The Courtesan Duchess

by Joanna Shupe

  The tip of her tongue came out to trace her upper lip. “Shall I undress you, then?”

  “God, yes,” he murmured. “But first, take down your hair.”

  The girl smiled at him and began removing the pins from her hair. Bit by bit, the long red strands fell down to the middle of her back. She shook it out and he reached forward to run his fingers through it. Her hair wasn’t quite as soft as—

  Jesus. What was wrong with him?

  He took her hands and placed them on the buttons to his trousers. As her nimble fingers went to work, Nick shrugged out of his coat and tossed it across the room to a chair. He’d started unbuttoning his waistcoat when her hand found his naked shaft.

  He groaned and let his lids fall shut. Within seconds, he was fully hard. His hips rocked forward to thrust into her tightened fist. The girl freed him from his clothing and then dropped to her knees. Nick barely had time to comprehend what was happening before she brought him into her mouth.

  “Yes,” he hissed as she teased the underside with her tongue.

  Sliding her lips over him, she took him deep, the tip of his shaft reaching the back of her throat. He tunneled his fingers in her hair, and let himself remember another time, another place.

  She moved faster, sucking him harder, stroking him, and his chest began heaving with the effort to breathe. Lust rushed down his spine, and he felt himself grow even harder.

  “Oh, yes, Juliet. Suck me, cara.”

  The mouth suddenly withdrew, releasing him with a wet pop. Nick blinked and looked down.

  “Will you be wanting to call me Juliet, then?” a strange face asked. It wasn’t the face he’d been thinking of.

  Disappointment crashed through him, and he struggled to maintain his composure. “Pardon?”

  “You called me Juliet. Name’s Sarah, but I don’t mind what you call me.”

  “I did?” Embarrassment and frustration had Nick pulling away. He didn’t want this woman. He wanted one particular woman, the one who’d left him in Venice.

  Cursing himself a pathetic fool, he buttoned up his trousers. Would he ever be able to escape the memory of her?

  “My apologies,” he said. “I’ll see you’re paid for the whole night.” He pulled on his coat, not bothering to button it, before striding into the corridor.

  Chapter Ten

  A little rivalry does a man good.

  —Miss Pearl Kelly to the Duchess of Colton

  At precisely quarter past eight the next morning, Julia and her aunt were loaded into the opulent ducal traveling coach, headed for Norfolk. The frigid February air had them huddling with warming bricks and thick blankets inside, while Fitz and the driver bundled up in gloves, coats, and furs outside.

  Before they departed, Fitz had instructed Julia to bang on the roof if she needed to stop for any reason. Apparently he hadn’t forgotten how she’d vomited over the side of the carriage the other night. Grateful, she thanked him, and then he added, “His Grace said not to push you too hard today, though he probably wouldn’t want me repeatin’ it.” He winked and then got up on top of the perch.

  “That man is quite scary,” Theo whispered as they clattered away. “Where did Colton find him?”

  “I don’t know. Perhaps we can find out when we stop for lunch.”

  Theo shifted unhappily in her seat. “Heavens, I hate traveling. I can never get comfortable in one of these things. How do you feel? Did you eat this morning?”

  Julia held up the satchel their cook had prepared for her. “I did, and I’ve got plenty of muffins, macaroons, and rolls to keep my stomach settled along the way.”

  “Good. I wonder if Colton has let his sister-in-law know we’re to arrive tomorrow.”

  “Oh!” Julia exclaimed. “I had completely forgotten about her. How will she receive us? I can only imagine she won’t be very happy to have guests.”

  “I do not know, but one would assume her to be quite lonely.” Theo shifted again on her seat and muttered under her breath about long distances in carriages. “Have you ever wondered what really happened between her and Colton?”

  Julia sighed. “I try not to think about it. Colton never denied seducing her—but never confirmed it, either. When I asked him about it in Venice, I sensed there was more to the story. It’s . . . painful for him.”

  “Well, I would imagine so. Because of his actions, his brother died.”

  “I suppose. Although I think we can safely assume the Seatons were never a close family.”

