Penniless and homeless, beautiful Juliana Hearnshaw’s virginity is her most bankable asset, and now the gently bred young woman must sell herself to a wealthy, elderly patron who will pay handsomely for her company. But on her way to her first assignation, Juliana falls into the hands of a mysterious highwayman—who makes no secret of his desire for her!
Juliana should be afraid—only somehow she finds herself trusting this dark-eyed rogue. Dare she take a chance and, for one night, experience real passion in his arms?
The Virgin
Courtesan
Michelle Kelly
I’m so excited to bring you Juliana and Guy’s story. I fell in love with the idea of two people coming together for one wild night, which then changes their lives forever. The character of Juliana came to me while reading about courtesans in the Regency period—one of my favourite eras—and I started thinking about how it must have felt for a young woman to make the decision to embark on such a potentially dangerous career. The image of Juliana came to me, in her carriage on her way to her first assignation, scared and determined all at the same time. What would happen, I wondered, if she were waylaid by someone who was to change the course of her life forever? Someone with secrets and plans of his own?
Guy, as you will see, isn’t your typical hero. In fact when Juliana first meets him, she thinks he’s a villain...a dangerously attractive one. Their story swept me away, and I hope that you enjoy reading it as much I did writing it!
Dedication
To Bobby, my very own hero. You know why.
Michelle Kelly is a former English teacher living in the beautiful Amber Valley countryside in the heart of England with her own real-life hero and two rug rats and a rodent. She is a hopeless romantic with a passionate interest in history, and so writing historical romances is a dream come true! Her first historical novel was written at the age of twelve, tied together with string and still kept in her grandmother’s dresser. She is also a published author of contemporary romance, poetry and memoir, and this is her first story for Harlequin.
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter One
Juliana shifted uncomfortably in the rattling stagecoach, trying to calm the nerves that assailed her. She drew her pelisse around the white muslin gown that was far too revealing, with its plunging décolleté, to be any use against a chilly spring night. It wasn’t just the cold that was making her shiver; she was on her way for an intimate evening with Lord Salter, and if the night’s events went as planned she would officially be a courtesan. The new toast of Covent Garden. It wasn’t a future she had exactly planned for herself. Juliana closed her eyes and sighed as she remembered the chain of events that had brought her here.
After her father died, Juliana knew it would not go well for her with his malicious widow, but had been shocked to realise he had made no provision for her at all in his will, trusting her to the care of his wife. Publicly she was the epitome of a loving stepmother, but behind closed doors Juliana knew she was not wanted, was detested for her resemblance to her mother, in fact, but even so had never expected the recently widowed Mrs Dora Hearnshaw to go so far.
‘Scandalous! Wanton!’ she had shrieked upon finding Juliana desperately trying to free herself from the clutches of her stepbrother, Dora’s beloved son. When Juliana had defiantly protested her innocence, accusing the slyly grinning Mortimer of attempted rape, his mother had struck her with such force her ears had rung.
‘You will get out of my house!’
‘My father’s house!’ Juliana had retorted, even as she threw her gowns and her mother’s jewels into a small chest. She had very little to call her own, and nowhere to go except for an old address for a distant cousin of her mother’s. By the time her stepmother’s gossip had done its work, Juliana’s acquaintances would hardly give her the time of day. All the young women she knew were desperately looking for husbands, and it wouldn’t help their cause to be associated with a girl who had seduced her own stepbrother. Perhaps she should have tried harder to make friends before her father died, but Juliana detested the endless gossiping and socialising and pointless morning and afternoon teas that her stepmother whisked her round to, and the frivolous young ladies she was expected to attend. There was nothing in their heads but marriage and lace gloves.
Once in the city she hadn’t found the cousin, but she had found Rose. A courtesan of some standing, Rose had taken her in, initially as a maid, but with an undoubted eye on Juliana’s future.
‘You won’t get a decent husband if there’s a scandal attached to your name,’ Rose had told her as she had curled and pinned Juliana’s luxuriant dark tresses that evening, ‘but you can secure yourself a wealthy patron. And that, my dear, is the key. Keep as much by as you can for when your looks go and you’re not wanted, and you won’t end up in the gutter.’
It was wise advice, Juliana knew, but hardly cheering. She had hoped to secure a position as a governess or similar, but with no letters of reference and the whisper of scandal following her, it had proved impossible. Watching Rose and realising that her status as a courtesan, although scandalous, meant that she was able to be independent and live life mainly on her own terms, Juliana had considered that perhaps it was not such a bad way to live. Certainly, trying to conform and be the ‘good girl’ had got her nowhere in life other than destitute and shamed. And so Rose had taken her under wing, showing her how to dress, talk and otherwise play the part of a coquette able to have men leaping to her every request. There were other lessons, too, the content of which had made Juliana blush. How to touch oneself so as to enflame a man’s desire, and how to touch and tease his most intimate parts in turn. Rose had described these acts in such graphic detail, even mimicking certain gestures and having Juliana copy them until she was satisfied the younger girl had grasped the point, that Juliana had begun to feel she knew everything there was to know about the sex act, despite never having actually participated in it.
