Page 1 of What a Courtesan Wants
Prologue
London, 1819
Benedict Sterling stood against the wall of the gallery in the home of his dear friend, Lady Millicent Dane. Raucous cheers went up as two men raced toward a finish line constructed of ladies’ stockings.
“Come on, Mr. Graham!” shouted a woman from beside Benedict, waving a lace-edged handkerchief. “I’ve bet my pin money on you!”
“He’ll never beat Mr. Burke,” murmured her companion—a man swigging port from a cut crystal glass. “The man has the legs of a gazelle.”
Chuckling, Benedict watched the competitors—each with a woman riding his back, arms around his neck and legs circling his waist—compete for the winner’s purse as well as the glory of victory. Neither of them was as desperate for the money as they might have been two years ago, which made this nothing more than a bit of sport for the sake of a laugh, as well as drawing the attention of the women who might pay good coin to bed them. Both David Graham and Dominick Burke were between keepers, thus the reason he’d insisted they attend this party with him.
The Widow Dane was known for her exclusive gatherings, where debauched happenings were par for the course, and no one ever spoke of what went on inside her townhouse on Half-Moon Street. Champagne and spirits flowed freely, inhibitions were lowered, and after a sumptuous dinner, the guests had broken into groups based on how they wished to conclude the evening. Pairs and threesomes of lovers had disappeared into bedchambers without further ado—and not everyone retired with the person they had arrived with. It was a common occurrence at Lady Dane’s parties for guests to explore new desires, free to pair with multiple people or even those of their own sex if they wished. Some rooms contained implements meant to torture as well as titillate, and from behind closed doors the occasional yelp or scream of ecstasy could be heard.
This particular group had taken to parlor games, most of which would be considered scandalous in anyone else’s home. Blind Man’s Bluff had seen the men groping about in blindfolds, pretending to be contrite when grabbing a handful of some woman’s bosom or buttocks while licentious laughter filled the gallery. During Hot Cockles, blindfolded women had taken turns kneeling and laying their heads in the laps of a randomly chosen man—which had happened to be Benedict. He’d served as nothing more than a headrest as the other men had taken turns delivering open-handed blows to the women’s backsides, leaving them to guess who had spanked them. If they guessed wrong, another man would take his turn, leaving one unfortunate woman prey to a dozen blows before she deduced correctly. She hadn’t seemed to mind, lips parted and cheeks flushed with arousal as she rubbed at her sore arse.
From there, the games had been improvised, becoming more lewd and outlandish by the hour. There had been a competition to see which man could remove a woman’s garter with his teeth the fastest, then the women had been tested at untying men’s cravats in the same way, hands tied behind their backs. A few couples had slipped off here and there, the excitement of the games giving way to lust that simply could not wait.
Now, as Benedict enjoyed his umpteenth tumbler of brandy, David barreled through the finish line, the string of stockings tangling around him as he stumbled to a stop. Bellowing his outrage, Dominick came in a few paces behind, almost dropping the woman clinging to him for dear life. More cheers rose up to echo off the high ceilings, Benedict watching for signs of interest from the gathered women. Several pairs of eyes moved with predatory hunger over Nick’s long, athletic body, and he detected more than a few sighs and fluttered eyelashes at the sight of David’s pretty face.
“Oh, bollocks!” Nick groused with an accusing glare in David’s direction. His green eyes were heavy-lidded from too much drink, and his aristocratic features were softened by a tumble of dark brown hair and full, pouting lips.
David’s blue eyes stood out bright and clear in the olive hue of his complexion, black hair tumbling over his brow. “Come now, Nicky. Do be a good sport about this. Won’t you congratulate me for winning?”
Dominick crouched to let the woman off his back, then gave her bottom a pinch. She squealed, then giggled, leaning into him as over-imbibing began to take its toll.
“I will not congratulate you for cheating,” Nick grumbled. “You wouldn’t have won if you hadn’t selected the smallest woman in the room! You knew you would never outmatch me otherwise.”
Ignoring his own companion—who clung to his neck while placing open-mouthed kisses against his jaw—David scoffed. “It is calledstrategy, and I am not to be blamed if you didn’t think of it. Honestly, I believe you chose your woman solely because of her … erm … attributes.”
Several gazes fell on the woman leaning against Dominick, plump, white flesh spilling from the neckline of her gown. Dominick leered at her breasts, reaching out to cup one and give it a squeeze.
The woman tittered. “Apologies if I caused us to lose the race, Mr. Burke.”
Dominick wrapped an arm around her waist and drew her closer, as someone handed David the winner’s purse, guineas and sovereigns clinking together inside.
“There’s no need to apologize for something you’ve been endowed with naturally. And I daresay the spoils of defeat will be even better than those of victory.”
He whispered something in the woman’s ear that Benedict couldn’t make out—but then, he knew an illicit invitation when he saw one. Sure enough, she took Dominick’s hand and led him away from the guests who stood about either paying or collecting on their bets.
The man gave Benedict a look over one shoulder, and he offered a nod of permission. Dominick knew the rules as well as any other gentleman courtesan. On nights such as these, tumbles were free—a chance for potential clients to sample what they might have were they willing to part with the coin. In the morning, if the lady wanted an arrangement with Nick that lasted more than a night, she would need to visit Benedict at Madame Hershaw’s dress shop in Cavendish Square. From his secret back office, he’d produce a contract—one that would continue to keep Dominick in grand style while allowing Benedict a percentage as the broker of the agreement.
A moment later, David slipped away with his own companion. Benedict gave him the same permissive nod he’d given the other courtesan, and with that his mission had been accomplished for the evening.
With his own arrangement firmly in place and most of the other courtesans similarly engaged, he need only snare keepers for three men to ensure everyone’s future remained secure—for the next few months, at least. None of them ever knew when a client would want to end her contract, leaving them to start this whole song and dance again.
Benedict glanced up to find his hostess for the evening approaching. She wore a gown that called attention to the ample curves of her body, the low neckline showing a generous amount of cleavage, and her pale blonde hair atop her head in an elaborate coiffure. She wafted a fan before her face and gave him a little smile, plump lips stained with rouge.
Lady Dane proved a scandalous figure amongst theton. Having married an elderly baron in her youth, she’d only been forced to bear him a short time before his death had freed her. Childless and wealthy due to the terms of his will, she lived her life as she pleased, taking lovers and hosting her decadent parties. Her exploits had seen her become the subject of scorn in some circles, while she was praised in others. Those who came to her soirées did so seeking a haven where they could be themselves away from the prying eyes of theton.
When becoming aware of Benedict’s own pressing problem, she had graciously stepped in to help.
“Things seem to be going well,” she said.
“Yes, and I thank you for having us tonight.”
“It is no trouble at all. Besides, you and Aubrey have been such good friends to me over the years, so I am happy to aid you in any way I can. Where is he, by the way? I noticed David and Dominick have found amusement for the evening, but I haven’t seen Aubrey since dinner.”
Benedict inclined his head toward the corridor the other two courtesans had just disappeared down. “He’d found someone by the time the dessert course ended. They excused themselves an hour ago.”
