His Courtesan Bride (Brides of Mayfair 3) (13 page)

She wanted to kiss his mouth, and tried to turn to face him, but he wouldn’t let her.

“No, Serena,” he said. “Kissing comes later. Right now I want to torture you a little more like this.”

Serena obeyed, keeping her back to him as he teased and pleasured her. It felt so good, she didn’t really want it to stop anyway.

The thinking part of her brain wanted to congratulate herself on a job well done. She had passed the test. She was a true courtesan, able to enjoy pleasure from a man she did not particularly like, and had even detested.

But strangely, she did not detest him right now. Quite the contrary. Not with the delicious way he was making her feel.

Perhaps it was a combination of circumstances—the diamonds glittering about her neck, the twinkling candles above them, the sinful way Darius was touching her body….

She closed her eyes as he slid his warm hand into her gown and cupped her breast…

“I say, just through here,” a voice said.

Serena opened her eyes, and what she saw at first made no sense to her whatsoever.

Major Price, with another man beside him.

Who looked as if he were ready to explode.

The Duke of Balfour.

Serena looked down, saw Darius’s hands inside her dress, gripping her breast like a melon at a market, and felt her stomach take a nosedive.

Major Price raised his mask, looking sheepish. “Oh dear. Wrong time for the garden tour, I suppose.”

While Serena struggled to pull her sleeve up over her shoulder, the duke ripped the mask from his face and threw it to the ground, his face turning an unhealthy shade of red. Cursing under his breath, Balfour turned on his heel and stomped off into the night.

“Impeccable timing, Price,” Darius said, sounding perturbed…or did he? “Would you please take your leave while I apologize to Miss Ransom for your interruption.”

“Of course,” Major Price replied, bowing. “So sorry, Darius. My deepest apologies to Miss Ransom.”

Serena fumed as she finished putting her appearance to rights. She spun around to face Darius, who resembled the proverbial cat who ate the canary.

All at once, it became clear.

He had done it to her again.

Chapter 8

“
The courtesan should take great pains to ensure that in any given situation with a man, she never gets in over her head. But if she does find herself in such a circumstance, she has two choices: either paddle like mad, or let the rising tide take her to safety.”

–from Memoirs of a Courtesan, by Lady Night

“You—you
planned
this, didn’t you?” Serena demanded. “The whole thing! The diamonds, the candlelight, the duke coming upon us at exactly the wrong time. It seems very reminiscent of another garden tryst I remember quite vividly—the one at Telford House. The only thing missing is your poor, late wife screeching and throwing a champagne glass at my head.”

“I didn’t give you diamonds at Telford House,” Darius pointed out.

“So you admit it,” she said. “You set me up! This was theater, complete with a well-lit stage. That’s why you wouldn’t let me turn ’round in your arms. You wanted me facing the duke when he appeared, so that there would be no question about my identity.”

Darius regarded her coolly. “I admit nothing. Besides, you are a courtesan now, not a naïve girl. This isn’t the Marriage Mart. You are selling yourself to the highest bidder.”

“A courtesan never sells herself, Darius,” Serena replied. “She chooses with whom to spend her time, and settles for nothing less than being treated with respect. You may have succeeded in prejudicing your competition, but then again, that was your plan all along, wasn’t it?”

“All is fair in love and war,” Darius replied. “Shakespeare said that.”

Serena folded her arms across her bosom, which still burned from Darius’s touch. “No he did not,” she spat. “It was John Lyly. And the quote is, ‘The rules of fair play do not apply in love and war.’”

“Really?” Darius looked impressed.

“Really.”

“I stand corrected,” he said.

“Is that all you have to say?” Serena asked in disbelief.

Darius quirked a brow. “I had no idea you felt so strongly about the correct identification of Renaissance poets.”

“There is much you do not know about me, Darius,” she replied, glaring at him. “Very much indeed.”

“And it is an aggrieved state which I very much wish to remedy.”

“And this is how you think to do it?” she demanded. “By embarrassing me again in public?”

“
Public
? It was Havelock and Balfour. And you can bet neither one of them will say a word about it.”

“You think so, do you?”

“I know so,” Darius assured. “Havelock is a loyal friend. He would never betray such a confidence. And as for your precious duke, exposing us would only serve to make him look the fool. He would rather fall on his sword than do that.”

Serena seethed with anger. “Tell me one thing, then.
Why
?”

Lord Kane’s blue eyes burned with heat, primal and possessive, as he looked down at her. “Because I want you, Serena. I will see you in no man’s bed but my own.”

“And you think this dirty little trick will serve to win my favor?”

He gave an unapologetic shrug. “Every good soldier has a few tricks up his sleeve.”

Serena gave him a contemptuous stare. If she could have killed him with it, she would have. “Well, I have a new experience for you, Darius. I am leaving.”

She turned abruptly and began to stride away.

“What about the diamonds?” Darius called after her. She thought she heard a tinge of amusement in his voice.

“They’re
my
diamonds, now.” Serena flung the words over her shoulder at him, wishing they were daggers.

* * *

Darius returned to the house and sought out his partner in crime, Major Havelock Price. While the ball continued on in the grand house, Darius crept down hallways and dark passages, staying out of sight of any of the guests.

He entered the library, closing the door quietly behind him. Havelock waited in a chair beside the fire, his expression curious.

Darius poured a brandy for each of them, then sank into a seat in a red leather wing chair across from Havelock and raised his glass, but felt no pleasure in it. “To a successful mission.”

Havelock grinned. “And to Miss Ransom’s beauty and spirited nature. I suspect she put you in your place, Darius, and deservedly so.”

Darius gave his friend a dark look. “She most certainly did, and though the so-called mission was a success, it was bloody wretched of me, and still, the battle is not yet won. You are always too quick to assume victory.”

