The Courtesan Duchess

by Joanna Shupe

  A part of Nick accepted the sense of those words, but the bigger, angrier part of him wanted to punish everyone involved with his family—including the woman who’d married him. Besides, why would a gently bred lady want him, a man far more familiar with brothels than ballrooms? God, she’d been so young and beautiful—and so innocent—on their wedding day. How could he tarnish such a chaste girl when he’d driven his own brother—

  Nick deliberately stifled that particular line of thinking. No, his wife was better off finding a well-titled young buck who knew how to be a careful, respectful lover. “I won’t send for her, and I’ll not apologize for it. If you are truly her friend, I trust you will relay what I’ve told you. Let her find happiness elsewhere, for none can be found with me.”

  Winchester leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest. “Fine. But you’re making a mistake.”

  Nick regarded his friend thoughtfully. “Have you developed feelings for my wife? You are unusually concerned with her happiness.” Winchester turned a dull red, and Nick added, “I have no tender emotions for the woman. But if you do, I promise it would not affect our friendship. In fact, it would explain why you are so determined to see me return to England.”

  “I am not mooning after Julia. That distinction belongs to Wyndham.” Nick’s eyebrows rose at that piece of news but he made no comment, so Winchester continued. “But don’t you think you’ve given it enough time? The scandal, I mean. Damn, it’s been eight years, Colton. And to watch Templeton act as if he’s the duke . . . Christ, it’s disgusting.”

  Nick shook his head. “All of London believes I seduced my sister-in-law, which caused my brother to fly into such a rage that he fell off his horse and broke his neck. That, on top of all the Depraved Duke nonsense, ensures the ton won’t ever forget me.”

  “The nickname is a fair one, as I witnessed much of your youthful depravity myself. The label merely became catchy for the printmakers once you assumed the title.” His voice lowered. “But Colt, we both know the true circumstances behind your brother’s death.”

  And I bear the guilt of those circumstances every single day. “It doesn’t change a thing. Not to mention, as long as my mother draws breath, you are wasting yours.”

  The dowager duchess deserved as much—if not more—of Nick’s anger than anyone else. After all, it was she who ensured the governess brought only his brother to the drawing room for his parents’ daily inspection. Nicholas is ill-mannered and completely unworthy of the Seaton name. Only Harry may come down at the requested hour. No one else.

  From that moment on, Nick had decided he didn’t need his family. And inheriting the title hadn’t changed a thing.

  “Animals who eat their young have more maternal instinct than that woman,” Winchester muttered. “I saw her recently. Gave me the dragon’s stare from across a crowded ballroom.”

  “Disapproval, no doubt, of our lasting friendship, when almost everyone else had the good sense to cut me. Pray fabricate the most horrifically sensational stories about me and be sure to relay them to the dowager duchess the next time you see her. I fear my current location is too far from London for my salaciousness to reach her ears otherwise.”

  “About this salaciousness,” Winchester drawled. “If things progress with Juliet, you’ll be . . . careful with her, won’t you?”

  “Careful?” Nick frowned. What, precisely, was Winchester worried about? If Mrs. Leighton was as talented as the rumors suggested, he suspected she could easily hold her own against any man.

  Winchester waved a hand. “You know what I mean.”

  “No, I don’t. I haven’t a bloody clue what you mean.”

  “She may seem . . . worldly. But she’s a good actress. All women in her position are, really,” he amended. “I shouldn’t want to see her hurt.”

  Something was off. Nick could feel it in his gut. Perhaps Winchester really did have feelings for Juliet—feelings Mrs. Leighton did not reciprocate. After all, his friend wouldn’t be the first man to fall in love with a courtesan. Just look at Fox and his Mrs. Armistead. “If you would rather I did not—”

  “No,” Winchester interrupted. “I merely want her next protector to be as . . . generous with her as I have been.”

  “You’ve nothing to fear, then. I shall be all that is kind and generous, if she’ll have me.”

  “I’ve yet to meet a woman who could resist you, Colt—even before you became a duke. But Mrs. Leighton will decide for herself.”

