The School for Brides

by Cheryl Ann Smith

  He lifted a brow. “Oh, I believe you will, Miss Black. I have you hanging from a cliff by your nails. You will do as I ask.”

  “Over my rotting corpse.” She jutted out her chin. “I will not barter one of my courtesans to save myself.”

  Her stoicism surprised him. Most women would be in tears. But not this stiff spinster. She had nettle drawers and needles in her corset.

  Evidently, he had to notch up the threats to get her to whimper. “What of your mother, Miss Black? What consequences should she pay for your refusal to cooperate?”

  Her jaw tightened and her expression changed into that of a fierce tigress. “Leave my mother out of this, Your Grace.”

  Clearly, he had struck a nerve. She might not give a fig whether she ended up in poverty, but her mother was another matter. The cat had claws. He’d better not expose his back to her or he’d find his flesh shredded.

  “My offer is simple, Miss Black. Find me a courtesan and I will turn over your notes; if she proves to be a satisfactory lover first, of course.” He paused and watched her eyes darken and her face turn an odd shade of plum. “Then you can be assured your mother lives the rest of her days in the comfort she deserves.”

  “You are a despicable man.” Her voice dropped and cracked as her thin shoulders slumped slightly forward. “My mother is ill. Surely you can find another way to torture me. I cannot give you one of my young women; they are not mine to give.”

  Nicholas watched defeat cross her face, and for the first time he noticed her delicate cheekbones and the long lashes framing her fierce amber eyes. It seemed an unusual moment to see there was actually a real woman beneath her colorless exterior, and not a wooden shop display.

  If not for her drab clothing and dull brown hair, she might be considered mildly interesting to look at. Not enough to stir one to great passion, but not unpleasant to peer at over a table when breakfasting.

  Suddenly he realized the perfect way to torment Miss Black and steal some of her starch. He’d known she would never accept his directive, and truthfully, he had no interest in any of her courtesans. He only wanted to see how far he could push her before she broke.

  In her trim little frame she had more steely strength than he’d expected. Even without her giant bulldog of a servant to loom over her, she held fast to her convictions.

  No, the stakes had to be raised.

  And he knew how to push her over the edge. “Perhaps I can suggest another solution.”

  Chapter Five

  Nicholas saw her stiffen and dig her nails into the arm of the settee. She was braced for his next assault on her morals and sensibilities. He wouldn’t disappoint.

  Though he had no plans to hurt her physically, tweaking her mind a bit had its rewards. Perhaps it would lessen some of her starch and dull her saber-sharp tongue.

  Some of his anger had abated over the past few days, until his thoughts turned back to Arabella. Then he’d become angry all over again. He missed his courtesan’s sweetness, her passion, and her laughter; all because of this prickly spinster and her outlandish desire to end the institution of mistresses and courtesans.

  “Wh-what sort of solution?” she asked tentatively, obviously expecting the worst of him.

  She had no idea.

  “I propose a solution that will be satisfying to us both, Miss Black.” He stressed “satisfying” and saw her stiffen. It was time for a full assault. He lowered his voice seductively and locked onto her gaze. “You are an intelligent woman. Undoubtedly, you have felt the connection between us.”

  She swallowed, her fingers plucking at the folds of her skirt. “I—I am sure I do not understand your meaning, Your Grace.”

  Slowly, he swept his gaze down her body. Though there wasn’t much of interest to see in her person, he was positive he could find something attractive about her if he had a full day to pick her apart. He carefully examined every visible curve. Miss Black had a decent figure, if one had a taste for slender women.

  He smiled. “I believe you do.”

  He walked around the back of the settee and placed his hands on the seat back on either side of her shoulders. Not touching, yet close enough to worry the tightly wound spinster.

  Nicholas leaned low and caught the light scent of her lilac perfume drifting off a perfect, white, and well-hidden neck. It was positively delightful.

  Beneath his breeches, he felt his cock stir for this bland spinster, and almost succumbed to a sudden urge to press his mouth against the narrow band of exposed skin beneath her dull brown hair. He had found something attractive about her. The surprise was his.

