Making of a Scandal (The Gentleman Courtesans Book 3)

by Victoria Vale

  With her father standing at her side, reverent eyes turned upward, she soaked in the stunning visage of her mother. Calliope’s own features showed themselves on the canvas—the large, dark eyes, the sharp nose and high cheekbones, the mouth with the upper lip slightly plumper than the lower. Her skin had been depicted as a deep, rich copper, only a bit of the black, glossy hair visible along the edge of the gold-embroidered odhani head-covering. She’d been painted in the style of dress most suitable for a noble lady of Bengal, the full-length of the portrait showing a woman of petite height and slender frame draped in an opulent red and gold peshwaz—the garment fitting snug in its bodice before flaring open at the waist to reveal the matching, tapered breeches and slippers.

  Unlike the portrait of Diana’s mother, which graced the drawing room downstairs where visitors were brought to take tea, her mother’s portrait was entombed away from prying eyes—meant only for those who had known and loved her. The viscount had ensured she understood that the portrait wasn’t hidden away because he was ashamed of his first wife, but because he hadn’t wanted to share her with anyone else.

  As a child, Calliope had spent hours staring at the portrait and imagined her mother walking through the pleasure gardens that filled the corners of her memories, laughing and turning her face up toward a blazing sun. There was little of her short time in India left in her recollections, though whenever she thought of her mother and those gardens, a warmth and happiness fell over her that could not be denied. Her mother had loved her—Calliope felt that without even being able to recall her saying it.

  “Vedah was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen,” her father said, his voice low as if speaking too loudly would chase away the lingering spirit of his first wife. “And she wasn’t only beautiful. She was strong and brave, and very much interested in the machinations of the imperial court. You and your care for the plight of the poor and abandoned … it comes from her, you know. She would be so proud of you.”

  “Would she?” Calliope whispered, reaching out to caress a small ceramic pot resting on the mantel. All the things gathered here had belonged to her mother—a mother-of-pearl comb, face-paint pots, a jade brooch—all of it gathered as a shrine of sorts. “I often wonder how she might have fared in this world.”

  “She would have reigned over the ton like a queen,” he replied with a short huff of laughter. “She would have had the men eating from her palm and the women clamoring for her friendship—for to fall out of Vedah’s favor was to be made to feel as if one had been cast into the seventh circle of Hell. She had a fiery temper, but she was rarely ever wrong. Her quarrels with me were often justified.”

  “I’m certain she couldn’t have stayed angry with you for long.”

  “I had my ways,” he murmured, eyes twinkling and lips quirking into a sad smile. “Returning here to take up the title scared me, but the prospect of becoming a viscountess did not daunt her in the least. For whatever hardship she might have faced in the beginning, I believe she would have adjusted to her new life in time. I think that my own grief at her loss is inconsequential compared to what you were forced to do without. I was never certain I was doing the right thing by bringing you back with me. To this day, I remain unsure if it was the right thing to do, forcing you to fit into a society that would not readily make room for you.”

  He looked so dejected that Calliope immediately threw her arms around his waist, clinging to him.

  “You mustn’t think that way. Of course you did the right thing. Losing Mama was hard enough, I would never have wanted to be without you.”

  Resting his head atop hers, he clutched her to him. “You were all I had left, and I didn’t want to be away from you, either. It was suggested that I leave you in your grandfather’s household. With Ekta to care for you, you would have been reared much like your mother was. He warned me that I was selfish to take you, and I have not yet decided if he was right.”

  “Do you regret your decision?” she asked, her heart breaking at the mere thought.

  “I cannot say I do. It is difficult, though, not to think of how different your life would have been had you remained.”

  She frowned, fiddling with one of the empty pots and wondering what treasures her mother had once stored inside. “Do you know that the other children of the court referred to me as kutcha-butcha?”

  Her father winced, giving her a pitying look. “Half-baked bread. I am familiar with the term, but did not think anyone dared call you that aloud.”

