Page 18 of A Courtesan Countess Worth the Scandal
“Come to me, mon chéri,” she purred. “I am here.”
Unable to do anything to control his movements, all he could do was stare in abject horror as his body turned in front of the door, and looked upon the scene beyond.
Lying upon the bed where he had found Élodie in flagrante with the footman, his wife was not the one tangled in bed linens. Instead, he saw Miss Black, her naked body glistening in the low light of the bedchamber. She stretched in repose, one arm draped above her head, highlighting the swell of firm breasts and taut, tempting nipples.
“You came for me,” she smiled, “you came to rescue me.”
His throat constricting with unbidden desire, his gaze trailed down the flat of her stomach, that gave way to the subtle rounding of her abdomen. Before he could look any lower, however, she turned over onto her stomach and glanced at him over her shoulder, kicking her lithe legs coquettishly, the way his wife had done that night.
“Have you come to save me, Liam?” Élodie’s voice came out of Miss Black’s mouth, jarring his senses. “Or have you come to betray me? Is this not what you punished me for?”
Before he could answer, his eyes shot open. Drenched in sweat, his breath coming in fast, fierce pants, it took him a moment to realize that he was back in the bedchamber of his London townhouse, with the bed linens twisted around his body.
“It was a dream,” he rasped. “Thank goodness… it was just a dream.”
And yet, as the wind whistled through his bedchamber window, he could have sworn he heard it say,“Is this not what you punished me for?”
Chapter Eight
After spending the morning at the orphanage, helping out wherever they could with repairs, moving beds away from the leakiest parts of the roof, feeding the children, and making preparations for fresh deliveries, Nora and her family returned to the townhouse, with one extra person in tow.
“We should be safe in here,” Nora whispered, closing the door to her private study. “Anyway, we have to be in here, because this is where I keep my list. I don’t want to carry it around the house, in case someone sees.”
Julia sat cross legged on the floor, in front of the study’s fireplace. “I never thought to keep a list, though I wish I had now. Who would’ve thought it would come in useful for retirement? Then again, I’m not the one retiring. I’ve still got some years left.”
“And you make good use of them, for as long as you want to,” Nora encouraged, knowing how much her friend enjoyed the attention. “Now, why don’t we start with ten gentlemen and see how they respond. If it’s promising, then we can move on to more.”
She went to her bureau and opened the top drawer with a key. From inside, she plucked a leather-bound journal that she had been writing in since she began this line of work. At first, it had been an additional safety measure, so she would know the addresses and names of her clients if they harmed her. But she had quickly learned that the Bow Street Runners did not care if a courtesan had been injured. After that, it had simply been a matter of habit.
“How many do you have in there?” Julia gawped at the book.
Nora shrugged. “I’ve lost count, but it should be plenty to send a ripple through the gentlemen of London. So, let us hope they are wise enough to realize that their good reputation is worth giving me a pretty penny.”
She sat down on the floor, beside Nora, and passed down paper, ink, and quills from the bureau above. Setting out a stack for her and a stack for Julia, she untied the ribbons that held her journal together, and thumbed through it. After all, she would need to select very carefully. If she targeted men who were too volatile, it would be risky. If she targeted men who had a great deal to lose, however, then it could be very rewarding indeed.
“Ah, here. Can you write this one?” Nora pointed to a “Simon Lamont, Marquess of Scorsborough.” He might have only been a Marquess, but he had his hand in many a business venture that had amassed him an impressive fortune.
Julia opened the inkwell and dipped the nib of her quill. “What should I put in the letter?”
“How about this?” Nora took her own quill and ink, and began to write, so Julia would be able to emulate it to the letter. Nora had been taught to read and write by the very gentleman who had given her this townhouse and she, in turn, had taught Julia. It was about the only decent thing that first wretched client had done.
Dear –,
I am writing to inform you that I intend to publish my memoirs, “The Exploits of a London Butterfly.” It shall be a vividly detailed piece, recounting every encounter that I have enjoyed during my time as a courtesan. And when I say “vivid,” I do mean that I shall leave no description, no name, no information, no business, no lineage unturned. I shall not even omit the tiniest mole or peculiarity that I have witnessed in my clients over these years, and that will include any strange request that has been made of me, any brutality that has been shown to me, and any unusual fancies that have been whispered in my ear.
If you would not like to see your name and your whimsies in my memoir, then I would like to offer you the opportunity to have it omitted from the diverse menagerie of gentlemen who have sought out my charms. Please respond to the address given at the heading of this letter, with a price that you think is fitting for the maintenance of your good reputation. If I am insulted by the offer, I may choose to make up some sordid details to make this memoir even more tantalizing to the reader… and mortifying for you.
Yours Sincerely,
Miss Black
“What do you think?” Nora looked to her friend eagerly.
Julia wielded her quill like a sword, swiping it through the air. “I think you are about to have all the men in London quaking in their boots.”
In Nora’s opinion, it was about time they were the ones who were made to feel afraid. They had lorded their power and influence over her time and time again. Now, it was her turn.
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