His Courtesan Bride (Brides of Mayfair 3)

by Michelle McMaster

  Now, she sat in its plush blue velvet interior, staring at the passing countryside as the vehicle rolled down the lane. She tried in vain not to think about the painful goodbye she had just endured with Caro and the twins, or the agonizing last few moments with Darius. The uncomfortable memories seemed to delight in haunting her, like malevolent spirits.

  She wiped at her eyes, wishing above all that they would stop tearing up. Crying would accomplish nothing, accept to make her nose red, her eyes puffy, and leave her with a throbbing headache. She did not wish to be plagued with any of that nonsense when she arrived back in Town. Today was the first day of her contract with the Duke of Balfour. She had to look her best when she made her debut as his courtesan tonight.

  A lump formed in her throat at the thought. Serena dug her fingernails into the palm of her hand, using the sharp pain to focus her mind. She had to gain control of her emotions. This agitated state would do her no good when she was trying to bring sensual pleasure to the duke. The task would be difficult enough for her, if not almost impossible. She would force herself to rely on her training and to banish thoughts of Darius from her mind. It had to be done. There was nothing else for it.

  The final scene with Darius had been worse than she could have ever imagined. It seemed that he hated her now, much as she had once hated him. Serena’s refusal to marry him, or even continue on as his mistress had turned him against her.

  One thing was certain, Darius would not be coming after her. He had made that abundantly clear. As far as her career went, it was the ideal situation. Lady Devlyn had always emphasized the importance of making a clean break with one lover before taking on another, however it was achieved.

  Well, Serena had certainly succeeded in that regard. She would never forget the accusing look in Darius’s eyes as he’d mercilessly flogged her with his words. The tenderness she had seen in him the night they had made love had been replaced with anger, pity and disgust.

  Toward her.

  It was for the best, she told herself as the sharp reality twisted in her heart. She imagined the pain she felt was akin to recovering from a war wound. As she healed each day, the discomfort would be a little less. Then one day, the wound would be fully healed. She would have to be patient until that day came, and pray devotedly for its speedy arrival.

  Serena forced herself to focus on positive thoughts. Her contract with Darius was over. She was now the owner of a spectacular Grosvenor Square townhouse, along with all the luxurious furnishings, fashionable clothes, and dazzling jewels within. After only six months as Darius Manning’s private courtesan, she was now a wealthy woman in her own right. No one could take that away from her. If she played her cards right, she would be wealthier still, with each consecutive protector she took on.

  Serena knew she should be congratulating herself on her success. She had achieved her goal. She would never have to worry about starving or having nowhere to live, like she and her poor mother.

  And yet, her victory felt decidedly hollow. Compared to the heady, ethereal love she had felt in Darius’s arms, those treasures she had coveted for so long now seemed tarnished and dull. She had tasted the wondrous perfection of love for only an instant before it swirled away on the breeze, like a cloud bursting in a bright blue sky.

  Those magical moments with Darius would never be eclipsed by material wealth, of that she was certain. And yet, prosperity was the only thing she could count on now, the only thing which Serena could control and ensure with her own actions.

  Perhaps if she accumulated enough wealth, one day she would stop feeling so afraid.

  Later, as she gazed out the carriage window, a wave of welcome relief washed over her. The outskirts of London loomed in the distance. She had never been so glad to see the sprawling metropolis as she was this very moment.

  Serena had instructed the driver to deliver her to Lady Devlyn’s Mayfair mansion. What with these tumultuous last few days, she desperately needed to see her mentor. Lady D would be there to offer sage advice and give Serena’s confidence a much needed boost before her evening with the duke.

  Felicity and Bliss—they would be a sight for sore eyes, as well. Serena needed their camaraderie, their warm smiles and witty remarks to lift her spirits and make her feel like her old self again.

  Soon the carriage was rolling along in the familiar congested traffic of Town. She had never been so happy to see the familiar crush of vehicles, the shouts of drivers as they attempted to maneuver through the throng that was London, for it meant that she was home.