  She shrugged as if it had not affected her, but remained aware that of her few memories of life in Bengal, this was one that always stood foremost in her mind.

  “It is no different than the whispers that go on behind my back here. I think Grandfather would have protected me as best he could, but neither of you could have shielded me forever. If either of you would have bothered to ask me, I would have told you that I wanted to be with you no matter where you were. Being raised by you, coming to know Mama through your stories and learning to claim my rightful place as an English lady while still having love and respect for my mother’s homeland … I could not have asked for better than that. I hope that helps to ease your mind.”

  He patted her shoulder, then took her hand to lead her to sit before a low, ebony table laden with a tea service Calliope knew to have been her mother’s favorite. He kept the silver pot and matching cups and saucers polished and well cared for, only using them whenever she was in residence.

  “Now then,” he said while Calliope poured. “Tell me about these suitors of yours. Diana has led me to believe that they have nearly come to blows over you.”

  Calliope rolled her eyes. “You know how dramatic Diana can be. It isn’t at all like that. Though … I do think I favor Mr. Lewes above Mr. Burke.”

  She kept her eyes down and her attention on preparing the tea, worried he would see the truth if she met his gaze. It was not like her to lie to him, but she didn’t have to think twice about keeping her arrangement with Dominick a secret. Her father would not like to know that she was keeping company with a courtesan, no matter the reason.

  But, she couldn’t release him from their contract until her engagement to Martin was official. If Nick’s feigned interest in her was what had spurred him to courting her, she would take no chances. She only needed him for a little while longer.

  “Burke has quite the reputation, though I suppose that cannot be held against him. I was hardly a model of virtue and honor when I met your mother.”

  She took a long sip of tea, allowing herself a moment to think before answering.

  “Mr. Burke … isn’t what his reputation makes him out to be. He strikes me as a man filled with untapped potential, being a third son with nothing to truly occupy his time.”

  Calliope was surprised how easily those words fell from her lips, and that she actually meant them. Dominick wasn’t quite as shallow as he’d led her—and the rest of the ton—to believe. At times, he almost seemed like an actor who had been pushed into a role he had no choice but to play. Realizing that made it difficult for her to think of him as being so different from her.

  “I understand the plight well, and it was that lack of something with which to channel my potential that led me to the East India Company. Perhaps Mr. Burke simply has yet to find the thing which motivates him … or, maybe he has.”

  Calliope fought not to squirm under her father’s perusal, offering a nonchalant shrug. “Mr. Burke seems to like me well enough, but Mr. Lewes has gone out of his way to ensure I know what his intentions are. He very much wishes for your approval.”

  “You do not need my permission to wed the man of your choosing.”

  She reached out to take his hand. “No, but your approval means the world to me. I think you will like Martin, Papa. You and he have much in common.”

  “What matters to me is how you feel about him, sweet. You have much to say of this man’s willingness to marry you, but have made no mention of love.”

&nbs
p; Her pulse fluttered, her stomach quivering as she thought back to the passionless kiss she’d shared with Martin.

  “I like him very much, Papa,” she said with as much honesty as she could muster—for she did like Martin, even if she did not yet desire him. “Love will come, in time. I have faith in that.”

  What she did not, and could not say, was that she expected love to spring forth and grow the farther Dominick Burke was pushed from the periphery of her life. He was the sort of man who commanded attention, overshadowing everyone else around him. If he was no longer nearby to tempt her, to remind her of things better forgotten, he would eventually fade from her mind altogether.

  She had to believe that, otherwise she would go mad at the ridiculous notion that she was falling in love with her courtesan. Which would not do at all.

  Chapter 10

  “How horribly dull London has become. One can only hope that a certain Surrey house party will result in a delicious scandal to divert us all from the tedium.”

  The London Gossip, September 21, 1819

  Nick was the last of the guests to arrive. He had been reluctant to leave London after Paul had taken to his bed, complaining of fatigue and weakness. In fact, he’d nearly decided not to go at all and send Calliope his regrets.