  “Deny my words, but I know women.” He dipped his face until his mouth was dangerously close to touching the spot right below her left ear. She shivered. “I intrigue you, Miss Black.”

  He grinned and exhaled warm breath onto her neck. She let out a small gasp and jumped to her feet. She pivoted and backed toward the door as he rounded the settee and stalked toward her.

  “Just to make myself clear,” she said, “there is nothing, nothing, about you that pleases or intrigues me. I would find a toothless rat catcher more appealing than you, Your Grace.”

  A chuckle escaped him. She was a fiery little wench.

  “I am wounded, Miss Black,” he said softly as he scanned the curves of her full, pink, and slightly parted mouth. “For I find you desperately appealing in your stiff and humorless way.”

  She gaped. It was impossible to tell if she suspected he was toying with her or was serious in his claims of attraction.

  “I think it best if we forget this conversation in its entirety and keep our dealings to business. I would like to discuss a reasonable plan to repay my debts.”

  “I thought we settled this matter already, Miss Black,” he said. “Your debts for a courtesan.”

  “I will not do that.”

  Blast! He would settle for one whimper, one lip quiver, and this would all be over and they would never need to cross paths again. She could send him a halfpence, a shilling a month to satisfy her debt and he’d be content. All he truly wanted was for her to suffer a small measure of the unhappiness he felt over losing Arabella. Yet, she clearly felt no remorse for his loss or any emotion for her financial ruination, as if her heart was stone.

  “If you are unwilling to hand over a courtesan, I see no other option than for you to take Arabella’s place.” Her stubbornness reminded him of just how much he disdained everything about her, her delightful neck—hell, her mouth too—aside. He twisted his lips downward. “Though I fear you will be lacking in all areas of lovemaking, I will be happy to teach you how to please a man.”

  Her slap jerked his head sideways.

  “You are a horrible and disgusting man,” she ground out between gritted teeth. “I would rather lie down with swine.”

  He worked his jaw and shot out a hand to grab her arm as she stomped past him. Spinning her about, he pulled her against his chest and locked her into his embrace.

  The softness of her lush body took him aback. She was not as thin as he’d suspected. She possessed a few fine curves after all. However, it didn’t matter. She was Miss Black all the same.

  Eva struggled. Fire flicked through her eyes.

  “You have a choice,” he growled. “Accept my offer or hand over one of your courtesans. I’ll have your answer at the end of the week, or I will have you turned out.”

  Eva pushed against him, and his hold on her waist slackened. She tried to step back, but he slid a hand behind her neck and pulled her face up to his. She looked terrified, yet was there was something, else? With each breath her modest breasts pressed against his chest and her heart beat erratically, hard enough that he could almost hear the beats. But it was her lips, pink and tipped up slightly at the corners and parted with her quivering breaths, that drew his full attention.

  Without warning, he kissed her, hard.

  Heat flashed down his body to ignite his erection. Her lips tasted of tea and mint and all things fe
minine. She let out a muted cry at the back of her throat and went limp. He probed her teeth in a silent call for entrance into her mouth, and for a moment he thought she would allow him to deepen the kiss.

  He cupped her breast and teased the nipple.

  She unclenched her jaw.

  Then a set of teeth clamped down on his bottom lip. Nicholas grunted and released her. He pressed his fingertip to the throbbing injury. She turned, and fled the room in the rustle of heavy skirts.

  A hard smile tugged at his mouth. He wanted to chase after her and paddle her bottom red. But it was an unexpected discovery that stayed his feet and set his mind reeling. In the moment she’d spun about and raced for the door, he’d noticed a lock of burnished gold and fire red tumble out from beneath her severe brown bun like the hues of breaking dawn.

  There was much more to the dowdy spinster than he ever suspected. And he intended to discover all her secrets.

  Eva raced down the sidewalk toward the waiting carriage. She pressed a gloved hand to her mouth and swiped the duke’s taste from her lips.

