The Courtesan's Daughter (9 page)

She really didn’t want an answer to that question. She didn’t even want to think about that question. She just wanted to prove to herself and to, as long as she was being honest, the whole of London, that she was desirable, even on the most base of levels.

That’s where men dwelt as a matter of preference, wasn’t it, on the most base of levels?

Another question she didn’t want an answer to.

Caro considerd possible targets, mentally classifying the occupants of the room as either friend or foe. Ashdon was sulking, frowning down into his cards: foe. Anne was right behind her, breathing warnings and pleadings into her ear: in this instance, foe. Her mother was talking softly to Lord Staverton, her hand on his arm in gentle comfort: most definitely foe. Lord Dutton, having ceased his snoring, was leaning against the drapes and studying her with an interested gleam: a possible friend. More than friend? Dutton was a very attractive man, though rather a wastrel. At least he was a solvent wastrel. Such could not be said of the insolvent Ashdon.

Her gaze went back to Ashdon, for what reason she could not imagine since he had already been itemized. The cards were being shuffled, and Ashdon was straightening his waistcoat over what appeared, based on her very casual observation, to be an extremely taut belly. The churning in her own belly to that most casual and disinterested of observations clearly placed him, unreservedly, in the foe-to-the-death classification. She need waste no more time on Lord Ashdon. She would ignore him like the insect he was and make her move on some other gentleman currently taking up space in the Dalby town house. She would never waste another thought for the indolent and insulting Lord Ashdon.

Caro walked straight over to where Lord Ashdon sat, indolently, and stood behind his chair.

Lord Ashdon ignored her.

“How much have you lost?” she said to the top of his head. His hair was very glossy and very thick, which was only proper as he was a complete wolf.

“Not as much as you’re about to lose,” he said lazily.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Would you like me to explain it to you?” he said, looking askance at her in sullen and sulky boredom.

“What? And break up the game?” Viscount Tannington said. Caro had never much liked Lord Tannington; he was entirely too savage looking, added to which he displayed the most obvious manner with her mother.

“It’s broken,” the Duke of Calbourne said, standing up and discreetly stretching. The Duke of Calbourne was endlessly and reliably discreet, at least according to gossip. Actually, Calbourne might make a lovely candidate for her favor, and with the way he was looking at her, she could confidently place him in the “friend” category. “I’m out as well. Switch to piquet, if you’ve a mind. I’m off for home.”

“Cannot I not tempt you to stay, your grace?” she said before caution could hobble her. In for a penny, in for a pound, and with nowhere to stay as of noon, she was most definitely in for a pound.

Calbourne, his hazel eyes smiling, said softly, “Lady Caroline, I believe you could tempt me to anything.”

She was quite beyond proud that she did not blush at these words, particularly since they were practically the first words Lord Calbourne had ever said to her. There was definitely something to this courtesan business, something she enjoyed quite a lot.

“You make me feel quite decadent, your grace,” she said with a coy dip of her head.

“One of the duke’s most well-versed skills, Lady Caroline,” Ashdon said, rising to his feet, nearly knocking over the small chair he had been using, “that of enticing to decadence. You’d do well to be on guard against his particular brand of enticement.”

“I’ve never been enticed before, Lord Ashdon,” she said, looking at the Duke of Calbourne with a soft smile. “Not to decadence, nor even to folly. Tell me,
is
there a particular brand of enticement, your grace, and are you practicing it on me?”

“I am merely responding to the temptation of you, Lady Caroline,” Calbourne said. “If it leads to decadence or folly or even damnation, I find I cannot stop myself. Your eyes beguile me.”

Beguiled. How far was it from beguiled to besotted? And could she get there by noon?

“Go home to your son, Calbourne,” Ashdon growled. “The night is done. There is nothing for you here, I promise you.”

The Duke of Calbourne smiled, bowed to her, kissed her hand, and made his way over to her mother to make his departure of the hostess, all before Caro could say a word past the rage in her throat at Ashdon’s high-handedness.

“ ‘Nothing for you here,’ was that insult directed at me, Lord Ashdon? ” she said finally, almost sputtering.