‘Of course, you could end up like Miss Fenton,’ Rose had added. Lavinia Fenton, a courtesan who had become a Duchess, had been a rare breed indeed. The majority of courtesans—however glittering their youthful careers, however highly lauded by the fashionable demi-monde, however sensuous their skills—ended up destitute through debt or drink sodden or both. Juliana was determined that would never happen to her. She would do what she must until she found a way out and had enough money to set herself up in a little cottage or similar. So she had worn Rose’s plunging gown with the blond lace, curled her hair and perfumed and rouged herself until she looked exactly what she was about to become: a successful young courtesan.
Lord Salter was in his fifties, a wealthy landowner. After a series of flirtatious afternoon teas, trips to the theatre and a musicale, and intimate soirees full of promise, he had sent a stage for her. He would be a generous patron, Rose had assured her. As well he might. After all, Juliana was not like other courtesans. Rose had let it be known, discreetly, that Juliana was still a virgin.
‘Good idea,’ the older woman had winked at her, ‘as long as you’re certain you can fool him when it comes down to it.’ Only after a few ‘lessons’ had Rose realised that Juliana’s professed virginity was no trick. Juliana had, like most of the young ladies she knew, been expecting to wait until marriage or, at the very least, a concrete betrothal. Thank the Lord that Mortimer hadn’t achieved his aim before they were interrupted. One thing she had to thank her father’s widow for, at least.
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nbsp; The stage rattled on. Taking a peek out, Juliana saw that it was near dark and jumped at the sudden hoot of an owl. They were some way outside London now, in woods Juliana was unsure of. Quite why Lord Salter couldn’t simply receive her at his town house, which would be far more usual, she had no idea. She began to wish she had accepted the gin that Rose had offered her before she left. But on an empty stomach, she had not deemed it wise.
The coach came to an abrupt halt, causing Juliana to drop her fan. Cursing in a most unladylike manner she went to see what the problem was, then froze in horror as she heard the words every night traveller dreaded.
‘Stand and deliver!’
A highwayman. Though the laws against them were stricter than ever and the penalty, death, still they were known to menace English roads. Desperate and dangerous men, most of them, in spite of the romantic tales of ‘gentleman highwaymen’ that went around. No woman who repeated such tales had ever actually encountered one, Juliana wagered.
Nevertheless, as the coach door was flung open, the first impression Juliana got, in spite of her fear, was of a tall and handsome man, with a full sensual mouth under his mask and strong lean thighs in his breeches.
‘Your purse, madam,’ he insisted in tones that struck her as well cultured for such a devil. Then she saw the pistol in his hand and heard the terrified pleading of the stage coach driver, and his face swam before her, then vanished into darkness.
Chapter Two
Juliana woke with her head spinning and her vision foggy, clutching desperately at the threads of her memory as she tried to ascertain where she was.
She was in a less than comfortable bed in what appeared to be a plain but functional room. Not Lord Salter’s then. Yet as she came to awareness she realised she was dressed only in her chemise. Where was her dress? Her purse?
With a start she remembered the highwayman and sat bolt upright, heart hammering. He stood at the other end of the room with his back to her, poking at a fire in a small grate. Juliana glanced at the door. Of course it was barred, and furthermore the scoundrel had wedged a chair up under the handle. To prevent her rescue? With a rush of terror she contemplated the idea that the thief had mistaken her for a fine ton lady and intended to hold her to ransom. If that was the case, what would he do when he discovered that wasn’t an option?
Shaking, Juliana lowered herself quietly before he turned and saw her awake. She must gather her wits. Although she was in her underwear, she appeared untouched, so he had not tried to ravish her at least. Struggling to piece together her recollections, Juliana had to wonder why on earth a highwayman would hold up the stage and abduct the traveller. She had never heard of such a thing. Had he struck her, rendered her unconscious and carried her back here? Wherever here was.
No. Juliana remembered with a stab of disgust that she had fainted. Swooned, like any jingle-brained young lady with less sense than she had been born with. Right into the arms of a dangerous criminal, no less. Which only deepened the puzzle; why had he brought her here? If he had been intent on ravishment she doubted he would go to the trouble of bringing her to a room. It looked to be an inn rather than anybody’s home. He must have simply seen an opportunity, once she had rendered herself helpless, to kidnap and ransom a woman he assumed to be a connected lady. Surely he would have recognised her status by her attire, but then Juliana had to concede that there were many fashionable young women who attended the theatre in dress that would rival any courtesan’s, swapping their thin chemisettes for a bare décolleté. The lining of the pelisse Rose had loaned her was very fine, as was the lace on her dress and her gloves. It might have been an easy mistake to make, particularly in the dark.
Juliana closed her eyes and lay still as she heard him approach the bed. As the scoundrel leaned over her, she fought not to whimper with fear and betray herself. She tensed, swearing she would claw his eyes out if he made any attempt to touch her. In spite of her fear, however, she could not help but be acutely aware of the nearness of him and the very smell of him. Clean and crisp, but unmistakably male. She heard him straighten and couldn’t prevent herself breathing out in a sharp sigh of relief.
