Beauty Tempts the Beast

by Lorraine Heath

  His fingers slid away from her arm. Thank God, because that touch had also served to create havoc within her mind as she’d contemplated his roughened skin skimming over every inch of her. She was not about to admit that she was rather disappointed he didn’t want her as his mistress.

  “Make yourself comfortable,” he said, indicating two winged chairs near the fireplace. “I’ll fetch the sherry.”

  She watched as he walked to the opposite wall from where she stood to a corner table laden with various crystal decanters. The smoothness of his movements, so calm, so deliberate, caused her own body to react with a warming of her skin, an itch of her fingers to reach out and skim over muscles that bunched and stretched. The jacket he wore couldn’t disguise the ease with which his limbs adjusted to whatever chore he executed: grabbing the decanter, pouring the liquid, turning to face her—

  Caught staring, she was rather certain her cheeks were now aflame. Trying not to appear to be scurrying to the chair by the fire, she feared her own movements were jerky and displayed her embarrassment. If he noticed, he gave no indication as he returned to her and handed her the small tulip-shaped glass. “Thank you.”

  She took a sip, surprised by the richness of the sweet flavor. “Excellent.”

  “As you’re well aware, my sister owns a tavern. She’d have my head if I had anything inferior on hand.”

  “Well, this might be the best I’ve ever tasted.”

  They held each other’s gaze for a long moment before she finally turned away and lowered herself to the chair. Its plumpness gave way and seemed to swallow her, creating a sensation of being hugged. She almost asked who was responsible for his taste in furniture. It, too, was excellent.

  His chair groaned a bit as he settled into it, and she imagined she might make the same welcoming sound if he settled himself over her. Where had that thought come from?

  She took another sip of the sherry, larger than the first, before tightening her fingers around the short stem, hoping to get her thoughts to behave. She’d come here with the expectation of becoming a seductress. Hence, the revealing gown she’d worn. And now she was to be a teacher.

  He lifted a tumbler, probably containing his preferred scotch. He seemed much more relaxed than she felt.

  With earnestness, he leaned forward, planted his elbows on his thighs, and clasped his glass between both his hands. “My proposition.”

  She waited. He cleared his throat.

  “The women who work here—six remain, not counting Jewel—I want to help them find another occupation. Unfortunately, they aren’t as genteel as might . . . be needed . . . elsewhere.”

  Her heart melted a little as he strove not to be unkind, as though the women were sitting there listening as he spoke.

  “You, on the other hand. Every aspect of you has been buffed to a polish. It’s the reason I knew you were from Mayfair or somewhere similar to it. I thought you could instruct the ladies on how to be . . . more elegant. How to dress with a bit more style. How to speak properly. Perhaps you could even instruct them on how to be a lady’s maid, a governess, a companion. I’m well aware they will never find a position within a noble’s household, but I know several men who have recently acquired wealth and they might convince their wives to be willing to give a few of these women a chance at a more respectable life if they have the ability to learn what you have the knowledge to teach them.”

  She hardly knew what to say.

  “The bedchamber at your residence—is it like your brother’s, lacking a bed?”

  She hated to admit it, but honesty was called for when negotiating a transaction. “Yes.”

  “You could reside here, if you wished. A portion of this floor, this parlor in particular, is used for business. The floor above is where the women . . . entertain. The top one serves as our living accommodations. You would have your own bedchamber with a very comfortable bed, other furniture. A fire. We have no shortage of coal here. Your meals would be provided. Three a day. Naturally, you would also receive a salary. I’m willing to be quite generous.”

  “I would earn nearly twenty-five pounds per annum at the Mermaid.”

  “I’ll pay you a hundred.”

  She knew her eyes had grown wide. “A hundred?”

  Until three months ago, she’d had little idea what people earned, what constituted a good salary, what it cost to purchase food or lease a residence.

  With a forefinger, he tapped the side of his glass. “What I’m offering you is only temporary. Once the ladies are placed elsewhere your services will no longer be required. I want to ensure you’re not returning to a residence with no furniture and no fires. To that end, I will give you an additional stipend of a thousand pounds if you can teach them all they need to know within six months. Five hundred pounds if it takes you a year. If you can’t teach them what they need to know in twelve months, I’ll assume you’re rubbish as a teacher and you’ll be let go with only the hundred.”

  A hundred pounds. If it killed her, she’d see that they learned everything they needed to in six months to ensure she’d have the additional thousand. Her expenses would be minimal. She could save most of her earnings.

  Moving to the edge of his chair, he leaned closer to her. “I’ll be honest with you, Miss Stanwick. I hate this bloody business, and I want out. But I can’t do it guilt-free without ensuring they have something better.”

  His tone held a desperation that gave her an advantage. “You’ve given me six months. I can accomplish the goal in three.”

  “Fifteen hundred if you do.”

  “Two thousand.”

  She could tell he wanted to smile again, but instead he flattened that lovely mouth and his jaw tightened. The victory was hers. He was simply striving to make it appear that he wasn’t cratering into her demands without some contemplation.

  “You drive a hard bargain, Miss Stanwick, but if you can see this business shut down in three months, I’ll happily pay the two thousand.”

