Darius.
He stared down at her coolly, his dark blue eyes giving away nothing. He was dressed for a night in a gaming hell. His well-cut superfine jacket in somber black contrasted with a rich, silver and black brocade vest and snow-white French linen shirt. His intricately tied neck cloth resembled froths of cream atop a decadent dessert. A heavy gold and ruby ring adorned the pinky finger of his left hand—worn by the earls of Kane for centuries. Everything about his appearance personified power—the kind men were careful not to provoke, and which women wished desperately to arouse.
His raw sexuality cast a powerful spell about him, like a net that effortlessly caught any woman he desired. It had certainly worked on her that fateful night at the Telford Ball.
“Lord Kane,” Serena said, meeting his gaze with her own. She held out her hand to be kissed.
Slowly, skillfully, Darius took her hand in his. Serena felt the heat of his strong, capable hands penetrate through her thin satin gloves. She remembered all too well exactly what those hands felt like as they had once roamed over her skin in the cool night air, making her quiver with wanton passion.
She also remembered how she hated him.
He bent to place a kiss upon her hand, but stopped a few inches away from the barrier of her glove. His lips hovered there for what seemed like an eternity, at least to Serena. He looked up at her then, a wicked glint in his blue eyes. “Miss Ransom, it is always a pleasure.” With that he sensuously pressed his lips to her hand.
An infuriating bolt of heat snaked up her arm from where his mouth touched her.
Darius released her hand, and Serena realized too late that her breaths were coming short.
“My dear, you know Lord Kane?” Lady Devlyn asked smoothly. But in fact, she knew exactly how well they’d once known each other, and the terrible price Serena had paid for their association. But she pretended otherwise for the benefit of her guests, saying, “I had no idea you two were acquainted.”
Darius replied casually, “I was fortunate enough to meet Miss Ransom two seasons ago. Perhaps she does not remember me.”
Serena smiled back, icily. After all Lord Kane had put her through, he dared to act as if he had never broken her heart, let alone ruined her reputation. “I do recall our meeting, my lord,” she answered. “As I remember, I had lost a personal item which you gallantly helped me to recover.”
Her silk stocking had somehow ended up hanging from the branch of a tree in the darkened garden. In fact, she remembered quite clearly Miss Barton pointing at it and shrieking in horror where it fluttered above Lord Kane’s head.
He gave a little bow. “Ah, yes. I was glad to be of service to you that night.”
“I am sure,” Serena replied, flatly.
Darius indicated the gentleman standing next to him. Where Darius was dark and dangerous, his friend’s sandy blond hair and hazel eyes seemed to impart a more affable air. “May I present to you, Major Havelock Price.”
“Major,” she said in greeting.
Major Price grinned warmly. “Miss Ransom.” He kissed her hand with gusto. “You are as beautiful as you are gracious.”
She inclined her head and favored him with a smile. “Thank you. And now if you will excuse me, I must greet my other guests.”
Darius gave a curt bow as Serena turned away. Soon he had disappeared into the throng of men clamoring about her.
As Lady Devlyn ushered Serena toward another group, she whispered, “Well done, my dear. You gave nothing away. And I am sure Lord Kane is quite curious as to how you kept your composure, considering your history together.”
Serena forced herself to keep smiling. She refused to let anyone know something was amiss with her, especially not Darius Manning. “I hope it keeps him awake all night, wondering.”
“It is in the past, which is exactly where it belongs. Tonight is about your future. Look at you, with a room full of London’s richest men, all ready to bid for the pleasure of your company. I’ll wager Lord Kane is wishing he had never let you go that night.”
Serena felt a rush of feminine triumph. Now that Darius had seen what a sensation she had become, he would curse himself for letting her go. The fact that he was in attendance gave Serena the perfect opportunity to show him exactly how little she thought of him now.
“Only a few more gentlemen left to meet, dear,” Lady Devlyn said. “It’s a whirlwind of excitement, I know. And then you will retire to my sitting room for a glass of champagne in private with me and the rest of the Courtesan Club. We don’t wish to overdo it tonight. Courtesan Rule Number Twelve: ‘Always leave them wanting more.’”
