The Courtesan's Daughter (3 page)

It was patently obvious that she was not even remotely a likely female.

Her mother, the most likely female that the men of London had apparently ever seen, chose that exact moment to enter the yellow salon. It was the most perfectly dreadful cap to a most hideously embarrassing situation.

“Lord Richborough,” Sophia said smoothly, “how early you are today. I had not thought to see you until this afternoon. I trust Caroline has kept you entertained?”

Hardly. At least not in any way that mattered. Things had not gone
at all
the way she had hoped, but when did they ever?

“Perfectly,” Lord Richborough said, kissing Sophia’s outstretched hand. It seemed to Caro that her mother’s hand was always outstretched for one reason or another and that she
always
managed to achieve whatever it was she was reaching for. Caro was not at all certain how she did it. “She is your daughter in every delightful detail.”

Sarcasm, if she’d ever heard it, and she had.

“But of course she is,” Sophia said with a smile. “Now, how may I entertain you, Lord Richborough? In much the manner my daughter has already done? Or are you ready for a change of pace?”

From that moment on, neither Richborough nor her mother had eyes for any but each other. Caro made her excuses and then her exit, all her questions about her desirability answered in the most demoralizing manner conceivable. This courtesan business was getting more complicated by the moment.

Three

LORD Ashdon arrived promptly at the Countess Dalby’s Upper Brook Street house for his eleven o’clock appointment. The time was just past eleven. He considered that arriving just past eleven was as prompt as he was willing to deliver; the Countess of Dalby, Sophia to her many intimates, was not going to have him walking the street in front of her immaculately maintained London home, begging entrance early. He had some pride left to him. Not much, but enough.

Arriving late was a small insult, but deserving, nonetheless. What the Countess of Dalby was attempting deserved at least some responding insult.

He knocked, was admitted with a cordial nod by Fredericks, famously loyal to Sophia from her courtesan days to this, and was led to the yellow salon. Where he was made to wait until almost noon.

“Unfailingly prompt,” Sophia said, entering in a rustle of soft muslin. “Thank you for that, Lord Ashdon. One finds manners so appallingly on the down these days.”

Which meant, of course, that she knew exactly when he had arrived and was repaying insult for insult. She was rather famous for doing that.

He watched her as she arranged herself on a yellow silk damask sofa, toying with the folds of her ivory-colored muslin skirt. She was the beauty she had always been. Tall and slim, her breasts high and white, her throat smooth, her complexion creamy. Her black hair was still dark and glossy, no trace of silver to mark her years. Her almond-shaped eyes were black pools set under a straight and narrow brow. Her lips were full and red, her nose slim and aristocratic, her face a perfect oval of feminine beauty. She exuded serene poise, aristocratic condescension, and simmering sensuality.

No wonder she had been the talk of her time.

No wonder Dalby had married her.

No wonder she had him by the purse now.

“Be seated, if it please you,” she said, waving a slim arm in the general direction of the chair opposite her.

He sat, though he was not the least bit pleased to do so.

“Refreshments, or do you have other appointments you must keep?” she asked.

He had no other appointments. “I’m afraid that my visit must be brief, Lady Dalby.”

“Of course,” she said with a smile. She knew he lied. “You are a man of the world, Lord Ashdon, and as such, I know you have considered your position and my offer most carefully. You have been well educated in your duty to your family and your estate. As you may recall, I know your father well and I know that he would not neglect to instruct you in the responsibilities of your station.”

Knew his father well; that was exactly to the point. She had “known” his father, and been kept by him until Dalby had snatched her from under his father’s hand. Westlin, his father, and Dalby were old rivals, well before the onset of Sophia’s arrival in the streets of London, yet Sophia had used that rivalry to increase her own purse. He did not blame her for it, though neither did he applaud her.

She was a businesswoman to the last, no matter her title now.

That his father still lusted after her made the whole subject decidedly galling.

That Sophia clearly understood his father still hated her was what brought him to her salon now.

