would help him. He never dreamed she would be as evil as the man who held him.
The second time was in battle, when he hadn’t believed a British soldier would try to kill him in revenge.
“Behold—I’ve got a son.”
The almost reverential tone came from the doorway. Pulled out of his thoughts, Cary looked to the entrance to the room and saw his friend Grey. Grey’s cravat was undone, and his hair was a tangled mess, but he looked like he was going to burst with joy. White lacy blankets spilled over his arms. Where was the child in all that?
Sax and Sin walked over first. Grey drew back some of the swaddling on the bundle.
Sin had scars from fencing duels, Sax from schoolboy brawls. Both had fought hard in their lives and had broken most of Society’s rules. But both tall, broad-shouldered men suddenly said, “Awww,” and went soft as melted butter as they looked down on the baby boy.
Moving slowly to the group of men, Cary saw a tiny hand emerge. Grey let his bare finger touch the palm of his son’s hand—a perfect hand in miniature with fingers spread wide as if feeling the air.
As Grey’s finger touched the baby’s hand, the tiny fingers wrapped around Grey’s index finger, clutching tight.
It was amazing.
Enough to choke a man up.
So much innocence. So brand-new and untroubled with no idea there was evil in the world.
“Can I hold him?” Sax asked.
Grey carefully transferred the bundle, which squirmed as Sax’s hands curved to cradle the tiny body.
“Hold him carefully,” Grey admonished. “Cradle him in your arms.”
A grin spread across Sax’s face. “He’s so tiny. I’ve never seen one who is brand-new before.”
Cary stood apart from his three friends and watched as three grown dukes made ridiculous faces at the baby.
“Jacinta says they don’t smile for a few weeks, but look at him—he’s smiling at us.”
A ripe smell filled the air.
“I think that is gas,” Cary observed.
The pain around his heart was like nothing he’d never known. It was as brutal as the pain he’d felt when the monster who had taken him when he was five told him his parents weren’t going to come for him. That they didn’t love him or care about him.
That had been a lie, but he’d been terrified, and the pain had been worse than a blade or an arrow in his body—he knew because he’d suffered both.
“He’s a bonny boy, Grey,” Sax said. “Congratulations. Look at his legs kick in my arms. He’s already strong.”
“A beautiful boy. He looks like Helena—fortunate lad.”
“Other than the little bit of blond hair, he looks like Grey,” Sax argued. “He’s got dark eyelashes. And look at the color of his eyes. Like Grey’s. What do you think, Cary?”
Cary couldn’t speak, for the tightness in his throat. He gave a gruff sound of agreement.
Sax looked at him, surprised.
It was a moment of joy, one both Sax and Sin could anticipate. All they had to do was decide to settle down and take wives. Cary knew he would never have this—
“Why don’t you hold the lad?” Sax suggested to Sin. He had gathered up the boy, the blankets loosely bundled around him.
“Keep your hand behind his head to support him,” Grey instructed.
Sin did, cradling the tiny head with his black-gloved hand. He cooed like a lovesick dove, then walked over to Cary. “You take the little one now, Cary. Have a turn.”
Sin held the baby out to him. He took the child, hoping instinct would kick in.
It didn’t.
He had no idea what to do.
He felt a rumbling sound. The baby made a small pained noise. His tummy vibrated against Cary’s chest—
A squirting sound filled the room. So did another intense smell. This one was worse than the gas smell.
“I think he has pooped,” Sin observed.
Cary glared at Sin. “You knew he was going to do that.”
“I felt his stomach rumble, but I had no idea it would lead to that.”
“Yes, you did. That’s why you gave him to me as fast as you could.” He couldn’t hold the baby out from his body, since he had to keep the bottom and head cradled. The odor made his eyes water.
But he held his arms toward Grey. “He’s your son. You take him.”
“I’ll have many days of this. One of you should hold him. Feel the stirrings of fatherhood,” Grey suggested.
“What on earth are the four of you doing?” Jacinta demanded as she sashayed into the drawing room. “This is a precious baby, not a game of hot potato. You cannot pass him off from one to another of you. Let me take him.”
She held out her arms and, sheepishly, Cary surrendered the infant. “Dukes, indeed. You are all felled by a tiny baby.” Then she smiled. “Though I suppose all of us are, at first.”
“You weren’t,” Cary said. He had once loved Jacinta and had let her go to a better man, a man without a shadowed past. But as he looked at her, he thought of Sophie—she reminded him of Jacinta. Strong. Sophie felt the same love and concern for others.
“I was,” Jacinta said.
“I thought females had innate knowledge about this,” Sax said, puzzled.
“No. We have maternal love, but very little clue of what to do. Especially when things go wrong. That is why we turn to other females for help.”
“What have you named the boy?” Cary asked.
“I don’t have a name yet,” Grey said. “I don’t want to use family names. Helena and I will have to decide.”
Jacinta took the baby away. Grey poured them all a celebratory drink. Then said solemnly, “Is it true a murdered woman was found behind your home, Cary?”