Serena smiled smugly, for where Darius Manning was concerned, that would, no doubt, be an easy task.
* * *
Havelock slapped Darius’ arm good-naturedly. “I say, good on you. The lady is exquisite, to say the least. The face of a goddess, and a body to match. I can see why you’d want to play ‘tickle-tail’ with that one. Will you make her an offer, then?”
Darius quietly watched Serena leave the room. She had made the acquaintance of every man here, and left them all enthralled. He studied some of them, the ruddy, laughing faces…the lascivious looks in their eyes as they undoubtedly discussed what they would like to do to her, and have her do to them in return. A flash of anger filled his blood as the memory of Serena melting in his arms came back like a wave of heat that enveloped him. Watching the other men in the room salivate over her beauty and sinful curves taunted his base instincts, igniting fires of male jealousy, lust, and a need to possess her.
“Yes, I believe I will make an offer,” Darius replied. “For obvious reasons.”
And some not so obvious, he thought.
Darius downed the rest of his champagne in one gulp. “Let’s go to the tables.”
Havelock followed quickly as Darius made his way through the crowd, where they entered a lavishly decorated room that housed three billiard tables.
“Lord Kane, welcome to the billiard room.” The young Duke of Balfour sidled over to them, cocky as a bantam rooster. “I believe Lady Night has set up a few card tables in the other room, for those who want to play at whist. That game seems much more your speed.”
Darius replied, “Ah, Your Grace. I had forgotten you were here.”
“Much like at Waterloo,” Havelock muttered under his breath.
The duke spun to look at him. “I beg your pardon, Major Price? Do you know who you are speaking to?”
“I said, ‘I admire your shoe.’ Quite the dash, eh, Darius? You must give us the name of your cobbler.”
Balfour glared at them. “You’re not even fit to lick my shoe.” He sipped his drink and staggered drunkenly. “I see the two of you are still up to your old tricks.”
Darius took a step toward the duke, inches from his face. In a steely voice, he said, “I didn’t see your men complaining when we showed up to point them in the right direction. If they’d listened to you, they would all have been shot for desertion, as you had them headed on the wrong road.”
The duke’s cheeks flashed red with anger. “How dare, you, sir!”
“How dare I? I’m not the one who couldn’t read a bloody map,” Darius asserted.
Balfour’s eyes narrowed. “The smoke from the guns obscured my vision. And I was completely exonerated by our superiors at Whitehall. So keep your comments to yourself, Kane.”
“We’re no longer in the Peninsula, Your Grace, which means I don’t have to obey your asinine orders like I did when you outranked me,” Darius replied.
Balfour said through clenched teeth, “May I remind you that I am a duke, sir. I still outrank you. Do not forget it.”
Darius shrugged. “Only in the drawing room.”
Balfour stepped forward, but his friends held him back. “At least I didn’t have to marry a merchant’s daughter to get my hands on any real money, like you did.” He swung his glass through the air, spilling a few drops onto the carpet.
Darius stood wher
e he was, letting out a sigh of disbelief at the duke’s arrogance.
“Perhaps we should prove ourselves in a game of billiards!” the duke suggested. “That is, of course, unless you’re afraid to play me.” The young duke lurched toward Darius again, but Darius easily side-stepped him.
“A tempting proposition,” Darius replied.
While the duke’s cronies wrestled with him, Havelock whispered in Darius’s ear. “Dare, remember what happened last time. You ran the table and cleaned the pockets of two viscounts and a marquess, none of whom were happy about it. It’s not that I don’t want to be your second if it comes to that, because I do enjoy watching you shoot. But do you really need more money? Tonight? Damnation—is this about the courtesan?”
“Yes, yes and yes,” Darius said, reaching for a cue.
“And here I thought we were going to have a nice quiet evening, watching a beautiful courtesan make her debut. But you have to turn everything into a pissing contest.”
“The contest wasn’t my idea,” Darius argued. “And it would be bad form to refuse a duke, don’t you think?”
