Authors: The Courtesan
Julia Justiss
“Perhaps it would be…prudent to stay a bit longer.”
“Y-yes, more prudent,” Belle echoed. Though she knew it was not prudent at all.
Though Jack then spoke of mundane matters, she found herself leaning closer, listening intently as if each word were a clue. His lips fascinated her, and she felt an inexplicable need to touch them.
Have them touch hers.
Mesmerized by the golden flecks dancing in the irises of his dark brown eyes, she didn’t immediately notice that his lips had stilled, his voice had gone silent. His eyes narrowed, darkened with a heat she recognized only too well.
She waited, scarcely breathing, as his lips descended nearer, until his sigh mingled with her own.
She closed her eyes, every nerve tingling with anticiption. Awareness of him spiraled through her body, from her fingertips down.
How would he taste? she wondered.
Wicked Wager
“This book has everything lovers of Harlequin romances live for!”
—
Old Book Barn Gazette
“Unique true-to-period characters, intrigue and up-to-snuff action makes for very enjoyable reading.”
—
Romantic Times
My Lady’s Honor
“A compelling story of secrets and trust…I didn’t want to put the book down.”
—
Romantic Times
“Julia Justiss has a knack for conveying emotional intensity and longing.”
—
All About Romance
My Lady’s Pleasure
“Engrossing…the tension between the couple crackles.”
—
Publishers Weekly
“Another entertaining, uniquely plotted Regency-era novel…top-notch writing and a perfect ending make this one easy to recommend.”
—
Romantic Times
My Lady’s Trust
“With this exceptional Regency-era romance, Justiss adds another fine feather to her writing cap.”
—
Publishers Weekly
The Proper Wife
“A spirited Regency-era romance that far outshines the usual fare…Justiss is a promising new talent.”
—
Publishers Weekly
“If
The Proper Wife
is not a perfect love story, it comes darn close.”
—
The Romance Reader
“Julia Justiss can definitely join the ranks of ‘Buried Treasures.’”
—
All About Romance
ULIA
J
USTISS
The Courtesan
The Wedding Gamble
A Scandalous Proposal
The Proper Wife
My Lady’s Trust
My Lady’s Pleasure
My Lady’s Honor
Wicked Wager
To the Evelettes for fun, friendship and your
support through all the crises of the
writerly life. I love you!
“C’
MON
, J
ACK
! You used to be game for any lark!”
Jack Carrington, captain in the 1
st
Foot Guards, peered over a stack of half-unpacked linen at the young dandy accosting him from his doorway. “I’m happy to see you, too, Aubrey, and while I appreciate the flattering enthusiasm for my company which led you to hunt me down before breakfast, I’m not interested in going anywhere. I didn’t reach London until late last night, and as you can see, I’ve yet to settle into my rooms. Can this excursion not wait?”
Receiving the rebuff with no noticeable dimming of his enthusiasm, Aubrey Ludlowe crossed the room and, pushing aside Jack’s portmanteau, poured himself some ale from the flagon on the desk. “Can’t wait. Besides, why unpack? Leave it for your man.”
“I sent my batman to rejoin his family as soon as we landed and haven’t yet had time to find a replacement.”
Aubrey waved his hand. “Let your new man attend to it after you hire him. The lesson begins shortly, and if we do not arrive soon, all the best seats will be taken.”
Surprised, Jack swallowed his ale in a gulp. “You want to drag me away at barely past dawn to watch a
lesson?
Since when did you develop such enthusiasm for education? Not while we were at Oxford, to be sure!”
Aubrey set his mug down with a thump, his expression affronted. “’Tisn’t a matter of some rubbishy book-learning! Nay, ’tis more important than that. Indeed, ’tis the most important thing going on now in London, what with the Season not yet begun. Every gentleman of note will be present. Stands to reason there must be a decision soon, and good friend that I am, I don’t wish you to miss having a chance.”
Jack stared at Aubrey. “A
lesson
is the most important event now taking place in London?” he asked, trying to sift the most intelligible bits from his friend’s speech. A sudden thought occurred and he leaned forward to sniff the air. “Are you sheets-to-the-wind, Aubrey?”
His friend chuckled, seemingly much less offended to be accused of being drunk at seven in the morning than at the suggestion he’d taken up scholarship. “Nay, though I don’t mind a little nip first thing, to revive the spirits. A sirloin wouldn’t come amiss either, but we haven’t time.” Aubrey snatched the folded shirt from Jack’s hands and tossed it on the bed. “Wear regimentals, since you’re half dressed in them already, but we leave now. The fencing master closes the doors promptly at seven-thirty.”
“You’re haranguing me to go to a
fencing
lesson?” A sudden vision filled Jack’s head—smoke, screams, the rattle of musketry and clang of blades, himself with saber slashing. Shaking it off, he said grimly, “No, thank you, Aubrey. My fencing skills are quite proficient enough. Pray God, I shall never need to hone them again.”