  Erasing him from her mind would be more difficult. In the instant between his kiss and her bite, her body had exploded in a riot of unexpected sensations. She’d felt flushed and confused as the most intimate part of her pulsed with what she could only think was a visceral reaction to the kiss.

  Even now, as the cool wind blew around her, she felt both feverish and cold at the same time. The despicable duke had marked her with his kiss, stolen bits of her with his sensuous assault, and she feared she might never get those pieces back.

  It took will to keep her feet moving forward when she wanted to slump to her knees in despair. The wretch had kissed her! No man had ever taken such liberties. Even now she felt one of his hands on the small of her back and the other hand, rough and male, encircling her neck as he bent his face to hers.

  She steeled her emotions. “Please, Harold, take me home.”

  Harold helped her into the carriage, looking back at the town house with a vicious scowl.

  Eva rushed to soothe his anger. “His Grace did not hurt me. Not physically.” Then she looked away to hide the blush on her cheeks. Not by hand or weapon anyway.

  Harold tensed. “So it was the duke.”

  She nodded. “Yes.”

  It wasn’t until later, when she’d locked her bedroom door behind her, that she dissolved into a fit of weeping. Her need to help courtesans make a better life for themselves was turned around on her when he suggested she become the very thing she reviled. A woman forced to bed a man in order to survive.

  Sweet Arabella saved, and her vile protector’s desire for revenge, and now Eva was on the cusp of losing everything.

  But it was not the lost money she feared, nor homelessness, if she had only herself to worry over. No, it was her mother, her school, and her innocence that she grieved for.

  The monthly stipend was enough to live off but not to cover the piles of debts Mother had incurred. And she would never turn over one of her ladies to the duke or allow her mother to suffer the desperation of poverty, and he well knew it.

  If there was any other way to solve her situation, she’d grasp it as a lifeline. There was nothing.

  He would soon own her body, if not her soul.

  There was no more perfect way to distract Eva from her troubles than a visit to her courtesans and to plunge into another lesson. When she returned to the town house in Cheapside late the next day, the young ladies were in the garden having tea. The sun had chosen to make an appearance after nearly a week of clouds and rain, and the five women were having an animated conversation under the shade of the huge oak tree.

  “Miss Eva!” Rose exclaimed as Eva rounded the path and came into view. In spite of their slightly inappropriate low-cut gowns, not an areola was showing, and the bright gowns, covered in feathers and bows, were a burst of color lighting Eva’s dim mood.

  “Come and join us,” Pauline said, reaching for the teapot. “We have just finished learning to mend a hem. Abigail taught us. She has perfect stitches.”

  Abigail smiled, her face pinkening. “I had to learn. Mother could not be bothered, and would not spend the coin necessary to hire a seamstress to make needed repairs.”

  “My mother was too busy keeping that bastard husband of hers out of my bed to concern herself over domestic pursuits,” Rose interjected. “The only time I used a needle was to stab him in the hand when he shoved it up my skirt.” She sighed. “I was tossed out that very morning.”

  There were murmurs of sympathy all around.

  “Well deserved, Rose,” Yvette said, frowning. “You should have stabbed him in the heart.”

  Rose and Pauline giggled. “What about you, Sophie?” Rose asked. “Was your mum the domestic sort?”

  “My mum was a courtesan,” Sophie said, her voice emotionless. “She lived to pleasure her lovers. She left the sewing to the maids and my care to her sister. Auntie Jane’s only concern was her next drink.”

  Smiles faded, and the women fell silent. They all had different, yet similar, tales of woe and managed to find laughter and hope anyway. Eva had once considered herself lucky to have had a father who looked after her. Now she was not so different from her courtesans.

  In a few short days, Eva had gone from their protector and instructor to standing on the cusp of becoming one of them; a woman without options who gave her body to the highest bidder.