  As they neared the Mayfair district, Serena sat forward on the plush seat, itching to alight from the vehicle and plant her feet firmly upon the ground. They pulled up in front of Devlyn House, and Serena waited for the driver to open the door and pull down the step for her. As the man saw to her bags, she trotted up the stone steps to the front door and was admitted by Mansfield, who showed her into the parlor.

  Lady Devlyn looked up from her embroidery, Bliss looked up from her penny novel, and Felicity stilled the fingers that plucked away at the keys of the pianoforte.

  “Serena!” the ladies said in unison.

  Lady Devlyn, however, perusing her with her hawk-like gaze, said something altogether different. “Serena…you look absolutely, positively, and quite utterly ghastly.”

  Chapter 26

  “When trying to forget one man, simply gaze at another. Or better yet, take him to bed.”

  –From Memoirs of a Courtesan, by Lady Night

  Serena studied her reflection in the glass of her dressing bureau as she ran the ivory-handled brush through her thick auburn hair. Now at home in Grosvenor Square, she made the last preparations for her evening with her new protector, the Duke of Balfour.

  It had been a most unusual homecoming, to be sure. When she had walked through the front door of the townhouse—her townhouse, now—it felt cold and bleak. Somehow, the knowledge that Darius would never return here, never share her bed or a private joke over breakfast made the house seem like a tomb.

  Perhaps it was a fitting end to her scheme. The glittering townhouse that had once been such a prize would now be no better than a crypt, housing the beautiful, ambitious courtesan with the dead heart and withered soul.

  But she was getting ahead of herself, she thought, bitterly. Her heart wasn’t completely dead yet. She could still feel it twisting and clawing within her breast, in its painful death throes. It was only a matter of time before it ceased feeling, altogether.

  Going to bed with duke tonight would surely deliver the killing blow.

  Then she would be free of Darius’s power over her. The memories of him that swirled about her like smoke and choked her with malevolent fingers, would fade away. And like a poor, afflicted pilgrim who welcomes death, Serena would finally be at rest.

  Perhaps Darius was right, after all. Perhaps she was a coward. But how could anyone condemn her for taking measures against inevitable pain? To live with Darius, even as his wife, was to risk a future heartache so profound that Serena doubted she would ever recover. She was not willing to give Darius that power over her once again—the power to love and cherish, to hurt and destroy.

  Though she knew many would not understand why, Serena’s choice to continue in her life as a professional courtesan was an act of self-preservation. However flawed this existence was, it was preferable to the alternative—falling deeper and deeper in love with Darius each day, sealing her sorry fate with every beat of her foolish heart.

  Suddenly a sharp, searing pain pierced her breast. Absently Serena rubbed at it. She had done so many times in the past few days, though it did nothing to relieve the true source of the torment. It was the memory of a man, like a splinter deep within her heart, that plagued her.

  Midnight blue eyes.

  A warm, wicked mouth.

  Hands that tortured and tempted with every caress.

  Darius…

  She pushed such maudlin thoughts away, focusing her mind on the task at h
and. In a matter of hours, she would become mistress to the Duke of Balfour. She had applied cosmetics to her face, a hint of rouge on her cheeks to make her look flushed with passion, a blush of color on her lips to make them seem reddened from kissing, a faint dusting of khol on her eyelids to make them appear drowsy with desire.

  These were only a few of the courtesan’s tools, ones which she would be using for years to come, she wagered.

  The cosmetic preparations had worked their magic. Thankfully, she looked a far sight better now than she had upon her arrival at Lady Devlyn’s. Her mentor’s honest appraisal of her appearance had not been taken as an insult. Upon looking in the mirror, Serena couldn’t help but see the dark circles that shadowed her eyes, the sallow skin and dull, untidy hair that had so alarmed Lady Devlyn, Bliss and Felicity. The Courtesan Club had quickly sprung into action, ringing the maid for hot water, plush towels and the finest Castile soap.

