-The London Gossip, 6 December 1819
Firelight cast an ominous glow over the room in which Regina Hurst paced like a caged animal, projecting oblong shadows along the floor and against the wall. The clock on the mantel had just chimed three o’clock, which meant her expected caller might arrive at any moment. She ought to have specified a time for this meeting. That would have kept her from jumping at every sound emitting from beyond the drawing room door.
There was nothing for it now. She had told Mr. Lyons to have her prospective courtesan call upon her at his leisure, and that could not be changed. The rest of her arrangement would be carried out with far more control. Her nerves required—no, demanded—rigid adherence to a list of protocols. Otherwise, she might never be able to go through with this.
Steady Regina. It is the only way …
Swallowing past the bundle of nerves lodged in her airway, Regina rested one hand on the mantelpiece. As a young woman she had been foolishly idealistic, and such folly had cost her dearly. Older, wiser, and battered to cold, hard steel by experience, she had learned to adjust her expectations and take comfort in what she could have. A happy life with a man who loved her? Impossible after what she had been through. Passion and romance? Randolph had ensured she could never have them.
Love … she didn’t think she could ever come to feel it for any man. This courtesan would simply be a channel through which she might gain the one thing she wanted most in the world. It was a gamble, especially when she was not certain how she might react to his touch.
However, Regina would be willing to endure it if there was even the slightest chance fate might finally decide to start smiling on her. It was her due after the torment she had lived through and the resulting emptiness that festered within her—a wound that refused to heal. Wasn’t she owed something good after all that had been taken from her? Yes, she was owed, and rather than lament that she might never come to have the life she wanted, Regina had decided to take matters into her own hands. After all, Randolph’s death had left her with more money than she knew what to do with. A terrible husband he might have been, but no one could accuse him of neglecting his duties to matters of business and his estate. Regina was now the sole owner of everything that had belonged to her late husband, though she was still uncertain how that had come to be. At times, he’d even seemed to hate her. Why would he leave her everything when there was a male cousin next in the line of succession?
When Randolph called to his solicitor from his deathbed, she had feared the worst. Regina expected to receive nothing, not even a dower’s jointure. However, her otherwise predictable husband managed to shock her during his last days, altering his will so she gained everything the moment he’d taken his last breath.
Perhaps staring death in the face had forced Randolph to confront the truth about himself. He had been a surly, ruthless bastard who made the lives of everyone around him miserable. Maybe it had been his way of atoning for all the pain and degradation he’d subjected her to during the eight years of their marriage. Or perhaps agony and laudanum had taken him out of his right mind.
Whatever the case, Regina chose to think of her unexpected inheritance as a blessing. It had given her the freedom to avoid a second marriage, to walk about the corridors of this house without cowering in fear, and to heal as best she could.
Glancing down at her shapeless mourning attire, she frowned. It wouldn’t be seemly to be seen wearing anything else, though Regina despised the idea of Randolph exerting any modicum of control over her even in death.
It will not be forever, she reminded herself. The day you cast off these horrid black rags is the day you are finally free of him.
The ghastly black did nothing for her fair complexion and bright red hair, nor did the heavy bombazine complement her figure. Her courtesan was sure to think her a sorry sight, but then she did not require him to desire her. Her husband certainly hadn’t suffered any hardship subjecting her to his attentions, no matter how poorly she looked or felt. For what Regina was hiring her courtesan to do, the man needn’t think her beautiful. He only had to make his cock rise to the occasion when she required it, and if a male whore couldn’t be counted on to achieve that, who could?
Regina had told herself that nothing was worth submitting herself to the unwanted attentions of a man ever again. She now enjoyed autonomy and wouldn’t surrender that for anything. However, to get what she wanted, there was no choice but to allow this courtesan into her bed for however long it took. And she would do it while maintaining possession of herself in every sense. If this courtesan wanted to earn the money she was willing to part with for his services, he would abide by her rules or she’d find someone else.
