Page 4 of A Courtesan Countess Worth the Scandal
The gentlemen erupted into raucous laughter, which the young man took with admirable humility. His cheeks flushed pink and he looked a touch awkward, but as Nora reached over to give his forearm a gentle stroke, she knew all was forgiven. Her jokes were never mean-spirited; they were crafted in order to uplift the mood of the room, and to ensure that she held the attention of her audience.
“I do have a boyish face, I admit,” the young man said bashfully.
“Why, I have been waiting all evening for your nursemaid to batter down the door and demand you go to bed, so you aren’t irritable in the morning.” Nora gave the young man’s arm a slight squeeze and drew her hand back. “My apologies, Sir, you know I don’t mean it. You have a very fine face, and I shall be green with envy when you do find yourself a wife, for I shall be as wizened as a prune, and will look like mutton dressed as lamb in this gown.”
He looked horrified. “You could never look anything but beautiful, Miss Black. Even if you were… five-and-thirty, you would be more radiant than ladies half your age.”
“Well then, I shall let you into a little secret. The ladies half my age are still in their nurseries, so I should say I have several years left to entertain you all with my charms.” She giggled brightly, eliciting another round of laughter from the gentlemen in the group.
Are they laughing because they know it’s not entirely true, or can I still pass for a girl in her prime?
In her line of work, as a sought-after courtesan who escorted men in various situations, her age was her one vulnerability. At eight-and-twenty, she was no longer considered youthful, and it pained her, every morning, to see another fine line or a slight crease that had not been there before. That was why she needed to save as much money as she could before gentlemen no longer wanted to be in her presence. And not just for her sake.
“What are we all laughing about?” Julia Jones, Nora’s dear friend and rival courtesan, slipped in between two of the gentlemen opposite. At five-and-twenty, with curly fair hair, clear blue eyes, rouged cheeks and a little too much red upon her lips, she was well admired, but could not hold a candle to Nora. There was something about Nora’s silky black locks, pale complexion, and darker, sea-blue eyes that seemed to make her mysterious to the men they encountered.
Nora gestured to the young man whose cheeks had recovered from their momentary heat. “I was just performing my usual initiation ceremony for all of the youthful gentlemen I have met for the first time.”
“Did she embarrass you terribly?” Julia cooed, sidling up to the young man in question. Where Nora used distance and teasing to her advantage, to keep the gentlemen on their toes, Julia was more direct. Indeed, she was always eager to offer more in exchange for monetary gain, while Nora was content to be a creature of mystique who was notoriously difficult to catch.
The man floundered. “No, no, not at all. It was all in good jest, and it was nothing I have not heard before.”
“Don’t tell me you are running out of original japes?” Julia feigned shock and winked in Nora’s direction.
“Me?” Nora fanned her face, glancing coquettishly at the circle of gentlemen. “Do you find me unoriginal, Sirs?”
A chorus of protest drifted back to her, making her smile. She was not yet beyond favor.
“You see, everyone is quite entertained, and I have not had to flash a single glimpse of ankle.” Nora toyed playfully with her skirts, swaying them backward and forward, inspiring the gentlemen to cheer.
“Raise your hem!” one cried.
“We must see a sliver of that pristine flesh!” another pleaded.
“I will blind myself, so your dainty ankles are the last thing I see!” one particularly enthusiastic man declared, prompting the friend at his side to shoot him a startled expression.
Nora pretend to lift the hem of her gown, only to drop it again before they could see anything more than her shoelaces. “I’m afraid I would catch a chill, Gentlemen. And though it would be a proud moment, worthy of putting upon my gravestone—“Here lies Miss Nora Black, who died from exposure. May the men of London mourn her”—I can’t risk being bedridden.”
The men whistled and whooped at the euphemisms in her words, making her smirk with delight. Her wit was one of her greatest assets, and one of the features that kept gentlemen interested in having her company. With it, she hoped she might last a few years more than her fading beauty.
“May I fetch you a drink, Lord Westleigh?” She turned her most inviting gaze up to him, so he would not feel left out, or affronted by her general flirtation. Another skill that maintained her popularity.
He nodded. “I should like that very much.”
“Cognac?” She lifted her hand to his face, and gently caressed his jaw.
He licked his lips, his eyes shining with desire at her touch. “Um… yes, that would do nicely.”
Apologies, Lord Westleigh, but nothing will grace your lips this evening, except that sweet liquor.
She did not say so out loud, for that was part of the allure. It was her calling to make her “suitors” feel special, and wanted, and adored, without giving up any part of herself in return. Over the years, she had allowed a few to be her “keepers,” but they had never lasted very long. They assumed that, once they owned her, she would be more amenable to their physical wants, but her nature did not change. She indulged their carnal urges only when she felt a desire to be closer to them, which was not often. Or when they had her trapped and she had no way out but to calm them and flee as soon as they were asleep, but she did not like to dwell on that.
If only they knew how much I detest the wills and whims of men… perhaps, they wouldn’t be so eager to attain me.
Turning away from Lord Westleigh, with a lingering stroke of his back, she weaved through the mass of men in the gentlemen’s club, to find someone who could furnish her with a brandy.
“I hate you all,” she muttered under her breath, swallowing the prickle of displeasure that bristled through her. Being surrounded by so many wealthy men from the social elite brought back a bevy of hurtful memories. In their faces, she saw the reflection of the man who had first shattered her heart and created the distrust and loathing of men that she had never been able to shake.
His actions defined me… I had no choice but to be what I am, now.
