Ravishing Regencies- The Complete Series

by Emily Murdoch

  Teresa smiled at him. He was such a good man: and he understood her like no one ever had. Why, he had not scorned her when he knew what she did to survive, to keep her family afloat.

  “I will return,” he said in a voice that sounded as though it was echoing from a place far away. “Be careful of that ankle, do not try to do over much today. Go back to sleep, Teresa.”

  That caressing hand was stroking her hair, and Teresa was warm and almost half asleep already. It did not take much for her to abandon the struggle for consciousness, and slip once more into the welcoming arms of sleep.

  When she finally awoke again, it was many hours later. The sun had moved so that there was almost no light pouring into the little room now, and Teresa stirred as the darkness started to descend once more.

  It must be late afternoon. She pulled herself up, and tried to rub the sleep from her eyes. She had had the strangest dream: a tall, dark man, absolutely delicious in the bedroom who had carried her from a great danger . . .

  Teresa looked around. Men’s clothes were scattered about the room, as though pulled off in lovemaking haste, but there was no man beside her.

  Alexander. She smiled unconsciously as the remembrance of him filled her mind, filled her heart. She could never have predicted meeting such a man, taking a man like that to her bedchamber. Despite her profession, that was the first truly wanton thing that she had ever done.

  And by God, had she enjoyed it. Her cheeks coloured as she recalled the depths of desire they had sunk to together, here, in this very bed.

  To think that some people had that connection, that physical and emotional connection, with their spouses. They were able to delight in the deliciousness of the flesh every night, without fear of losing them, with the complexity and joy of loving the person as well as desiring their body.

  Teresa squirmed slightly. It was a heady thought – and an even headier one to consider that, perhaps, she and Alexander . . .

  It was foolishness, surely. He was a Duke – he was Caershire, for goodness sake, with land and property and duty and responsibilities. When he married, and he would, he would need a wife by his side that would be able to understand the legacy of what she undertook. She would, and here Teresa could not help but smile, need to teach their children, their son, their heir of those same rights and responsibilities.

  Was it madness, then, to see herself in that place?

  Teresa pulled the sheet over her naked body, and tried not to think about it; but her treacherous heart could not help it. His reputation was ruined, he had said. Then what was the harm in a little more scandal? But then, no one had to know, of course. They could tell the world that he had rescued her, become a drenched duke to save her life, and in that moment –

  The fairy-tale story disappeared, and she shook her head. No, it could not be. Even she was not fool enough to think that her countless clients over the last year would not recognise her. Everyone would know that the Duke of Caershire had married a courtesan, and if he felt the ignominy of a lost reputation now, how would he countenance that?

  Her heart sank, but his parting words gave her hope. “I will return.”

  Teresa swept her hair out of her eyes, and felt the lack of her earbobs. Where had she put them?

  Her questing eyes found them on the table beside the bed – on top of a large pile of what looked like . . .

  She had not thought it possible for her heart to sink any lower, and yet it did, down into depths of despair, into a dark place that she did not even know existed within herself.

  Money. He had left her money. Fifty pounds, when she had counted it.

  Teresa laughed aloud, the bitterness in her soul barked out in that breath. And to think that she had thought that they had connected; that he had felt something other than the pleasures of her body.

  Here she was, desperately hoping for a future together, and he had already moved on: his debt was paid, and he was ready for the next adventure. He must have felt so embarrassed, she thought angrily, to find himself here this morning. If he loathed his reputation then, how he must despise it now.

  No wonder he had run out, early that morning. He had not even stayed to say goodbye properly; just a hurried conversation and a soothing hand to push her back onto the drifting sea that was sleep.

  Hot tears splashed down, and Teresa dashed them away angrily. He did not deserve her tears. He did not deserve any of her thoughts, those wild hopes that she had entertained for what: five minutes?

  Alexander, Duke of Caershire, she thought bitterly. Just another name to add to the list of man who had enjoyed her body without any consideration of her mind, her soul.