A scratch at the door preceded the entrance of Powell, his hulking frame taking up the entirety of the opening. His craggy features, overshadowed by a mop of dirty blond hair and made sinister by eyes so dark they appeared black, had intimidated her at first. Over time, she had come to think of his face as one of the dearest sights in the world. To call him a footman would be an insult, despite the livery he wore and the position he’d held in this house since before she had become its mistress. However, he meant so much more to her than a mere servant—a confidante, a friend, a protector.
“He has arrived, ma’am,” he informed her, his voice deep and rattling as if a handful of nails was lodged in his chest.
Her hand tightened on the mantel, but Regina straightened her spine. “Very good. His name?”
“Mr. David Graham.”
“What do you make of him?”
Powell shrugged one colossal shoulder. “Pretty.”
She wrinkled her brow, though not due to Powell’s curt answer. He had always been a man of few words. No, it wasn’t that he had answered with one word, but that ‘pretty’ was the one he used. She had never heard a man described that way before, which left her with an image of some effeminate fop.
“I see,” she murmured. “Very well. Show him in, and … you’ll remain, will you not?”
Powell’s hard face softened, and he gave her the barest hint of a smile. “Always, ma’am.”
That offered some relief. At times, Powell’s strong presence had been the only thing keeping Regina alive. While the danger had passed, it was still reassuring to know he was there.
She turned to face the door, hands folded before her just as Powell returned, leading her new courtesan. The instant she laid eyes on Mr. David Graham, Regina realized why her servant had referred to the man as ‘pretty.’ There was, quite literally, no other description that would have fit. Still, the picture of some thin, pasty dandy was burned to ash by the tall, broad-shouldered specimen standing before her.
Hair black as pitch fell over his brow in a glossy tumble, and matching brows might have been considered too thick on any other face. Not this face. They were a perfect match for his headful of hair, enhancing features that looked as if a sculptor's loving hands had molded them. Aquiline nose, strong chin and jaw, slashing cheekbones, and just the hint of a dimple in his left cheek when he offered her a warm smile. A flash of perfect, white teeth was a startling contrast to skin that held a swarthy, olive cast. Even more astounding were his eyes—the brightest blue she’d ever seen, rimmed with a heavy fan of dark lashes.
Regina hadn’t realized how long she stood there silently appraising him until he spoke.
“Mrs. Hurst, I presume?”
His voice was deep and silky, holding cultured tones those could rival those of any highborn peer.
“Y-yes,” she stammered. “Thank you for coming, Mr. Graham.”
His smile widened as he approached, long legs carrying him toward her far too fast, the ripple of muscle and sinew beneath his clothes both an enticement and a threat.
“That’s close enough,” she blurted in a shaky but forceful voice, one hand raised to ward him off.
Mr. Graham nearly tripped over his own feet at the vehemence in her tone, but halted just short of arm’s length from her. Reg
ina took a step back, but could go no farther unless she wanted to incinerate her skirts in the hearth. A wave of calm rushed over Regina at the ease with which she’d been able to command him. As she had thought, hiring a professional was the best way to achieve her goal. If the man wanted his money, he would dance to her tune and then leave when he was finished.
His smile faltered, but Regina—now bolstered—raised her chin. “I take it as a good sign that you know how to follow orders.”
He huffed a little laugh and braced his hand on the back of a nearby chair. “If a man who isn’t intimidated by a woman who knows what she wants is what you need, then I’m your man.” His gaze darted to Powell, a strong and silent sentry pretending he could neither hear nor see them. “Is your footman going to remain in the room while we discuss … terms?”
“Powell is here for my protection and will almost always remain near enough to hear us, Mr. Graham. If this arrangement is going to work, you will need to grow accustomed to his presence.”
The courtesan’s brow furrowed as he studied Powell, then swiveled his gaze back to her. Regina waited for him to balk, or demand to be left alone with her, but he gave an acquiescing dip of his head.