Ashdon took her by the elbow and led her to one of the rear windows in the dining room. The predawn sky was pale black and empty of stars, the last moments of night empty of sound. Her heart pounded loudly against her lungs, filling the universe with its beat. All because of the heated look in Lord Ashdon’s intense blue eyes and the feel of his hand hard on her arm. It was with extreme disgust that Caro realized that if anyone could lead her into folly, it was Ashdon. He apparently could do it by merely touching her arm above the glove.

She wanted to strike him, a lovely, vicious blow right in the eye. The only thing that held her back was the look in Ashdon’s eyes that proclaimed that he’d like to do the same to her. Beastly man.

“You really are nothing like your mother,” he said.

He could not possibly have hit upon a more violent insult. Her entire dilemma was that she was nothing like her mother in appeal and too much like her mother in Society.

“And you really are speaking out of turn,” she countered, pulling her arm free of his grasp. “You are not well acquainted with my mother and you know me not at all. By every action you declare yourself an impulsive and explosive man of questionable character. That you are of limited means only adds to your list of flaws.”

Ashdon took a step nearer to her, his shoes slipping under the hem of her gown. It was most improper. She couldn’t make herself move to thwart him. Hideous beast of a man.

“And you are ill-mannered and of marginal intelligence,” he snarled softly, looking at the occupants of the dining room over the top of her head. How unspeakably rude, not to even give her the consideration of his gaze, but what could one expect of a wolfish beast?

“Again, Lord Ashdon,” she snipped, “I repeat, casting serious doubt upon your own intelligence, that you do not know me at all and can know nothing of my intelligence. As to my manner, how to answer but that it seems particularly appropriate when directed at you?”

“Hardly the manner of an eager courtesan.”

“Perfectly the manner when the courtesan has no eagerness, no, nor desire, to spend one minute more in your questionable company.”

“No desire?” he murmured, still watching the room. “Must you force me to add deceit to your list of character traits? Is not being ill-mannered enough for you, Lady Caroline? Must you reach ever higher, or would that be ever lower?”

“Standing this close to you must certainly rank as being ever lower,” she said, fighting for a full, deep, purging breath. There was something about this odious man that robbed her of every thought beyond punishing him. What she was punishing him for she did not dare scrutinize, her own superior intelligence notwithstanding.

“Come, come, Lady Caroline,” he mocked, finally looking directly into her eyes, “a courtesan must in all ways be pleasing. You are off to a troubled start. Dare I say, I think you would have found the role of wife more in line with your abilities.”

“My abilities? But that is exactly the point, Lord Ashdon,” she said, matching his stare and forcing herself to keep breathing. “I found I possessed no talent at all for being a wife if you were to be the husband.”

 
 
“ARE you certain that the marriage contract between them has been broken? They are behaving rather oddly for a couple with no history between them,” Lord Dutton said softly. “I would swear under oath that he is snarling at her exactly like a husband.”

Anne moved a step away from the whispering Lord Dutton. Lord Dutton followed her. Though she avoided gazing directly at his face, she could
feel
his grin.

“We thought you were sleeping, Lord Dutton,” Anne murmured, trying to catch Sophia’s eye, but Sophia was busily engaged with Lord Staverton. She really ought to rethink her decision not to marry Lord Staverton. There were worse things than being a viscountess, much worse. “Your snores were so very convincing.”

“Thank you,” he said, bowing crisply, still grinning that ridiculous grin. He was a devilishly good-looking man with blue eyes that were so direct and so inherently good-natured that one sometimes forgot that he was a complete rogue. He would hardly have frequented Lady Dalby’s salon otherwise. “I perfected the technique while still in the nursery. It allowed me to hear so very many interesting discussions between my nurse and the second-best footman.”

“I’m sure,” Anne said, refusing to return his smile, though she was tempted.

That was the trouble with Lord Dutton—he was a temptation. What was worse was that he was well aware of it. What was the absolute worst of all was that she was almost certain that he knew what a temptation he was to her. His blue-eyed gaze and disarming grin were a good part of the reason why she had refused even the prospect of an offer from Lord Staverton.

She was a complete and utter fool.

