The Courtesan's Bed (7 page)

“Show Monsieur de Groument in.” She excused herself to Darius and greeted the dapper Frenchman. “
Bonjour, monsieur.
To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?”

He bowed over her hand and wished her good day. Then he reached into his valise and removed a flat box, which he proceeded to open with a flourish.

Régine's eyes widened when she saw the exquisite diamond and carved emerald necklace lying in a bed of white satin.

“If you'll allow me, mademoiselle…” Monsieur de Groument took out the necklace, and Régine turned around so he could fit it around her neck.

She smiled at Darius to show her delight with Luc's gift, and once the necklace was secure, she walked over to a mirror and studied her reflection, delighting in the way the stones caught fire and sparkled.

She turned to the Frenchman. “I am most pleased with Monsieur Valendry's gift.” Worth a small fortune, if she was any judge of diamonds.

De Groument looked bewildered. “But—but the necklace is not from Monsieur Valendry, Mademoiselle Laflamme. It's a gift from Count Serge Dragomilov.”

Chapter Six

Darius watched the color drain from her face and a spark of anger light her eyes. She fumbled impatiently with the necklace's clasp, and when she couldn't undo it, he stepped forward. “Allow me.”

She turned and lifted her hair away from her long neck, releasing the faint scent of some beguiling floral perfume. As he unfastened the clasp, his fingers touched her nape, and the brief, intoxicating connection made him yearn to kiss the places his fingers had brushed.

“Done.” He stepped back.

Régine caught the necklace as it slid down and thrust it at the jeweler's man as if the sparkling stones were a handful of snakes.

“Take this back to Count Dragomilov with my regrets,” she said coldly. “I cannot possibly accept such an extravagant gift.”

“But—but you must!” The Frenchman put it back in its case. A sheen of sweat appeared on his forehead, which he blotted with a handkerchief. “He will be very displeased with both of us if you don't, mademoiselle.”

She gave de Groument a look of haughty disdain. “I am the Queen of Fire. Only my current lover is allowed to give me gifts.”

“Yes, yes, of course, Mademoiselle Laflamme. As you wish.” He backed toward the door, bowing obsequiously. “I will return the necklace to Count Dragomilov.”

He turned and fled.

When Darius and Régine were alone, he said, “Are you sure that was wise?”

She folded her arms and glared at him. “The Russian cannot buy me.”

“I would be careful, if I were you.”

She returned to the settee. She looked so fresh and delectable with her anger and heightened color. “What do you mean?”

He remained standing. “He's a dangerous man. I saw his face when you refused his bottle of champagne in Maxim's last night. He looked as if he wanted to lay you across the table and force his attentions on you in front of everyone.” She started, as if he'd shocked her. Good. “And if he did try, I doubt that the old gent you were with—Valendry, is it?—would've joined the rest of us to intervene.”

A faint, guilty blush stained her cheeks, and her direct gaze slid away. “I control my own destiny and can take care of myself.”

He smiled wryly. “By definition, my dear, a protector is one who protects.”

She dismissed his concerns with a blithe wave of her hand. “You still have not told me why you're here, and your half-hour is almost up.”

He walked over to the tall window and looked out at the empty doorway where he'd stood in the soft rain last night, watching her house.

“I didn't learn of your dismissal until I returned home for the summer. My stepmother had forbidden my sisters to write to me about the event, and when I arrived, I found the girls very upset that you had gone without so much as a goodbye. You'd been replaced by a strict, middle-aged woman who offered no temptation to my father. I felt like strangling both Blackwall and his cold, vindictive wife.” He looked at her. “You're right. If he couldn't offer you marriage, the least he could've done was set you up in a little house somewhere, or settle a yearly stipend on you, but he just cast you out like a dog.

“So I started searching for you. My stepmother reluctantly gave me the address of your employment agency, and Mrs. Routledge referred me to the Bond Street shop. But the proprietor—a smarmy little man—said you'd thought yourself too good to work as a shop girl, so he'd dismissed you and didn't know where you'd gone. I could see from his demeanor that he probably had made advances and been rebuffed.”