  “You aren’t going to stand back and let the other man win, are you?” Paul had asked. “You needn’t sit about waiting for me to die when I’ve still some fight in me. Go after your lady and do everything you can to win her. I do not intend to cock up my toes just yet.”

  What else could he have done but take Paul up on the offer of using his coach, his heart in his throat the entire way? He had left strict instructions for his sister to send for him should their uncle take a turn for the worse.

  During the drive, he had run through all the reasons pursuing Calliope was a terrible idea.

  She already had her heart set on Lewes, had been enamored with him from the start. Her opinion of Nick was rather low, and he’d done nothing to change that. She was as pure and good as could be, while the stains of his past misdeeds were too many to ever wash out. He had very little to recommend him other than his bloodline, and even that didn’t amount to much considering he was so far removed from the earldom he might as well be considered a commoner.

  But, he hadn’t been able to stop thinking of her. The rare smile she couldn’t seem to help the few times he had amused her; the quirk of an eyebrow just before she made some cutting remark; the fire flashing in her dark eyes when he provoked her; the feel of her lips against his and the arch of her body in his arms when he’d brought her to climax. They had been fully clothed that night at the ball, but damn if it hadn’t been one of the headiest experiences of his life.

  He could no longer mistake this for simple lust, try as he might to convince himself otherwise. No woman had ever commanded his single-minded focus. No woman made him want to truly let her know him. For years, he’d been seen as good for nothing more than carousing, gambling, and whoring, so he had reveled like no one else, gambled away his every cent, and made himself into a literal whore. He’d thought himself content with that, but Calliope had forced him to reexamine his position and realize that he couldn’t go on like this.

  He couldn’t go on without her.

  So, when he arrived at the residence of the viscount, it was with one mission in mind. He would convince Calliope that he was the better choice, an uphill battle to be sure.

  As Thorpe was led off by a servant to unpack Nick’s things, another footman was enlisted to show him to a drawing room, wherein the majority of the guests had gathered. The sound of voices and laughter rang out at him through the open doors, and he guessed rightly that parlor games were afoot.

  The bright light of the open space illuminated Calliope, who stood in the midst of the room, all the furniture pushed aside. The other occupants stood about, hands over mouths to keep from laughing as she groped about wearing a blindfold. While several pairs of eyes landed on him, Nick couldn’t take his gaze off Calliope.

  She wore yellow again today—which must be her favorite color, for she wore it often. The sharp contrast with her skin made her look like a vibrant bird, the room seeming bland and washed out with her as its focal point. She was laughing, her lips stretched in a smile as she stumbled in his direction. Lewes stood nearby, looking at Nick as if offended by his very presence.

  The ladies giggled and flitted out of Calliope’s path, while Nick held his ground. Further into the room, the others watched, amused, as she swept an arm out and narrowly missed taking hold of another woman’s arm.

  “Drat,” she muttered, turning back toward him and moving unsteadily forward. “I feel as if I am nearly clear of the room by now.”

  “You’re doing fine, Callie!” Diana called out, face pink with the effort not to laugh. “In fact, if you simply continue straight on …”

  Lewes made a derisive sound at that, but Nick ignored him, standing right in Calliope’s path and waiting for her to find him. He lifted his hands to catch her when she fell into him, a breathless laugh escaping her as she clung to his biceps.

  “Caught you, whoever you are. Now, let’s see … who have I found? You’re too tall to be Papa, I think.”

  Her hands slid up his arms and shoulders, and Nick tensed, certain everyone in the room would be able to see his visceral reaction to her. He bit back a desperate groan when her fingers stroked along his neck up to his jaw, her touch featherlight and tortuous.

  Calliope’s brow furrowed as she traced the line of his nose up to his brow, her lips parting as she let out a little sound of shock.

  “Dominick?” she whispered, so low that only he could hear.

