Page 14 of What a Courtesan Wants
“How did it go?” Aubrey asked, referring to the bare-knuckle boxing match Benedict had competed in the evening before.
Aubrey always attended his friend’s matches, often acting as his second in the ring, unless he had another engagement. Last night, he’d been occupied with Lucinda, so David had filled in. It wasn’t a seemly activity for the son of a viscount, but Benedict scoffed at tradition and did as he pleased. He enjoyed the sport as much as any other gentleman—and actually preferred it when there were no gloves involved. It didn’t hurt that each win saw him the recipient of a tidy sum—more riches to add to the money he made from his investments as well as the Gentleman Courtesans. Without having to go to his hated father for a single cent, Benedict was now quite flush in the pockets.
Benedict rubbed his thumb along his discolored jaw with a wry smile. “If you think I look bad, you should see my opponent. He gave as good as he got, but in the end, I trounced him.”
He dug about in his breast pocket before coming out with a small purse, which he placed into Aubrey’s hand.
“This is from David—your winnings. How good of you to place such faith in me.”
Aubrey chuckled as he opened the purse to reveal the gleam of coins and rolls of bank notes. “You very rarely lose. It would be the height of idiocy to bet against you.”
“Come on, Elizabeth,” Mrs. Baines said suddenly, rising to her feet and brushing toast crumbs off her bosom. “Such talk isn’t fit for your ears.”
Benedict had the grace to look properly chastised as she gathered her charge and began pushing her toward the door. “Forgive me, Mrs. Baines.”
“It was good to see you, Uncle Ben!” Elizabeth chirped just before she was pushed bodily out into the hall.
“Always a pleasure, my dear,” Benedict called out.
Mrs. Baines paused on her way out to smile up at Benedict and pat his unbruised cheek. “I’ll send for a slab of beef from the kitchen for that eye. Mind you don’t go destroying that handsome face. You’ll never catch yourself a wife looking like that.”
Benedict’s blue eyes glistened with amusement as he offered Mrs. Baines a bow as if she were a duchess. “That won’t be necessary as I don’t plan to stay long. But your concern is touching, as always.”
The old nanny bustled from the room, murmuring under her breath about ‘reckless men’ and ‘barbaric sport.’ Aubrey closed the door behind her and sauntered back to the table.
“David could have just as easily delivered my winnings himself, so I suppose you’re here to ask how things went with Lady Bowery last night,” he said, slouching in his chair and idly fiddling with the spoon protruding from his teacup.
“As is my custom when a courtesan accepts a new keeper,” Benedict reminded him, sinking into the chair across from Aubrey with a wince.
He watched his friend press a hand with bruised knuckles against his ribs and raised an eyebrow. “How much longer will you do this, Ben? You don’t need the money anymore—”
“It was never about the money. I like the sport.”
“But you look as if you’ve been worked over with a mallet. You must be in terrible pain.”
Benedict flashed a wide, downright feral grin. “I like that, too. Makes the body feel alive. Don’t worry, I’m always bad off after a fight. I’ll be right as rain in a few days. Now, back to Lady Bowery.”
Aubrey avoided Benedict’s gaze, not wanting to let on how the mere mention of the woman affected him. It made no sense. They’d fucked, it had been good, and he would get to do it tomorrow evening, then again on Saturday. Between beddings, his keepers never occupied his mind. Lucinda, however, had dominated his thoughts from last night well into this morning. He’d had fevered dreams about the arch and rise of her body over his lap, the clench of her thighs around him, the wet sheath of her cunt.
This morning had been an exercise in control as he’d awakened with a cockstand to rival all cockstands. Instead of taking himself in hand and stroking himself off to the memory of their explosive joining, he had willed the turgid flesh back down by turning his mind to other matters. It had never been a problem for him before, but he was determined to keep Lady Lucinda Bowery where she belonged—in her townhouse in St. James Square, where he could visit her to slake his needs and make a bit of coin in the process. She had no business anywhere else in his life—his thoughts included.
“Well?” Benedict prodded. “Did you get on well? Did she enjoy herself?”
Aubrey doubted Lucinda had enjoyed anything in a long time. But instead of expounding on that thought, he shrugged.
“She seemed to. This will be an easy job, I think. She doesn’t require any of the escort or companionship duties. Bedroom play only.”
“Lucky bleeder,” Benedict grumbled. “Dominick would kill for such an arrangement. Interestingly enough, I’ve just been approached by someone who wants the exact opposite from him.”
Aubrey frowned. “Does this lady not understand the purpose of our agency?”
Benedict laughed, helping himself to an untouched slice of toast from the platter between them. It crunched dryly as he bit it, the bruise on his jaw undulating with green and yellow undertones as he chewed.
“She does, but has a particular need. Dominick being a popular figure amongst thetonand the son of an earl helps matters. He’ll take the job because it will pay well, but he isn’t happy about it.”
This piqued Aubrey’s interest, but he chose not to prod further. When next he saw Dominick, his friend would let him in on the particulars of his new arrangement. It would pay well, and that was what mattered considering the man was up to his ears in debt due to a gambling habit he had yet to break. If Dominick wanted pleasure, he could very well get it where he pleased. As Benedict had said, the man was popular in London—among his male friends and female admirers both.
“Well, I do hope this arrangement with Lady Bowery lasts for you,” Benedict said after polishing off his toast. “Though, finding another won’t be as much a trial as before, I think. The talk seems to have died down.”
