The Duke's Courtesan

by Beck Robertson

The beautiful tiara sparkled, the heavy diamonds and emeralds adorning it seeming to wink at her as if they held some secret knowledge. She regarded it, scared to touch it, to prise it from its cradle. Who would send her such a lovely, expensive thing?

  It was then she saw the envelope that had been tucked underneath the little box, in amongst the folds of crepe paper. Retrieving it, her fingers flew to open the starched, thick white paper, her breath catching in her throat. The card slid out, an elegant gold rose embossed in the corner of it. She recognised that rose; where had she seen it before?

  My dear, I am sorry if I upset you, for it was never my intention to wound such a lovely jewel as your good self. I hope you will accept this gift as a token of my affection. I must confess I thought it rather fitting, a crown worthy of a princess. And I know you will look like a princess wearing it. I selected emeralds to match your eyes, though even these precious stones could never hold a candle to the real thing. If you can find it in your heart to forgive me, you would do me a very great honour if you would allow me the pleasure of escorting you to dinner tonight.

  My deepest and most sincere affection, James x

  She felt as if she might faint. He had sent it to her? He was the mystery wealthy admirer? Her heart gave a funny little leap as her hands moved to the sparkling headdress, gingerly lifting it from its satin cradle. Tremulously she lifted it to her brow, placing it atop her raven tresses. She drew a sharp breath as she caught her reflection in the dresser’s mirror. He was right; she looked like a princess with the tiara on. The emeralds and diamonds glittered, illuminating the snowy whiteness of her complexion and making her green eyes appear to sparkle with even more intensity than they usually did.

  Madame du Monsignor had said he was coming to pick her up at seven o’clock. But it was nearly five in the afternoon already; she had to get ready for him. Standing up, she knocked the chair over in her haste as she hastily made her way across the room to the closet.

  Rifling through her closet, she searched for the gown Madame had recommended. The wily doyenne, though long past her own prime as a feted courtesan, still had an eye for flattering couture, and even more of an eye for what a man would appreciate. She smiled to herself as she spied the dress hanging there in her closet, the yards of green silk elegantly draping from the cream satin of the padded clothes hanger, a faint scent of violet, the remnants of Madame’s perfume, emanating from the wooden wardrobe.

  Plucking it from the rail, she draped it over her bed before opening the door of the bedroom, and shouting over the balustrade for Mary, the chambermaid. The girl appeared quickly at the bottom of the staircase, looking rather flustered and red-cheeked.

  ‘Fetch some hot water for my bath and be quick about it,’ she instructed the flaxen-haired girl, and the maid nodded, scurrying away to do her bidding. She must be speedy in her toilette as she had much to do to prepare, for, oh joy of joys, he was coming to call for her!

  At five minutes to seven Madame shouted for her, and she forced herself to count fully to ten as the white-haired woman had taught her.

  ‘You must always make a man wait for you,’ the madame had told her, ‘then emerge looking utterly irresistible. That way he will desire you all the more.’

  Checking her reflection one final time in the little looking glass that overhung the dresser, she pinched her cheeks to give them some more colour, and took a deep breath. She had bathed in rose maroc, the rare oil so expensive and precious that Madame usually kept it firmly under lock and key, to prevent the girls of the house from liberally scenting their bathtubs and clothing with it. It was supposed to be reserved for the most special of occasions – perhaps the visit of a foreign prince or other important nobleman – but after she had told Madame the whole story, the woman had been only too glad to supply her with the key to the little cabinet where it was secreted.

  Now the heavy and sensual scent hung in the air, wafting from the folds of her green silk gown, and she couldn’t help but feel utterly irresistible as she picked up her skirts to descend serenely down the circular staircase, the glittering tiara sitting regally on top of her raven waves.

  He looked up at her as she descended, drawing a hard breath, as if his eyes could barely believe the sight of her, and she thrilled as he regarded her. Never had a man looked at her as if she were so precious, so beautiful before, and plenty of men had looked at her; plenty more of them still had complimented her on the beauty she knew she possessed. But he – he looked at her as if she were a rare and exotic flower, and she thrilled at the knowledge of the effect she seemed to have on him.