“I know my responsibilities, madam,” he said, crossing his legs.

“How fortunate for us both,” she said, running a lace handkerchief between her fingers in a gentle rhythm. He found himself staring at her hands, at her long fingers and the bundle of lace that passed again and again through them. White against cream, stroke by stroke.

She was both crass and obvious, and he had expected nothing less from her.

“And I can manage my own life,” he said, lifting his gaze away from her hands and that damned bit of lace.

“I do not doubt it, sir. In point of fact, I am quite relying on it. But the question is, can you manage your debts?”

“Given time.”

“And good fortune,” she added. “Unfortunately, time does not wait.” She tucked her bit of lace into a fold of her muslin skirt and considered him with her dark and unfathomable eyes. He met her stare and stilled the urge to squirm. “I have purchased your debts by paying them, Lord Ashdon. You now are in debt to me. The sum is thirty-eight thousand pounds. Can you pay it?”

This was
not
as this scene was to have been played. He had grossly miscalculated her, in spite of all his father’s instruction.

“Not at present,” he said stiffly, keeping his legs crossed and his posture relaxed.

“The present is all we have, Lord Ashdon,” she said. “The future, as ever, is uncertain. At present, you have a debt that you cannot pay. At present, I have a daughter who must be married. Surely you see the solution to our present problems.”

“You think to buy me? I am not a stallion, madam. I cannot be bought for your daughter’s pleasure.”

Sophia smiled and said, “You cannot be bought? Have I not just done so? As to my daughter’s pleasure, I am not certain she even wants you. You were … available, and I gambled in buying up your debt. Whether she finds you to her pleasure is completely up to her. And to you, I suppose,” she said in afterthought.

“You take much pleasure in this, Lady Dalby,” he gritted out. “A revenge of sorts against Westlin.”

“Lord Ashdon, I have not thought of Westlin in years. I live in the present, as should you. But, if it makes you feel better, your father paid much less for me. Thirty-eight thousand pounds is quite a sum. I would feel flattered, were I you.”

“You are not I.”

“No, I am not, but I know what it is to be purchased for a sum. How nice that we have something in common, besides our enjoyment of the gaming tables and the thrill of a wager.”

He flinched inwardly. She was as cruel as his father had said, and as merciless. “You cannot buy me. I cannot, I
will not
be bought,” he gritted out through clenched teeth.

“Darling Ashdon,” she said softly, her smile sweet and kind. What an actress she was. “Let us not be crass. You must pay your wagers. Your good name depends upon it. If one chooses to play, one must honor one’s losses.”

“Give me time. I will borrow the funds. I will pay off this debt.”

“By borrowing? Is that not incurring yet more debt? Have you learned nothing at all?” Sophia ran a finger over the swells of her creamy breasts, considering him solemnly. “I do not know that I want my daughter to marry a man of such profligate ways. She is much opposed to risk and would prefer a more stable, mature man at her side. I cannot say I disagree with her.”

Now he was not good enough for the daughter of a courtesan? Insult upon insult.

“Westlin will never allow it,” he said. “My father has his own plans for me, and they do not include your daughter.”

“I would wager that Westlin’s plans do not include the payment of a thirty-eight-thousand-pound debt, sir. Will you ask him to pay it? And before you answer, let me ask you another question. Do you think he can pay it, should he be so inclined?”

The look in her eyes, the shock of her question throughout his bones—the combination of the two sent realization thrumming through him.

“Yes,” she said, nodding, like a tutor pleased with a pupil. “He cannot pay your debt, Lord Ashdon, because he cannot pay his own. Serve me in this, in this one small deed, and your debt is cancelled. You will be free to gamble yourself into penury again, if that is your inclination.”

“And your daughter? You would see her so served?” he said softly.

“My daughter will be protected from intemperate men, never doubt it. I will have the papers drawn and you will sign them. Gamble as freely as you wish with your money, but hers will be set aside for herself and her children. You and your father shall not touch it. Are we agreed?”

