But duty could wait.
What he wanted now, was sex.
Pure and simple.
And who better than a courtesan to provide him with imaginative, passionate, uncomplicated sex? Even a mistress was uncomfortably close to being a wife, in his book. But a courtesan was something altogether different. She existed only to beguile and intrigue. Any courtesan trained by the famous Lady Night was bound to be a legend in her own right. The London papers had been talking about her for weeks, speculating on her identity, as well as to the level of her sinful skills. Yes, he would have this “mystery woman” as his own private courtesan. Only she could banish the memories of his past, which haunted him like malevolent ghosts.
A loud gong sounded, echoing throughout the salon and causing the men to murmur amongst themselves when they observed a strange sight indeed. A man appeared at the bottom of the curved, marble staircase. He stood at least six foot five inches tall, dressed in flowing pale orange silk pants and a brilliant gold vest that barely covered his massive bare chest. His skin was the color of bittersweet chocolate, his dark eyes flashed dangerously, and his face was adorned with strange tattoos. On his head sat a turban of darker orange silk, with a brilliant sapphire at the centre of his forehead. A single blue feather stood proudly in the air above the sparkling stone. The man’s feet were clad in jeweled leather sandals, and a curved scimitar hung from his waist. His folded arms boasted bulging muscles the size of grapefruits.
Havelock gave Darius a nudge, looking impressed. “I don’t know who this bloke is, but I certainly wish we’d had him with us at Waterloo. Boney would have pissed himself.”
Some of the other gentlemen in the room appeared to be close to doing that, themselves. They had nervously taken a few steps back from the dangerous-looking man in the turban.
Darius tapped his finger on the armrest of his chair. “What else would you expect from a courtesan as experienced as Lady Night? She’s bound to have a bodyguard or two in her employ. And this one looks as if he could take on ten men without breaking a sweat.”
“So right,” Havelock agreed. “Best not to upset him, I suppose. So when Lady Night and her new protégée appear, try to act like a gentleman.”
“Don’t I always, when dealing with the fairer sex?” he asked.
“You don’t really want me to answer that, do you?” Havelock said wryly.
Darius quirked a brow. Just because he didn’t offer to marry any of the women who gave themselves willingly to him for a night of passion, didn’t mean he treated them with anything less than respect.
And he always paid for their carriage ride home in the morning.
The bodyguard clapped his massive hands twice. In a booming voice, accented with the inflections of a far-off land, he announced, “Gentlemen, may I present to you, Lady Night.”
At that, the lady in question made her entrance, drawing appreciative murmurs and applause from the gentlemen present. She wore a gown of pale lavender silk, her arms clad in white gloves that stretched to the elbow. She fairly dripped in sparkling diamonds and amethysts. Her face was mature, but exquisitely beautiful. It wasn’t difficult to imagine emperors and princes falling at her feet, which, apparently, more than a few had done.
“Handsome woman,” Havelock said. “Didn’t you say you’d met her once before, Dare?”
“Yes, in Bath, just before the war,” he answered.
Though Lady Night had been attached to a rich Marquess at the time, the beautiful courtesan had flirted with an impoverished young earl named Darius Manning who was about to go off and fight Napoleon. She had even let him taste a kiss or two, completely free of charge. When he’d left that soiree, he’d felt like a king. The memory of her kiss had sustained him on more than one occasion during his darkest days in the war. For that, he would always thank her.
A mature woman, she was still breathtakingly beautiful. Though a few strands of grey appeared in her chestnut hair, it seemed to compliment the planes of her face—the high cheekbones, the intelligent blue eyes and full mouth. Legend had it she was now one of the richest women in the Kingdom; some of her fortune acquired through the generosity of her benefactors, and some through clever investments. Either way, Lady Night was a woman to remember. If her new protégée was anything like her, Dare mused, the men of London were about to be set into a tailspin from which they would never recover.
Lady Night flashed an entrancing smile at her guests in the packed salon. “Gentlemen, thank you for coming to my little soiree this evening. I am delighted that you have chosen to attend what surely proves to be the most unforgettable night of the Season. Though I have tried to keep news of my protégée under wraps, there has been much speculation about her existence in the press, no doubt which many of you have read. Why, a recent article in The Sentinel advised ladies of the ton to insist that their husbands remove themselves to the country, so as to protect them from this corrupt creature of Lady Night’s creation. One article even suggested a most dreadful course of action: fleeing to the wilds of Scotland for safety!”
At this, robust laughter rolled through the crowd.
One man yelled out in a thick Scottish brogue, “I hail from Scotland, Lady Night, and I can tell ye, a Londoner would nae be safe up there, except for ye and yer bonnie lass we’ve come ta see!”
More chuckles sounded at this, and Lady Night joined in as well. “Indeed,” she said. “A rather drastic scheme. And why? To deny you, the most powerful men in the Kingdom, the chance to make the acquaintance of a beautiful, educated, fascinating young woman—a woman who is unlike any you have met before. Be warned, she is fiercely independent, highly intelligent, and selective. She knows what she wants and will settle for nothing less. On top of all that, she is a virgin…as yet untouched by the passion of a man, but skilled in the knowledge of how to stoke that fire. I know this description will alarm some of the gentlemen here tonight,” she said, with a sly look in her eyes, “but to the right man, one who is truly worthy of this exquisite creature’s company, these will be attributes that will increase the pleasure—-and yes, gentlemen, there will be much pleasure—-of their association.”