‘You are awake, madam.’ A statement, not a question. Juliana opened her eyes, glaring at him to try to conceal her fear.
He still wore his mask, though he had taken off his hat and cape, and once again she couldn’t fail to notice how handsome he was, with dark hair and full lips at odds with his strong jaw. He had a fine, manly figure, too, with those broad shoulders and long thighs. Juliana swallowed, struggling to compose herself and rid her mind of such nonsense. She must have hit her head when she swooned, she reasoned.
The man smiled at her and stepped back. ‘Would you care for some food?’
Juliana stared. Sitting up, pulling the covers over her chest, she demanded in what she hoped were imperious tones, ‘Why have you brought me here? Where is the coach driver?’
He looked almost amused at her tone. ‘It was not my intention to scare you. When you fainted I lifted you out of the coach, hoping the fresh air would wake you. The coachman drove off—there are many cowards abroad this night—and when I couldn’t rouse you, I could hardly leave you out there.’
‘And my clothes?’
He nodded towards the fire. Sure enough her cloak, gown and corset had been carefully laid out to dry, and her gloves lay on the chair, neatly folded with her fan on top. There was no sign of her purse, however. But he had taken some care of her. She tried to push away the thought of him undressing her with those strong hands while she lay helpless in his arms. Could he truly be after a ransom? How long before he realised there was no one to ransom her to? Her mind whirled with dreadful possibilities.
The highwayman went to the fire again, glancing back at her. ‘Would you care for a small gin? It will warm you. Don’t worry—I shan’t poison you.’ He sounded almost mocking, and Juliana bristled. Biting her lip to prevent a retort, she nodded mutely.
She saw him glance at her breasts, a flash of desire showing in his eyes through the mask, as she dropped the covers to take the drink from him, and snatched them up again with her free hand. He arched an eyebrow above his mask.
‘So modest? I wouldn’t have thought a woman of your, ah, sensitivities would have such a care.’
Juliana gasped, the colour rushing to her cheeks. So he did know. Perhaps that was why he had brought her here and made sure of her welfare, hoping for an easy seduction in return for his kindness. Although he didn’t look like a man who would need to go to such lengths to get himself a woman, he must have women throwing themselves at him, in fact, but nothing else made any sense. She gulped at her drink, swallowing down her anger at his comment, and the image that flashed in her mind of him seducing her here on this bed. In spite of his current solicitous attitude, she had to remember he was dangerous, and probably unpredictable. She drank more of the gin, even though she knew it would do little to calm her nerves.
‘You were on your way to an assignation, I presume?’ he said, sitting on the edge of the bed and eyeing her with an inscrutable expression. Juliana curled up her legs away from him, praying he would not try to make any moves on her, not least because in her befuddled state she could not be sure of her own reaction. She had no idea how she was going to get herself out of this situation, but she was determined she would use her mind rather than her body. As she nodded at him, she was acutely aware of his proximity, of his weight on the bed next to her, and couldn’t resist the risk of appraising him from underneath her eyelashes. He really was a magnificent figure of a man. His lawn shirt and boots were finer than she would expect to see on such a rogue, and he was well spoken and clean shaven. She was reminded again of the ‘gentleman highwaymen’ she had heard tell of. Men with fine dress and impeccable manners who were courteous to their victims unless provoked. Maybe he was one such. Not that it made his profession any less abhorrent. Bu
t then, she thought as she sipped her gin, what would polite society say about hers? The ladies of Covent Garden were hardly held in any esteem, no matter how fashionable their dress. Perhaps she should not be so quick to judge this strange man, but she wasn’t fool enough to believe his intentions were honourable.
‘Yes,’ she said in a matter-of-fact way, ‘a new patron.’ She neglected to say ‘first’. It was no business of his, and if he did plan on seducing her, she had no way of knowing if her virginity would dampen his desire or enflame it.
A glimmer of something that almost looked like disappointment flickered in his dark eyes. He had not been so sure of her then. Juliana decided to be forthright. She had done enough swooning like a silly chit for one night, and doubted he would be the type of man to be moved by tears or pleading.
‘Why am I here, sir, and for what purpose?’
He looked surprised, then approving. ‘As I said, madam, I could hardly in conscience leave you alone on the road, unconscious. I did not know if you had merely fainted or were perhaps ill. As it was my fault for startling you...’
‘Startling me?’ Juliana erupted, the gin and indignation making her brave. ‘You held up my coach! With a pistol! You have robbed me. And now you expect me to believe you are a man of any conscience?’
She was amazed to see he looked almost ashamed. He rubbed his chin thoughtfully.
‘You are right,’ he admitted, ‘I cannot expect you to believe that. But I mean you no harm. My intention was to relieve you of your purse only.’ As if to prove his point he removed his mask, tossing it to one side carelessly.
Juliana snorted, averting her eyes. He was even more attractive without the covering. His eyes were dark and long lashed, and full of secrets she could only guess at. Nevertheless, she must not betray her attraction to him.
THE VIRGIN COURTESAN Page 1
