Courtesan's Kiss (13 page)

“Only enough to know that having one on the main floor is not usual.”

“It seemed practical when the old oven caught fire and smoke ruined the old kitchen below-stairs. The house is not used that often and the Cantwells are aging. Putting the kitchen where it would be more convenient for them made sense.”

“More convenient for the servants?” How could he complain about the way she treated Janina when he had moved the kitchen to accommodate a butler and housekeeper?

He ignored her. “You must know how to cook. That would help Mrs. Cantwell immensely.”

“You can insist all you want, my lord, but the answer is no, I do not know how to cook.”

His smile disappeared along with all traces of his short-lived good humor. “Miss Castellano, you use the word
no
the way others use please and thank you. Mrs. Cantwell cannot do everything for the next seven days.”

“Nor do I expect her to. I offered to tend the sick, but Mrs. Cantwell will not hear of it.”

“I’m not surprised you have more experience comforting men than cooking.” His sarcasm wounded her, but before she could explain her father’s last months, he went on. “My sister, Olivia, is skilled at all manner—”

“Lady Olivia is an amazing woman with unique skills.” Which was a very nice way of saying that dear Lady Olivia’s love of cooking was not typical of a gentleman’s daughter. “I know enough about food to choose or approve
a menu, but this ‘knowing enough’ does not include cooking a chicken or,” she shuddered, “killing one.”

Lord David paced the kitchen once, moving from the fireplace to the larder and back.

“There must be other ways I can help.”

“I doubt I will need anyone to advise me on the latest fashion.”

His tone of derision was the last straw.

“You were delighted at seeing me when you thought I could cook a meal but now that I can’t you are an ogre once again.” If he was not going to make even the slightest effort to be good company then she would not, either. “Look at me,” she demanded and was surprised when he obeyed her. “I hate that foul-smelling tobacco. Take it outside and leave it there, or better yet, stay with it.”

He took a deliberate puff and blew the smoke out in a circle.

She grabbed the cigarillo from his hand and dropped it in the sink, still half filled with water, and went to the door where she turned to face him with her arms folded across her chest.

Instead of trying to retrieve the cigarillo, Lord David caught her at the shoulders and held her with more pressure than was necessary.

She refused to let her smile of triumph fade but it felt more forced, and she hoped he did not see that she was just a little afraid of—and excited by—his temper.

He pushed her back against the door and stepped so close that she could feel the heat from his body. “Do not
aggravate me, Miss Castellano. I am not a man to be toyed with.”

Mia wanted to laugh with the pleasure of it. To have him so close, to feel his power rush through her thrilled her even more than doing riding tricks on a horse.

He dropped his hands from her shoulders. She wanted to rub the spot where she might well have bruises tomorrow, but decided she would rather not betray weakness.

“Very well, my lord.” She swooped away from him, down and under where his arm blocked her, while she thought of the best way to couch her challenge. “I will leave you alone until you wish for my company.”
Until you beg for it
, she added to herself. He did not answer, but Mia could feel his eyes on her as she left the room.

Dio mio
, not a moment ago she had rejected him completely. Even now she knew she could barely tolerate Lord David’s rude behavior. But suddenly she wanted very much to seduce him into a kiss to see if she enjoyed it as much as she had the feel of him.

It would answer a question, one that she had never been able to ask of anyone, since she numbered no courtesans among her acquaintances here in England. Was it possible to make love to a man you did not like very much at all?

She shivered at the thought. The idea fascinated her now that the imaginary man had a name.

Mia dashed up the stairs, turned to the left at the top, and continued down the hall to her bedchamber. Once again she was drawn to the window and stared out at the landscape and the darkening sky.

The sun dipped toward the western horizon, no longer casting shadows. Mia watched it fall from view and listened to the sounds that welcomed the night. Crickets and frogs sang to their own tune. Could she write a piece for the pianoforte that would imitate their sound, or create a tune that would remind the listener of a warm summer night surrounded by nature?

Better to dwell on that than on what a downward spiral her life had become from the night that William and Lord David had interrupted her with Lord Arthur. She could date it from that moment. After weeks of uncertainty and finally a demand she come to Pennford, she now faced one of several unwelcome futures. The possibility of illness, the possibility of disfigurement following the illness, and the probability that all of this would be followed by a confrontation with Elena that was bound to make the months until her majority miserable for all.

Only then would this bad patch end. On her twenty-first birthday she would have all in place to set out on her own. That is what she should think about; not everyone must dwell on the possibility of failure like Lord David.

She would start with where to live. Not London. There were too many bad memories and unfriendly faces there.

Abroad would be best. If the life of a single woman of independent means was too limiting and she did become a courtesan, then living abroad would be much less embarrassing for Elena. Her eyes filled, as she was overwhelmed with regret for the way life had pulled them apart.

Denying the upset, she tried to think of a city she would enjoy. Someplace where she spoke the language with a charming accent, where they appreciated music, and where she could afford the cost of establishing herself.

Vienna. The city was growing, recovering from the wars and becoming as international as Paris and Rome. Yes, Vienna should be at the top of the list. She turned her head away from the window and ignored the tears that trickled down her cheeks.

Leaving England should not feel so hard.

With the deep, deep sigh that was as much a relief as tears, she considered living in England. If she wanted to stay, she could choose a place other than London.

