A Courtesan's Scandal

by Julia London

  “I would be delighted,” she said, and walked in the direction he indicated, her heart and mind racing.

  Grayson had never felt so close to losing his composure as he did that evening at Marlborough House. He found it physically painful to be in the same room as Kate and not hold her or at least speak to her. She looked pale, he thought, and her face was slightly swollen. From tears, perhaps? Mostly what he noticed was the sadness that seemed to pervade her. It had doused the sparkle in her eyes and the brilliance of her smile.

  That angered him more than anything. He felt a fury with the world at large, but mostly, with himself. He was the cause of her sadness, the reason those green eyes were so dull. He, Grayson Christopher, the Duke of Darlington, responsible for the happiness and well-being of so many bloody souls, had let down the one person who mattered to him above all others.

  It was an impossible situation. Were he not a duke and merely a man, he could take her from here. It was an incredible irony—he was held captive by his privilege.

  He looked over at Kate sitting at the roulette table where the prince was holding court. She had a pile of coins near her elbow, and very methodically placed her bets. How could he speak to her? Merrick was in this room, making his best effort to keep his votes for abolition intact. Diana kept looking at him, her expression alternating between mournful one moment and scornful the next. Grayson was keenly aware that with one whisper, George could destroy Diana’s life and derail everything Merrick had worked so hard to achieve.

  If Grayson had any doubt of it, George reminded him of it later when he left the roulette table to speak to someone, and managed to walk by Grayson. “Christie, you look rather unhappy,” he said jovially. “What’s the matter? The wine not to your liking? Or have you lost your purse at the tables?”

  When Grayson did not respond—he feared if he opened his mouth, his fist might accompany it—George tipped his head back and peered up at him, assessing him. “You have surely heard, have you not, that the king has requested my presence in his privy chamber as early as Monday?”

  “Frankly, Your Highness, I have better things to do than wonder about the king’s calendar.”

  George’s face darkened. “Perhaps you should wonder, Christie. I believe the king means to tell me that a public trial will be held straightaway, which in turn means that I will be free to shower my affections on whomever I please, openly and honestly.” He looked pointedly at Kate as she placed a bet. “I rather hope to introduce my lovely new mistress at the fête I will host to celebrate the opening of Parliament next week.”

  “Public sentiment is fully on the side of the Princess of Wales,” Grayson scoffed. “Do you honestly believe there will be a trial?”

  George’s eyes narrowed slightly. “I understand Merrick has all but convinced Lord Abergine to join him in abolishing the slave trade. I wonder what Lord Abergine might say to the Duke of Clarence, my brother, to whom Abergine is beholden, if Clarence were to ask him to vote with him and uphold the trade?”

  Everyone knew that Clarence was a famous opponent of abolition.

  “If Abergine has a conscience, he shall decline the invitation,” Grayson said. “You will not intimidate me with such threats.”

  “It is not a threat, Christie. I am thinking of the good of British trade. And I am thinking of the good of Lord Eustis when I ponder whether or not his wife’s adultery should be mentioned to him. After all, I’d not want a loyal subject to be fooled into accepting a child as the heir he did not sire.”

  “As there is no child, Your Highness, I hardly see why you’d want to destroy a loyal subject’s marriage with mere innuendo.”

  “Don’t push at the lion’s gate, Darlington,” George snapped, and turned away from him, ending the conversation.

  The fury pounded in Grayson’s veins. He wouldn’t be subjected to this, not by the Prince of Wales, not by any man. And when he spotted Kate a few moments later walking out of the gaming room, he was determined to intercept her.

  He encountered her in the wide corridor that ran between the gaming room and the dining room. When Kate saw him walking toward her, she tried to avoid his gaze, but Grayson would not allow it. There were several other people milling about; he had only a moment to intercept her without drawing attention, and fortunately, luck was on his side. He managed to catch her arm and pull her aside. People were passing only a few feet from them. It was audacious, but Grayson was willing to take the risk.