His friend sobered. “Amen to that. Heard Waterloo was a dreadful slaughter. But I’m proposing a different sort of contest—and one you definitely will want to see. Trust me, old fellow! Have I ever led you awry?”
Recalling a long line of dubious exploits stretching from childhood to university, Jack smiled. “Frequently.”
Grinning back, Aubrey protested, “Well, not this time. If you decide I was wrong, you may afterward exact whatever retribution you like, but I’m sure you will be thoroughly grateful I insisted you come along. ’Tis nearly a…a life-altering experience! Or,” he added with a heavy sigh, “so it has proved for many of us. But no more—you must see for yourself. You’ll thank me, I promise you!”
“Oh, very well,” Jack capitulated, his curiosity by now thoroughly piqued. Abandoning the shirts, he shrugged on his uniform jacket. “In compensation for making me leave my kit in such disorder, you may buy me breakfast.”
“Immediately after the match,” Aubrey promised. “Only hurry! I’ve a hackney waiting.”
With the speed of long practice, Jack looped the fasteners as he followed Aubrey into the hall.
“Why are you staying here at Albany anyway?” Aubrey asked as he hustled Jack down the stairs. “Dorrie’s making her come-out, isn’t she? Why not move into the family manse?”
“Mama and Dorothy won’t be coming to London for another month. You know old Quisford won’t stir from Carrington Grove until the family leaves, nor would he trust an underling to properly open the house here. When I mentioned I intended to put up at Grillon’s until they arrive, a
fellow officer whose regiment hasn’t yet been ordered home from Paris offered me the use of his rooms at Albany.”
“You’ll stay in London until the family comes?” Aubrey asked as they boarded the waiting hackney.
“I’ll remain just long enough to sell out, purchase new garments and consult our solicitors. Then I’m off to breathe country air and let Mama and Dorrie fuss over me.”
“If they can spare you the time,” Aubrey replied, signaling the driver to start. “When Mama fired off my sister, ’twas such a frenzy of preparations you’d think they were mustering an army. You’ll return with them for the Season, of course?”
“Yes, after I get the spring planting sorted out with Ericson. I promised Dorrie I’d escort her to parties, introduce her to any army chums who happen to be in town and see that only eligible gentlemen are encouraged to call. Which leaves you out,” he added with a grin.
“As if she’d look at me anyway, when we’ve known each other since we were in leading strings,” Aubrey retorted. “Besides, I’ve no desire yet to become a tenant-for-life.”
“Since as Dorrie’s equerry I shall be obliged to go about in society, I plan to keep my eyes open. Perhaps I’ll discover a little charmer who persuades me to settle down.”
When Aubrey chortled in disbelief, Jack continued, “No, I’m serious. There’s something about finding oneself intact, after riding through a hail of musketry and artillery shot, that makes one contemplate one’s own mortality. Perhaps it’s time I do my duty to marry.”
Aubrey stared at him. “I believe you mean it. Thank
heaven I’m a younger son! No duties of procreation for me—not of the legitimate variety anyway,” he amended.
“So what
illegitimate
activity are we pursuing this morning? Must be of some great moment, to get you up at such an hour. Or have you merely not been to bed yet?”
“Got a few hours’ sleep,” Aubrey replied. “Man needs his wits about him for this endeavor.”
“Which is precisely…what?” Jack pressed.
“You’ll see for yourself soon enough.”
And with that, Jack had to be content. During the rest of the drive, Aubrey refused to be coaxed, tricked or bullied into revealing anything further. Mystified and a bit annoyed, Jack was more than happy when his friend had the carriage stop at a modest town house in Soho Square.
They followed several other gentlemen up the stairs to the main floor where Aubrey, after tossing coins into a box beside the door, led him into what appeared to be a converted ballroom. The area by the door was thronged with groups of chatting gentlemen; beyond them was arranged an assortment of chairs, all occupied.
“Blast, I knew we’d tarried too long,” Aubrey grumbled. “Now we shall have to stand.”
After scanning the crowd, Aubrey elbowed a path to a space against the left wall. “This will have to do. Ah, they’re beginning. Is that not magnificent?”
In the sudden hush, Jack heard the clang of steel on steel. Turning his attention to the floor, he noted facing them an older man clad in breeches and shirtsleeves. His opponent, posing
en garde
with his back to them, appeared
to be a mere stripling, but before Jack could glean any further impression, the young man went on the attack.
Although the older gentleman, clearly the instructor, was taller and heavier, the young student seemed nearly his match. The flashing blades struck sparks as the boy thrust and counterthrust, offsetting the master’s advantage in size and experience with superior agility and audacious, risky changes of direction that allowed him to steadily drive the man back.