  It took everything within her not to gloat. But still it wasn’t enough.

  Three months. At the end of that time, what was she to do? She’d have money, yes, but it wasn’t going to see her through the remainder of her life. And if Marcus and Griffith were still engaged in a dangerous enterprise, she couldn’t have them worrying about her. She would still be in need of a protector and was unlikely to acquire a husband.

  Clutching the sherry glass, she rose and began pacing, striding between the chair and the window, the window and the chair, passing by several statuettes of nude couples, their bodies scandalously entwined. Back and forth she went, giving thought to all he was offering, all she required.

  She finally stopped in front of him. When she’d risen, he’d come to his feet, so now he towered over her. She should have been afraid of him, of the strength and power he projected with such ease. But she realized she’d never feared him. She hadn’t needed to go to Kat to know that he would never harm her. She trusted him. For some reason she always had. “I need more.”

  “Name your price.”

  “I want you to teach me how to be a seductress.”

  Chapter 6

  This encounter had certainly taken a drastic turn he’d not anticipated. He’d assumed she’d ask for a few more pounds, a carriage for getting about, a new wardrobe. That she continued to hold his gaze indicated she was serious regarding her request.

  “For what purpose?” he finally asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

  She gave him a small, teasing smile. “To seduce.”

  “I’m deadly serious, Miss Stanwick. Why would you ask this of me?”

  He saw a flicker of doubt in her eyes. She set her sherry glass on a low table near the chair in which she’d been sitting, and then lifted her chin defiantly. “Because it will give me the freedom and the means to be my own woman.”

  She took a step toward him. “You yearn to be free of your current circumstance. Help me gain what I desire.” Another step.

 
; Everything within him urged him to move away, but he held his ground as she came near enough that the silk covering her bosom brushed up against the satin of his waistcoat. His hands, once relaxed against his arms, now gripped them with such intensity that he was certain to discover bruises later.

  “You could show me how men like to be kissed—”

  He’d failed to notice before how full her bottom lip was, what a plump cushion it would be. If he rounded his shoulders, lowered his head, he could take that mouth gently, tenderly at first. Then once she’d become accustomed to him, he’d take complete possession, and deepen the kiss.

  “—touched—”

  The gown revealed the upper swells of her breasts. He could dip a finger or his tongue between the hollow where they met. Stroke one breast, then the other.

  “—held.”

  Naked, on a bed. She couldn’t reach all of him, but her head to his shoulder, her feet to just below his knee, would suffice. Her breasts flattened against his chest. His large hands cupping her buttocks.

  Taking hold of one end of his neck cloth, she pulled until the knot he’d carefully created earlier was no more. She gave a little tug that brought him a fraction nearer to her. “You could turn me into a man’s fantasy.”

  How could she not realize that she had already achieved that goal? The temptation of her was almost more than he could stand.

  Never taking her gaze from his, she splayed a palm against his chest where his heart thudded, and no doubt vibrated against her fingers. “You. You could teach me how to bring exquisite pleasure.”

  But at what cost? Having had her, could he let her go?

  Althea couldn’t believe she’d been so bold as to make such a demand of him. It amazed her that he could stand so still and give away nothing, not his thoughts nor his feelings. She wanted to be able to do that.

  “I don’t think you’d find it a hardship to teach me.” She kept her voice low, a little raspy like Jewel’s, and could have sworn she heard his breath hitch slightly.

  He lowered his head, and her lips tingled in anticipation of his mouth claiming hers. “The first lesson”—his voice was equally low, equally raspy—“is not to give anything too easily.”

  When he stepped back, she stumbled forward, realizing too late that she’d been leaning into him, balancing herself against him. She’d been seeking to seduce him, and it seemed she’d been the one seduced. She might have been embarrassed if he’d gloated or given any indication that he knew the effect he’d had on her. But he merely studied her in that calm, assessing way he had.

  Then his gaze went to her hand, still clutching one end of his neck cloth. She released it as though it had suddenly caught fire.

  “I need more scotch for this discussion,” he said. “More sherry?”

  At least he wasn’t dismissing her request completely out of hand. “Yes, please.”

  After snatching up her small glass, he headed for the decanters. She lowered herself into the chair, glanced over at the fire, thinking the flames were probably cooler than her skin right now. She did hope she hadn’t turned a blotchy red beneath his studied stare.

  He set her glass on the table beside her, and she wondered if he’d done so in order to avoid any risk of her touching him. His neck cloth was still dangling loose; he hadn’t bothered to retie it. She liked the look of him a bit mussed but could hardly countenance that she’d begun disrobing him. Whatever had come over her?

  She took a sip of the sherry. She’d never had a libation this early in the day. Perhaps it had influenced her.

  “Other ways exist to gain means and freedom.” He was settled back in the chair, keeping his distance from her, and she feared she’d destroyed whatever easy comradery they’d finally established.

  “It’s important I have a protector.” Otherwise, her brothers would continue to feel responsible for her. She was striving to free them as much as herself. “If I am accomplished, skilled at pleasuring, I will have a choice in selecting the one lord I will welcome into my bed, and can be particular regarding the man whose favors I will accept. To that end, I need to be one of the most sought-after courtesans in all of England. Which means I must have mastered seduction.”