“Why didn’t she accept his offer?” he said.

“This is none of our concern, Lord Dutton,” she said crisply, moving away from him. He moved with her. She should have been more upset about it; as it was, she was just slightly charmed by it. Just slightly, as if degrees in foolishness had any meaning.

“Which is why it is so intriguing,” he said, his breath fanning the hair at her nape. “If it were my concern I’m quite certain I’d find it unrelentingly boring. Other people’s trials are so much more interesting, are they not, Mrs. Warren? For instance, I found the revelation that your mother had been a courtesan to be absolutely riveting. I’d love to hear the full story.”

“With illustrations, no doubt,” she said, seriously moving off now. He seriously followed her. In this instance, she was not charmed by it. Of all the things she most ardently did not wish to discuss it was her past, and her past most decidedly included her mother’s occupation.

“Oh, pantomime would suffice for me. No need to get out the pencils and parchment.”

“I think I preferred you snoring, Lord Dutton.”

“Do you know, my nurse once told me the very same thing,” he said, and then he did the most appalling thing. Lord Dutton took her by the arm and made to guide her to the dining room doorway that led to the private white salon. And what was worse, she did nothing to stop him. “I simply must convince you that I have other skills besides snoring, and then you must in turn convince me that you have other skills besides a keen friendship with Lady Caroline. Fair?”

They were in the white salon, the door closed behind them with a definite click, his back leaning against the door and his smile, as ever, in place. Fair? There was nothing fair about it.

 
“I don’t think I’ve been given a fair run at this, Sophia,” Lord Staverton said as he and Sophia sat across the table from each other, pretending to play a quiet game of vingt-un. “Mrs. Warren would be far better off as my wife than as companion to your daughter.”

“You don’t have to convince me, Stavey,” Sophia said. “I put forth your case with as much enthusiasm as was seemly. For the moment,” she said, watching as Lord Dutton practically shoved Anne through the doorway into the white salon, equally noting Anne’s lack of resistance, “I believe her interest is engaged elsewhere. If you can be a bit patient, I believe she will consider your suit again.”

“Patience at my age is a high-stakes gamble, Sophia, as you well know. I could topple into my tea tomorrow.”

“Then you certainly don’t need a wife tonight,” she said, smiling.

“On the contrary,” he said with an annoyed sniff. “It makes the urge for a wife all the more urgent. One must jump whilst he still has the legs for it.”

“You are a randy goat, Stavey. ’Tis no wonder Anne is skittish around you.”

“If I am a randy goat it’s because whenever Anne is around, you are there as well. It’s possible I could be persuaded to forget Anne if you would let me just once come into your bed.”

“A lovely effort, but Anne is the woman who makes your eyes dance,” Sophia said, grinning, “and you were randy long before I came on the scene. As much as I would wish, I cannot take the credit for what nature has endowed. As to taking to your bed, why tarnish a lovely, lasting friendship with the coils of the flesh? I treasure you too much, Stavey. You are quite my oldest and dearest friend in London.”

Staverton actually blushed and cast his gaze down at his cards, sniffing loudly.

“I always secretly presumed that Fredericks was your oldest friend. He has been at your side from the start, hasn’t he?” Staverton said.

“From the start? Most definitely,” she said softly, “yet Freddy is more family than friend.”

“You could cause a riot saying things like that, Sophia,” Staverton blustered, regaining his composure. “Declaring one’s butler is like family, it’s not done.”

“I do so many things which aren’t done, Stavey. What’s one more?” she said.

“You jest, as usual,” he said, “but we both know that you have family and that, with the right approach, they would likely take you in and forgive all.”

“How charming you are, darling Stavey,” she said softly, “but not only do I not require forgiveness, I have not at all decided if I shall ever forgive them.”

Staverton shook his head slowly and fingered the cards on the table, not looking at her. “It was all long ago, Sophia.”

“That all depends upon how one measures time, Stavey,” she said, smiling gently as she changed the subject. “Will you wait for Anne to realize what a fine man you are and what a stellar husband you’d be to her? Will you wait just a little while, and take care in the waiting that you do not topple into your tea?”