Page 2 of What a Courtesan Wants
“I hope they are getting on well. In fact, I hope this party results in new arrangements for all your available courtesans. Especially since that odious gossip columnist has made it so difficult for you to conduct your business.”
Benedict fought back a string of curses at the mention of the woman who had nearly ruined the enterprise of the Gentleman Courtesans. Of course, no one knew the identity of the person writing London’s most infamous gossip rag, but she was assumed to be female. No man he knew would have the daring or the cunning to secretly churn out a daily paper filled with salacious gossip about thebeau monde. Whoever the harridan was, she’d somehow caught wind of the secret agency Benedict had founded with a group of his friends. A few months ago, the column exposing the existence of male courtesans in London had thrown them all into a panic.
If people knew about them, they couldn’t go on conducting their affairs without being found out. What if one of their former clients had given this writer information, such as the names of the Gentleman Courtesans, or the secret office they operated out of? What would happen once word began to spread? How terribly would their reputations suffer?
However, a sudden realization had put Benedict at ease, allowing him to convince the other men they had no reason to fear. It occurred to him that this so-called columnist couldn’t possibly know the entire truth. If she did, she would have exposed it all from the start. That she’d promised not to rest until she’d puzzled it out told Benedict she had nothing—at least, nothing that would be enough to implicate them. In fact, there hadn’t been a peep out ofThe London Gossipthese past several weeks about the Gentleman Courtesans, further bolstering Benedict’s opinion that the woman did not know enough to be dangerous.
And so, the agency persisted with only a few minor adjustments to their standard procedures. Their calling cards, which had been passed from woman to woman as a way to refer new clients, had all been collected and thrown into a lit hearth. That had been quite an undertaking, with Benedict and his apprentice rifling through their records for the names and addresses of former keepers and tracing where the cards had traded hands. After weeks of scouring London and beyond, his courtesans had returned with handfuls of the cards, which Benedict had promptly burned to ash.
From now on, clients could only encounter the Gentleman Courtesans through parties such as these—events put together by people known to the agency, people they could trust. As a friend, Millicent could be counted on to be discreet, and invite women who would be interested in what they had to offer. As well, those present had their own secrets to keep, and would never dream of exposing Benedict and the others unless they wanted their own hidden truths to be unveiled.
“I am certain all will be well,” Benedict assured her. “You’ve given us what we needed to make new connections. We have things well in hand from here.”
Millicent bowed her head, then gestured with her fan toward a woman standing alone on the fringes of the guests. “That reminds me, I have someone for you to meet. A woman who has expressed an interest in the services of your agency. She is a particular friend of mine … a protégé I trained myself in the art of submission. She is looking for a new arrangement, as her previous master has died. The poor thing.”
Benedict looked at the woman in question. Despite being in the home of one of the best hostesses in London, she wore stark black, her expression blank as she gazed at the revelry happening around her. Despite the color of the gown, it had been tailored to fit her in a flattering way, showing off a tall, voluptuous figure. Golden hair had been arranged in a soft chignon at the nape of her neck, a few loose strands framing sloping cheekbones, a pert nose, blue eyes and a pleasing moue of a mouth.
“If your friend is a submissive, then I only have one courtesan who could properly meet her needs at the moment. The other is currently being trained and isn’t ready to take anyone in hand yet.”
Millicent bit her lip. “Oh, but Aubrey is already occupied. What rotten luck. I really think an arrangement with one of your courtesans would be just the thing for her. The woman has been widowed two years, yet still wears mourning attire and closets herself away. I insisted she attend this evening, but she doesn’t seem to be enjoying herself at all.”
Benedict rubbed at his chin. “Aubrey is occupied tonight, but he isn’t promised to anyone just yet. Introduce me to your friend, and I will see to the rest.”