Régine stared down at her hands. “Very perceptive of you.”

“I continued my search all summer. I placed notices in
The Times
and several surrounding local newspapers.”

She looked up, surprised. “I never saw them.”

“I made inquiries among my father's peers, but that proved fruitless.”

“My first protector was a City businessman who didn't run in your exalted social circles.”

“Dismayed with my lack of success, I returned to Oxford to complete my studies. But I never stopped thinking of you.”

His admission appeared to surprise her.

“I even hired a private inquiry agent to widen the search. It was as though you'd disappeared off the face of the earth.”

“Actually, I did disappear for a time,” she said. “I retired to a cottage in a small Sussex village, posing as a virtuous young widow. I soon grew tired of the quiet, dull village life, especially when the vicar came courting.” She laughed, a rich, melodious tinkle. “The vicar and the courtesan…what would the good ladies of the parish think?”

Darius smiled. She truly would've been a peacock among common barnyard fowl.

“I returned to London and acquired several more protectors—”

These nameless, faceless men filing through her boudoir brought on a sudden hot surge of jealousy.

“—and then decided to seek my fortune in Paris.”

“My inquiry agent finally picked up your trail and tracked you here.”

She cocked her head and studied him out of those great, luminous eyes. “So you've spent years looking for me, a woman you met only twice. Why?”

“Because you haunted me,” he said quietly. “It's like a form of madness that takes hold and won't let go.” He told her about Oxford, his London townhouse and building his fortune. “I seem to have the Midas touch in that regard. But nothing could fill the emptiness.”

He tried to read her expression to see if his admission moved her, but she kept her feelings well hidden.

He smiled dryly. “Even other women couldn't cure me.”

She put her hand into her pocket. “Now that you've found me, does my profligate life of sin and vice shock you?”

“It only pains me because my father set you on this particular path.”

“True, but I chose to stay on it. I've made my own choices, some good and others regrettably foolish. I could've remained in that village, living the life of a respectable widow, and perhaps marrying the earnest young vicar after all.”

Darius burst out laughing. “Perish the thought!” His smile died. “You weren't meant to wither away in some boring, sterile vicarage, Régine, dining on piety and good works. You deserve diamonds and champagne and nights at Maxim's. You deserve a man who cherishes you.”

“And who would that be, monsieur?”
she asked softly.

He grasped the back of the chair, feeling as tongue-tied as a schoolboy. “Me.”

She looked at him as though he had just asked her to join him in a hot air balloon ride to the moon. “You can't be serious.”

He leaned forward. “Oh, but I am.”

“My, my, my, your lordship. What would your papa say to his son and heir possessing his former lover?”

His jaw tightened. “Blackwall's opinion means nothing to me. I call on him infrequently, and only to see my sisters. Otherwise, we have little to say to each other.”

His father's singular lack of concern for the young woman he'd so callously ruined had so infuriated Darius that he'd grabbed him by the neck and flung him against the study's paneled wall.

“Still, I hardly think your family would approve of such a scandalous liaison.”

“I've been out of short pants for a long time. Like you, I—not my family—control my destiny.”

“Shouldn't you be thinking of marrying some woman of impeccable lineage and breeding your heir and a spare, not consorting with a notorious courtesan?”

She was a realist and obviously didn't assume he was offering her marriage.

“Those women don't interest me. You do.”

“Don't mistake me for the dewy-eyed innocent you met all those years ago. I am a hardheaded, practical businesswoman. I don't fall in love, and I don't expect marriage. I provide a service for my lovers—stimulating conversation, beautiful surroundings and access to my considerable amatory skills.”

He folded his arms. “And what do they do for you?”

His question took her aback, but only for a moment. “They provide me with plenty of money, shower me with extravagant gifts and ensure my financial security. It's a fair exchange. At least, I've never heard any complaints.”

