His Courtesan Bride (Brides of Mayfair 3)

by Michelle McMaster

  With one month remaining on her contract with Darius, even the papers were speculating on which lucky gentleman would next become Serena Ransom’s lover and protector. There were already a few contenders on Lady Devlyn’s short list, but Balfour would be a feather in her cap, simply for the reason that Darius despised him.

  It would drive him mad to imagine Balfour’s hands on her, let alone the man himself physically possessing her. For though there was no love between she and Kane, his male ego would balk at being rejected for the benefit of his most reviled enemy.

  That was what she was counting on.

  Serena heard the door open behind her, and knew in an instant that it was Darius. For one thing, her servants always knocked first, and for another, his scent gave him away.

  Perhaps because she had spent so much time next to him in bed, Serena knew intimately the masculine aroma of his skin—the mixture of soap and spicy shaving powder, the hint of leather from riding, mixed with that of clean linen…It was a heady thing indeed.

  “That looks like interesting reading,” he said, his voice laced with a hint of wickedness. “I see that you’re dressed for the occasion.”

  Serena eyed him over her shoulder before stretching forward again, making the most of his posterior view of her scantily clad body.

  “Satan’s bollocks,” he said, “you’d better stop that right now, or we won’t be going to any musicale tonight, I assure you.”

  Serena arched her back and pointed her shoulders upward into the cobra position of Hatha Yoga, which she and the rest of the Courtesan Club had learned under Lady Devlyn’s tutelage. “I’m merely limbering myself up for you, my lord. Do you truly wish me to stop?” She walked herself up into the position of downward dog, her bottom pointing at the ceiling and her head pointing toward the floor.

  “I said, stop it, Serena,” Darius warned. “We are to be at Rochford’s in little over an hour. We have no time for this—oh…that’s a new one. Oh… My… God… What are you doing, woman?”

  Serena had changed from downward dog into another position, in which she stood on her head, legs spread open and stretched out at her sides, toes pointed.

  “Can we do it like that?” Darius asked, his voice husky.

  “Of course,” Serena answered, coming out of her headstand and sitting on the floor to finish stretching. “After the musicale. I wouldn’t wish to rush your pleasure, my lord.”

  He sat in a plush chair and replied, “Nor would I wish to rush yours, Serena.”

  She glanced at him slyly, seeing the desire that burned in his sapphire eyes. Desire for her. That was a heady thing, too. He wanted her, right now.

  She toyed with the idea of crawling over to him on hands and knees, unfastening his breeches, and using her mouth to quickly bring him to release.

  A dutiful courtesan would do just that.

  But Serena had another agenda this evening, and keeping Darius in a state of unfulfilled lust would work to her advantage.

  “I’ve brought you something,” he said, finally.

  Serena turned toward him. “What is it?”

  “Come here, and I’ll show you.”

  Serena chuckled. “I’ve heard that before, Darius. And I have already seen what is in your pants, many times, in fact.”

  “It’s not that, but this,” he replied, holding out a black velvet case.

  Serena’s senses perked up. She knew what was usually inside such a case. So she did crawl over to him, catlike, and sat at his feet, gazing up like a precocious kitten.

  Darius opened the case, and Serena felt a thrill shimmy through her as she beheld a magnificent necklace of diamond-set tear-drop sapphires, along with matching earbobs and bracelet. She had planned on wearing her midnight blue silk evening gown that night. These would match perfectly. The stones were the same indescribable color as Darius’s eyes.

  Along with being an excellent addition to Serena’s growing collection of jewelry, these sapphires would have their own role to play, if the evening panned out as she hoped.

  “They are magnificent, Darius,” she said. “Once again, your taste in jewelry is impeccable. I shall ring for Winnie to help me dress. I can hardly wait to feel them against my bare skin.” She ran her hands up his hard thighs. “And I shall properly thank you for such a gift later this evening.”

  “I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t looking forward to that,” Darius called after her as Serena exited the bedroom.

