Page 2 of His Brazen Tart
The dark hair he’d spotted from a distance shimmered in the light of crystal chandeliers, a sharp contrast to smooth, alabaster skin. The lady’s eyes were a startling shade of indigo, made all the more intriguing by a heavy fringe of dark lashes and the arching black brows above them. Rouge enhanced her cheeks and mouth, and a beauty mark showed at the edge of her upper lip. Piers wondered if the mark were naturally hers, or if her lady’s maid had applied a patch. He would know soon enough. His groin tightened at the thought of licking along the seam of her narrow, puckered rosebud of a mouth, then seeking the corner where that spot teased him.
The chit caught his gaze and pursed her provoking lips. One eyebrow winged upward in an undeniable challenge as she refused to demur. Shoulders squared, with the indecent exposure of her cleavage rising with every breath, she all but dared him to interrupt her little audience.
His annoyance didn’t abate in the face of arousal as he cataloged her every feature. In fact, his lust surged as he realized that a change of pace was exactly what he needed. Mrs. Durbin’s request for a dominant bedmate had led him to expect a shy widow with a submissive nature. Of course, more time would be needed to properly assess the wants and needs of his client, but Piers had spent enough time in secret clubs and illicit parties to know what he had been presented with here.
He couldn’t help the smug smile that played along his lips as he returned Mrs. Durbin’s audacious glance, issuing a silent challenge of his own. Piers was very familiar with women like this one—those who flirted with danger and chased the heady thrill of the dark and wicked whims of a man like him.
His new keeper was no shrinking violet, no shy submissive. She was a brat; one who had just earned her first punishment from him. The moment she agreed to the parameters, he was going to show Mrs. Durbin what she would earn with her insolence.
He could hardly wait to get her alone.
Joan had immediately pickedSir Piers Lovelace out of the crowd upon her arrival. It helped that Mr. Sterling had given a thorough description of her new paramour. It wasn’t every day one came across a man of such stature and with that bright shock of white-blond hair drawing every eye in the room. She had stayed away on purpose, wanting the chance to observe him before they came face to face.
Having been widowed for three years, Joan had decided to hire a courtesan on a whim. While she certainly did notneedto pay a man to warm her bed—as evidenced by the pitiful fools clamoring for her attention this evening—she had grown bored of conventional affairs. A string of lovers had come and gone after her bastard of a husband cocked up his toes, but Joan found she had developed a sort of itch … a longing for something more. She hadn’t been able to put a name to what she desired at first, only knowing that the pampered lords she’d consorted with didn’t have what it took to deliver. They were too eager and besotted with her, treating her like a pretty doll to be petted and fawned over. While it had been nice at first to feel appreciated, since her husband had treated her as a burden and an annoyance, Joan came to realize this was not what she wanted. There was nothing exciting about men with soft hands and weak chins trying to seduce her with flowery speech and gentlemanly overtures.
As a young girl, freshly brought out amongst society, Joan had wanted nothing more than the perfect prince. She had fallen prey to the delusional dreams of one not yet experienced in the ways of the world. Her mother’s training and the constricting precepts of thetonhad tricked her into believing she shouldn’t crave anything more than that. It wasn’t appropriate for her to laugh too loud, smile too widely, or speak any higher than a demure murmur. Therefore, it was also wrong for her to desire passion and wild abandon.
Joan had done everything right. She had married for the sake of a fortune and status, and as a result had been miserable for five long, oppressive years.
Somehow, even her horrid marriage hadn’t destroyed those foolish dreams of romance and love. Once it had become appropriate for her to cast off mourning attire, she threw herself into the social whirl, hoping that a second marriage might wash away the bitter taste of her first. Gregory Durbin had left her a fortune, as well as several assets that only added to her accumulated wealth year by year. Since she had no need to marry for money or security, Joan had decided her second marriage would be for love.
That being a widow placed her in a shallower, less desirable pool of marriage prospects had been driven home in the worst of ways. The suitor she’d thought herself in love with had spurned Joan, leaving her angry, frustrated, and jaded. After nursing her broken heart back to some semblance of health, Joan had approached life with a new outlook and a determination to do as she pleased.
Following the rules had gained her nothing, so what need did she have to observe them?
Now, Joan chased excitement. She spent her evenings in salons and gaming hells, cavorting with people of scandalous reputations. She wore revealing gowns because her mother and husband had done their best to shroud her like a nun. She took lovers to her bed whenever she wished, because as a bedmate Gregory had been woefully lacking and Joan wished to know what it was to actually enjoy intercourse.