  “What are you doing?” Kate whispered. “Let me go!”

  “No,” he said, and cupped her lovely face.

  She slapped his hand away. “Our affair is at an end, Christie,” she whispered hotly. “Let me go.”

  They were the same words Grayson had used with Diana, and they knifed through him. “Oh no,” he said low, and, gripping her elbow, he abruptly propelled her down the corridor until he found an open door. He ushered her through it, uncaring who saw them.

  Kate instantly lunged for the door, and Grayson quickly blocked it. “What are you doing?” she cried. “Move away from the door and let me pass, or I shall scream and bring the entire house running!” she angrily warned him, her eyes filling with tears.

  “You won’t,” he assured her, and reached for her.

  But Kate lurched away. “Do not think you can push me into a room and have your way with me. Have you forgotten our arrangement? I am not yours to use!”

  “To use?” he repeated angrily. “Is that what you think I have done?”

  “You used me until it no longer suited you! And to think I believed you were different than the others, Christie,” she said, swiping at the tears that were falling down her cheeks. “But you aren’t different at all. You are just like them!”

  “For God’s sake,” he snapped, and caught her wrist and jerked her against his body. Kate tried to pull away, but Grayson held her firmly with an arm anchored around her waist. “Do you think I used you when I kissed you? When I made love to you?” He caught her face and held it, and kissed her. Kate moaned against his mouth and stood rigidly in his arms, but when he deepened the kiss, she softened, sinking into him, returning his kiss with the passion he’d known from her since the beginning.

  His blood began to rise with need for her. The fragrance in her hair reminded him of the intimate moments they’d shared, and he traced the curves of her body with his hand, so well known to him now. He cupped her breast, kneading it as their kiss grew more fevered. He suddenly picked her up and twirled her around, pressing her up against the wall, then moving down her body, his mouth on the skin above her bodice, his hands seeking the hem of her gown.

  “Grayson,” Kate said, her voice soft and full of need.

  He did not, could not, answer her. He was enthralled by the moment, by the days and hours and minutes spent missing her and needing her. He found her leg, slid his hand up past her stocking, to the warm flesh of her inner thigh. But when he brushed against her sex, Kate gasped and abruptly stopped him by jerking away from him.

  Grayson was not deterred; he kissed her neck.

  “Stop, stop!” she cried, and pushed against him, stumbling out of his embrace. “It’s over, Grayson! This is too dangerous, for both of us, and I will not be taken like some doxy!”

  “Then come with me, Kate. Let us leave this place now, be done with this charade. Let us go where we might be alone—”

  “Grayson!” She suddenly whirled around to him, caught his head between her hands and looked him in the eye. “Unless you are willing to bargain with the prince, we can never be alone!”

  The words had a sobering effect on Grayson. He wanted nothing more than to take her from George, but the image of Merrick and Diana held him back. It was the dilemma that had enraged him this long fortnight.

  Kate’s green eyes searched his face, her hopeful expression vanishing with his hesitation. “There is my answer.” Her hands fell away from him. She smoothed the lap of her skirt and walked to the door, opening it and moving into the corri
dor, leaving Grayson standing there, wondering just how much he would sacrifice for his family.

  Chapter Thirty-three

  The next afternoon, Digby appeared at Kate’s bed-side with toast points and hot chocolate. She was exhausted and shattered, having arrived home at four in the morning and suffering from heartbreak so deep that she ached with it. The smell of toast made Kate instantly nauseous—she pushed past Digby and rushed to the privy.

  When she emerged, Digby was frowning darkly.

  “Why do you look at me like that?” she asked shakily.

  “You know very well why.”

  Kate climbed onto the bed and curled up. “Leave me alone, please,” she said, and dragged a pillow over her head.

  Digby yanked the pillow from her head and loomed over her. “How long did you think you might go before I guessed the truth?”

  “Digby!” Kate cried plaintively. “Please leave me be! I am not well!”

  “What’s this?” Aldous said, appearing at her open door.