  She would not make that mistake again.

  7

  “You are late.”

  Alexander grinned at the man who had just stepped through the doors of White’s gentleman’s club, rain droplets dripping from his top hat and being shaken from his face.

  Luke, Marquis of Dewsbury, strode forward with a returning smile. “And you do not seem particularly upset about it, Caershire, which is even more surprising.”

  Alexander shrugged, and caught the eye of a servant who glided over to take the order. “Absolutely your best steak for my good friend here, and – ”

  “A bottle of claret, and two cigars,” Luke interjected. “On Caershire’s tab, if you do not mind.”

  Attempting not to roll his eyes, Alexander nodded at the servant who dashed away. When he was quite out of earshot, he muttered, “You are quite wealthy enough to pay for your own claret, Dewsbury.”

  Luke threw him a wolfish grin. “Perhaps. Perhaps not; perhaps my family is collapsing in on itself, and I am too proud to tell you.”

  Alexander rolled his eyes. It had not been his idea to meet at White’s for dinner, two days after that incredible night with Teresa, but Luke was his closest friend. If he could not tell him what had occurred within these leather-lined and secretive walls, who could he confide in?

  “You said you had news,” Luke said with a questioning eyebrow, as the bottle of claret and two large glasses were brought over. “Not Miss Layland, surely?”

  Alexander blinked. “Miss Layland?”

  His companion chortled as he poured the drinks, waving away the waiter. “But two days ago, you were rigid with rage that Miss Layland would not agree to dance with you at Almacks, and now you cannot even remember who she is? My word, who is the woman who has completely driven you mad?”

  Luke laughed as he handed over the glass of deep red, but it faltered as he saw his face.

  “No,” he whispered.

  Alexander nodded. “Yes, I have met someone – someone who I think you will disapprove of, perhaps. I am not sure.”

  Luke’s face broke into a smile. “You dog, you kept that quiet! And here I was, hoping to be able to introduce you to – ”

  “No need,” Alexander interrupted triumphantly. “In fact, it was that very night that I met her.”

  His friend leaned back in his green leather chair, and surveyed him. “My word. You, and a woman. An actual woman.”

  Alexander laughed. “You do not have to sound so surprised!”

  “Not surprised, exactly,” Luke shrugged. “Just . . . well, after your most recent outburst, I assumed that I would be burying you alone – ouch!”

  He rubbed his arm where Alexander had not-so-gently punched him.

  “I am not going to be buried by you, though I do think you will outlive us all,” Alexander said genially. It was difficult to become truly angry at Luke at the best of times, and now that there was so much joy rushing through his heart, it was even more difficult.

  “My dear Caershire,” said Luke smoothly, nodding at the servant who brought over their food, “I intend to live forever. Now, tell me about this girl – titled?”

  Alexander swallowed. He had promised himself that he would tell his friend the truth – the entire truth, and nothing else. After all, if Teresa was going to become a permanent part of his life, then thi
s was a conversation that he was going to have to get used to.

  And yet it was not easy. Was he ashamed of her? No: it was more that he knew society’s opinion of women like her.

  “Well,” he said with a sigh. “I think it all started when I rescued her from drowning.”

  Luke spat out a very large gulp of expensive claret over the steak that had just been placed before him. “What?”

  Alexander laughed quietly, but gave apologetic nods to the men around them who were eating in comparable silence, albeit with disapproving shakes of the head.

  “If you do not control yourself, Dewsbury, we shall be thrown out,” he said out of the corner of his mouth.

  “Drowning?”

  “Drowning,” Alexander confirmed. “Much like you are doing with that nice claret.”

  Luke took a large breath, and then hissed, “What do you think you were doing, rescuing women from drowning?”

  “What? You think you could have passed by and allowed the Thames to swallow her up?”

  Luke shuddered. “No, I suppose not. God’s teeth, what a way to go.”