  Theo grunted and closed her eyes. “Wake me for lunch, my dear. The only way I’ll get through this horrendous ordeal is to sleep.” Pulling the thick blankets up to her chest, she yawned. Ten minutes later, she began snoring.

  The morning after Julia left, Nick and his newly hired solicitor presented themselves at his cousin’s town house. Templeton’s butler promptly ushered them inside to the study to await the arrival of the master of the house.

  Templeton certainly lived well, Nick noted. It was a small house on the outskirts of Mayfair, but the furniture all looked fairly new. Nothing shabby or worn. Fresh flowers artfully arranged throughout—including tulips, which did not come cheap. Large Turkish rugs scattered on the floors and paintings littered the walls. A large number of crystal decanters were displayed in the study, each brimming with spirits. Yes, Templeton lived well for a man who supposedly collected less than three hundred pounds per year.

  While Nick didn’t care about the Seaton legacy, or much about the Colton estate, really, he did care about being swindled. And he really, really cared about Templeton stealing his wife’s money in hopes of forcing her to his bed.

  Had Templeton succeeded? Had his cousin fathered Julia’s baby?

  The door opened and a man who Nick assumed to be Lord Templeton stepped inside. Thinning black hair and a high forehead, Templeton had a sharp nose and pointed chin. Nick recognized him immediately from the Collingswood ball. Nick had been outside on the terrace watching his wife, and this man had addressed her just before she came outside. To vomit.

  Her reaction to him had not been favorable. In fact, she’d been revolted. If this man and the duchess were lovers, Nick was the Archbishop of Canterbury.

  Which meant Winchester had told the truth. Templeton had blackmailed the duchess in order to get under her skirts.

  A new rush of fury whipped through Nick. Oh, he planned to enjoy this.

  “Your Grace, what a pleasant surprise,” Templeton said, his small opaque eyes shifting between the two visitors. “Welcome back to London.”

  “Thank you. May I present my new solicitor, Mr. Barnaby Young. He will be handling all of the Colton estate business from this point forward.” Nick took a seat and brushed a piece of imaginary lint from his breeches while letting Templeton absorb the meaning of those words.

  “I—I don’t understand, Your Grace. I’m sure you don’t want to handle the estate business in your short sojourn here in London.” Templeton sat and Nick could see sweat beading on the man’s upper lip.

  “You’re right, I do not. That is why I have hired Mr. Young. He will in turn hire a competent estate manager and the two of them will oversee my interests. So no matter how long my sojourn, you no longer need be involved.”

  Templeton’s mouth worked as if he wanted to speak but couldn’t find the words.

  Nick gave him a smile that held no warmth. “No, do not thank me, Templeton. I know this news comes as a relief to you, how trying the duties have been for you these past few years.” He gestured to Mr. Young. “Now if you don’t mind, Mr. Young requires your signature on some papers I’ve had drawn up.”

  The solicitor produced a stack of papers from his satchel and handed them to Templeton, who accepted them begrudgingly.

  Nick stood and strolled over to the desk while Templeton read the contents. He heard Templeton gasp. “Keep reading,” he told his cousin. “It gets better.” On the surface of the desk, Nick saw stacks of bills from various shopkeepers and tradesmen.
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br />   “Your Grace,” Templeton squeaked. “This is preposterous. It says here that if any funds are discovered to have been misappropriated in the last eight years, I will be required to pay those funds back to the estate.”

  “That is correct. Which won’t be a problem, will it, cousin?”

  Templeton’s hand shook as he set the papers down on an end table. “But the estate manager had control of the funds as well. Why should I be made to cover any funds he may have misused? This is highly improper and entirely unfair.”

  “You may rest assured that Mr. Young and I will be speaking with my father’s man today.” He picked up the quill and twirled it in his fingers. “If he has cheated the estate of funds, he will be dealt with accordingly. In the meantime, it’s in your best interest to sign these documents.”

  Templeton gestured toward the papers. “I’m not certain I should sign anything yet. Perhaps my own solicitor should review them.”

  “Mr. Young, please wait in the corridor for a moment.”

  Without a word, Nick’s solicitor left the room, closing the door softly behind him.