“Pish tosh,” Havelock replied. “I’ll wager you’ll have her in your bed soon enough.”

Darius sipped his brandy and watched the flames dance behind the grate. Yes, Serena in his bed. As she should have been long ago. Though it was coming with a cost.

Tonight, Serena had admonished him for using a dirty trick to achieve his goal. How could he possibly excuse his behavior, except to say that the war had taught him to be single-minded and ruthless when dealing with the enemy, and right now, the enemy was the Duke of Balfour.

Once his rival was out of the running, Darius would be the only logical choice for Serena, due to his wealth and status. And if he had to resort to trickery to help her realize that, so be it. Did the end not justify the means?

The brandy burned his throat as he swallowed another mouthful, reflecting upon the current state of affairs.

Deep down, he supposed he and Serena were more similar than she cared to admit. Though she maintained that life as a courtesan would be empowering and exotic, the fact remained that she was about to sell herself to the highest bidder.

Wasn’t that exactly what he had done, in marrying Henrietta? Miss Barton had paid him handsomely for putting a ring on her finger and coming to her bed. And he had done exactly that. It was no different than the path Serena had chosen for herself.

That was another reason he had to have Serena as his courtesan. He couldn’t bear the thought of her being at another man’s mercy, in another man’s bed, nothing more than a plaything—for Darius understood exactly what it meant to be someone’s plaything. He had been Henrietta’s, forced to endure her vengeful presence day after day.

His wife had presented herself as a rational woman at first, but not long after the honeymoon, she became like a child who squeezed the stuffing out of a much-loved doll, then picked its eyes out. She never forgave him for his indiscretion at the Telford Ball, and her bitterness and hatred grew with every passing day. To escape the unpleasantness of his marriage, Darius had gone to Town when his wife was in the country, or gone to the country when she was at Town. A few days later, Henrietta would turn up wherever he was, with a malicious sheen in her eyes that she tried to disguise with a lighthearted voice in front of others. But as soon as they were alone…

Where had he been?
she would ask.
Who had he seen? Why had he not returned to her? Was there another woman? Who was she? The woman from the Telford Ball? That whore?

Henrietta’s moods could change as quickly as the weather. One moment she’d be weeping, the next, screaming and throwing a vase at his head. His reflexes were well-honed, but once or twice she’d hit him with a well-aimed missile. That was how he’d earned the scar above his left eyebrow. Most people thought he’d suffered it in the Peninsula, when in reality, he’d gotten it at Manning Park.

Once, he’d caught her slicing up his portrait with a knife, stabbing at his heart and cutting out his eyes. And when she kicked his dog down the stairs for no apparent reason, except to satisfy her punishing cruel streak, Darius feared ever siring a child with her. He knew he would live in constant concern for his son’s or daughter’s wellbeing.

Perhaps it had been a premonition…

Though it was difficult, Darius had kept his wife’s fitful behavior a secret from everyone save Havelock, who was always there to lighten the mood with a dram of brandy. It was Havelock who observed that if Wellington could have assembled an army of Henriettas, they could have won the war back in ’09.

So Darius had done his best to stay out of his wife’s way, for all the good it had done. In some ways, it merely made her more desperate to be with him, more hateful and vengeful. But at least it kept one of them sane.

Darius felt a wash of anger come over him suddenly. Serena had no idea what she was getting into with this new vocation of hers. She thought that she would be the one in control. That was what he’d thought about Henrietta, too. But he had been wrong.

Imagining a free spirit like Serena under the thumb of a man like the Duke of Balfour made Darius want to smash something, for Balfour was not what he seemed. Weak men usually weren’t. Though quite useless in the company of other men, they rarely missed an opportunity to oppress the fairer sex, for it made them feel stronger than they actually were. Balfour might shower Serena with gifts, but the price would be his ill treatment of her.

Havelock’s voice pulled Darius out of his thoughts.

“I daresay the duke will remove his suit, now that he saw you sampling Miss Ransom’s considerable charms.”

“Then our plan will have been a success,” Darius replied, hoping it was worth it.

“Of course, the wild card in all of this is Miss Ransom herself,” Havelock pointed out. “She may be so infuriated with you that she’ll refuse your suit on principle.”

Darius pondered that outcome. “Yes, I’m sure she will want to do exactly that. But if I were a betting man—and you know that I am—I’d wager that Lady Devlyn will advise her to accept my offer posthaste. For it is not only Serena’s future, but that of the Courtesan Club as a whole, which is at stake.”

Havelock grinned. “Exactly. If it becomes known that a powerful man like the duke has seen fit to reject the most desirable woman in London, then perhaps the Courtesan Club is something of a hoax. Their careers might be over before they even begin.”

“Lady Devlyn is a shrewd business woman,” Darius pointed out. “I’m sure she’s thought of that already and is advising her protégées accordingly. Come, let’s have another drink.”

Havelock held out his glass. “To you and Miss Ransom. May you next sample her charms in a more private setting, which doesn’t include an interruption from the duke.”

Chapter 9

“
In some ways, the courtesan must be like a general. One must always have a contingency plan, for more often than not, the battle does not go as expected. Victory is not the result of fate, but of careful engineering.”

–from Memoirs of a Courtesan, by Lady Night

“It is as we thought,” Lady Devlyn said, closing the vellum note in her hand. “His Grace, the Duke of Balfour, has rescinded his offer to you, my dear.”

Serena placed the delicate china cup back in its saucer, wishing the strong hot coffee could do more to improve her mood. Mansfield had delivered the duke’s missive shortly after the ladies had sat down for breakfast. Serena hadn’t felt much like eating, and especially didn’t after she’d received the duke’s note. Unwilling to face it, she’d handed it to Lady D to read aloud.