Making of a Scandal (The Gentleman Courtesans Book 3)

by Victoria Vale

  Diana bit her lip, her gaze darting as her mind seemed to race toward a solution. Calliope could practically hear the creak of the wheels turning in her sister’s head. Once Diana got an idea, she could never be content with allowing it to die when someone proved it to be a bad one. She simply adjusted course and found a way to bring her notions to life.

  “I’ve got it,” she said suddenly, clapping her hands as if overcome with excitement. “I cannot believe I didn’t think of it before. What if you didn’t have to lead anyone on? What if you could get some gentleman to agree to pretend to court you? He could be made aware that nothing will come of your association, and his only job is to make you seem as attractive to Mr. Lewes as a bridal candidate as possible.”

  Ekta made a sound of disapproval but said nothing. Calliope blinked, uncertain she had heard her sister correctly.

  “That does it,” she quipped. “You must be with child, and this only confirms it. I’ve heard the condition can affect a woman’s nerves as well as her mind. You must be delirious. Do you feel ill? Should we skip the opera so you can lie down? I’ll send for Hastings.”

  Diana let out a short bark of laughter. “You will do no such thing. I might possibly be with child, but I am not daft. It’s the perfect plan! All we need is the right gentleman.”

  “And just where do you propose we find this man?” Calliope challenged, bracing her hands on her hips. “Could you imagine the scandal it would incite for us to go about inquiring if any of Hastings’s friends would like to join our conspiracy? I’m enough of a walking scandal on my own, thank you. I don’t think I want to bear more scrutiny on top of that.”

  Practically bouncing with every step, Diana dashed across the room toward the chaise longue Calliope liked to lay upon to read. Underneath it sat a stack of her most recent novels, the box containing her charcoal pencils and latest sketches, and a handful of scandal sheets. Embarrassment flooded Calliope as Diana retrieved the sheets, exposing her secret love of the salacious papers. Ekta scorned them as pointless drivel, but they were the only guilty pleasure Calliope ever allowed herself. Just because she’d spent her entire life trying to avoid becoming a spectacle didn’t stop her from enjoying the news of other scandals.

  “Ah-ha,” Diana said as she pulled one from the sheaf and held it up.

  It was a copy of the most popular paper in Town, The London Gossip. Extending it toward Calliope, Diana pointed at a story that had been setting the ton ablaze for months. In it, the anonymous writer of the column had published a first-hand account from a woman who had, supposedly, hired on the services of the men known as The Gentleman Courtesans. No names had been published, but this column was the first part in what was to be a series of chapters offering a glimpse inside the secret organization. Of course, no concrete proof had been given to substantiate the claims, which meant most of the beau monde thought of it as nothing more than the amusing fictional writings of the mysterious London Gossip.

  “You cannot be serious!” Calliope cried. “There is no proof that these Gentleman Courtesans exist, and even if they did, their purpose surely would not be helping a spinster find a husband.”

  Diana glanced about as if she expected Hastings or another servant to come leaping out of the shadows at any moment. When no such thing occurred, she edged closer and lowered her voice.

  “It’s true, all of it. I know someone who had an affair with one of them for months after her husband’s death.”

  “Diana!”

  Her sister shrugged. “Now that I’m married, people talk about all sorts of things in my presence. It has been an illuminating experience. Anyway, the woman was quite explicit in her descriptions, and insists that the courtesans only give the client whatever she wants. An elderly widow once paid one of them to come have tea with her every afternoon and rub her arthritic joints. Another simply wanted someone to lie in bed with her and hold her while she slept. So, you see, the man could be whatever you needed him to be—including a public escort.”

  Calliope gaped at Diana, unable to believe what she was hearing. As frustrating as it was to be her age and have people go silent around her when certain subjects came up in conversation, it was even more disturbing to know such things happened every day right under her nose. A society that would cast aspersions on her for being born of an English lord and a Bengali woman—who had happened to be his lawful wife—would really turn a blind eye to such immorality? But, of course they would. Men flaunting their mistresses behind their wives’ backs was par for the course, so why wouldn’t there also be a business catering to the whims of wealthy women?