And she had been happy for a time. Now, she was disinterested in what the men of her circles could offer. Such apathy had led her to investigate the existence of the Gentleman Courtesans. The rumors of such an agency had been flying about London for a few years, but Joan hadn’t believed them until an acquaintance offered her one of their cards. Lady Banbury had been filled with riveting stories of her time with her paramour. The organization operated in secrecy, and one of the only ways a woman could gain an introduction to the proprietor was by presenting a certain calling card at a dress shop in London.
Joan hadn’t made use of the card at first, as she had not yet given up on the idea of a second marriage. Instead, she offered the card to one of her dearest friends, fellow widow Lady Miranda Hughes. One year later, Miranda had remarried and no longer had a use for the calling card, which Joan had promptly taken back. Still, it remained tucked into a book on her escritoire for months before Joan remembered it.
Stumbling upon the card again had piqued Joan’s interest in a way nothing had in a long while. The notion of being the one in control—the one to choose a lover based on a list of very specific qualifications—excited her. That elusive feeling she craved could be hers if Sir Piers Lovelace lived up to the high praises of the proprietor who had matched them.
Thus far, Joan was duly impressed. She had asked for strength and sophistication, and Sir Piers radiated both with very little effort. His powerful frame was shown to perfection by his perfectly tailored coat and breeches. The man had the form of a Corinthian, but moved through the crowd with the grace of a prowling cat. His face was downright angelic—composed of angular lines and cut through with a sharp, straight blade of a nose. His mouth was firm but beautifully shaped, with a bow in the upper lip and a pleasing curve to the lower one. That she couldn’t determine his eye color from this distance intrigued her, and Joan found herself wondering what she would discover when he finally drew near.
Wafting her fan at her flushed face, Joan gave half an ear to the men trying to draw her attention. It amused her to pretend she wasn’t aware of Sir Piers’ presence, but now that he had discovered her, she couldn’t stop stealing glances from the corner of her eye. He’d begun drawing closer, sending Joan’s pulse fluttering and her insides erupting with warmth.
Physically, he was everything she wanted—a good start, to be sure. As he lingered on the outskirts of the small crowd gathered around her, Joan experienced a trickle of something down her spine. Something exciting and slightly unnerving. It was the way Sir Piers looked at her, his brows drawn down and his lips tightly compressed, that put her on edge.
Thiswas what she wanted—the feeling of being off-balance and not knowing what might happen next. She didn’t need to know Sir Piers to understand that he would prove unpredictable. Right now, Joan had the devil of a time determining what his first impression of her must be. For, surely he had been given a description and recognized her as she had him. At first, Joan thought she noted a flash of attraction in his eyes—the color of which were still indeterminate. But, the set of his jaw and mouth told her that he might be annoyed at being kept waiting while she entertained the attentions of other men.
Joan raised her chin defiantly, daring him to do something about it. She had signed the contract, but it wasn’t final until she saw his own signature on the page beneath hers … until she had decided that he would suit her needs. If he couldn’t pass this first test, then Joan would know she had made the right decision.
She tore her gaze from him and flashed a bright smile at the gentleman nearest her. He fell silent and stared expectantly, so Joan snapped her fan closed and swatted his arm in a flirtatious gesture.
“Oh, how witty you are, my lord,” she chirped, fluttering her eyelashes.
Predictably, the lord whose name she had forgotten entirely, lit up in the face of her attention. His cheeks darkened and she rather feared he might faint. His lips opened and shut like a fish gaping for air, and he seemed to search for words. Apparently, he hadn’t expected her to acknowledge him and was at a loss now that she had.
The lord snapped his mouth shut as another, deeper voice, intruded upon the moment. “Mrs. Durbin, I had wondered if you were available for the next dance?”
Joan’s spine stiffened as she stared into the ethereal, yet somehow also hawkish face of Sir Piers. A breath caught in her chest and lodged there as she peered into eyes the palest shade of blue she’d ever seen. They might have been washed into obscurity by the brightness of his hair and his eyebrows—which were only slightly darker—if not for the piercing intensity of them. Prisms of darker blue made themselves apparent in the candlelight, adding dimension and intrigue. Now that he loomed over her like the side of a cliff, large and intimidating, Joan could make out at least a day’s worth of pale stubble growing along his jaw.
Now she was the one having trouble speaking, as his gaze told her that what had sounded like a request had really been a command. Sir Piers offered a hand to her, his eyes narrowing. With the gazes of everyone within earshot upon her, Joan was left with no choice but to accept the proffered hand.
But then, as she found her palm laid against a taut, sinewy forearm, Joan admitted to herself that she would never have refused. Sir Piers Lovelace was exactly the sort of man she wanted.
Chapter 2
