The Accidental Courtesan (7 page)

Just outside the ballroom doors, she pressed her hand to her heart and counted to ten. Once she was certain panic had been removed from her face, she walked inside with the air of a queen. She couldn't let the earl know how troubled she felt. She must continue to deny their acquaintance. If she fled now, it would further confirm his suspicion.

In the moment she'd pushed free of him, she was almost certain she'd seen a slight, lingering doubt in his eyes. Though he'd accosted her, he wasn't completely ready to call her out as the erstwhile would-be courtesan. And if he didn't actually know the truth, then all his behavior over the last few minutes confirmed he was a woman-accosting cad.

Forced gaiety kept her from hysteria for the next two hours as she stayed close to her cousins, never giving the earl a chance to approach her. It was nearing midnight when she walked through the dining hall with Brenna and spotted him leaning against a wall, talking to a group of men.

Her composure slipped, a condition that afflicted her every time she saw his face. She gripped Brenna's arm and pulled her into a private alcove before he spotted her.

Facing her puzzled cousin, she took Brenna's arms and whispered conspiratorially, “The Earl of Seabrook. What can you tell me about him?”

Brenna shot her an odd look, then peeked around the alcove wall. She scanned the room for a moment, then turned slowly back to Noelle. A crease appeared between her brows.

“The man you spoke of earlier? The one who has accosted you is the Earl of Seabrook?” Brenna took a second glance. “I don't see him.”

Noelle poked her head out and saw the earl in conversation with an ancient gentleman in blue. Thankfully, her unwelcome would-be lover didn't seem aware of their scrutiny. It gave her a moment to glare daggers in his direction. “He is right over there,” she hissed, and pointed.

“You are mistaken.”

Noelle scowled. Did Brenna need spectacles? “In the gray coat. Leaning against the wall.”

Her cousin smiled and shook her head. “That man is not the earl. He's the American import everyone has been twittering about. He's the earl's English-American cousin, Mister Blackwell, and he is said to be more American than English. He owns a shipyard and, from what I hear, is very wealthy.”

A stone formed in Noelle's stomach. An American?

“There must be a mistake,” she protested. Then the suspicions she'd had about him since their first meeting all made sense: the odd accent, his sun-kissed skin. All the questions that had formed in her head finally came together with a clear explanation. And he'd known of her confusion the first time she called him “Your Lordship.” The cad had failed to correct her even once, knowing she'd mistaken him for the earl.

She planned to kill him at the first opportunity.

“He is the man who has taken liberties?” Brenna pressed a gloved knuckle to her mouth in a shaky attempt to hide her smile. It failed miserably. “He is very handsome. I wouldn't mind him taking liberties with me.”

It was all Noelle could do not to remove her shoe and launch it at his head. The man was a cad, a rapscallion. He took advantage of her misunderstanding to press his attentions on her, knowing she thought him a titled lord. “He led me to believe he was the earl.”

“Well, he is in line to inherit the title, after Seabrook and his two sons,” Brenna said as she took another peek at the exasperating American. “If you don't want him, I'll let you introduce us.” She turned to examine Noelle's face. “By the flush on your cheeks and seeing how upset you are, I would guess you are more acquainted than you've let on to me. How is that, by the by?”

“We have never been introduced,” Noelle said sharply. Clearly, introductions were not required before he moved on to kissing and fondling strange women. “We've bumped into each other twice, and I find him completely without manners.”

After a moment of silence, Brenna giggled and took Noelle's hands. “Deny it all you will, but I think, my dear cousin, you are smitten with the seductive American. He has finally broken through my reserved Noelle and melted some of the ice around your heart.”

“I am not smitten. And my heart is not icy.” The protest came too fast, and Brenna snickered. Noelle grimaced. If she couldn't convince Brenna of her distaste, how could she convince herself? “He is without a single positive attribute to redeem him. He is coarse, crude, and without merit. I have seen feral cats with more charm.”

“I'm crushed, ladies.” A deep, laughing voice startled both women as the American stepped around the wall and into view. “I am usually considered quite charming.”

Noelle's face burned as Brenna coughed lightly into her hand. From the light in his eyes, Noelle knew he found humor in her embarrassment. He'd been eavesdropping. It was another reason to keep him at arm's length and practice avoidance. His sins grew with each encounter.

Everyone knew Americans lived like savages. As his recent behavior proved, he was a perfect example of that theory. With a second chance to poke around his room, she'd likely find a deerskin breechcloth among his things. She knew from books that colonists wore animal hides as a matter of course, and the women indulged in snuff. They were a wild lot and best viewed from a distance.

Her flush deepened. The image of him nearly naked, thighs exposed, bare-chested, wearing only a scrap of cloth to hide his manhood, made her weak-kneed. It was Brenna's unladylike throat clearing that roused her from the beginning of a very hot daydream.

“I'm Gavin Blackwell,” he said, and reached for Brenna's hand. He pressed a kiss on her gloved knuckles. The lovely brunette smiled prettily. “And you are?”

“Miss Brenna Harrington.” She recovered quickly and reached out to pull Noelle to her side. Her tight grip kept Noelle from fleeing. “This is my cousin, Noelle Harrington, Lady Seymour.”

Gavin released Brenna's hand and took Noelle's before she could jerk it out of reach. He lowered his mouth to her fingers, never unlocking his gaze from hers. Thankfully, her gloves kept him from contact with her skin.

Noelle fell into the vortex of his blue eyes. As he pressed his lips to her gloved knuckles, she felt a tingle spread up her arm. His warm gaze promised her much more than a casual press of his lips on her hand.