  “These men might be used in any number of capacities, but we all know what their true purpose is,” Calliope argued. “Surely you don’t suggest I allow myself to be seen publicly with one!”

  Diana took hold of her hands and gave her a meaningful look, eyebrows raised. “That’s just it, Callie. These men are discreet—they have to be. Despite the odd mention in the gossip columns, have you ever actually heard a substantial rumor about them? Heard their names whispered anywhere in polite society? Known of any woman being publicly ruined by association with one?”

  Yet again, her sister had a point. Despite wild speculation, no one could say with any certainty who the Gentleman Courtesans were, how they operated, or who had been serviced by them. If nothing else, Calliope supposed she could admire the cunning of such an enterprise. If the talk about them was to be believed, they had operated in secrecy for years without being exposed.

  “Oh, Diana … I don’t know …”

  “Just think about it,” Diana urged. “Mr. Lewes has likely arrived, and Hastings will be impatient to depart. But, I want you to consider it. If you decide to go through with it, I know someone who could arrange an introduction to a lady who’s acquainted with the proprietor of the business.”

  Calliope nodded, finding that she could form no actual words to respond to Diana’s outlandish idea. As Ekta silently helped her into her redingote, clear disapproval stamped all over her weathered, brown face, Calliope tried to push the notion aside. It was absurd, thinking of paying someone to pretend to be smitten with her in order to snare the attention of another man. It was beneath her, and dishonest, and would be a waste of a portion of her inheritance.

  Along with the clothing and jewels of her mother’s Calliope had inherited, there was a great deal of money—a fortune she could live on until she died, in the event she failed to secure a husband. Her father had been incredibly generous, likely knowing how difficult it would be for her as an oddity amongst the other ladies of society. She could spend the money on a courtesan and not miss it, but it seemed like such a frivolous use of funds. Calliope would far rather continue concentrating her efforts and wealth on things that mattered to her—such as the charity organization she took part in—the thing that fulfilled her time and resources for lack of a husband or child to look after.

  To purchase the attentions of a courtesan? No, she couldn’t bear to think of it. She was angry with herself for even being tempted by the idea.

  However, as she and Diana joined the men downstairs, Calliope’s heart gave a painful squeeze at the sight of the gentleman she wanted. He was achingly beautiful in his black and white evening kit, the austere shades only enhancing his bright coloring. He was genial and friendly as he greeted her, offering his arm to guide her out to the waiting carriage. What she wouldn’t give for him to look at her the way Hastings did Diana, as he lowered his head to murmur something in her ear. Something private that made Diana’s cheeks flush pink and caused Calliope to experience a deep and poignant longing for what they had.

  Mr. Lewes did seem to like her, and as Diana said, all he seemed to need was a push in the right direction. It wouldn’t really be so bad of Calliope to use the tools at her disposal to ensure he came to see her as something more than the sister-in-law of a friend?

  Would it?

  Chapter 2

  “I find it galling that wagering has so permeated
our society and poisoned the minds of our fathers, brothers, and husbands. From betting books and cock fights, boxing matches and gaming hells … It is my opinion that there is no vice more ungentlemanly than that of gambling.”

  The London Gossip, 21 August, 1819

  Dominick Burke rattled the ivory dice cup in one hand while holding on to the lightskirt clinging to his shirtsleeve with the other. He blinked eyes made cloudy from drink and shook his head, forcing the two whirling Hazard tables before him to amalgamate into one. The din of the gaming hell faded to a dull roar, and the faces of those crowded around the table looked contorted and warped to his unfocused eyes. He wasn’t certain whether fatigue or spirits were responsible for his present state. Likely both. He’d been here for hours, and was determined not to leave until his luck had changed. After so many nicks, a man had to throw in at some point.

