Page 13 of Taming of the Rake
“Please tell me she isn’t married,” he groaned. He had never balked at servicing someone’s wife, but just now found he lacked the fortitude to climb through windows and run from the ominous shadow of a jealous husband.
“Widowed,” Lyons replied as the house came into view. “She has very few requirements. Only that her courtesan be a man with a pleasing face and form, and that he make himself available to her a few nights a week until the arrangement has ended.”
David didn’t know whether to feel dread or excitement over such cryptic terms, but then decided it was of no consequence. If this woman wanted him to lick her toes while calling her Empress of the Universe, he would do it as long as she was paying.
“Her direction,” Lyons informed him before they mounted the front steps. “She’ll be expecting you tomorrow.”
They entered the house, and David sent for refreshment for himself and Lyons, hoping their larder wasn’t depleted to the point of bareness. They could hardly afford to host guests, but Lyons was one man. That his saddle wasn’t loaded down with baggage meant he had his own lodgings for the night. It would not be seemly for them to host anyone while in mourning, anyway, but if it was the last thing David did, he would restore the house to its former glory. His mother had once been fond of entertaining, but Mrs. Moffat had confided that she ceased once the house fell into disrepair. He would give her a grand home she could be proud to open to visitors if it killed him.
Petra and Constantia would have new clothes and dowries. They weren’t too long in the tooth to make good matches, and their pleasing looks would work along with the dowries to catch acceptable husbands.
By the time they reached the study, David was grinning at the hope such plans inspired. All was not lost; not while there were still women in England who were willing to pay for the attentions of a man like him.
While Lyons stood at one of the windows overlooking the lawn, David sat behind his desk and opened Benedict’s note. It had been hastily written and lacked Ben’s typically neat penmanship. Squinting to make out the words, David read:
D,
Burn this note after you have read it. The shrew has been mollified for the moment, and I am working on a more permanent solution. I am sorry to hear of your trouble, my friend. I offer my assistance in whatever manner you require. You have but to send word of whatever you might need. The new contract is yours to benefit from and I will take no percentage. Take care of your family. I will send word when there is more to report.
-B
David sat staring at the words in slack-jawed silence for a moment. Never had Benedict offered to give up his portion of any courtesan’s earnings. As the proprietor of the business, he was entitled to a cut, which he gleefully accepted as his due. Of course, his financial circumstances had vastly improved since the founding of the agency, so Ben could well afford to forgo his commission on what might be a lucrative contract.
It was more than he would have ever asked of his friend, but David was not too prideful to accept such a gift. He would need every penny he could get his hands on in the coming months.
“How is he, really?” he asked while rifling about for a scrap of paper to pen his response. “You probably have more contact with him than anyone these days.”
Lyons turned away from the window. “As well as can be expected given the circumstances. The matter of Lady Thrush has been taken care of. The Gentleman Courtesans need not worry that she will cause trouble for us ever again.”
“How did Ben manage that?” David murmured while penning his response.
“With a bank draft and a very pointed threat.” At David’s raised eyebrows, Lyons added, “One of social ruin, of course.”
Interesting, that the woman had been willing to oust them in a fit of jealousy but didn’t want her own name dragged through the mud. If she had any sense, she would take the money Ben had offered and disappear from London for a good, long while.
“The Widow Dane has been charged with unearthing any substantial evidence pointing to the Gossip’s identity. As well, she is exerting her influence to ensure past clients maintain their silence, but also that they understand we are doing everything we can to silence the rumors. If this goes on much longer, we run the risk of losing business.”
David paused, pen hovering over the page as he glanced at Lyons. “The other courtesans often joke that you are Benedict’s long-lost son … you’re so much like him. You are suited for this work, Lyons.”
Amusement danced in the man’s eyes, but he didn’t so much as crack a smile. “Mr. Sterling has been a good mentor and an even better employer. I count it a compliment to be compared to him.”
“I meant it as one.”
Finishing off his letter with the one request he would make of Benedict, David signed it with his initial and folded it closed. After all Ben had done for him, he would not make a burden of himself. But because of Wren, he would find it difficult to trust anyone. He could not manage without a steward for long and could trust Benedict to recommend someone beyond reproach.
That done, David turned his mind back over to his new client, letting himself fantasize over what she might look like, smell like, taste like. He hadn’t had a woman since his interlude with Frances and her friends, and he’d been interrupted before finishing. David had never been one to think of the duties of a courtesan as actualwork. This arrangement would serve as a pleasant distraction, something he could look forward to when the drudgery of his days became too much.
Whoever this new client was, he was going to seduce her out of her clothes as well as a great deal of money.
Chapter 3
“The notorious lady known as the Ravishing Widow has been seen about Town much these past weeks, visiting with those who are bold enough to call her ‘friend.’ One wonders why such illustrious persons of thebeau mondeare happy to take such a viper into their midst. She has been rumored to be connected with those disreputable debauchees known as The Gentleman Courtesans. Though, knowing the truth of her scandalous background, that should come as no surprise to anyone.”
-The London Gossip,6 December 1819
Firelight cast an ominous glow over the room in which Regina Hurst paced like a caged animal, projecting oblong shadows along the floor and against the wall. The clock on the mantel had just chimed three o’clock, which meant her expected caller might arrive at any moment. She ought to have specified a time for this meeting. That would have kept her from jumping at every sound emitting from beyond the drawing room door.
There was nothing for it now. She had told Mr. Lyons to have her prospective courtesan call upon her at his leisure, and that could not be changed. The rest of her arrangement would be carried out with far more control. Her nerves required—no, demanded—rigid adherence to a list of protocols. Otherwise, she might never be able to go through with this.