  The following night, Julia and Simon entered the duke’s box at La Fenice. The interior of the opera house, with its noble yet simple architecture, was luxurious. Rows of private boxes surrounded the gilded interior for the wealthiest of patrons, while the floor provided ample space for those of lesser means.

  Colton’s large box was crowded, with at least six men and an equal number of women. The need to search for her husband, however, was rendered unnecessary as he immediately appeared at her side.

  “Mrs. Leighton,” the duke greeted as she curtsied. He took in her embroidered white satin dress with its silver bandeau and accompanying emerald green robe. “How stunning you look this evening.”

  She could say the same about him. The duke wore a fitted black tailcoat and breeches over a single-breasted white waistcoat, which emphasized his lean torso. His snowy cravat, folded in a complicated array of knots under his clean-shaven chin, proved a stark contrast to his dark features. When he noticed her staring, he gifted her with a smile both intimate and sly, almost as if the two of them shared a private joke. Her breath came a bit faster despite her resolution to remain unaffected. “Good evening, Your Grace.”

  Nick greeted Simon and then introduced the rest of the party. There were two ambassadors—one former and one current—as well as a Russian count, a Venetian painter, and a French actor. While the women were beautiful, one could discern by their dress and demeanor that there were no wives in attendance. Well, if one didn’t count her, she thought.

  Nick led them to their seats. Julia used the opportunity to struggle with a swatch of hair that had fallen over her forehead. Fiorella, the young girl she’d hired as a lady’s maid, wasn’t as proficient with hair as Meg back in London. Tonight, Fiorella had lifted Julia’s thick red hair up in a series of artful curls and secured it with a silver band. But one unruly layer would not cooperate, and it drooped down to almost completely cover her right eye. With no hope of righting her coiffure on her own, Julia had little choice but to ignore it.

  As they settled, she wasn’t the least bit surprised to find herself seated between Nick and Simon. On Simon’s other side was an empty chair, but it was soon filled with a striking Venetian actress. Nick relaxed in his seat and pressed the outside of his leg against Julia’s knee. She lifted her glasses to peer into the audience and willed her heart to slow.

  “Did the flowers meet with your approval, Mrs. Leighton?”

  The previous day, Nick had sent her a large bouquet of white roses, artfully arranged in a colorful vase made from Murano glass. It was a stunning display. His card had been concise and clever: To friendship.

  Part of her was so angry over the gesture she wanted to shout at him like a fishwife. He couldn’t bother to send his wife of eight years a mere note . . . and yet rushed forward with a token of regard to a woman he’d met not even twenty-four hours earlier. Julia swallowed her outrage and bitterness in order to remember the part she played and the reason for it. Tonight, the goal was to flirt, thereby ensuring the duke’s interest in her charms. “They are exquisite, Your Grace. You are too generous,” she replied, giving him a teasing glance through her lashes.

  “I fear you have high standards, Mrs. Leighton. After all, I heard you once sent a necklace back to Wellington because it contained an odd number of diamonds rather than even.”

  Julia bit her cheek to keep from laughing. That particular anecdote was one of Aunt Theo’s contributions to Mrs. Leighton’s legend.

  “Oh, that story is tiresome. I did
no such thing.” Julia raised her glasses again to blithely peer out at the crowd. “I sent it back because it was ugly.”

  Nick gave a short, genuine bark of laughter. “Well, I shall endeavor to be more selective in my gifts.”

  “Are there to be more gifts, Your Grace?” She meant for the comment to be playful and flirtatious, but her voice betrayed her with a husky and intimate tone.

  His lids dipped and he edged closer. “Whatever you wish for, Mrs. Leighton, shall be yours.”

  Julia couldn’t prevent the shiver that traveled the length of her body. Thanks to Pearl’s instructions, the sensual promise in his words was not lost on her. While she knew exactly what he wanted from her, she could only be grateful that Nick had no suspicion of what she wanted from him.

  The music swelled, sparing her the need to respond.