  ‘Your grace,’ she murmured graciously, as he took her white-gloved hand, bringing it up to his lips and kissing it. Her heart raced as she watched him, the memory of his lips roaming elsewhere on her body causing her to blush hotly. As if he knew he winked at her, the sparkle in his blue eyes was roguish.

  ‘The lady Lenore, I am most honoured,’ he said, bowing to her as he smiled warmly, the corners of his eyes crinkling up in mirth. ‘Madame, might I have the pleasure of escorting this lovely lady to dinner?’ He turned to Madame du Monsignor, who was standing there looking half lost in the reverie of it all, and who jumped, slightly startled, as he disturbed her from her daydreaming.

  ‘Oh yes, certainly,’ she said looking as pleased as if it were her he had asked to escort, and he grinned, bowing to her too.

  ‘Why thank you, ma’am, and please take this for your troubles,’ he said, tossing her a red velvet purse, which she caught, the already broad beam on her face widening even further as she felt the weight of the coin within.

  He held out his arm to her, and she took it gladly, shyly looking up at him from under her eyelashes as she did so. Steering her out through the front door of the house, he leant in to whisper in her ear as they walked.

  ‘You look amazing, just like a princess,’ he said, and she flushed with pleasure at the compliment.

  ‘Why, you look rather handsome yourself, sir,’ she said, looking at him approvingly. Licking her lips, she eyed the prominent bulge in his tight breeches, the fine white shirt that could barely contain his broad, muscular chest, and the deep blue velvet frockcoat atop it all that gave him the perfect refinement as befitting a duke.

  There was nothing refined about what she knew he wanted from her, though. The heat from his eyes had been all too obvious as he’d watched her descending from the stairs, but tonight she didn’t care. In fact, she wanted him too. She felt brazen, bold, and alive all of a sudden. She would worry about tomorrow later on; for now she would just enjoy his company and allow him to sweep her off her feet.

  On seeing them approach, the coachman rushed to unfold the steps of the carriage. Motioning that she should go ahead of him, James ushered her inside, taking the underside of the little silken boot she wore to help heft her into the carriage before following her in himself.

  ‘Champagne?’ He turned to her, a bright smile on his lips as he settled back in the luxurious interior. She smiled wryly. He was keen to impress her still; she liked that. For all his finery and his grace, his wealth and his good manners, it was comforting to know that lust could reduce even a duke to a slavering puppy.

  ‘Oh yes, please,’ she replied, smiling back at him. Goodness, if ever there was a man who could charm her into bed it would definitely be him if he continued in this vein. Champagne, jewels, and compliments; all this spoiling would go to her head if she wasn’t careful.

  ‘The tiara looks wonderful, as I knew it would,’ he said to her, his eyes sincere as he spoke the words. ‘Perfectly regal.’

  She blushed again, the crimson staining her cheeks prettily, but kept her head held high. Tonight she would play the part of a princess and, resplendent in her green silk, the tiara worn proudly atop her raven tumble of hair, she knew she looked the part at least.

  ‘Thank you, it’s so lovely, truly. You are too kind, for it must have cost you a fortune,’ she exclaimed, shaking her head, but he waved her away. Getting to hi
s knees on the floor of the carriage, he clasped her hands in his. Her heart gave an odd little jump. She knew he wasn’t about to do anything of the kind, but oh, what she wouldn’t give to see him sink to his knees to ask for her hand in betrothal!

  ‘Lenore,’ he said insistently, clasping her hands between his as she looked at him, ‘it is you who are lovely. Truly, I have never seen a woman as beautiful as you are, and what is more, you have a beautiful soul too. You are, indeed a princess and I am sorry from the very bottom of my heart for causing you an ounce of anguish.’