  “Lord God, must everyone come?” Kate complained and rolled onto her side, putting her back to the door.

  “Our Katie has a bit of news, Aldous,” Digby said with mock lightness. “Will you tell him, or shall I?”

  “It is none of your concern!”

  “Kate is with child,” Digby said stubbornly.

  “The hell you say!” Aldous blustered. “Bloody hell! What have you gone and done, Kate?”

  “Leave me alone!” Tears were sliding down her cheeks now.

  She heard Digby sigh; the mattress sagged under his weight as he sat on the edge of her bed. “Ah, love,” he said, and put his hand on her shoulder. “We’re a bit surprised, that’s all. But you must stop crying so we might determine what is to be done.”

  What was to be done? That was precisely the problem and the reason for her tears—Kate didn’t know what to do. She could scarcely face the truth of what she’d believed for a week now: She was carrying Grayson’s child. Part of her was filled with joy at the prospect of having a child, her child, someone to love. But the practical side of her understood it was the worst news for a woman in her position. “What can be done? This will be the end of my arrangement with the prince and I don’t have the money I need to start my bakery!”

  “Come, now, Kate,” Digby said, patting her arm. “Turn around. We must determine a course of action before it is apparent to everyone and the prince.”

  “You must ask for trinkets, anything that might be sold,” Aldous said, pacing at the foot of her bed. “Do whatever you must to get them.”

  “Dear God,” Kate moaned.

  “He’s right,” Digby agreed. “Tell Darlington as well— he’ll pay to keep his bastard child a secret until after the vote.”

  While Digby and Aldous plotted Kate’s future—one that sounded so bleak, what with a child and no steady source of income—Kate lay with her back to them, tears silently falling.

  She did not leave the house that day, preferring to mope about and look out at the steady rain that had begun to fall. But when the following day dawned bright and cold, Digby insisted she go for a walkabout. “It will do you a world of good.”

  While they were out, Digby purchased the Morning Times.

  Cecelia made soup for Kate at luncheon. “Me mum made this soup for me when I was carrying Billy,” she said. “It will help with the sickness.”

  Kate gaped at Digby. “Does everyone know?” she demanded of Digby.

  But Digby wasn’t listening. He suddenly sat up. “Damnation,” he said.

  “What?” she asked, looking up from her soup.

  “They know,” he said.

  “Who knows?” Kate exclaimed, putting down her spoon. “Knows what?”

  “ ‘A certain flower cut from the finest cloth in London is thought to be budding. One cannot say who might have watered this little plant, but it is most certainly D—— or perhaps a person of a higher cloth. If this speculation proves true, one might expect to see a little blossom in summer.’ ”

  Kate gasped, horrified. “Oh God, Digby! How could anyone possibly know it?”

  “They don’t know it!” he said, angrily tossing the paper aside. “Someone guessed, or was determined to spread malicious rumors—that is all that is required in this town, Kate. One whisper, and it becomes fact! Look at the Princess of Wales, suspected of high treason all because of the ugly whispers of a few. But never mind that! You may be assured that the prince has seen this and you must be prepared for his call.”

  “I am not with child.” She hastily stood up and began to pace. “He might accuse me of it, but I will assure him that it’s all nonsense. I will remind him that he has had someone watching me from the moment I returned from the country!” She looked at Digby, hoping he would agree.

  “I would not mention the country, were I you. We must make provisions,” Digby said, more to himself than to her. “We must have a place for you to go when the prince learns of this.”

  A place for her to go … All Kate could picture was that wretched pair of rooms in St. Katharine’s. She and her baby and four other women all living like rats beneath a roof.

  A knock on the door startled them both; they looked at one another, both fearing the prince had come. Kate smoothed her gown and pinched her cheeks. She strode from the dining room, walking purposefully down the corridor.

  But in the foyer, she saw a woman and a young man at the door. They were standing patiently while Aldous read something they’d handed him.

  “Aldous?”