  Nick’s smile faded. God, he wanted to pound Templeton into the ground. The man was obviously guilty, though he’d likely deny it until his dying breath.

  Which, considering what he’d done to Julia, might be sooner rather than later.

  The anger Nick had tried to control now erupted into a blistering fury. Standing in front of Templeton, he brought his foot up to the edge of the chair—and pushed. The chair rocked back on two legs and with one more nudge, it and Templeton smacked against the floor.

  Nick quickly placed his boot heel atop Templeton’s throat. The man’s eyes went wide with fear, his face turning red, so Nick added a bit more pressure.

  Templeton’s eyes bulged and Nick knew he now had his cousin’s full attention.

  “If you thought,” he snarled, “I would allow you to rob me blind and proposition my wife, you were wrong. If you ever, ever speak to the duchess again for any reason—or even look in her bloody direction—I won’t bother to meet you at dawn like a gentleman. No, I will find you on a dark street one night, drag you into a back alley, and rip the beating heart from your chest with my bare hands.”

  With Templeton’s skin gone purple, Nick lifted his foot, allowing the man to breathe. He stepped back and straightened his coat, satisfied when Templeton scurried up and away from him.

  “Your involvement in my affairs is over, Templeton. Now you can sign those papers of your own free will and suffer the consequences, or you can look over your shoulder every night for the rest of your life, wondering and waiting to see what I might do.”

  Templeton swallowed and nodded.

  “Excellent,” Nick said, and then called Mr. Young back into the room.

  If the solicitor was surprised to see a chair overturned and Templeton struggling to breathe, he showed no evidence of it.

  The papers signed and witnessed, Mr. Young quickly put them away. “Now we require any account ledgers or paperwork you have pertaining to the Colton estate, Templeton.” Nick crossed his arms over his chest and waited.

  Five minutes later, Nick and his solicitor walked out. Templeton had claimed the old estate manager possessed the ledgers and they’d had no choice but to believe him.

  “Mr. Young, take my carriage and go see my father’s man. Let him know of the termination of his services and remove any paperwork and books we may need. I don’t believe he’ll give you any trouble, but if he does, my footman may fetch me.”

  “Yes, Your Grace.”

  “Take Mr. Young wherever he needs to go,” Nick shouted to his coachman.

  One of his footmen jumped down from the carriage. “Beg your pardon, Your Grace, but Mr. Fitzpatrick said I was to follow you wherever you went as long as he’s away.”

  Nick heaved a sigh. It was like having a damn nursemaid. “Stay with Mr. Young, David. He may need your assistance more than I.” When the boy started to protest, Nick held up a hand. “I’m walking over to my club and it isn’t far. And we’re in Mayfair, for God’s sake. Nothing will happen to me.”

  “Fitz won’t like it,” the boy muttered.

  “Yes, but I pay your wages,” Nick snapped, and strode off down the street.

  Only, he wasn’t headed to White’s. He’d lied. There was one more unpleasant task this morning, one he needed to do alone.

  On the far side of Grosvenor Square lived one Lord Robert Wyndham.

  Though it had been some time, Nick remembered Wyndham from the clubs and about town. Wyndham was a few years younger and seemed rather reserved. Bookish, if Nick had to guess. He looked the type. What Julia saw in the man, Nick could not fathom.

  Ten minutes later, Nick gave his card to Wyndham’s butler. Though an odd hour to make calls, no one left a duke dawdling on one’s doorstep, especially not one as notorious as the Depraved Duke. As predicted, Nick was immediately shown into the sitting room and the servant left to ascertain his lordship’s availability.

  Nick had no doubt Wyndham would present himself.

  Not long after, the door opened. Wyndham, who had clearly been dragged out of bed, hurried in. He had rather plain features, with short brown hair and brown eyes, and a thin beard that did nothing to contain the flush to the man’s skin. Good. Wyndham knew why Nick was here.

  “Your Grace,” Wyndham greeted warily as both men sat down. “Welcome home.”

  “Thank you, Wyndham. I apologize for the early hour. This is a visit I’d rather no one took notice of.”