He had no choice as things now stood. By every device laid before him, his future was gambled upon the seed of a courtesan.

“We are agreed,” he said, rising to his feet. “Her name?”

He meant to insult her. He knew her daughter’s name from years past when his father had found the scent of Dalby’s widow and pursued her again through the salons of London. Had Westlin succeeded? Ashdon did not know. Given Westlin’s feelings about the woman, it did not seem likely.

“Caroline,” she said, smiling up at him, her very posture smug. “You may begin courting her this very day.”

“A courtship? After this bargaining?”

“Of course a courtship. A courtship always follows on the heels of a bargaining and is, by the bounds of civility, required,” she said, coming to her feet with languid grace. “What else did you think a marriage was, Ashdon?”

He wanted to kill her.

“Come round later this afternoon, will you? You may begin then,” she said. “And change your shirt. The one you are wearing has the tiniest spot on the cuff, just there.” And she touched his hand above the wrist to show him, a fleeting touch, a spark of female warmth that burned his pride. On the tide of that touch, she laughed her way out of the room.

Four

“WELL, that’s settled,” Sophia said as she entered the white salon. “Such a fuss over a simple marriage settlement. He played the outraged child to perfection. One wonders if he practices such theatrics at home.”

“You don’t blame him,” Viscount Richborough said from his leonine lounge on her milk blue damask sofa.

“Don’t I? ” she said, sitting politely on the twin sofa facing him. “Why don’t I? ”

“Because, my dear Sophia, he has obligations to his family and his name.”

“As do I, Richborough.”

“And your obligation is to see your child well married. That is Westlin’s charge as well. You seek the same ends.”

“Along different paths, is that your point?” she said softly. “Caro shall be married well, at least as well as I have done.”

“A high mark to set for her. She hasn’t your … natural advantages.”

“Careful, Richborough,” Sophia said with a smile. “I am still annoyed with you for whatever happened between you and Caro this morning. To judge by the look on her face, I should probably throw you out. Should I throw you out, Richborough? Did you abuse my daughter shamelessly and did she bruise your considerable pride? Why else for you to insult her now?”

“Insult her?”

“Caroline has every advantage a girl needs in this world. How very odd that you cannot see that. She must have rejected you quite firmly,” she said, watching him as he held her gaze with all the innocence of a puppy. And all puppies had the unfortunate habit of relieving themselves upon the smallest whim and upon the very best carpets.

“Nothing happened beyond the normal meaningless conversation that one reserves for virgins,” he said, leaning forward to take her hand in his. She allowed him that, suspecting where it would lead. As long as he left off his speculation about Caro, she would allow him to lead the conversation elsewhere. “I understand that you are ambitious for your child, as any mother would be. I understand,” he said, kissing her fingertips, “that you would see Westlin turn upon the point of your knife for failing to offer marriage to you when he offered everything else.”

“You speculate,” she said, watching him take her index finger into his mouth and suckle it. “You were a boy at school when I first met Westlin. All you know is the gossip you have heard in the clubs of St. James.”

“Is anything truer than the rumors that swirl in the air of the clubs? He has never forgotten you, madam, why else for his son to resent you as he does?”

“Because I hold the paper on his debts? ” she said as she watched him seduce her by way of her hand.

“You have bought Ashdon’s will, for a time. Do not think you have bought the man.”

“What a fine point you put on it, Richborough,” she said, removing her hand from his. “Ashdon will do what I want him to do because he must. He has no skill for poverty, I think, nor does he wish to develop such skills. Let him think what he wants of being bought or free, his thoughts are his own. I only require that he do what I need of him, and that is to court and marry my daughter. She will be the Countess of Westlin and the Countess of Ashdon. She deserves as much.”

“Are you certain this is about what she deserves or what Westlin deserves, having your daughter spewing out the future Earls of Westlin?”

“You mention nothing of what I deserve,” Sophia said, looking at Richborough’s dark brown eyes and fashionably windblown dark brown hair. He was a handsome man, knew it, and played upon it, which she thought very wise of him.