Page 30 of What a Courtesan Wants
“Better you than me,” David groused. “When I met with that woman she had all the warmth of an icicle. She’s probably even colder than your Calliope, Nick.”
Lucinda was anything but cold, but refuting that claim would have the other men hounding him for details—something they all knew he’d decline to share. Aubrey had never been prone to flapping his jaw about what he did with his bedmates behind closed doors. He found himself feeling even more protective over his memories of Lucinda; not just their carnal moments, but the quiet intimacy that had begun to develop between them in the aftermath. In a few weeks, she’d grown more comfortable with him and he with her, their conversation light at times and heavy with secrets and deeper thoughts at others. For the first time in years he was in no hurry to leave the bed of the woman paying for his services. As well, there was the fact that he often thought of her when they were apart, something he’d rather not examine too closely. While she’d never spoken of an end of their arrangement, Aubrey knew their days were numbered. It wouldn’t do for him to grow attached. Not only would it only make parting more difficult, there remained the cardinal rule of the gentleman courtesans, one that had been broken twice now by both Edward and Hugh.
Thou shalt not fall in love with thy keeper.
Benedict was staunchly against romantic entanglements between courtesans and clients for reasons Aubrey could find no fault with. They weren’t a matchmaking service, as their leader was often fond of reminding them, and if too many of them ended up marrying their keepers, who was to say that word wouldn’t spread that the Gentleman Courtesans was a prime place to go hunting for a husband? New courtesans would be harder to come by, and business would dry up. Even though he longed for retirement from the agency himself, Aubrey had no wish to see the livelihood of others destroyed.
“Not her fault you don’t know your way around a woman of her caliber,” Dominick teased. “A lady of her age and experience requires a real man.”
“Andyouthink yourself areal man?” David fired back.
“I’d be man enough to take Lady Bowery and—”
Aubrey whirled away from Benedict, causing the other man’s coming swing to go wild and throw him off balance. One gloved fist raised, Aubrey advanced on Dominick, his ire rising so fast he could hardly control it.
“I’m warning you—”
“Enough,” Benedict rasped using his shirtsleeve to mop at his sweating brow. “Nick, stop being a boor, David, stop whining because the woman didn’t want you, and Aubrey relax. He’s only joking.”
Aubrey had known that, but still didn’t like hearing other men speaking of Lucinda that way. Of course, they could see her beauty and the carnal potential in her Rubenesque form. It didn’t mean he wanted to stand about listening to them.
God’s teeth, you’re a fool.
Dominick slouched in his chair as Aubrey and Benedict began removing their gloves and mopping at their sweat-slick skin with towels. His usually heavy-lidded eyes were sharp and assessing as he eyed Aubrey, a knowing smirk curving his lips.
“You’ll be wed to her in six months or less, mark my words,” he murmured, his voice low.
No one else seemed to have heard him, David and Benedict lapsing into a conversation about Ben’s next match. But Aubrey had heard him and didn’t like the conflict those words settled within his gut.
He’d been a confirmed bachelor for years and had expected to remain one until he died. After his one chance at marriage and a family had slipped through his fingers, he’d given up any such aspirations for his own future. Settling Elizabeth had been his primary objective aside from his plans for Rowland-Drake.
However, as Dominick resumed reading Hugh’s letter—which was filled with the man’s effusive and downright poetic ramblings on the joys of wedded bliss—Aubrey glanced at the men about him, forced to admit Hugh’s life sounded far preferable to this. He was weary of this courtesan business and was well aware Elizabeth’s eventual marriage would leave him quite alone in the world. The closer he came to that eventuality, the more he considered opening himself to the prospect of more for himself.
Whatever the case, such plans could never include Lucinda. The woman had made it clear that she was still too emotionally entangled with her husband. The last thing he wanted was to spend his life competing with a ghost, not that he thought she’d ever let him. He remained aware that she could decide to be done with him in an eye’s blink, just as she had before. While they got along well now, he couldn’t forget that it could just as easily happen again.
It didn’t matter what Dominick said, or how his traitorous heart gave a little squeeze at the thought of his current keeper. Should he ever wed anyone, his bride most certainly would not be Lady Lucinda Bowery.
The following day,Aubrey sat in his office at Rowland-Drake, poring over his correspondence as his niece sat in the corner, quietly working through a basket of mending. Peering at her from across the room, he frowned, wondering why she had accompanied him to the warehouse if she did not intend to work on her newest design. The day was half gone, and she hadn’t stepped foot into the back room—opting instead to help Kit and the boys tidy up in the showroom before retreating into his office with him, where she worked on one of his shirt cuffs while stealing curious glances at him every so often.
Usually, he would assume this had something to do with his assistant. His scowl deepened as he thought of the young man’s dreamy eyes fixed on his niece far too often for Aubrey’s liking. He had noticed Elizabeth returning some of those glances before demurely lowering her eyes, flirtation hanging heavy on the air between them. His fingers clenched around his letter opener at the idea of Kit getting too familiar with Elizabeth. It wasn’t that he didn’t like the lad. In truth, Kit felt like the closest thing Aubrey would ever have to a son. He’d been molding and teaching the boy from the time he was a young apprentice and admired him for his sharp mind and innovative ideas. But, if Elizabeth were to find her place in a genteel social sphere, she could not do so with a shop assistant. Even if Kit someday became Aubrey’s partner—which stood a long way off—he still would not make the sort of husband he wanted for Elizabeth. He would not see her working her fingers to the bone to help feed their children the way his sister had before her death. He would see her comfortably settled if it killed him, and now that her birthday approached, he stood closer to achieving that goal than ever.
In time, he hoped that whatever infatuation had developed between Elizabeth and Kit would fade. They were quite young, after all. The woman Aubrey had once thought he would marry had, at the time, seemed like an ideal candidate. Of course, hindsight revealed her to be the last thing he’d ever want in a wife … were he to attempt finding one, at any rate.
“Uncle Aubrey, are you all right?”
He blinked at the sound of Elizabeth’s voice and found her staring at him with concern furrowing her delicate eyebrows. Clearing his throat, he set his letter opener along with the missive aside and folded his hands atop the desk.
“Of course. Why do you ask?”
Laying his shirt carefully in her lap, she gave him a probing look. “You look as if you have something on your mind.”
Slouching in his chair, he sighed. “Nothing you need concern yourself with, dearest. Everything is fine.”
Her lips twitched as if she fought back a smile. “You wouldn’t happen to have a certainladyon your mind, would you?”
Aubrey stiffened, wondering if Elizabeth had figured out the nature of his connection to Lucinda. As far as he knew, his niece had only encountered the woman once—the afternoon she had turned up at Rowland-Drake to speak with him. She’d been back a few times since, but only after Elizabeth had already gone home for the evening. He never left their home to visit Lucinda’s until after everyone had turned in. Why would she ask him such a thing?
Feigning nonchalance, he folded his hands over his midsection. “Which lady would that be?”