“Yes. But this isn’t the time to discuss murder and mayhem. This should be a happy moment,” Cary said.
“True. But that woman was cheated of happy moments. And that should concern us,” Grey said.
“It does.” Cary outlined what they had found—the woman’s name and a pocket watch. He could tell Grey was fighting to focus, obviously thinking of his son.
As Sin and Sax traded theories, Grey came to him. “This is what your mother wants for you,” Grey pointed out gently. “The happiness of marriage and children.”
But Cary knew the truth now. “This is not going to be my future.”
“If you want it enough, I don’t see why you can’t make it your future. Marry a lovely girl, have babies.”
“It’s not that easy. I can’t force memories away.”
“I don’t believe that,” Sax put in. He and Sin were listening to the conversation.
Grey looked up. “It is true. I know it’s true. You can’t forget. It’s impossible. But what happens is that the memories lose their power to hurt you. That’s how you get healed.”
“That will never happen,” Cary said.
Grey opened his mouth, likely to argue, but was interrupted when Jacinta returned, carrying the baby. She handed the baby to her brother, effectively silencing him.
“I should go back to Helena,” he said.
“Let her rest for a while,” Jacinta said quietly. “Heavens knows she will have little rest for the n
ext few weeks, since she wants to feed the baby herself.”
Cary saw Grey’s gaze fix on him. Damn, he hadn’t forgotten their conversation. He was going to be pushing Cary to try to accept happiness.
He couldn’t do it. He’d been wounded forever when he was five. If all this time hadn’t healed him, nothing would.
Then the baby, with perfect timing, made an eep, eep sound, and Grey, Sax, and Sin riveted their attention on Grey’s tiny son. Cary joined them to admire the tiny miracle. He felt joy for his friend—and it was the closest he would come to his own joy.
10
My viscount arranged me on my knees, my bare derrière facing him. He mounted me like a stallion and, after stirring my honeypot to the point where I was sobbing in delight, he then took his slick staff and entered me in a most surprising way.
How slow and gentle he was. How tightly I gripped him. At first, I was uncertain, but he eased my worries. Such intense pleasure! When I reached the epic peak, my entire body sang with explosive force.
Then he surrendered with a cry that speared my heart and captured it for him.
I have been most circumspect about my dear viscount, but after this passage, you must be consumed with curiosity as to his identity.
I shall reveal only this: his title is one of courtesy, and he is heir to a grand dukedom. His initials are most unique. Once I set them to paper, my secret is out. So cheekily I give you this—the initials of the most delicious lover in London are X. Q.
—From an unfinished manuscript entitled A Courtesan Confesses by Anonymous
Armed with the Cyprian’s name—Nell—Sophie asked all around the stews. Her hope was that they’d heard of the Cyprian because she would be scandalous. Gossiping was as popular in sprawling London as it was in tiny villages.
She learned Nell had been an actress once, so she went to Drury Lane. There she heard wild stories. That Nell had juggled both a duke and an earl as lovers at the same time—Nell had even had them both in her bed at the same time. Then Nell had thrown both rich men over for the younger son of a viscount because he was so handsome.
It was said that Nell had turned down the Prince Regent seven times.
Allegedly, Nell had broken apart a diamond necklace she’d been given by the Prince Regent, and she had put all the money in accounts for all the children in a foundling home.
But Sophie couldn’t find anyone who knew Nell’s exact address. It was always described as “somewhere near Mayfair.”
Finally, in Spitalfields Market, Sophie found an elderly man whose son worked as Nell’s coachman. The older man had a flower stall that he operated with a buxom woman of about forty, who called him “Da,” which was an endearment for “Father,” and told him not to say a word. At least, not until Sophie produced a few shillings.
She surrendered them with a gulp. It was hard to give up money when she had so little. But if it got her a protector, it was a wise investment.
The elderly man thought his son worked for a gentleman’s widow. His daughter snorted, rolled her eyes, but didn’t correct her father.
The man gave her Nell’s address, and Sophie bought a flower for her bonnet. The man tried to give it to her for free, claiming it was because she was so pretty. But upon seeing the daughter’s sour look, Sophie paid. Then she hurried off to Nell’s.
She had no idea how to appeal to Nell’s good nature. But she knew Nell took bribes, and she prayed she had enough money to do so.
So to save a few more pennies, she walked from Spitalfields.
She was used to walking. Mrs. Tucker, her adoptive mother, had treated her as a servant—she had worked hard, had walked everywhere. She had cleaned the house, fetched food from the village, delivered things for Dr. Tucker.
Sophie knew, from her mother’s journal, that she hoped her daughter would be raised as a gentleman’s child.
But Sophie hadn’t been. The doctor’s wife took advantage of her, threatening to send her away or to a workhouse if she didn’t work harder at her chores. And the doctor was too caught up in his practice and his medical experiments to notice.