“I aim to please, Mrs. Hurst.”
The statement might have been innocuous, if not for the silken way he caressed the words with his voice, giving them a completely different connotation. Other women might have responded to the seduction dripping from those words, but Regina was too aware of the difference in their sizes, how easily he could overpower her if he ever decided…
No, she berated herself. There is no room for fear if you are determined to go through with this.
“Please, sit down, Mr. Graham. We have much to discuss.”
He sank obediently into the chair, while Regina remained on her feet. Odd; she had thought making him sit would somehow diminish his presence, yet it did nothing of the sort. He crossed one leg over the other and watched her expectantly. When she didn’t immediately begin, he wrested the reins from her.
“Many of my past clients have found these beginning stages awkward, but they needn’t be between us. It might help if you begin by telling me what your needs are. Being a courtesan isn’t all about bedroom matters, you know. It is my duty to ensure that you are made happy, though of course that is a relative concept, is it not? I can be your lover, but I can also be your companion, your confidante, an escort—though, I can see you are in mourning so perhaps you will not require that. Simply tell me what you need, Mrs. Hurst. I am more than up to the task of pleasing you.”
Regina was taken aback, though not at his words. She had more or less expected such a speech from a man who made a profession of selling himself. It was the way he was looking at her, his gaze caressing a path from the top of her head to the hem of her skirts—a slow, leisurely perusal that made her feel as if she stood before him in nothing but her skin. Was it the act of a man skilled at seduction, or did he really find her worthy of such heated regard? He stared at her as if she stood before him in rich, flattering silk or satin as opposed to the heavy, amorphous bombazine; as if she were a smiling, simpering chit vying for his attention rather than a sulking, scowling widow who might otherwise have never given him the time of day.
Clearing her throat, she paced away from the hearth, unable to meet his gaze when he watched her so intently. She studied the wallpaper as if it were the most fascinating thing she had ever seen and forced herself to speak.
“You will not find me demanding or unreasonable. As you’ve already noticed, I am recently widowed … less than a month ago.”
“I’m so sorry to hear it.”
She looked at him then, one hand clenching her skirts in intuitive reaction. “We were wed for eight years, and now he is gone. I will not stand here and pretend my mourning attire is anything other than a formality.”
Now she had truly shocked him. He tried to hide it, but Regina noticed the flicker of surprise in his eyes before he quickly snuffed it out, uncrossing his legs, then crossing them again, as if uncertain what to do with himself.
“I see.”
“If you decide to go forward with this arrangement, I will require you to come to my bed as many nights a week as you can manage. Mr. Lyons informed me of your usual rate, and I have agreed to pay it, though … I do think you might wish to negotiate once I have informed you of the specificity of my need. That is why the contract you were offered had a few unfinished sections. I need to be certain you understand what I would ask of you before you agree.”
“Mrs. Hurst, I promise there is nothing you could ask that I would hesitate to offer. Your every wish is my command, and I do mean that. Why don’t you come sit, and tell me exactly what it is you need? I’ve been doing this long enough there isn’t likely to be a request I have not heard.”
Ignoring the hand he waved toward the chair perpendicular to his, Regina paced back to the hearth, hands clenched before her. Taking a deep breath, she prepared to deliver the most important requirement of her offer—the reason she had sent for him in the first place.
“Mr. Graham, I have only one goal and I am hoping you can be the man to help me achieve it. You see, I … I wish to have a child. Unfortunately, the late Mr. Hurst was unable to give me one. His loss has only renewed my desire to become a mother, and so … I need you to do your utmost to impregnate me.”
Mrs. Regina Hurst was a madwoman. There was no other explanation for the outrageous words that had just fallen from her lips, yet the longer David stared at her in slack-jawed disbelief, the clearer it became that she was not only in her right mind, but also quite serious. In the past, David’s first instinct would have been to laugh and search behind the curtains for one or several of his friends. He might have pegged this as some childish prank pulled by Benedict, with Nick as an accomplice. He could imagine sharing a good chuckle about it over drinks, laughing until he cried at the absurdity of such a lark.