  Sometime later, their carriage pulled up in front of Rochford House. It was a cool evening, and Serena drew her hooded cape closely around her, though the billowing silver satin did nothing to keep her warm. Darius ushered her up the front steps and into the warmth of the Rochford mansion.

  Brilliant candelabras and lighted wall sconces gave the interior a golden glow. The chatter of voices mingled with the clink of champagne glasses, completing the festive mood.

  “Lord Kane,” Lady Rochford said, greeting them. The Marchioness, an elegant woman of fifty years, looked splendid in teal blue. A superb set of pearls, five strands in all, graced her neck.

  “And Miss Ransom,” her husband intoned from his wife’s side. He bowed and placed a cordial kiss on the back of Serena’s hand. “A pleasure, as always.”

  “My lord,” Serena replied. “Lady Rochford, what a lovely set of pearls.”

  “Thank you, my dear. And may I say your sapphires are truly spectacular. A gift from Lord Kane, I presume?” she asked.

  Serena nodded, glancing at Darius. A subtle but unmistakable expression of male pride came over his features.

  “A beautiful woman requires beautiful jewels,” he said, “as I’m sure the Marquess would agree.”

  “Ah, yes,” Lord Rochford said, sharing a knowing look with his wife. “That is the price we poor men must pay to keep such angels in our midst, I fear. But it is well worth it. Now, come in to the drawing room. The entertainments are about to begin.”

  Darius offered his arm to Serena and led her into the room. Chairs had been set up, theater-style, facing a grand piano. Many illustrious members of the ton were in attendance, including a few artistic types whose company Lady Rochford favored—a few Italian painters, a young German poet, as well as some well-known personages of the London Theater.

  But there was one man in the room who immediately drew Serena’s attention…

  The Duke of Balfour.

  Chapter 14

  “The male ego is a fragile thing indeed; it takes great skill to juggle more than one at a time.”

  –from Memoirs of a Courtesan, by Lady Night

  “Miss Ransom.”

  Serena turned, knowing full well to whom the voice belonged.

  “Your Grace.” She inclined her head slightly in greeting, like a queen acknowledging one of her lords.

  The last time Serena had laid eyes upon the duke, Darius had been holding her breasts like ripe fruit. At this moment, he was enjoying a cigar in the billiard room with Lord Rochford. It was just the opportunity Serena needed to reacquaint herself with the duke.

  “Miss Ransom. It has been too long,” the duke said, bowing slightly and kissing her gloved hand.

  “It has indeed, Your Grace.”

  Balfour indicated the terrace beyond the open French doors. “Would you care for some fresh air, Miss Ransom?”

  “It is quite warm, is it not? A breath of fresh air would be most agreeable,” Serena replied, taking his offered arm and walking with him onto the torch-lit terrace.

  The air was chilly but refreshing after being cooped up in the drawing room. A few other couples had ventured outside as well, and milled about, admiring the gardens below, or discussing the poetry reading they had just heard.

  Serena remembered one of Lady Devlyn’s rules: ‘To make a man talk, say nothing.’ She waited for the duke to initiate the conversation. A few moments passed in silence between them.

  “I very much regret our last meeting,” the duke said, staring off into a dark corner of the gard
en.

  Serena began to reply, but the duke cut her off.

  “I have not been able to stop thinking about you,” he confessed.

  “Truly, your Grace?” Serena asked, innocently.

  She saw Balfour swallow uncomfortably. This was difficult for him. How sweet.

  “Truly, Miss Ransom,” he said. “I find that I have regretted my earlier decision in rescinding my offer to you. It seems that I may have misjudged the situation I came upon that night at Lord Kane’s ball. I have it on good authority that the scene was orchestrated precisely for my benefit, in order to take me out of the running as your protector. You had no choice but to accept Kane after that.”

  She was still angry at Darius for that particular bit of trickery, though she had managed to turn the whole thing to her advantage. “I fear it is true, Your Grace,” Serena said.