  This was it; he could feel it. Anticipation thrummed in his veins. The entire world seemed to fade away, his field of vision narrowing to the table and the dice flying out over the green baize as he released them from the cup.

  His breath caught and held, his chest burning as they rolled for several turns before coming to a stop. They were too far away for him to see how they’d landed, and he was far too foxed. However, the resulting groans from the other men gathered around made his heart sink. The banker glanced up from his end of the table, and with grim austerity uttered, “Eleven.”

  “Goddamn it,” Nick muttered, gripping the edge of the table and lowering his head.

  The dice cup was prised from his grip by the man at his left, since this had been his third losing turn. He swayed on his feet, inebriation working against his equilibrium.

  “C’mon, love,” mewled the woman at his side, her hands stroking his arm. “Your luck’s bound to change. Don’t give up now.”

  Nick glanced at the baggage who’d been hanging on him since he’d taken his place among the other men chancing their luck at Hazard. Either he was incredibly drunk, or she had four breasts. He blinked. No, there were only two of them, and they were his favorite kind—large and round and spilling from the neckline of an ill-fitting bodice. Several of the whores plying their trade within this hell knew him by name, but this one must be new. He didn’t think he’d had her before.

  “How about a kiss for luck, m’lord?”

  “I’m not a lord,” he slurred, though he didn’t resist when she took hold of his face and pulled him down from his substantial height.

  Their lips met and her tongue slithered against his. When she released him, his head spun. For a few seconds, she sprouted two heads, complete with twin, rouge-stained mouths. She came into focus again and Nick returned her grin.

  “You taste better’n any lord I’ve ever had,” she cooed.

  “You certainly know how to bolster a man’s confidence, Mellie.”

  “Mildred.”

  “Right,” he murmured, then reached around to pinch a soft bottom cheek.

  She squealed, then laughed and fell into him, her hands groping down his torso toward the front of his breeches. His cock responded predictably.

  “You could always come with me and forget Hazard for a bit,” she purred, toying with one of the buttons on his fall. “I’ll make you forget all about it.”

  “I’m afraid that will have to wait.”

  Nick’s head jerked up at the sound of Benedict Sterling’s voice, and he found a double apparition of the man standing beside him, a scowl setting his features. Or was that a smile? He could hardly tell up from down just now.

  “Hello there, m’lord,” the whore said, giving his friend a once-over with wide eyes. “My, but you are a prime piece. I’m not averse to takin’ two at once, you know.”

  Nick wasn’t so jug-bitten that he didn’t recognize the look of distaste Benedict cast the whore.

  “I think not,” he snapped. “Dominick, we are leaving. Now.”

  Nick didn’t have the strength to fight as Benedict took hold of his arm and pulled him away from the grasping doxy. Though, he did manage to keep his unsteady legs beneath him.

  “Farewell, Mopsy,” he called over his shoulder.

  The slattern braced her hands on her hips and huffed. “It’s Mildred.”

  Promptly shaking off the mystery of the whore with too many names, Dominick found Benedict retrieving something from a waiting attendant. A cup was thrust under his nose, and the strong aroma of coffee wafted up his nostrils.

  “I’ve been all over London looking for you,” Benedict grumbled. “I went to four other gaming hells, and you’re so deep in your cups, you—for God’s sake, Nick, don’t just stare at the stuff. Drink it, and let’s go! We have business.”

  “Right-o,” he mumbled, accepting the coffee.

  It was barely lukewarm, and without sugar or milk, the bitter taste nudging at his befuddled senses. He set the cup back on the tray, then gave the attendant a playful salute.

  “Until next time, my friend.”

  Then, Benedict had him by the arm again, pulling him out into the night.

  “Fuck … I forgot my coat.”

  Benedict held up a bundle of black broadcloth and thrust it at him. “Put it on.”