Havelock reached inside his coat pocket for a notebook and writing stylus, announcing to the crowd, “I’ll make the book. Gentlemen, place your bets. His Grace the Duke of Balfour versus the Earl of Kane, in a battle of wits and wills.”
The crowd surged around Havelock, all waving their pound notes in the air as they tried to place their bets. “Alright, alright—I’ll get to all of you, don’t worry. Fifty on Kane? Thank you, Sir Radcliffe. One hundred on the duke? I’ll take that bet, Lord Linley. And one hundred on Kane. Thank you, Mr. Chessington.”
Havelock continued taking bets on the match while Darius and the duke moved to the end of the table. They each placed their white cue balls on the green baize and made ready to strike for the string—the right to make the first shot. They pulled back their cues in concert, then sent each respective cue ball spinning toward the cushion at the opposite end of the table. Each ball bounced off the side and came rolling back, the duke’s cue ball winning the contest as it stopped just short of the baulk cushion. Darius stepped back to let him shoot. “Your Grace.”
Balfour placed the red object ball on the table and his cue ball in the baulk. He easily made a winning hazard, striking his white ball to hit the red, and sinking it in the corner pocket, thereby scoring three points. He seemed pleased with himself at that and positioned himself for the next shot, which he fouled, thereby awarding two points to Darius. He stood up, glaring at Darius as if it were somehow his fault.
But then again, Darius had found, the duke was the type of man who blamed everyone else for his own missteps.
Darius studied the table for a moment. He was skilled at both sizing up the table and his opponent. Years of practice had honed his talents in that regard. He could run the table, but he decided he’d have more fun if he drew this out….
“Damn!” Darius cursed as he intentionally missed a shot, which put Balfour ahead by two points. “Must be the champagne.” In truth he hadn’t had much, but the duke obviously didn’t know that.
Balfour stepped up, all too eager to prove his superiority over the opponent he thought so far beneath him. The duke scored three on a losing hazard, then two points on a cannon, which he quickly lost to Darius on another foul.
Darius positioned his cue and took a swift shot that sent the red ball straight into the pocket for a winning hazard, scoring three points. He followed this with a difficult combination shot, potting both the object ball and Balfour’s white ball for ten points. The crowd was impressed with this, but his supporters moaned loudly when he fouled the next shot. He shook his head and smacked his fist on his thigh.
Darius was ahead seventeen points to twelve, and he would have been well on the way to winning if he hadn’t intentionally fouled in favor of the duke.
“Don’t fret, Kane,” the duke said conceitedly. “With you scoring points for me, I’ll easily win this match. I’ll have the little courtesan, too. It only makes sense that the highest peer of the realm in attendance should be victorious in all things. After I’m through, Kane, you’ll finally realize that you can’t compete with me. On any battlefield.”
The crowd fell silent. They all leaned forward, waiting for Darius’ response. Balfour was a duke, after all. And most men didn’t challenge his authority. But Darius Manning, the Earl of Kane, was not most men.
A game of billiards was one thing.
Miss Serena Ransom was quite another.
And Darius intended to win both.
Chapter 3
“Men are like children; they like to collect colorful toys, and to them, the skilled courtesan is merely another toy to be fought over, and to prevent other boys from playing with.”
–from Memoirs of a Courtesan, by Lady Night
Serena and her companions were enjoying celebratory champagne and French chocolates in Lady D’s sitting room when a loud commotion erupted from the salon below.
“Whatever is that?” Serena asked, alarmed.
“Stay here,” Lady Devlyn commanded. “I shall investigate.”
She disappeared into the hallway, closing the door behind her.
“My word, what could it be?” Bliss asked.
“The important thing is to remain calm,” Felicity replied. “We must stay here until Lady D returns. Whatever it is, we are safer up here, I’ll wager.”
Bliss stood and walked purposefully to the fireplace, taking the heavy black poker in hand. “Best to be prepared, whatever the cause.”
Just then, the door opened, and the girls were surprised to see Lady D’s happy face peering in at them.
“What is it?” Serena asked, breathlessly. “You must tell us.”