But he was acutely aware that this was no laughing matter. For one thing, Benedict was busy trying to single-handedly stop the London Gossip’s reign of terror. Pulling David’s leg would be the last thing on his mind. As well, he could clearly tell by the way Mrs. Hurst fidgeted with her hands and shifted from foot to foot that she had meant every word of her absurd request.
David snapped his mouth closed while searching for the words to respond. His assertion that she couldn’t demand anything that countless others hadn’t already asked of him had just been rendered false. Yet, he had not known she would ask him for something so far outside the realm of his usual repertoire. Over his years as a gentleman courtesan, David had been faced with all manner of lascivious tasks, all of which he’d accomplished with relish. Taking pains not to get his client of the moment with child had been at the center of each arrangement, and he was always prepared to take the necessary precautions. Thinking of the cedar chest filled with lambskin condoms and sea sponges hidden away in his bedchamber, David nearly laughed to realize he would not have use of them here.
He couldn’t actually go through with this, could he? It was ridiculous, outrageous, and completely out of the question.
“I can see I’ve shocked you, and I am sorry for that,” she offered, her expression one of cool composure despite her trembling hands. “There was no way to ease you into it, I’m afraid.”
No, he supposed there was no way to tell a man you wanted him to help you make a baby other than to simply come out and say it.
“Before you refuse, I would like the chance to plead my case. Perhaps a walk in the garden? You look as if you could use some air, and the weather is pleasant enough today.”
David tried to smile but found his lips uncooperative. “I wasn’t … I would never refuse without … yes, I think a walk would be good.”
“Very well. Come along.”
Feeling as if he watched this entire scene from outside his body, David came numbly to his feet. Mrs. Hurst gave him a wide berth on the way to the door, and he followed with slow ste
ps. Was this truly happening? Had he really come to call on his newest client only to find that she wanted to use him like a high-priced stud? Or, had he never awakened this morning? That would make this entire meeting nothing more than a very disturbing but lucid dream.
The massive footman dogged his steps, remaining far enough that David realized he meant to be unobtrusive, but close enough to convey every intention of leaping to his mistress’s defense if necessary. Another queer aspect of the day that left David’s thoughts in a jumble of confusion. This Mrs. Hurst certainly did not act like any keeper he’d ever had. He wasn’t sure what to make of the woman with her prickly manners, brusque speech, and staunchness. Most women meeting him for the first time were either aware of his reputation and eager to have him, or enraptured by his looks, charm, and easygoing nature. Not so, this woman.
Though, he had to admit she was certainly one of the loveliest of the lot. On first glance he might have mistaken her as a sallow, washed-out creature in a shapeless dress. Experience had taught him to look beyond the surface, and a few minutes in Mrs. Hurst’s presence had called his attention to her attributes. Her skin was the creamiest shade of porcelain he’d ever seen, smooth and unblemished. Amid so much black, her red hair was a startling splash, scraped back in a severe knot that put her delicate features on full display. There was something almost fairy-like about her, and he found himself tracing the graceful arch of titian brows over pale green eyes, down the slope of a button nose to a plush, narrow mouth the color of pink rosebuds. The gentle line of her jaw angled to a dainty chin. The slender column of her throat was the only part of her body that wasn’t hidden by black bombazine and lace, though the heavy garment did little to disguise a petite but pleasing figure. Amid the rustling fabric, he made out full breasts and slender hips, and could imagine the soft stretch of pale stomach, the sinews of supple thigh and calf. She was a tiny thing, her head barely reaching the center of his chest. Something about that appealed to him in a way that wasn’t entirely lascivious.
Taming of the Rake (The Gentleman Courtesans Book 4) Page 6