  With her husband’s leg tucked snugly against hers, any effort to concentrate on Rossini’s heroic opera failed. She used the opportunity to think over her plan.

  First, gain Colton’s interest. Next, stage a falling-out with Simon in public. Colton would then pursue her and, a few days later, she would allow him to catch her. All that remained would be to engage in activities as old as time, as often as possible.

  Julia was nervous, but not scared. Pearl had given her the basic details of what took place, plus ways to increase a man’s pleasure. She’d also learned, despite her initial embarrassment, about her own pleasure since Pearl maintained that a courtesan as successful as the mythical Mrs. Leighton would ensure both partners enjoyed the experience.

  But Julia had been unprepared for what it would feel like to sit next to this compellingly handsome man, her husband, while the heat from his muscled thigh warmed her leg through layers of clothing. His well-proportioned body so near, their shoulders lightly touching, had her insides now throbbing in time with the beat of her heart. She hadn’t expected to be so attracted to him. After all, he had ignored her for so long that she’d built up a sizable amount of resentment toward him. But those feelings were fast receding in the face of his wickedly powerful presence.

  Struggling with the idea of actually liking him, Julia wondered if such a thing made her goal easier or more difficult to accomplish.

  In the end, it didn’t matter. Templeton must be stopped and producing the Colton heir was the only way to do it.

  She decided to tempt him a bit. After all, she needed to seduce the man.

  Julia let her opera glasses fall from her fingertips to the carpeted floor between them, where they landed with a thud. “Oh!” she whispered.

  The duke’s head turned her way, a black eyebrow raised in question.

  “Your Grace, I seem to have dropped my opera glasses. Would you be so kind?”

  Nick politely inclined his head before he bent over, his fingers searching in the semi-darkness for her glasses. Julia waited a beat and then lifted the hem of her skirt and petticoats up to her shins. Sliding her leg toward him a bit, she was rewarded when his fingertips brushed her stocking-covered ankle.

  His shoulders tensed, as if she’d surprised him, and then she felt his hand, ever so slowly, slide up the back of her calf, his touch a white-hot charge through the silk. She couldn’t prevent a gasp from escaping. When he reached the back of her knee, his fingers lingered there, drawing a delicate pattern on the soft underside. Julia closed her eyes and bit her lip while trying to maintain her composure. Something hot and needy unfurled low in her belly, a feeling she suspected was unbridled arousal for her husband.

  He seemed in no hurry to remove his hand and Julia wasn’t sure how much more she could take without moaning in sheer bliss. “Do you see them, Your Grace?” she breathed.

  His hand fell away, and a second later he straightened. “Your glasses, Mrs. Leighton.”

  “Thank you,” she murmured, and accepted the glasses from his hand.

  “Anytime,” he returned, his husky tone making the meaning quite clear.

  Her cheeks flooded with heat, and she was grateful for the low light that hid her blush. She attempted to calm herself throughout the remainder of the first act.

  Just before the second act began, Nick leaned over again, and his now-familiar scent of citrus and musk teased her nose. “May I escort you home later, Mrs. Leighton?”

  “Simon shall escort me home. And as helpful as you’ve been this evening, I’m not currently seeking another bed partner, Your Grace.”

  “Oh, no. It’s much too soon to become lovers.” He drew closer to her ear, his warm breath tickling her skin. “When I finally take you, Juliet, when I finally have you naked underneath me, the memory of every other man you’ve been with will be forgotten. You shall think of only me . . . and beg me to make you mine.”

  All the air left her chest in a whoosh. A rush of desire swept through her, so strong her knees surely would have given out if she’d been standing. He was the very devil, everything dark and forbidden and wanting in her life.

  And she was way out of her depth.

  She searched for something witty to say but came up empty.

  Until words she’d heard spoken by Pearl months before came to mind. They tumbled out of Julia’s mouth. “I wonder if you truly possess the skill to back up your arrogance.”

  His eyes heated to liquid silver. “If you find a private alcove, I’ll happily demonstrate my abilities before the end of the performance. After all, it’s only fair to know what you’re getting.”