She radiated a strong-willed confidence that Darius found intoxicating. Life would never be dull or predictable with this woman. He wanted her more than any other, but he also knew he had to offer her more than any other lover.

He rounded the chair and walked over to the settee, where she looked up at him warily. “They provide for you materially, but do they satisfy your womanly needs? Your emotions? Your heart's desire? Your body's cravings?”

“My needs are unimportant. I am paid—and paid well—to attend to theirs.”

“That's what I would do differently, my dear Miss Willett.” He caught her hand, surprised at the coolness of her fingers. “I would please
you
both in and out of your boudoir.”

To his satisfaction, a shiver rippled through her arm. He pitched his voice low. “Especially in the boudoir.”

Interest flickered in the depths of her eyes. “What a novel idea.”

He released her hand and gave her his most winning smile. “Does this Valendry fellow please you? He seems rather old for the task at hand.”

“Men of a certain age have their own special charms.”

But he suspected she was not being entirely truthful.

He took his seat. “Do you find me pleasing enough to lie naked with me and make love to me?”

A tiny smile tugged at her mouth. “Oh, you are a very handsome, charming fellow, Clarridge, I'll grant you that. And yes, it would be no hardship to make love to you. But I don't judge a man on good looks alone. I once had a protector who was quite homely, but whose wealth and winning personality made him very attractive indeed.”

Again, that shot of jealousy at her nameless, homely lover made him clench his teeth in envy.

“And I find myself quite bewitched by every facet of you, mademoiselle,” he said. “You are like one of those diamonds in Dragomilov's necklace, sparkling, with many facets and complexity.”

She laughed again. “You have such a silver tongue, monsieur.”

“So I've been told.”

“Kate and Emma worshiped you, and that has much to recommend it.”

“I'll have you know I'm a very upstanding fellow. I don't gamble or drink to excess, and I'm an excellent horseman and a crack shot, though I've never fought a duel. I'm educated and can converse on a wide variety of subjects. My many friends from all walks of life find me witty and good company. Oh, yes, and I'm wealthy, which I suppose I should've mentioned first, since we are to have a business arrangement.” A business arrangement that would evolve into much more.

A silence filled the room.

Darius could tell by the furrow in her brow that she was seriously considering his offer.

Finally, he said, “I'm not asking you to marry me, Régine. We will stay together until one of us tires of the other.” Though he doubted he could ever tire of her. “And then it's farewell, and no hard feelings.”

“What would be your terms?”

He threw out a monthly stipend that made her swallow hard, added a generous clothing allowance that surpassed that of a certain profligate duchess of his acquaintance, and assured her he was known to most of the jewelers in London.

She smiled seductively. “And what are your requirements in the boudoir, monsieur?”

He returned her smile. “As often as you like, and I promise you will want me often. But if there are days you wish a respite, that will be fine too.”

A faint flush warmed her cheeks. “You're very confident.”

“It's one of my finer attributes.”

She smiled, obviously amused.

“So,” he said, staring deeply into those expressive eyes, “do we have an agreement?”

“There is much to consider.”

He let his gaze rove over her face like a slow, soft caress, settling on her delectable mouth. “Perhaps a kiss would convince you of the seriousness of my intentions.”

She stared boldly at his lips and patted the place next to her on the settee. “By all means, monsieur.”

He sat down, angling his body so he faced her, and draped one arm across the back of the settee just behind her shoulders. She leaned toward him, willingly turning her head. He raised his hand and gently traced the line of her jaw with his fingertips. Her skin was as dewy and silken as a rose petal in the morning. When he reached her chin, he tilted her head and leaned over to reach her voluptuous, inviting mouth with his own.

He kissed her lightly at first, a mere pressing of the lips to both soothe and arouse her.

She responded with a sigh and the parting of her soft, sweet lips for an open-mouthed kiss that tasted faintly of brandy. Then he deepened his kiss, sliding his tongue into her mouth. She moaned softly and stroked his tongue with her own, sending a tremor of desire rocking through his body, straight to his prick.