  A few quick beauty treatments—cucumber slices for her eyes, a hot, fragrant bath, followed by luxurious creams for the skin—had done wonders for Serena’s outward appearance, if not her inward state of mind.

  Serena had scrubbed vigorously at her skin, attempting to banish those torturous thoughts of Darius with the action. Lady Devlyn had warned her not to take such feelings out on her tender skin, lest she would leave it raw and irritated. Instead, she encouraged Serena to calmly concentrate on the task at hand, to fill her mind with her immediate goal—that of preparing her body for her new protector—and everything would work itself out.

  One thing was certain. Darius would not come after her. It was over between them.

  Perhaps his hatred of Serena was a blessing. She needed to ensure that he would stay away from her, to give her enough time to get over him. For if Darius appeared on her doorstep now, she did not think she would have the strength to resist him. And now that she was contracted to another man, Darius’s presence in Town might create untold problems for her, as well as for him.

  The duke might call him out.

  A duel might be fought.

  Someone might get killed.

  Darius….

  It did not bear thinking about.

  She was the duke’s courtesan, now, Serena reminded herself. She had best stop ruminating on the past and start concentrating on her future.

  His Grace had sent a note to her residence earlier in the day, requesting that Serena appear at his Berkely Square mansion at nine o’clock that evening. They would have their first assignation there. It suited Serena perfectly, as to entertain another man in what was recently Darius’s townhouse would only remind her of their painful past.

  The new location only presented one problem: how to ensure her personal security. It would be easier for her bodyguard, Sharif, to protect her in Serena’s townhouse. But Lady Devlyn assured Serena that Sharif was very resourceful. The man could scale walls if he had to, and could appear out of thin air like a genie from a bottle.

  During Serena’s trip to Manning Park, the loyal Bedouin had returned to his usual post at Devlyn House, though not without protest. He had not been convinced of Serena’s safety at Lord Kane’s country retreat. Only Lady Devlyn’s specific orders had kept him from following Serena to Surrey on foot.

  Now, Sharif was back at his post at the Grosvenor Square townhouse. Though Serena could not in good conscience use the word ‘happy’ to describe the desert warrior’s mood, the enigmatic bodyguard seemed to scowl with less bloodthirsty vehemence than usual.

  In truth, Serena did not think the duke posed any threat whatsoever. But Lady D had drilled into her courtesans the importance of always having someone to watch your back, preferably someone large, muscular, and adept at swordplay. Sharif was all of those things and more.

  Serena was not worried about coming to any physical harm tonight. It was more the emotional toll that worried her. She forced her mind to imagine what it would feel like to take Balfour’s hardened sex into her body. As a virgin courtesan, only Darius had touched her there. And though he had done so many times over the course of their contract—with his hands, mouth, and his manhood—it had felt natural. Because it was Darius. The man she’d loved and hated with all the power of her foolish heart.

  Serena felt nothing for the Duke of Balfour. It seemed an impossibility that such a man would be penetrating her body in a matter of hours.

  And yet, it would surely happen.

  Unless, of course, Balfour had too much to drink during dinner and passed out in his dessert. She would have to encourage His Grace to enjoy his wine. In fact, she would bring along a bottle of Madeira from her own wine cellar as a gift to her new protector.

  If Serena could have laughed at the dark humor of the idea, she would have. But the sad truth was, she doubted she would ever laugh again.

  * * *

  The Duke of Balfour slowly raised Serena’s hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to the back of her gloved hand. “My dear, you look ravishing,” he said, smoothly, greeting her in the grand parlor of Balfour House.

  His pale blue eyes sparkled more brightly than Serena had remembered. But somehow, the fire that burned there was not playful and attractive. He reminded her of a child who harbored a well-guarded secret that he wanted others to guess at.