  In all honestly, she rather liked the duke, though she did not feel any great passion for him. Unlike Darius, who could provoke all sorts of emotions in her—anger, frustration, passion, to name but a few. When she looked at Darius—even with all that he’d done to her in the past—she always felt a heated thrill that began between her legs and zipped along her limbs at lightning speed, eventually reaching her brain. Her physical reaction to him—his dark hair, hot blue eyes and well-muscled body—dismayed her to no end.

  Now that they were having sex, the physical connection between them was hotter and more irresistible than ever.

  But the Duke of Balfour, with his wheat blond hair and pale blue eyes left her cold. She felt no physical attraction to him whatsoever, and yet she enjoyed the feeling of control it gave her. For that reason alone, Balfour was the perfect choice for her next lover. But there were many more reasons than that to choose the duke, beginning with Darius himself.

  He would never see this coming.

  Which was what made Serena’s plan all the more deliciously wicked.

  The duke stepped closer to her then. He was so different from Darius. He was tall enough of course, but where Darius’s body was thick and muscular, the duke seemed thin, like a reed. Perhaps it was his hands. Darius had big, rough soldier’s hands which always looked out of place at the ends of his well-tailored cuffs.

  The duke’s hands were pale, the fingers perfectly manicured. His hand looked quite at home next to the lace at the end of his sleeve. His straight blond hair was combed forward in the fashionable style. There was not a hair out of place. And yet, Serena knew for a fact that Darius combed his hair with only his fingers after rolling out of bed in the morning, and emerged looking devilishly attractive. He often poked fun at the young bucks who spent as much time fiddling with their hair as the vainest ladies of the ton.

  The duke was as different from Darius Manning as any man could be.

  She tried to imagine herself going to bed with the duke and found that the image would not appear. Or perhaps the memory of sex with Darius was so strong, it overruled everything else.

  “Lord Kane—has he made it hard for you?” the duke asked.

  Serena relied on all her self-control to keep from laughing. Yes, Darius has made it hard as stone for me, most nights.

  Instead she answered, “At times.”

  “I thought as much,” the duke replied. “I served with Lord Kane in the Peninsula. I know exactly what kind of man he is.”

  Serena wagered a guess that she knew much more about Darius than the duke ever would. That didn’t matter. Let Balfour think he was her hero, riding in to save the day. “I see,” she said.

  “Let me assure you, Miss Ransom, that if I were your protector, I would be nothing like Lord Kane,” he said.

  “Oh?” Serena surprised herself by hearing a hint of disappointment in her voice. One thing was for certain: though Darius was wicked and deserved retribution for what he had done to her, his inherent wickedness only added to his talents in the bedroom…and the drawing room…and the breakfast room…and the foyer….

  “I can state that with absolute certainty,” Balfour said proudly.

  “That is reassuring,” she commented.

  “Shall I infer then, that you would be agreeable to begin negotiations for an association between us?” he asked, finally.

  She waved a hand, saying, “It is my solicitor, Mr. Ridgeway of Ridgeway, Carruthers and Warrington, who will be conducting negotiations on my behalf, Your Grace. I suggest that you contact him at his offices in Brantley Street.”

  “I shall do so on the morrow,” the duke replied, bowing to kiss Serena’s hand. He straightened and stopped dead for a moment, looking just behind Serena at someone over her shoulder.

  Serena turned to see Darius, and instinctively took a step back from the duke. She realized only after doing it how guilty such a move made her look.

  “Lord Kane,” the duke said, the hint of a smirk on his face. “I was just leaving. Until we meet again, Miss Ransom.”

  With that the duke took his leave, which left Serena and Darius alone. Well, perhaps not entirely alone. Another couple lingered at the opposite end of the terrace. But Serena felt alone. Perhaps because Darius was staring down at her with a dark and dangerous expression.

  “Having a little tete-a-tete with Balfour, were you?” Darius asked. There was definitely a note of malevolence in his voice.

  “Whom I choose to speak with is none of your affair, Darius,” Serena stated.