His distaste for combat forgotten, Jack’s attention riveted on the interplay of blade with blade. When, after checking an advance intended to throw him off balance, the boy countered with a thrust so swift and unexpected Jack barely saw the weapon move, he joined the gallery in a roar of approval as the master’s sword went flying.
“Brilliant!” he said to Aubrey while the student trotted to retrieve the errant foil. “How long has he…”
As the boy untied his mask and turned to face them, the rest of Jack’s sentence went unuttered. Walking toward them, the master’s sword in hand, was not a young lad, but a girl.
A woman, rather, Jack amended, noting with appreciation the curves suggested beneath the loose-fitting linen shirt and breeches. Though with those rounded hips, that delicious curve of bottom, how could he have believed for a moment the student was a boy?
And her face—Jack literally caught his breath as his gaze rose to what must rank as one of the Almighty’s supremest acts of creation. Its shape a perfect oval, the skin luminescent as a China pearl, her countenance was ani
mated by large eyes of deep gentian blue set under arched brows. Though the full, petal-pink lips were unsmiling, the newly minted gold hair pulled severely back and tucked into a knotted queue, she was without question the most beautiful woman he’d ever beheld.
Aubrey’s low chuckle pulled him from his rapt contemplation. “Did I not tell you?”
Realizing from the amusement on his friend’s face that his mouth must be hanging open, Jack shut it with a snap. “Who is she?”
“Lady Belle—or at least, that’s what the ton calls her, after her long-time protector, Lord Bellingham.”
“An actress?”
“No, a courtesan—and since Bellingham’s death a month ago, the most sought-after woman in London. Every unattached gentleman in the city has been pressing her to consider his offer, though Lord Rupert—” Aubrey gestured to a tall, thin man in black, his expression as somber as his garb “—has the blunt to outbid all comers. Rumor says he once offered Bellingham two thousand guineas to relinquish his claims to Belle—and doubled the offer to the lady privately, though she never left Bellingham, so it might be all a hum. Thought you might want to enter the running.”
“At a starting bid of four thousand guineas?” Jack laughed. “I haven’t that sort of blunt! She’s ravishing indeed, but—alas,” he said, surprised to feel a genuine pang of regret, “I could never afford her.”
“If ’tis true that she’s turned down Rupert on several occasions, she might be angling for more than just money. You’re a well-favored gent, war hero and all. Might have
a chance with her. And if successful, you would upon occasion allow your best friend to worship at her feet.”
Something in Aubrey’s tone made Jack transfer his gaze from Belle back to his friend. “You have a tendre there?”
Aubrey sighed. “She’d never look twice at me—an un-distinguished younger son of modest appearance and fortune. But wait—the most amusing part is beginning. Once Wroxham discovered she was taking lessons—wearing breeches—the news raced through the ton and a crowd began gathering to watch. Hoping to discourage it, I suppose, she told Armaldi to charge admission, but that only seemed to bolster attendance.”
“If she makes enough from that, she’ll not need a new protector.”
“Oh, she don’t keep it—gives it to Armaldi, to reimburse him for his trouble in having such a crowd foisted upon him, she told Montclare. But Ansley—the young cub who’s been dangling after her since last Season—protested that her admirers deserved a boon for their devotion. He induced her to agree that after the lesson, she’ll meet one challenger. Anyone who manages to best her wins a kiss.”
Indeed, as Aubrey spoke, Jack noticed several young men talking with the fencing master, their voices raised as they evidently pressed rival claims to that honor.
While the dispute continued, Lady Belle stood unmoving, the tip of her foil resting on the floor. Jack felt his gaze pulled inexorably back to her—indeed, he expected she would immediately command the attention of all the men and most of the women in any room she occupied.
After subjecting her to a searching second inspection, he found his initial awe magnified. Truly, in appearance she seemed perfection, as if the most skilled of Greek sculptors had crafted the very image of a goddess and then breathed life into it. Though the scandalous man’s attire she wore fitted her loosely, there was no mistaking the amplitude of the curves tantalizingly concealed beneath that excess of cloth.
Jack found himself imagining her garbed in classical draperies, her slender arms and toes bare, the fine linen of the chemise outlining, rather than concealing, the shape of her breasts and thighs. Desire tightened his body, rose in a flush of heat to clog his throat.
Idiot, he chastised, making himself look away. The last thing he needed was to fall under the spell of this courtesan, who probably made demands as limitless as her beauty and possessed a heart as warm as the marble from which that Grecian sculptor would have crafted her.
“She doesn’t appear to be worried,” he said, his tone sharper than he’d intended. “Has anyone ever bested her?”
“Not yet,” Aubrey admitted. “But that doesn’t stop men from fighting for a chance to try. Now, they’re beginning.”
At that moment, the fencing master pointed an imperious thumb at one of the men. Muttering their disappointment, the other contenders quit the floor.