  The mention of the alcove was like a douse of cold water. How many alcoves and how many women were in his past? No doubt he’d trysted in buildings from Paris to Pisa. Still, she played her part. “An alcove? I hadn’t thought you so unoriginal.”

  She’d intended to offend him, but he merely winked at her. “Then I look forward to proving exactly how creative I can be.”

  After the opera the entire party traveled to a nearby coffeehouse. Simon escorted her between locations, but once there, Nick deftly maneuvered the seating in order to ensure the two of them sat together. Simon ended up at the other end of the table, next to Veronica, his companion at the opera.

  The after-theater crowd was lively and loud, and the smell of coffee permeated the open space. Julia ordered plain coffee, while Nick asked for caffè corretto, coffee with a shot of grappa.

  As she chatted with the mistress of a local painter, she could feel Nick’s eyes, intense and dark, watching her like his next meal. Every bit of her skin came alive, crawling and itching with awareness. Pearl Kelly had instructed Julia never to waste an opportunity to flaunt her charms, so since Nick was watching . . . She slid her fingers under the long double strand of pearls around her neck and toyed with them, dragging the smooth, creamy balls back and forth over her exposed bosom while she conversed.

  She felt Nick lean in, his mouth near her ear. “Oh, to be a pearl at this very moment.”

  Julia looked up at him through her lashes. “Indeed? I shouldn’t think you’d want to be anything so . . . small, Your Grace.”

  He flashed her a wicked smile, his voice a deep rumble. “I never said a word about being small.”

  Thankfully, their drinks arrived at that moment. Julia busied herself with adding cream and sugar to her coffee, grateful to have something to focus on other than her husband.

  After the group settled with their drinks, Nick turned to Julia. “Well, Mrs. Leighton, what did you think of Rossini’s work this evening?”

  “Exhilarating,” she answered, and all eyes turned her way. “A real maturation from his earlier pieces and the perfect essence of bel canto. The work is quite a rigorous test of his mezzo-soprano’s abilities, who must possess true vocal agility and endurance in order to carry out the part. I particularly enjoyed ‘Di tanti palpiti,’ although I believe the ending of the story needs work.”

  No one spoke. Somewhere, a spoon clattered against a saucer. Julia sipped her coffee, reveling in the surprise at her response. She’d never admit it, but she’d been arranging her thoughts since the curtain fel
l in the hopes of impressing the duke.

  “Needs work?” someone from down the table asked.

  Julia nodded. “It’s too dark. Rossini would be better served to have Tancredi learn of his lover’s innocence and return home in triumph. Don’t you agree, Your Grace?” She snuck a glance at Simon, who gave her an encouraging wink.

  “Yes.” Nick leaned back in his chair. “Though such a twist would hardly be consistent with Voltaire’s story on which it’s based.”

  “Since Voltaire is dead, one can hardly worry about his disapproval with taking liberties.” Julia grinned, unable to contain her enjoyment at the exchange.

  “Well, taking liberties is something Colton is certainly familiar with,” said the current British ambassador to Austria, Lord Lanceford, from across the table. The whole party laughed.

  “Indeed. After all, how else would one earn a nickname like the Depraved Duke?” Julia wondered aloud.

  “I’ve never taken liberties,” Nick murmured only for her. “They’ve always been offered freely.”

  “I believe it,” she replied. “I cannot see you ravishing innocent maidens.”

  “Innocent maidens bore me to tears. I much prefer to ravish saucy, red-headed women with blue eyes as clear as the Mediterranean.”

  “How . . . precise your tastes are, Your Grace.”

  “I know what I want, Mrs. Leighton. And I want you. Naked. Shuddering beneath me, screaming my name.”

  Julia tried not to blush, but between her fair skin and his naughty words, heat crept slowly up her neck. She sipped her coffee and prayed her husband would not notice.

  “My dear Mrs. Leighton,” Lanceford began. “How charming to see a woman of your experience can still blush.”

  “Oh, I fear it’s nothing but a combination of the hot coffee and the warm air,” she lied. “I’ll recover in a few moments.”