  ‘Oh, that.’ She brushed him away dismissively with a flick of her wrist. ‘I was so silly that night. You must forget about that, please. You would … you would do me a great favour to do so,’ she said, looking at him earnestly, as she allowed her lower lip to tremble just a fraction. There was not a man she had met who could deny her when she turned that look on him. Sure enough, she was proved entirely correct in her assumption by the words he spoke next.

  ‘Oh no, Lenore, you were not. No, not at all,’ he said, rushing to defend her honour. She smiled. He was so protective of her she felt safe around him. ‘No, you were behaving as any respectable young woman would behave, with perfect concern for your virtue and chastity.’ He was adamant, not a trace of irony on his lips as he looked up at her. She tried hard to suppress a giggle. Of all the things that could be said about her, having perfect concern for her virtue and chastity was not something that would spring to mind.

  ‘I was?’ she said incredulously and he nodded vehemently.

  ‘Yes, and I was a cad to take advantage of you like that.’ He shook his head as if to admonish himself. ‘It was, as you said, most ungentlemanly of me to not reveal my intentions and to mislead you in such a way. But I promise you this, Lenore, never will I be so careless of your feelings again, I swear it.’ He looked at her then, his blue eyes intense as he gazed into her green ones, and she couldn’t help smile at his sincerity.

  Well, let him think he was being noble and pure of intention. If that was how he had to rationalise it, she wouldn’t care. Why should she? This wonderful, charming, attractive man seemed half mad with lust for her and was sending her diamonds and emeralds; that was surely more than a girl in her position could hope for. No, she certainly wasn’t about to complain.

  But what about a girl in a better position, a girl without blemish, without a scandalous reputation; free to think about things such as love and honour? A high-born girl even, free to marry the handsome nobleman she’d fallen in love with – what then? She pushed the thought away from her mind as she smiled brightly at him. She mustn’t think like that; it wasn’t possible for her to even imagine such a thing.

  ‘You weren’t a cad, silly,’ she said, ‘but I accept your apology, of course. It’s all perfectly charming. But you can get up off your knees; you don’t suit being the penitent type.’

  Throwing back his head, he roared with laughter as he stood up, dusting off the knees of his breeches.

  ‘Oh Lenore, I have missed you.’ He sighed, still clasping one of her hands like it was incredibly dear to him. ‘I am so glad you agreed to see me again, truly you can’t know.’

  Chapter Five

  They spent a pleasant evening together, in the grandly decorated dining room of the Clarendon, the most exclusive restaurant in London, waited on hand and foot by immaculately dressed serving staff. Course after course of extravagant and expertly prepared food was brought out to them on plates of gleaming silver, and they talked and laughed as if they had known each other their whole lives.

  Lenore bloomed under his gaze, his eyes barely leaving her face. The heat between them was so intense that at times she feared she would not be able to breathe for want of him. She endured it throughout the meal, but after, as she tucked her arm into his and let him steer her into the privacy of the elegant little carriage, she could barely contain her lust.

  Now, surely, would come the moment where he ravished her; throwing her forcefully against the cream and gold seating and rumpling her silk skirts as he pressed himself upon her. And this time, unlike the last time their bodies had joined together in passion, she certainly wouldn’t be complaining.

  But, to her intense frustration, he behaved like the perfect gentleman the entire journey, until, finally, the carriage drew to a standstill outside Madame du Monsignor’s house. He turned to her then, his blue eyes earnest.

  ‘Lenore, I have enjoyed myself more than I could have imagined tonight. You did me a great honour allowing me to escort you to dinner tonight.’

  ‘I enjoyed this evening too,’ she replied, smiling shyly at him, ‘and it is you who do me the honour, sir, treating me so kindly after I behaved with such mean-spiritedness to you.’

  ‘No,’ he insisted, shaking his head, ‘you did not, Lenore, but it would please me greatly if you would allow me to escort you out again.’ Was he asking her if she would allow him to escort her out again? She would and more too, far more. Didn’t he know how much she burned for him beneath the cool green silk of her dress, her sex aroused at the very sight of him, her nipples prominent and erect beneath her stays.