A quarter of an hour later,Benedict sat in Millicent’s private drawing room awaiting the arrival of her friend. The widow would be instructed to meet him here, where he would interview her to ensure she was interested in what Aubrey had to offer. While he trusted his friend’s ability to secure an arrangement on his own, he also knew how important it was for Aubrey to always have a keeper. While his business had been snatched from the brink of ruin, the additional income was needed, for Aubrey was the guardian to his niece, who had now come of an age to wed. Being a man of some means, it was Aubrey’s wish to see her married well, which required a dowry and trousseau—both of which were being financed by his secret profession. If the woman his friend entertained tonight didn’t make an offer, Benedict would be waiting in the wings with another. After all Aubrey had ever done for him, it was the least he could do. It seemed paltry recompense for the man who had saved his life and been a truer friend than any he’d ever had, but it would have to do. It was all Benedict had to give.
And so, when Millicent returned, ushering in her solemn friend, Benedict stood and put on his most genial smile.
“Benedict, may I present my dear friend, Lady Lucinda Bowery, Dowager Countess of Lanhope. Lucinda, this is Mr. Benedict Sterling. He’s the one I mentioned to you before.”
Lady Bowery stood tall enough to look him in the eyes—a rare occurrence considering he stood taller than most men of his acquaintance. He detected a bit of wariness in her gaze, as well as shrewdness. No simpering miss, this one.
“Oh yes, the pimp.”
Benedict grinned, no stranger to that title and not the least bit offended by it. “I’ve been called a pimp on occasion. A cock-bawd. A procurer. But, I like to think of myself a simple creator of opportunities, my lady.”
“The opportunity for a man to get a woman into bed with him?” she asked with a derisive snort. “Sir, I do believe most men could accomplish that on their own and for free.”
“That isn’t what the Gentleman Courtesans offers at all, my lady. Truly, what we do goes far beyond the carnal. Our every aim is to please the women who employ our services, and each contract is tailored to fit the needs of the individual woman. Companionship, romance, and yes, bedroom play … all offered by a man chosen to suit you. And I must say, I’ve been told I am quite good at selecting the ideal courtesan based on the woman in question.”
“Is that so?” she challenged, while Millicent looked on in silence, eyebrows raised in amused interest.
“Quite so, my lady. In fact, if you will tell me a bit about yourself, I am certain I could have your ideal match in mind in a matter of seconds.”
He almost never approached new clients with such bluster, but Benedict’s confidence was reinforced by the information Millicent had given him and the fact that he’d already decided on Aubrey.
“If you are as good as you claim, you shouldn’t need my assistance. Tell me, Mr. Sterling … what sort of courtesan do you suppose would be best? Providing I am actually interested, which remains to be seen.”
Taking a step closer to her, then another, Benedict peered into her eyes. From this close, he could see the dark circles beneath them from lack of sleep and the lines of grief pulling her lips into a frown. The death of her master had to have been a terrible blow, one she had not yet recovered from. Sympathy pricked him as he realized he could see a bit of himself in her—the loneliness, the grief, the realization that he was all alone in the world and likely always would be.
He’d always been good at reading people and determining what drove them. This woman was no different.
“You need someone strong,” he began without breaking her gaze. “Someone who will challenge you and push you to the limits of your usual boundaries. A man who will dominate you so thoroughly, you’ll forget your pain and losses for the time you are with him. Someone with experience, who knows the proper techniques involved in bringing a woman like you pleasure. Am I far off the mark, my lady?”
She stared at him with a slack jaw, her breath quickening as his words seemed to affect her physically. Her large bosom rose and fell, her pulse fluttering in the hollow of her collarbone. Benedict grinned. He’d intrigued her, and they both knew it.
“I have found such men difficult to come by since the death of the earl, who was both my husband and my master. He was all those things. I will not mince words with you, Mr. Sterling. I have no use for those other facets you mentioned—the romance, the companionship. Were I to enter into any such agreement, it would be with the mutual understanding that I am simply a woman with an itch that needs scratching.”
Benedict’s lips twitched in amusement. He liked this woman.