  He turned from the door and held out the paper. “They’ve a letter from the prince.”

  “If I may?” the woman asked, and pushed back the hood from her head—she was older than Kate by at least ten years, but she was quite pretty. “I am Madame Renard. I have long been a friend of His Highness, the Prince of Wales.”

  Another courtesan.

  “He has asked me a very special favor. May we speak in the drawing room?”

  Kate looked at Aldous, then Digby. “Please,” she said, gesturing to the drawing room.

  Madame Renard indicated the young man should follow her. He doffed his hat and entered the drawing room carrying an instrument case. Madame Renard handed Aldous her cloak and followed the young man, pausing just inside the drawing room to look around at the furnishings. “Quite nice,” she said, glancing over her shoulder at Kate. “You are fortunate.”

  “What do you want?” Kate asked.

  “I have a message from His Highness.”

  Here it was then. Kate would be put out on the street, and this was some little game the prince had designed in order to tell her. Perhaps this woman was to take her place. Kate would be forced to sleep in Meg’s empty bed—

  “I am to teach you to dance,” Madame Renard said.

  “Pardon?”

  “To dance,” Madame Renard said again as the young man opened his case and removed a violin.

  “I don’t understand. I know how to dance,” Kate said.

  “You know the ballroom dances, mademoiselle, but you do not know the sort of dance the prince should like to see performed at his fête.”

  “His feet?” Kate repeated uncertainly.

  “A fête. A celebration. His Highness is producing a fête, and you are to dance in the pageant, Miss Bergeron.”

  “No!” Kate said instantly.

  “Miss Bergeron is not a cabaret performer,” Digby added indignantly.

  “No one is suggesting that she is, Mr… . ?”

  “Digby.”

  “Mr. Digby. This fête is a tradition of the Prince of Wales. He holds one every year to celebrate the opening of Parliament and the social Season. And at every fête, a pageant is performed. Miss Bergeron will not be the only performer, and her part is quite brief in comparison to the other performances that will be given that evening.”

  “What is a pageant?” Kate asked.

  Madame Renard smiled. “Allow me to explain,” she said, and helped herself
to a seat on the settee while the young man tuned his instrument.

  The ways of the Quality never failed to amaze Aldous— he could not comprehend the amount of money they spent on frivolity. All this talk of pageants and fêtes and dancing when there were so many people in need, like the women Kate was so desperate to save from their inevitable fates. Thinking about the expense of this fête at which Kate would be forced to dance like a trained monkey made him quite ill at ease.

  Aldous longed to be at sea.

  He scarcely heard the knock at the door for all of Madame Renard’s shouting at Kate to move her foot thus, to put her hands up. He stalked to the door and yanked it open. He frowned. “I wondered when you’d come round,” he said.

  “I’m in no mood for your banter, Butler,” Darlington said. “I want a word with Kate.”

  “You’ve had enough words with her, have you not?” Aldous sneered.

  Darlington moved so quickly that Aldous scarcely had time to react. He shoved Aldous against the door, pinning him there, his arm across his gullet. “Don’t presume to know me, Butler, for you don’t know me at all. And in return, I will not presume to know anything about you. Now then, I would suggest you kindly heed me and take me to Kate if you value your neck.”

  Aldous smiled wryly. “That’s more like it,” he said, and shoved back at Darlington. “She’s in there, learning to dance.”

  Grayson glanced at the open door of the drawing room. The music sounded like wailing cats to him. He let go of Aldous and strode through the door of the drawing room. His unexpected presence startled the young man with the violin; he abruptly stopped playing.

  Kate faltered; the woman who was directing her stared wide-eyed at Grayson. He recognized her—she’d been a famous mistress among the ton for many years. He didn’t want to know why she was here. “I need to speak to you,” he said to Kate.

  She blinked. “Now?”

  “Yes, now.”

  Digby suddenly appeared on Grayson’s right. “Ma-dame Renard, might I introduce you to the most delec-table pastries in all of London?”