Lady Night paused a moment, seeming to size up each man in the crowd before she continued.
“Before I introduce you to my new friend,” she continued, “I ask that you remember two things: please keep the fisticuffs to a minimum, and duels, if they must be fought tonight, should be conducted on the East Lawn.”
“That was quite the sales pitch,” Havelock said in a low voice. “I particularly liked the closing remarks. Genius, really.”
Darius glanced at his friend, and said, “The thing about it is, if this girl is half as good as her predecessor, there might indeed be a duel on the East Lawn.”
“Did you bring your pistol?” Havelock asked casually.
“Of course, but I won’t be needing it,” Darius said. “I can outbid every man here.”
“Even our friend, the Duke of Balfour?”
“Even him, though I should much prefer the excuse of shooting him,” Darius answered.
“Balfour hates to lose. You might require that pistol after all,” Havelock pronounced.
Darius raised a brow. “Be glad I’m a crack shot. As my second you will only have to stand there and look pretty. Much as you did at Waterloo.”
“Ha, ha.” Havelock said, dryly. “If they only knew how many times I saved your sorry arse from Boney’s cronies, not to mention Balfour’s idiot regiment.”
Darius grinned, but didn’t reply. He and Havelock had both saved each other’s hides during the war; they had lost count who had saved whose more often. By Darius’ calculations, they were tied, though Havelock liked to insist he was ahead by one.
“And now, gentlemen, Your Grace,” Lady Night nodded at the Duke of Balfour, as he was the highest ranking peer in attendance. The King had promised to come, but his current mistress, Lady Conyngham, has apparently put up quite a fuss at the suggestion. “I give you, the In
comparable Serena….”
A hush descended upon the room as a figure appeared at the top of the wide staircase. Clad in a shimmering golden gown, she stood for a moment, as if she were in no hurry to even acknowledge the throng of salivating men who awaited her on the salon floor. Glittering diamonds adorned her ears and neck, with one magnificent teardrop pendant hanging enticingly between the tops of her creamy, full breasts. Beautiful, thick auburn locks crowned her head in an intricate arrangement, interwoven with gleaming white pearls. Finally, this woman—whom the most powerful men in London had come to see—faced her audience in the salon below.
Darius stared up at her and almost dropped his champagne flute onto the marble the floor.
“Sweet Christ,” he growled. “It’s her.”
Purchase His Courtesan Bride on Amazon
Short Story Collections by Michelle McMaster
SUMMER PASSIONS
Seasons of Love Volume I
Three Delicious Regency Short Stories
“A lady should enjoy those hot summer nights…”
For three lovely ladies in Regency England, the long, hot summer holds the opportunity for decadent pleasures, wicked pursuits, and forbidden passion.
CUPID’S DART
The Marquess of St. Clair has long been a thorn in Daphne Summerville’s side. But when she is forced to act as his nursemaid after a bizarre accident, Daphne discovers that the Notorious Marquess has sensual talents she never knew existed.
LADY ASHTON TAKES A LOVER
Lady Ashton’s friends finally convince her to take a lover for the summer. At a wicked masquerade ball, she meets a mysterious man who fires her passions and turns her world completely upside down, threatening all she holds dear.
THE WEDDING PARTY
Jilted by her intended, Lady Althea Ramsay calls in a favor from her brother’s friend, the Duke of Wakefield. He will pose as her fiancé at a society wedding which the odious man will be attending. But Althea soon discovers that playing a part can set real desires burning in the human heart.
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AUTUMN DESIRES
Seasons of Love Volume II
When autumn leaves start to fall, passions burn like fire…
The second volume in the delightful SEASONS OF LOVE quartet features three unforgettable Regency heroines in three delectable, entertaining short stories.
THE TAMING OF MISS CAREW
Helena “the Hellion” Carew takes pride in speaking her mind, even if it sends most eligible bachelors packing. When her father loses his estate—and Helena—in a card game, she meets the brutish Lord Adrian Rutherford, the one man who has a chance at taming her.
BRANDED
Abandoned by her husband, Lady Alexandra Trent lives a quiet life in the countryside with her young son, trying desperately to forget the man who left her heart in tatters. But when Brandon returns, he awakens dangerous desires and makes a shocking demand of his wife.
THIEF OF HEARTS
Olivia and Jack are two of London’s most notorious jewel thieves. Skilled and passionate lovers, they take each other to the heights of physical pleasure, yet keep their true feelings secret. As they prepare for their next heist, Olivia discovers something about Jack that could change their lives forever.
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Please sign up for Michelle’s mailing list at www.MichelleMcMaster.com to be notified about the next Seasons of Love short story collection, to be released in late 2016.
About the Author
Michelle McMaster loves writing about dashing heroes and spunky heroines in her historical romances, and is known for humorous dialogue and memorable characters. Michelle holds a degree in English Literature from Dalhousie University, Nova Scotia. She enjoys traveling, reading, quilting, and gardening. She lives on the east coast of Canada with her husband and their two dogs, a Nova Scotia Duck Tolling Retriever and a Border Collie mix. Please visit her website at www.MichelleMcMaster.com for more information about her novels and to sign up for her email newsletter, to stay informed about future new releases.
If you enjoy fast paced thrillers, Michelle McMaster also writes under the pen name Avery Holt. Check out her website at www.AveryHolt.com and look for her exciting Watch Me series.
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