  Giving her arms a light squeeze, he let his thumbs stroke over the bare skin just below her sleeves. “Hello, goddess.”

  She stiffened with a little gasp, using one hand to push up her blindfold. Then, she was staring up at him in disbelief, lips parted and eyes wide enough to drown in. Nick swayed toward her, and just barely reined himself in before dipping his head to steal a kiss. There would be time enough for him to get her off alone, and the last thing he wanted was to publicly ruin her.

  “M-Mr. Burke!” she exclaimed a bit louder, her voice shrill as she took his arm and spun to face the other occupants of the room. “How terrible of you not to announce your arrival. I suppose you must wear the blindfold next since I captured you and guessed correctly. But first, I want to introduce you to everyone.”

  Nick greeted Hastings and the countess, giving a short nod to Lewes, who looked as if he wanted nothing more than to snatch Calliope away from him. It only made him tuck her hand more securely into the bend of his arm, content to keep her near him as long as she would allow it. All the better if their proximity caused Lewes upset. He hoped the man choked on his jealousy.

  He was then introduced to a pair of gray-haired matrons who turned out to be Calliope’s great-aunts Doris and Louisa. The slender one gave him such a look of disapproval that his knuckles began to tingle as he remembered the rap of the ruler wielded by his childhood governess. The other aunt sniffed and stroked the head of a rather portly pug, who snorted at him as if he were as unimpressed with Nick as his owner.

  Then, he came face to face with the viscount. Despite Nick standing a whole head taller than the man, Calliope’s father gave off an air of command that had him standing up straighter and hoping his cravat wasn’t askew.

  “Papa, may I introduce Mr. Dominick Burke? Mr. Burke, my father, Viscount Barrington.”

  “My lord,” Nick said, sweeping into a bow which forced Calliope to let go of his arm. “It is an honor to meet you at last.”

  “I am the one who is honored that you would accept my invitation. I look forward to coming to know you, Mr. Burke. My Calliope has nothing but good things to say about you.”

  Nick couldn’t help a glance in Calliope’s direction, both confused and elated to hear she’d had anything kind to say about him at all. It didn’t matter if she
felt she must for the illusion of their courtship. He would take the crumbs from her table if it was all she had to give; he was so pitifully besotted.

  “Mr. Burke,” interrupted a feminine voice from his left. “I had no idea you would be here! How lovely to see you again.”

  He tensed as he recognized the voice, slowly turning his head to find the last person he would have wanted to discover here. His gorge rose as he came face to face with the one client he’d been glad to be done with.

  Lady Carlotta Thrush had been married when she’d hired him for an affair that had lasted nine months. The woman was a beauty, with dark brown hair, hazel eyes, and a mouth that had been wrapped around his cock more times than he could count. Her husband’s suspicions had frightened her into cutting him loose, for which Nick had been eternally grateful. She was frightfully dull and talked too much, often without saying anything of substance.

  Where in the past he might have enjoyed the prospect of taking up with an old client, the way she looked at him put Nick’s teeth on edge. Now a widow, she looked as if she were mentally counting the contents of her reticule.

  “Lady Thrush,” he said as politely as he could manage, even as her gaze traveled over him with meaningful intent. “It has been an age.”

  Long enough that she ought to have set her sights on a new lover, or at least approached Benedict for another arrangement. Just then, Nick was glad to be snared into a contract of his own so he would not have to bear her himself.

  “Far too long,” she purred, reaching out to take his arm. Lowering her voice so that only he could hear, she added, “How I have missed you, mon amour.”

  Nick bristled at the intimate moniker, one she employed because she thought it more sophisticated to use the French words. The vapid chit seemed oblivious to his discomfort as well as his distaste, steering him away from Calliope. When he peered over his shoulder, he found Calliope watching them with pinched lips, her brow furrowed. He gave her an apologetic look and did his best to extract his arm from the other woman’s hold.