  “The occupation you are seeking is not an easy one. Why travel that path when you could be a governess, a lady’s companion, something respectable?”

  No one among the aristocracy was going to hire her except as a bedmate, but she realized she had more reasons than that.

  “I don’t want respectable. I had respectable. I had friends I loved, thought they loved me, but when I needed them the most, they turned their backs on me. Because of something that wasn’t my fault. I want to return to Society on my terms. As the mistress of a lord, I will wield some semblance of power.”

  “Why do you need a protector?”

  She rolled her eyes in frustration. “Why do you ask so many questions?”

  He leaned forward again, and she was grateful less distance separated them. “If I’m to have a role in you acquiring this life you’re seeking, I want to make damned sure you understand all the ramifications of it. You will be treated as though you are an object, property leased for a spell, to be used at the buyer’s whim.”

  “Even in the most stately of homes, women are often treated as property. Are you not familiar with the laws that govern marriage, that apply to women?”

  His sigh was long, drawn out. “Once you embark on this journey, doors that are now open to you will begin to close.”

  “They are closed now. Without my father’s title, wealth, power, and influence behind me, no lord is going to marry me. I have no dowry. By the time I have earned your generous pounds, regardless of which deadline I meet, I shall be a quarter of a century old, gathering dust on the shelf.”

  “As I mentioned, I know a good many untitled men who have accumulated fortunes that rival those held among the aristocracy, in some cases even exceed them. They are finding themselves becoming accepted by the peerage, invited to their affairs. You could marry one of them. Return to Society as the wife of a gentleman who possibly wields more power than some of the noblemen surrounding him.”

  “This successful man who has worked so very hard to gain his elevated place in Society—how much will he loathe me when the rungs of the ladder are sawed out beneath his feet and he tumbles back to the ground because he demonstrated the bad judgment of marrying the daughter of a traitor? And our children? Do you think they will not suffer, that they will not be taunted and teased? Will servants take pride in serving our household? Do you not see how many people will be tainted by any association with me?”

  His jaw was so tense that his back teeth had to be aching from the force with which he was biting down. “Do you not think a lord who takes you as his mistress will not suffer the same fate?”

  “I will be his . . . My mother had a term for it—” She closed her eyes, envisioned her mother’s face before illness had befallen her, illness Althea believed had been the result of her shame over her husband’s actions. She opened her eyes. “A watercolor wife because I could be easily washed away. He may take me on occasion to the theater or a derby, but I’ll never truly be part of his life. He may covet me, but he will not love me or sacrifice his position for me.”

  “Why would you want that?”

  Now she was the one to lean forward. “I recently learned that my brothers are making decisions that place at least one of them in a dangerous situation. They are doing it in an effort to care for me, to increase my chances of finding a husband—as though marriage is all I should want from life. But I don’t want to be dependent upon a husband. If I learned anything at all from my father, it was that a husband can let you down as easily as anyone.

  “With the money you will pay me, I could lease a residence, determine who I entertain there. I could set the terms for what being in my company would cost the lord I take as my lover. Jewels, gowns, servants. Men lavish things on their mistresses. At least my father did. And
if my lover disappoints or proves himself foolish, I can easily rid myself of him.” She’d be exclusive, only one lover at a time and hopefully for an extended period. “Once I have established myself, my brother might end this dangerous quest he is on—if it doesn’t come to an end before then. But if he continues, it won’t be because he’s seeking to make my life easier.”

  “You’ve given this a lot of thought.” His tone held a bit of surprise, a tad of awe, and some admiration.

  “To be honest, since I was twelve years old.”

  His eyes widened at that, and as though he was on the cusp of dropping his glass, he set it on a table beside his chair. “I thought noble ladies knew nothing of sex before their wedding night.”

  “Have you ever heard of Harriette Wilson?”

  “No.”

  “She was a courtesan during the time that the prince regent ruled, was lover to some of the most famous and influential lords of her time. Lady Jocelyn, who was once my dearest friend, unearthed a copy of the scandalous courtesan’s published memoirs. She refused to reveal how she had come to have it, although I always suspected she stole it from beneath her older brother’s bed. We took turns reading each chapter aloud. Harriette Wilson described one lover as exhibiting ‘ungovernable passion.’ For some reason it stuck with me, and I thought that someday I would like to experience that level of hunger about something, anything. It has eluded me thus far.

  “But another aspect of her story has also stayed with me: the power she wielded over men. They practically auditioned for the honor of being her lover. If they displeased her, she moved on. I know it won’t happen overnight, but I do have a sense of the independence that awaits me if I follow this path. For the entirety of my life, I have been at the mercy of men’s whims. Let them be at my mercy for a change. Teach me when to touch, where to touch, how to caress, how to drive a man mad with ecstasy.”

  Silence stretched between them until all she could hear was the tick, tick, tick of the clock on the mantel, the occasional hiss of the fire. Without taking his gaze from her, he reached back, grabbed his glass, tapped a finger against it, took a sip. How was it possible for the man to mask every thought, every emotion?