  That they all had not become angry and bitter was miraculous. She hadn’t yet been taken to bed by His Grace, and she was already feeling both emotions. A sense of despair had been with her since their encounter the previous day, along with waves of anger. And with his hated face ever looming in her mind, she thought the darkness of his presence would follow her always.

  “I am pleased to find you all together.” Eva changed the topic before it became too grim. She forced a smile and hoped the dark circles around her eyes weren’t noticeable. Her meeting with the duke last evening had made sleep fitful. She’d woken up several times, her body drenched with sweat and her nipples pressed against her thin nightdress as if her body was readying itself for a lover.

  Eva shifted uncomfortably on the chair. “I thought perhaps we could discuss what you learned yesterday from Cook. Perhaps Abigail would like to start.”

  They spent the next hour discussing everything one needed to know about supervising a kitchen and staff, and how to plan a menu when entertaining.

  “Who knew there was so much to learn?” Abigail said softly. “The marquis has a staff in place. I need do nothing all day but await his visit.”

  “I thought your lover was a baron?” Yvette asked.

  Abigail flushed from her roots to her neck. “Did I say baron? The baron was my first, ah, lover. The marquis is the current one.”

  Eva turned the topic back to their lessons. “Soon you will be in charge of all aspects of your homes while your husbands work,” Eva said. “And if some of you are blessed with children, you’ll have to hire a nanny and tutors, too. It is a lot of work, but running a household smoothly is very rewarding.”

  Pauline sat back in her chair, her eyes troubled. “I am not sure I can do this.” She worried her bottom lip with her teeth. “I did not even choose my own gowns. His Lordship had them brought to me by the modiste.”

  Indeed. That explained the cut of Pauline’s corsets and how her large bosom was hiked up so high it defied gravity.

  Eva frowned. No matter what dismal fate His Grace planned for her, she vowed he would never rule her life as these women’s had been ruled.

  “I have planned shopping for us tomorrow afternoon, Pauline, and you will be able to purchase gowns of your choosing.” Eva wondered if His Grace liked his lovers with their breasts aloft and their buttocks thinly veiled. She pushed the thought aside. “We will cut a swath across London and learn everything there is to know about clothing, from the skin out.”

  “I do love to shop.” Rose clapped her hands and wriggled in her c
hair. “The duke preferred me in pink.” She indicated her gown and grimaced. “I think I shall choose everything blue.”

  Even Sophie managed a smile. “It will be nice to wear something new that isn’t mended until the cloth can no longer hold a stitch. The earl pinched each farthing until it cried out for mercy.”

  It took Eva a moment to realize stern Sophie was making a jest, and she chuckled. The other women chuckled as well. Eva realized there was more to Sophie than just the hard edge she presented to the world. It might take longer to find her a husband than the others, but Eva would rise to the challenge.

  “On that note, why don’t we discuss how to budget the household allowance?” And Eva spent the next hour doing just that. The dull talk kept her mind off the duke.

  The sun had barely begun to cast a few tentative threads of gold across Hyde Park when Eva broke the morning fog on the back of Muffin, the little mare her father had given her for her tenth birthday. Most would consider the dapple gray horse quite tame and certainly a dull ride, as the mare was nearing eighteen, but for Eva, Muffin represented a time when her father was still alive and Mother and she were truly happy.

  For years of good memories and a sweet disposition, Muffin resided in a place of glory in the small stable behind their town house, along with their one carriage horse, Benny, and would remain there as long as she drew breath.

  “The day will be a hot one, don’t you think, darling?” Eva ran her gloved hand down the side of Muffin’s neck as the cool morning began to warm nicely with the sun. “Perhaps you can roust yourself for a bit of a run today?”

  Eva breathed in the cool, wet air and sighed with longing. Muffin had one speed: slow. Eva would need a different horse if she ever wanted the wind whipping through her hair as she raced along the park’s winding paths.

  Clad in a simple gray riding habit, she’d chosen to don her wig beneath her matching gray hat, and perched her spectacles on her nose, out of fear His Grace had spies lurking behind every potted plant and bush along the street outside her home.