  Nick obeyed, knowing it was best to go along with Benedict’s demands when he had his smallclothes in a twist. Just now, he seemed particularly agitated, though Nick had no idea why. As the employer of nearly a dozen gentleman courtesans, Benedict’s work was never done. Just now, the majority of the agency’s men were employed with happy keepers, though Nick had found himself without a lady to service for months. His rapidly depleting funds were a problem, for certain, but he couldn’t see why that should upset Benedict so much. The man had his own lady, who’d been keeping him in grand style for two years.

  “You have rouge on your lips,” Benedict said with a shake of his head.

  He retrieved a handkerchief and offered it to Nick, who took it and promptly scrubbed away the evidence of the whore’s kiss. Benedict then inspected Nick from head to toe.

  “I suppose you’ll do. Come.”

  Nick noticed the man’s carriage idling at the curb, a footman swinging the door open as they approached. “Business, at this hour? It’s the middle of the night.”

  “It’s nearly dawn,” Benedict corrected. “Our new client is terrified of being caught dealing with us, so she insisted on meeting when she was least likely to be seen.”

  “Smart woman,” Nick declared, slumping on the squabs.

  The carriage swayed, and he had to close his eyes and take deep, slow breaths to keep from losing his dinner as well as the quantities of spirits he’d poured down his throat.

  “That London Gossip bitch has made it damned difficult for us to conduct business, but there is still a demand for our services. I’ve had no shortage of women finding their way to me, and this particular client seemed perfect for you.”

  Nick pried one eye open, his mouth slanting in half a grin. “I take it that by ‘perfect for me’, you mean blonde, well-endowed in the bosom, and filthy rich.”

  “You’ve got the filthy-rich part right, which is all that should matter to you. Miss Barrington has a very specific need, and you are the only available courtesan who’s right for the job.”

  “What about David?”

  “David isn’t right for this assignment. For now, you’re the one without a keeper and drowning in debt.”

  “Correction,” Nick said, holding up one finger. “I am treading water with my head well above the surface, thank you. No more debt.”

  “If you want to keep it that way, you ought to stay away from the gaming tables. Damn it, Nick, we’ve talked about this.”

  “Yes, yes … I know. Gambling, bad. I’m terrible at knowing when to walk away. It is reckless and irresponsible. I could better increase my money your way.”

  “Wise investments and frugality aren’t ‘my way’. They are the smart way. I know you might be tired of my constant harping, but I’d rather have you annoyed with me
than rotting away in debtor’s prison.”

  Benedict had been after him to curb his gambling and lavish spending habits for years, where everyone else in his life had given up. His father, an earl, had cut him off after growing tired of lecturing him on the wise use of his generous monthly allowance. Nick’s mother had stopped pleading on his behalf after his father had given him another chance, only for him to turn around and piss away an entire month’s worth of funds in a single night. That had been a new low for Nick, who had never found himself in such dire straits in his life.

  Thanks to Benedict and the enterprise of the Gentleman Courtesans, he had his own stream of income, which had only recently been strained for lack of a keeper. It was because of this that Nick put up with the nagging of his oldest friend in the world.

  Besides, he did have a point. Speculation was its own form of gambling, but Benedict had a keen mind for such ventures and had gained more than he’d lost. Combined with his income from the Gentleman Courtesans, and prizes from the occasional bare-knuckle boxing match, his friend had managed to amass a small fortune of his own over the past few years. It was the sort of thing he ought to have done for himself, he realized. His looks would eventually fade, and there were only so many wealthy women in London willing to risk scandal and ruin just to bed him. Someday, he would have to find something else to do with his life. Even if he wasn’t certain just what that was yet, it would be nice to not have to worry about money while he figured it out.

  “Fine then,” Nick said with a shrug. “When I secure this new arrangement, I shall put half the earnings into your keeping. Invest it for me, and keep the profits out of my reach unless it’s for something I absolutely need. Would that make you feel better?”

  Benedict pursed his lips, staring out the carriage window as they rolled to a stop. “Only marginally, but it’s enough for now.”