  “Well, she did not,” said Alexander firmly, the memory of her standing by the river Thames in his mind, all shining hair and clinging gown. “I pulled her out, and – Luke, she was absolutely beautiful. I mean, not like any of the young ladies we know.”

  His companion arched an eyebrow as he swallowed a bite from his steak. “Caershire, do I detect a hint of love in the air?”

  Alexander grinned, he could not help it. “Maybe. Anyway, she and I were both soaked through, absolutely drenched, and after she twisted her ankle, I helped her home.”

  “Nice place?”

  Alexander hesitated once more. Sooner or later in this story, he would have to tell him. Why not now?

  “No,” he said reluctantly. “Quite the opposite, in fact. Dewsbury, I hope you are not easily shocked.”

  Luke raised an inquisitive eyebrow. “Ah, now this I have to hear.”

  Alexander swallowed. It was now or never, and there was no one that he trusted more to consider his story seriously than Luke. My, he practically wrote the book on being a radical within the confines of a title.

  “She is a courtesan,” he said in a rush.

  Luke stared at him, and Alexander stared back, trying to discern any emotion or opinion in that blank face. But there was nothing; it was as though Luke had become frozen in time.

  “Dewsbury?” He said, after waiting a full minute.

  Luke coughed, shook his head as though he was wringing water from his ears, and then nodded. “Courtesan. Right then; continue with your story, Caershire.”

  Alexander said hesitantly, “You are shocked.”

  It was not a question, and Luke did not treat it as such. “Only because it is you, Caershire. After the year that you have just had, attempting to repair your honour . . . it just surprised me, that was all. Please, continue.”

  “Well, at its very basic level, I am sure that you can – can guess what happened,” Alexander said slowly, unconsciously lowering his voice. “But Dewsbury, she is incredible, an incredible woman. We talked for hours before we – and we have so much in common, there was such a connection between us, and – ”

  “Caershire,” said Luke slowly, and Alexander saw the kind look on his face falter slightly. “Caershire, that is what they do. That is what a courtesan is, a soft and kind ear along with a delectable body.”

  “This was different,” Alexander said determinedly. His memory took him back to that laugh Teresa gave when she had caught him out in something ridiculous, that arch of her back as she leaned forward to pass him the tea, the confidences that they shared in that little room.

  Only Luke’s voice could have brought him back to the present.

  “. . . anyone else,” he was saying. “I hate to say it, you know that I do, but I just do not see how you can assume that – ”

  “We made love, Dewsbury.” Alexander smiled gently. “‘Twas no transaction: no money changed hands, there was no expectation of such. By God, she invited me to her bed, she and I – we shared words of such . . .”

  His voice trailed away as the smile deepened.

  Luke’s eyes were wide. “You truly think that you care for this woman.”

  “And she me,” Alexander said fiercely. “You know, I truly think that Teresa and I – ”

  “Teresa!” All the colour had drained from Luke’s face, and he stared at his friend in horror. “Do not tell me: Teresa Metcalfe.”

  It was as though the world had stopped spinning, and only he had noticed it. Alexander stared at his friend in horror. This could only mean one thing, surely. What had Teresa said?

  “Dukes, earls, lords of all descriptions. If they have a title, they generally come to me, not one of the street riff raff.”

  “I have not known her like that,” Luke said hurriedly, actually raising his hands in mock surrender as he beheld the look on his friend’s face. “I swear it, Caershire, I have not been with her. But – well, she is not unknown to me. I met her through a mutual acquaintance, and I have . . . well, I recommended my brother to her but two days ago.”

  “Two days ago?” Alexander tried to breathe, but there seemed to be something wrong with his lungs. “She said – Teresa said that she had to meet Lord George Northmere – that was – ”

  “But they never did meet,” Luke said quietly, putting down his knife and fork and leaning back in his chair. “He never found her. He assumed that she had found another client – more profitable. ‘Tis the strangest story, actually: the woman he ended up meeting – ”

  “But then, do you not see?” Alexander said excitedly. “Teresa did not meet your brother because she was with me. We lost track of time, I suppose, and once we had cast caution to the winds – oh, Dewsbury, I wish that you could have met her, I do not know a soul more perfectly created for me than she!”