Sophie didn’t know life could be any different. She had worked hard, and she grew to like working hard. She’d liked walking in the country and talking to people when she delivered medicine to them. Most of the countrywomen had liked her and invited her in for tea or a treat. She’d loved to get a taste of fresh pie or a sip of milk, and she had loved to visit the farms at lambing time.
She knew she was illegitimate, and she’d known she could have been abandoned and left to die. That happened to poor, innocent babies.
So she’d never resented Mrs. Tucker. She’d thought she should be grateful, and that had made her happy.
Belle said she always looked for the best in things. She supposed that was true.
It had been only when she’d gotten pregnant and she’d been afraid for the future of her child that she had finally seen Mrs. Tucker for the cruel, grasping woman she was. The doctor’s wife had always hated her because of who her mother was. The woman had taken the money left for Sophie’s care and spent it on herself and her own children. And she’d been waiting for Sophie to make a mistake—for “her blood to show”—so she could hurt Sophie.
And when Sophie had been turned out of the house, after she’d had her baby, she and Belle had walked for miles with the children to try to find work and a place to live.
Walking to Nell’s street barely left her breathing hard.
When she saw Nell’s home, a brand-new town house in a block of gleaming new white houses on the outskirts of Mayfair, Sophie stopped in her tracks.
It stood four stories tall with so many windows that sparkled in the sun. Freshly painted railings enclosed planters filled tidily with pretty crocuses and other spring flowers. The door had a gleaming brass knocker and handle. Delicate curtains were tied back in the windows.
The house spoke of taste, comfort, and money.
Her heart lifted with hope.
This was what she could achieve as a courtesan. What she must achieve!
If she found a protector, she could raise her son in a lovely house with clean beds and lots of food.
She walked up and boldly rapped on the door.
After a while, it swung open. Sophie expected a footman, but a young, slender girl in a brown dress gaped at her, then said, “No, you mustn’t come here. Deliveries and the like go downstairs. At the tradesman’s door. If you’re applying for a kitchen maid’s position, that’s where you go.”
Sophie’s heart plunged. In her old wool cloak over her ordinary dress, she supposed she looked like a servant. “I am here to speak with Mrs. De Lyon. It is in regard to a ball and to a—a payment she is expecting,” Sophie bluffed. Surely, Nell’s servants must have been told to admit certain young women, the ones who had come to give bribes.
The girl opened the door. “Follow me, then, miss.”
Sophie was lead into a small foyer with black-and-white tile. Nothing as ostentatious as the duke’s house, but still lovely. Ornate Queen Anne tables stood in niches, topped by vases filled with an explosion of white orchids. Those must have come from hothouses—there was a fortune in flowers surrounding her.
For all Nell sounded so wild, she had good taste.
She obviously loved beautiful things.
This was the life Sophie could have. And Cary thought she should run back home, where she would end up in a workhouse when she ran out of money, and leave herself prey to Devars, who just wasn’t going to leave her alone. The only way she could save them all was with money.
Cary meant well.
But he was wrong.
Sophie never used to think about money. She believed in love and happiness. But now, with a child to support and Belle’s family to help, it was all she could think about.
The maid, who was young, stopped in the doorway to a parlor and pointed to a chair. “Wait there, miss, and I’ll see if the mistress will see you.”
Left alone, Soph
ie was too nervous to sit.
Did she have enough money to tempt Nell to help her?
She walked to a window. It overlooked the small, neat rear yard. There were roses, and plots of earth obviously laid out for a kitchen garden.
It seemed so strange to think a woman who had stood naked in a fountain of front of hundreds of people (mostly men) thought of mundane things such as kitchen gardens. But Cyprians were people too of course.
Someone cleared her throat behind Sophie, and Sophie jumped and whirled around. The double doors of the drawing room had been opened, and a tall and graceful woman stood framed between them.
A dark crimson sheath of a dress clung to Nell’s slender form. Her black hair was lifted in a smooth, elegant knot. One long streak of white ran through her hair. Her lips were obviously painted, but that only enhanced their wide beauty. Nell was not young, but she was strikingly lovely.
Sophie had been called beautiful, but she felt like a plain brown wren beside a spectacular black swan.
“I am very intrigued,” the Cyprian said. “I take it you lied your way into my house. So who are you and what do you want? Or should I just have you thrown out now?”
“No, no, please don’t throw me out! Please. I’ll pay you for your help. I’ll pay you anything!”
Nell lifted a suspicious brow. Then she pointed at the silk-covered settee. “Sit down, girl. You look terrified.”
“You want me to sit? You aren’t going to throw me out?”
“Should I? Do you intend to hit me over the head and steal my silver? I wouldn’t try it. I learned how to fend off strong, big men when I was younger than you.”
“You did? I should like to know how to do that!”
Nell laughed. “Whoever you are, I do not think you are a threat to me. You wear every expression on your face. I take it you are a girl from the country who desperately wants to get into a Cyprian ball so she can live a glamourous life as a pampered courtesan?”
Her reasons to become a Cyprian had nothing to do with glamour and everything to do with survival and protecting the children, but she said, “Yes. But how did you know?”