  “It is if it’s that maggot.”

  Serena met his burning stare with her own look of warning. “I say again, it is none of your affair. Do not presume to give me orders in that regard. I am not your wife. You are not my husband. You do not censure with whom I converse.”

  Darius’s large hand slowly encircled her arm, holding it firmly as he said, “I may not be your husband, but I am your lover and protector in every sense of the word, and as such, I advise you to stay away from that man.”

  “Why, because you don’t like him?” she asked.

  “Nobody likes him,” Darius said flatly.

  “The King does,” Serena replied. “His mistress, Lady Conygnham does, too. I advise you to take your hand off me before you make a scene.”

  “And I advise you not to challenge me, Serena,” he warned. “You must trust me on this.”

  “Trust you?” Serena shook off his hand and gave a bitter chuckle. “My lord. That is one thing I shall never do again in this lifetime.”

  He frowned. “Oh, I see—trusting me is out of the question, but allowing me to pleasure you, while you are naked in bed, is perfectly acceptable.”

  “The two are not connected,” Serena answered.

  “Are they not?”

  “No.”

  “I put forth that they are,” he retorted. “And that you would never have chosen me to take your virginity if you did not trust me.”

  “I didn’t choose you, Darius,” she replied. “You weighted the dice so that they would roll in your favor, and I had no choice whatsoever. You sabotaged my chances with the duke in order to get what you wanted, just as you did before. Well, this time, you are not going to have it your way. And you are just going to have to live with it.”

  Serena turned on her heel and stalked across the terrace, back into the Rochford mansion.

  “Where do you think you are going?” Darius demanded. In two strides he was at her side.

  “Back to my house.”

  “It’s my house until the contract is fulfilled.”

  “Fine,” she said, “your house then, for a few more weeks. Then it will be mine, and you shall no longer have a key.”

  He stared down at her angrily. “That is why you’ve been so evasive about discussing the renegotiation of our contract? You do not plan on reoffering?”

  “Not to you,” she said.

  “Then to who, then? Balfour?” Darius demanded.

  “As it is none of your business, my lord, I refuse to discuss it,” she said.

  Serena accepted her cloak from a footman and headed toward the door. In moments,
their carriage appeared. Another footman opened the door and pulled down the step for her, and she climbed in. She wished she could have slammed the door behind her and left Darius standing on the curb, but it was his carriage, damn him, and she needed him to convey her home.

  Darius rapped on the ceiling and the carriage lurched into motion. Serena stared out the window at the dark city streets, her temper burning like hot coal. This was what truly ignited her anger with Darius. He was so sure of himself, he assumed everyone would do exactly as he wanted, when he wanted. It probably stemmed from the years he spent barking orders in the Peninsula. Well, this was London, and Serena was not a foot soldier in Darius’s battalion.

  “That’s your answer to everything, isn’t it?” Darius said. “Avoid the issue.”

  “Perhaps I learned it from you,” Serena countered. “You certainly weren’t very forthcoming about your engagement to Miss Barton when you seduced me in the Telford Gardens. So do not presume to criticize me.”

  They spent the rest of the ride home in burning silence. Soon, they pulled up in front of the townhouse.

  “Don’t even think about coming upstairs,” Serena said, gathering her cloak about her.

  “Do not flatter yourself,” Darius spat. “I wouldn’t give you the satisfaction. And I’m not just talking about physically. Enjoy the rest of your evening, Serena.”

  She waited for the driver to hop down and open the door, and when he did, she couldn’t get out of the carriage fast enough. By the time Serena reached the front door of her townhouse, she turned to shoot a scathing look at Darius, but he was gone.

  Damn him.

  He was always ruining her finale.

  * * *

  “The damned, impudent chit—she doesn’t know what she’s getting into with Balfour,” Darius said, knocking back a swig of brandy and signaling for another.

  He’d gone straight to White’s, in search of Havelock. He needed to vent his frustrations regarding his troublesome courtesan, and his old friend was the perfect audience.