“Come with me,” Lady D said, opening the door wide to let them through. “We are quite safe, I assure you. But you must see this.”
The quartet hurried down the hallway to the top of the staircase. They crept halfway down until they could see though the wide double-doors into the billiard room below. And what they saw was quite a sight indeed.
The crashing of crystal, and shouted expletives assaulted their ears as they watched a battle royale. Darius, the Earl of Kane and the Duke of Balfour were bare-chested, engaged in a match of fisticuffs.
“They’re fighting,” Serena said in shock. She turned to Lady Devlyn. “Why are they fighting?”
“They are fighting over you,” she said, proudly. “I daresay, it’s quite a compliment.”
Serena had heard tell of ‘the Fancy’ before, a bare-knuckled form of boxing which was officially outlawed, but extremely popular amongst the aristocracy. It seemed the Courtesan Club was to enjoy ringside seats in the comfort of Lady Devlyn’s Mayfair mansion.
Serena watched, open-mouthed, as Darius defended himself from an out-of-control Duke of Balfour. It was instantly apparent which man was the better fighter. Where the duke’s style consisted of lunging forward drunkenly and swinging with gusto at his opponent, Darius hopped lightly from foot to foot, always managing to stay out of the duke’s way by an inch or two, and then successfully land a powerful blow of his own.
Which seemed to infuriate the duke even more.
“I’ll teach you to mind your betters, Kane!” the duke bellowed.
“A noble aspiration, Your Grace,” Darius replied, not even sounding the least bit winded. “Tell me, when does the lesson begin?”
The duke threw a punch. Serena gasped as Darius deflected it, then his hard fist connected with the duke’s chin in a devastating upper-cut.
The duke spun around like a child’s top, but was pushed back toward his opponent by the chanting crowd.
“Two hundred on Kane!” Major Price shouted above the din, taking the offered notes while trying to stay out of the way of flying fists. “I have you down, Lord Dudley. Another hundred on the duke—certainly, Mr. Bowles. Who’s next?”
Between the men chanting and clamoring to place bets, and the violence of the fight itse
lf, Serena felt dizzy. But she refused to do anything as silly as to faint. This was the first time men had fought over her, and she was going to enjoy every moment of such a scandalous event.
“But where is Erasmus?” Serena asked, touching Lady D’s sleeve. “Why doesn’t he interfere?”
Lady Devlyn indicated her hulking bodyguard, who stood off to the side of the billiard room. His massive, brown arms were folded across his chest and a frown clouded his face.
“Erasmus has everything under control, I assure you,” she said. “His duty is to protect us, and we are quite safe. This is merely a spat between gentlemen, and more importantly, it is a spat over you, Serena. A match of fisticuffs is quite permitted in these circumstances. The publicity we will gain from such an audacious spectacle will be immeasurable. You’ll be the talk of the ton for weeks.”
“But are we certain they are fighting over me?” Serena asked. “Perhaps their argument originated at the billiard table.”
Lady D smiled and shook her head. “I had it straight from the butler. The gentlemen were indeed engaged in a match of billiards, but then the duke said something objectionable—I don’t know what it was—and then it turned into an argument over who would win you. It seems each wants to be the top contender for the honor.”
Serena felt a wild thrill. Two grown men, and one of them a duke, no less—fighting over her. She watched with interest as Darius took another swing, his muscular arm stretching out with explosive power as he landed another blow to the duke’s stomach.
An unwelcome heat began to warm her veins. Seeing Darius Manning, half-naked and sweaty, muscles bulging and flexing, was unfortunately quite arousing. Especially when she was the cause of such behavior.
But then, the memory of his ill treatment of her made Serena huff in annoyance. In fact, she hoped the duke managed to land a few more blows against Darius, because he certainly deserved it, and more.
Though he obviously thought winning this fight would win him the courtesan as well, she had no intention of accepting Darius’ offer, no matter how generous it was. The man was arrogant beyond all to think that she would have forgiven him for arousing her passions and then leaving her so abruptly in the lurch that night at Telford House.
His Courtesan Bride (Brides of Mayfair 3) Page 3