  Wyndham swallowed. “Was there something you needed, Your Grace?”

  Nick regarded the other man thoughtfully, letting the moment linger. When Wyndham shifted uncomfortably in his chair, Nick asked, “Is there anything you should care to tell me, Wyndham?”

  “I—I don’t know what you mean.” He cleared his throat. “What would I need to . . . tell you?”

  “One hears things. Although I’ve lived away from London, you would be surprised how eager people are to speak of what happens here in Town.” Nick leaned back and rested his ankle atop the opposite knee. While he may appear cool on the outside, inside he pulsed with uncertainty and anger. It was all he could do to keep from leaping forward, wrapping his hands around the man’s throat, and forcing Wyndham to admit whether he’d bedded Julia. “So I’m quite current on all the latest on dits.”

  “Well, if you’ve heard anything regarding me,” Wyndham blurted, “there is no truth to the rumor. Absolutely none.” He looked Nick straight in the eyes, unblinking.

  The man might be an excellent liar, but Nick found himself believing Wyndham. Still, he wasn’t absolutely sure—and he wouldn’t be until September.

  “That is good to know. Because if I thought certain rumors were true, I would be forced to deal with it. And you know, of course, I never bother following convention. Not to mention that I do not like to get up at dawn. No, I much prefer the element of surprise, of having my enemy wonder and wait. The anticipation of when I might retaliate. Not very sporting of me, I know, but infinitely more amusing. Do you understand, Wyndham?”

  Wyndham nodded emphatically. “Oh, yes, Your Grace. Indeed I do.”

  “Excellent,” Nick announced, and rose to his feet. “Then I believe we’re done here.”

  Not long after arriving at Seaton Hall, Julia found herself wandering about the large, rambling structure. Nick’s man, Fitz, had returned to London shortly after dropping them off, and Theo had ordered Julia to rest for two full days after the trip. Now that she felt better, Julia itched to explore her new home . . . at least her home for the next several months.

  The house itself was enormous. With the weather still too cold to be outdoors, she walked the never-ending maze of corridors as a way to keep her mind off the ever-present nausea, not to mention the anger and heartache over Nick’s recent cruelty.

  If only she hadn’t ever met the sweet, tender man who’d wooed her so fervently in Venice. Such lovely memories—memorie
s now tarnished with the knowledge that her husband thought the worst of her. He actually believed she came to Venice in order to legitimize another man’s baby. Had called her a whore. Accused her of being intimate with both Simon and Wyndham.

  And now he’d sent her away.

  “Your Grace?”

  Julia’s head snapped up. Lady Lambert, the wife of Colton’s late brother, stood a short distance away. She had greeted them warmly upon arrival, much to Theo and Julia’s relief. “Good morning, Lady Lambert.”

  “Oh, please. Call me Angela.” She smiled tentatively and gestured to the otherwise empty room behind her. “Would you mind if we sat for a moment? I wish to speak with you.”

  Julia nodded and followed into what turned out to be the music room. A large pianoforte rested in the corner, chairs surrounding it, while various stringed instruments and horns adorned the walls. Angela took a seat and motioned for Julia to do the same.

  “I hope you do not think me forward,” Angela began before smoothing her skirts. She cleared her throat. “But I should very much like us to be friends. I realize there are . . . reasons why you may not be interested in pursuing a friendship with me. Many things have been said, about me, about . . . your husband. So I wanted to assure you that any rumors you might have heard are false.”

  Julia started to speak and Angela held up a hand. “No, wait. Let me say everything I need to say. I loved my husband. I was devastated when he died. Many people believed the rumors about your husband and me, and I . . . didn’t have many friends after that. Most of society turned their backs, except for the dowager duchess. Oh, they were polite to my face, of course, but said horrible things about me when they thought I couldn’t hear. Invitations dried up as well. The dowager duchess was very . . . kind to me, and I will always be grateful to her for giving me a home when no one else would.”

  Angela’s gaze fell, and Julia could see tears swimming in the woman’s eyes. She reached forward and clasped Angela’s hand, giving it a brief squeeze.