  “You think so?”

  Alexander nodded. “I would stake my life on it. I-I honestly think that I could marry her – marry her and be happy, and that is more than most of our station can claim.”

  For a long minute, Alexander did not know what his friend was thinking. Luke was giving him a scrutinising gaze unlike any other that he had ever seen, but he did not interrupt. This felt important.

  Finally, Luke sighed. “Caershire, you know that I dare not attempt to dissuade you. You know your own mind, you are a grown man. But I ask you this: have you told Teresa this? When you went back to see her, yesterday, what did you promise her?”

  Alexander shuffled in his seat uncomfortably. “I did not go back to see her yesterday?”

  Luke froze. “You did not? Why in heaven’s name not?”

  His mouth opened, but Alexander could not think of an answer. Why had he not? It seemed a simple enough task for the day: go and see Teresa, and tell her that you love her. Tell her that you want her to marry you. Tell her that your life would be incomplete without her. What was holding him back – this fear of losing his reputation, a reputation he barely had?

  “You are an idiot for leaving a woman like that,” Luke said firmly. “If she is truly all you say she is, then she is more than you could have ever hoped to gain before you lost that precious reputation of yours.”

  Alexander swallowed. Suddenly his throat felt very dry. “But that is exactly it, do you not see? I have spent the last twelvemonth attempting to repair my reputation, to restore it to something approximating what it was before – before Mark’s indiscretion. If I were to wed Teresa – ”

  “Restore it? Restore it?”

  Luke’s raised voice was starting to attract attention, and Alexander smiled nervously and nodded at the faces which had turned towards them.

  But Luke showed no sign of quietening. “By God, you are dreaming, Caershire, if you think you can turn back the clock. Your reputation before your brother’s request was nothing! You were the younger son of a Duke, with no real title of your own, and you were to be a lawyer.
You really think that it is worth your effort returning to that?”

  “No, of course not,” Alexander said stiffly, “but – ”

  “Ye gods, man, you are worried about your reputation?” Luke stared at him, and laughed. “Caershire, you do not have a reputation to lose! That disappeared, months ago – and now do you not see what wonderful position that leaves you in?”

  Alexander felt hot, a searing irritation growing from his stomach and spreading through his limbs. How could Luke say such things?

  “No,” he said stiffly.

  Luke smiled, and shook his head. “Why, you are free. Free of all society’s constraints. What are they going to do? How could they possibly punish you any further?”

  Alexander stared at him. “What?”

  Luke leaned forward, and lowered his voice. “Say you propose marriage to this courtesan – to Teresa. Say that she says yes, and you marry, and the news of her . . . previous profession gets out. What then?”

  Alexander blinked. “Well, then I am ruined!”

  “You are already ruined!” Luke hissed, still smiling. “So, you will lose your voucher for Almacks: you will be married, what does it signify? So, you will lose your invitation to court: you hate it there anyway! Your true friends will stand beside you, no matter what.”

  “The few that I have,” said Alexander bitterly.

  Luke reached out and gripped his friend’s shoulder. “They are all you need.”

  In an instant, Alexander’s heart softened as he saw the loyalty and friendship in his companion. Even after admitting that he wished to marry a courtesan, a woman far accustomed to other men than himself, Luke was still on his side.

  “Now then, the real question is: what are you still doing here?” Luke smiled as he leaned back into his chair.

  Alexander shrugged. “I left about fifty pounds for her, to send to her family – I think they will be fine for a few more days while I get things ready at Loxwich – ”

  For the second time in that meal, Luke spat out his claret. “You – you told me that no money changed hands!”