Mia lay down on her bed and stared out the window as she considered where. Brighton. The Regent’s Pavilion at Brighton attracted all sorts of people, from royal to roué, and would never appeal to the staid Duke of Meryon or his wife. But the Prince Regent was aging with neither wisdom nor grace. His circle of friends did not seem to appreciate music or anything but drink and revelry, something she enjoyed as much as the next person, but in moderation. The Regent himself was proof that nothing ruined one’s looks or health faster than excess.

Mia mulled over several other possibilities, but really she had not seen all that much of England north of London. There was plenty of time to decide. It would be more than a year before she reached her majority. She did not have to make a decision tonight about anything more than what time to retire.

Jumping up from her bed, Mia changed the angle of the clock so she could see the time in the morning.

Lighting a candle, she searched through her bag and found a book that Elena had given her when they first came to London.

She lost herself in the adventures of a girl off to Bath, away from home for the first time. Mia considered the similarity of their stories. The likeness ended when the heroine, whom Mia judged as none too bright, met two young men and found it a challenge to make her preference known, constantly falling under the influence of her brother and her best friend, who had fallen in love with each other.

True, she and Catherine both enjoyed adventure. Mia put her head against the high back of the chair and smiled.

Would Bath suit her? What better spot than a place people visited for relaxation and fun? And Elena disliked Bath.

They had visited once and her guardian had insisted they leave within the week. Mia had loved it, had found herself the center of attention whenever someone came to call. It had been before her come-out and was the scene of her first nasty argument with Elena over Mia’s flirtatious behavior.

Her visit last spring with Mrs. Giddings and her daughters had been disappointing in some ways, but it did prove she had a talent for charming old men. And Bath was full of older, wealthy gentlemen.

When she turned twenty-one Mia would not have to answer to anyone. Not Mrs. Giddings or Elena. She could
flirt outrageously, and there would be a constant stream of visitors so that there would be no danger of forming attachments and, if she wished, many, many opportunities for seduction.

Closing her eyes, Mia pictured a house on the Crescent where her salon would be the one everyone visited, as popular with artists as it was with society. A place where gentlemen could mix with men they would never usually meet. It would be easy to find a lover in such a group. Or not. As she wished. And she would send them away when she grew bored.

Yes, Bath might be the perfect spot, she decided, and dozed off with that thought.

Some sound awoke her. She sat still, trying to determine the source of the noise. It wasn’t noise, but the lack of it. The clock had stopped its soothing tick, tick, tick.

Mia jumped up and found the key, winding the mechanism carefully, and then realized that she must find a clock still running to know the correct time. In the next moment it occurred to her that she could wind all the clocks. She could perform that helpful task quite easily without any training at all.

D
AVID CAME IN
the kitchen door, tossing the tiny end of the cigarillo into the banked fire. It flared for a moment, and then the room fell into darkness again. Locking the door, he prepared to make the rounds to be sure the house was secured. A silly precaution in a house under quarantine, with a sign on the gates announcing it, but Mrs. Cantwell had asked him to see to it and he would.

As he came down the passage from the back of the house, he heard a low singing as someone, some woman, a woman who could only be Mia Castellano, passed by the passage and went into the main salon. He recognized the tune, “Greensleeves,” but the words were not familiar. He moved closer for a better look at what mischief she had found.

“Midnight, the witching hour,” she sang in an almost charming alto whisper, “when all our dreams are bad ones.
Midnight, the wishing hour, when all our dreams are glad ones. Dreams, dreams that blend our world with all we wish and all we fear. Dreams, dreams that blend our world with what we want and all held dear.”

She stopped singing but kept on humming as she found the key for the tall clock and carefully wound it. She had to stretch to reach the keyhole, her lithe body lit in silhouette by the moonlight from the window nearby.

David did not need to be reminded that dreams could be an insane blend of reality and illusion. Without closing his eyes he knew that. He could still feel the warmth of her shoulders under his hands. He could still feel the longing to pull her to him and show her just how much he wanted her. He stepped back behind the door as she left the salon and passed him to go into the small salon, singing her song again.

“Oh, take me back to days gone by when love was new and hearts did plead. Take me back to nights so sweet when dreams of love were filled with need.”

Need
. No one so young could understand true need or she would never have used a word so mundane, even if it rhymed. David could hear the turning sound as she wound the clock in there and wondered what possessed her to do this chore at midnight.

He stole into the room she had just left. He could still hear her singing and would know when she had gone to bed.

Seven days of this
. Of running into her four or six times a day. As they had proved in the last twelve hours, it was impossible to avoid each other in a house this size.

This was Eros’s idea of hell. To put a man in close confines with temptation in the shape of a girl. One who had no idea what she risked when she did something as simple as let her skirt brush against him.

Add to that the irony that he was her only chaperone, and the one person she needed protection from was him.

He did not want to imagine how Elena and Lyn would react if he could not control himself. No doubt his dreams would be filled with possibilities, up to and including a duel with swords where the duke unmanned him with one well-placed thrust.

Mia came out of the small salon and made her way up the stairs. “Dreams, dreams that curse our souls and wound our hearts. Dreams, dreams that make our lives more worthy of our living.”

He listened for a while and heard the tune fade as she went into her room. David checked the latch on the front door, the windows in the hall and the two salons, and, sure that enough time had passed, made his own way upstairs. He had his hand on the latch to his room when Mia opened the door from the other side. She jumped back, startled, and then laughed. “You frightened me half to death,” she said, stating the obvious.