  “Thank you, Your Grace,” Serena replied. She had chosen a gown of ivory satin covered in shimmering gold netting. Diamonds glittered about her neck and dripped from her wrists, the exquisite pieces lent to her by Lady Devlyn. Since all of Serena’s jewelry had been gifts from Darius, she had been averse to wearing them on her first night as courtesan to the duke. Her hair was fashioned in the Grecian style by her talented maid, a diamond-encrusted band woven within its auburn waves.

  Serena had chosen a rose-scented powder with which to dust her body. It added a noticeable shimmer to her skin as well as a heady fragrance. She had done everything in her power to look the part of the confident courtesan. She merely had to get through this night with Balfour, and then the next night, and the next, until she could go through the motions by rote.

  This was her life now.

  She had best get used to it.

  The duke led her to an opulent dining room. Pale yellow patterned silk decorated the walls, upon which were hung exquisite portraits and landscapes. A footman bowed and pulled out Serena’s chair for her at one end of the long table, while the duke took his seat at the other. She inclined her head at him and smiled serenely as their dinner was served.

  As she looked down at the food on her plate, waves of nausea moved through her. Serena took a breath and forced herself to cut into the roasted pheasant.

  Somehow, it seemed like the hardest thing she had ever done. And yet she forced herself to take a bite, and another after that. The duke could not know about the warring emotions within her. Not tonight.

  They made small talk as the next course was served. Serena focused on the sound of the duke’s voice, as it kept her mind off of the nausea that still plagued her. She whispered a silent prayer that she would not become sick to her stomach.

  Serena studied Balfour’s face, so different from Darius’s. Though it was a well-known fact that the duke was considered to be handsome, his attraction was lost on her. His pale, blond hair, sky blue eyes and fine features did not inspire any reaction in her at all. None. How odd that she would be going to bed with him later, she mused.

  It seemed as though another woman would be rutting with him, not her, not Serena. Perhaps that was how it would be for the rest of her career. Perhaps pretending that she was someone else altogether would be the only way she would stay sane.

  The duke set down his fork and stared at Serena with a mischievous expression. Dinner was over. Which meant only one thing.

  The time had come to retire to the duke’s bedchamber.

  Serena dabbed at her mouth with her napkin and placed her fork beside her plate. Though relieved that she would not have to force herself to eat another morsel, she felt a dark wave of trepidation at what would come
next.

  Sex.

  Unfortunately, Balfour had only consumed a moderate amount of wine with dinner. He seemed completely unaffected by it. In truth, going by his hearty appetite during dinner, it seemed as if he had been nourishing himself in preparation for the physical event to come.

  As if reading her thoughts, Balfour rose from the table and reached out a hand. “Come, let us retire to the billiard room for a time. I have a desire for brandy and a cigar.”

  Serena inclined her head in acquiescence. Any activity that bought her more time before their coupling would be welcomed.

  The billiard room had two tables, covered in green baize, which stood at either end of the room. The smell of cigars, liquor, and another dark, spicy odor Serena could not identify lingered in the room. These masculine aromas normally mingled to create a pleasant scent. But here, it was different. Somehow the effect seemed to fuel Serena’s unease.

  The duke moved to a sideboard, opening it to pull out a crystal goblet and decanter of brandy. Pouring himself a half-filled glass, he took a swig and studied Serena intently. “Tell me, my dear—do you like to play games?”

  Serena looked about the room at the tables. “I am afraid I do not have much experience at billiards, Your Grace.”

  He smiled slowly, taking another drink. “Actually, I wasn’t talking about billiards.”

  Serena studied her new protector, taking note of the slight grin that curved his thin lips, and the eyes that seemed to be laughing at her. She had no idea what Balfour was talking about. And she wasn’t certain she wanted to know.

  She remained quiet, noticing instead the subtle change of mood in the room.

  Serena wasn’t quite sure when exactly she knew.

  A memory flashed in her mind of when she was a child. She had come upon a friendly-looking dog in the village one day, and held her hand out for it to sniff. Somehow, in the moment before he snarled and snapped at her, she’d known it was coming. But she hadn’t been able to move her hand away fast enough, and the creature bit her.