“My pleasure, Lady Seymour.”

Beneath his attention, she felt bare, exposed. She knew he was recalling every second of their embraces, their kisses, with the same hunger she felt within herself. She wanted to slip into his arms and press her mouth to his, to feel his muscles beneath her hands, to see what other scandalous things he could teach her. And the light in his eyes told her that he was thinking of something else, too. Perhaps silently cursing Brenna's presence?

Noelle yanked her hand free, tripped over her gown's hem, and wobbled slightly. Only embarrassment kept her upright.

A flash of a smile lit his face. He nodded to Brenna, then turned back to Noelle. “If you will excuse me, ladies, my coach is waiting.”

As quickly as he'd appeared, he was gone.

Noelle's knees quivered. She stumbled to the nearest bench and dropped gracelessly onto it. Brenna joined her on the smooth marble surface and took her hand.

“That man wants you desperately and won't stop until he has you,” Brenna said simply, and squeezed Noelle's fingertips. “You are in serious trouble.”

Noelle looked helplessly at her cousin as her body shook under the strain of the stunning encounter. “Yes, I am.”

N
oelle peered between the curtains, her stomach a series of hard knots. She felt stalked, watched, as if her privacy was no longer her own. In the three days since the party, she hadn't left the house. In her rational mind, she knew the arrogant American (she refused to think of him any other way) had his shipyard to run and couldn't spend his time lurking outside her home. Still, she couldn't shake the feeling of impending doom.

Gavin Blackwell's intentions were clear. He wanted her, and he wouldn't be satisfied until he had her: every bit of skin, every strand of hair, every part of her covered by her undergarments, all of her. He was prepared to press his attentions, against her wishes, until she was completely under his control.

Maybe she should have one of the footmen jab around in the bushes with a stick to see if any cravat-wearing, canecarrying critters might tumble out.

She put her hands over her face. “I have lost all measure of sanity. What is wrong with me?”

Madness plagued her. He'd not contacted her, had done nothing to warrant such suspicion, yet she could not turn her thoughts in any other direction. When she'd thought he was married, it made refusing him easier. Now there was nothing to stand between her and his pursuit. But there hadn't been any requests to call, no contact at all. Shouldn't she be pleased?

Had he accepted her rebuffs and turned his attentions elsewhere? There were several young women out this Season who were capable of attracting the handsome Mister Blackwell.

“If only my sisters were here to help,” she muttered helplessly. Brenna was a perfectly acceptable confidante, but she didn't have the knowledge of men Noelle's married sisters had. Eva understood the powerful attraction to a robust man, and in fact had been a duke's mistress before they'd fallen in love and wed.

And Margaret was expecting her first child any day now. Clearly, she knew about men; or at least how to make children.

Gads! Where was her mind traveling?

There was little chance Noelle could love any man; she'd pushed that possibility firmly out of her mind years ago. Still, the dreaded Mister Blackwell had caused a deep restlessness in her that she couldn't untangle. It was the dreaded condition called attraction, and she hated to be thus afflicted.

Noelle crossed and uncrossed her arms several times before coming to a workable solution to her problem. There was a sensible way to get Mister Blackwell to leave her and her troubled mind alone. She had to confront him immediately and demand he never speak to her again.

 

T
he first signs that she was nearing her destination were the acrid fish scent of the Thames and the sight of gulls riding wind currents in the azure sky. She scrunched up her nose to deflect the smell and pressed a fingertip beneath it as the hired hackney slowed and the murky water came into view.

She'd decided to leave her carriage at home so as not to draw the attention of the curious to her destination. As a woman of advancing years, she was allowed to bend some rules, but visiting a single man without a chaperone, at his place of business, was not one of them. Particularly when the visit was, as she quickly discovered, in such an unsavory area of the wharf.

Blackwell Shipworks. The sign confirmed she was in the right place and brought deep apprehension. She should rap on the roof, demand that the driver take her home immediately, and forget this foolish endeavor. Unfortunately, her fist did not comply with her wishes and remained tightly clutched by the other fist in her lap.

The sight of the ships and the sounds of the bustling activity of workers left her oddly excited. Hammer against steel, flapping that she could discern came from sails catching the wind, and voices raised to be heard over the din of ships being built and readied to sail.

In all her years of spending the spring and summer months in London, she'd never visited a wharf or been on a ship. Mother found sea travel a frightening proposition, and their trips had been limited to overland travel. Fortunately, Noelle had no similar notion or limitations. She hoped one day to sail the world.

Anticipation welled when the hackney pulled off the street in front of the sign. She wriggled on the seat as a tall ship bobbed in its mooring. Perhaps she might press Mister Blackwell to give her a tour of one of his ships before she demanded he never speak to her again.

Noelle pondered delivering a proper set-down as the driver descended from his perch. By the end of her visit, Mister Blackwell would know how deeply she despised him and his behavior.

Several shirtless men watched as she alighted, and Noelle kept her eyes carefully averted. Any careless glance could be taken as an invitation to approach. Without a burly chaperone for protection, she'd be vulnerable to unwanted attention.

Beneath her oversized bonnet and simple, unadorned yellow gown, she knew she stood a good chance of passing the throng of workers unrecognized.

Noelle looked about for the office and spotted a tidy building with a smaller Blackwell Shipworks sign over the door. She had taken several rapid steps in that direction when a sharp whistle stopped her. She raised her head to locate the source of the sound.