  ‘I … I would love for you to escort me,’ she murmured under her breath, her desire thick in her throat. Now would he make his move on her, clasp her to him, press his hardness up against her, run his hand along her stocking tops, something, anything? But he merely cleared his throat and nodded his head, smiling politely and giving nothing away at all.

  ‘You please me greatly, Lenore,’ he said, ‘for you are a very great lady.’ She blushed at that. She was no lady, she knew, but still, it pleased her to hear him say that.

  ‘It is nothing at all, sir,’ she whispered, waving the compliment away with a gloved hand. He smiled, his eyes creasing up with warmth as he regarded her.

  ‘Now may I escort you safely inside, my dear?’ he said, looking at her hopefully.

  ‘Yes,’ she nodded, feeling slightly confused as he rose to guide her from the carriage. What, he truly wasn’t going to attempt to ravish her? Did he not desire her, after all; did he not burn with lust for her as she did for him?

  At the front door, he reached for the heavy brass of the doorknocker as he turned to regard her.

  ‘May I call for you again tomorrow night?’ he said, his eyes expectant as he awaited her reply. Why would he want to escort her out again, if he didn’t want her in that way? He was confounding her but her mind didn’t have time to ponder on the answer as she heard a flurry of footsteps approaching the front door. Flustered, she nodded her assent at him.

  ‘Of course, you –’ She broke off as Madame du Monsignor flung open the door, a broad smile on her small face, her deep violet eyes merry with delight as she took in the sight of them both standing there.

  ‘Lenore, my dear,’ she said, speaking the words of greeting as if it had been months since they had last seen each other.

  She suppressed a chuckle. Madame’s motivations were more than transparent to her, and she hoped they weren’t as obvious to James.

  ‘And your grace,’ Madame said, curtseying deeply to him, her tone as reverent as if he were the king himself.

  ‘Madame.’ James bowed low, his eyes sparkling with amusement as he regarded the petite, white-haired woman.

  ‘But you must both come in, of course,’ Madame exclaimed, ushering them both into the parlour before either of them could murmur so much as a protest.

  ‘Please, settle yourselves down here,’ she said, gesturing to the elegant red velvet chaise longue after she had shown them through to the drawing room.

  ‘Madame, please, James must be leaving,’ Lenore protested, but the woman shook her head firmly.

  ‘Lenore, where are your manners dear?’ she said disapprovingly, though her eyes were smiling. ‘Both of you make yourselves comfortable there and I will send Eleanor through with a tray of beverages.’ She scurried away, shutting the door behind her with a gentle click.

  Shaking her head, Lenore turned to hi
m.

  ‘I am sorry for Madame’s fussing, sir. I do hope we are not keeping you,’ she said apologetically. Her cheeks burned with embarrassment. As if it wasn’t humiliating enough that he hadn’t tried to seduce her as she had expected, now Madame was making her endure this?

  ‘No, it is a pleasure to spend a moment in your company. Do not fret about me, for I would rather be here with you than anywhere else in the world,’ he said, smiling at her as if she had lost her mind to even consider any other possible alternative.

  Her thoughts were racing, struggling to assimilate into any sort of sense; his behaviour was confusing her so much. On the one hand, he acted as if she was the rarest, most precious thing to him, but on the other hand, he behaved as if he were in the presence of a nun, sworn to the holy vows of chastity. Why was he behaving in such a perplexing and vexing manner? It was perfectly frustrating.

  ‘I … uh,’ she fumbled, not knowing what to say to him. His proximity was arousing her alarmingly, his well-muscled thigh pressed against her own, softer one, the scent of his masculinity overwhelming her nostrils. He placed a hand on her green silk skirts, and she started; even through the fabric his touch felt like it was burning her skin.

  Just then, there was a knock at the door of the drawing room, and he jumped, withdrawing his hand quickly. Drat, Eleanor must have arrived with the tray of beverages.

  ‘Yes, come in,’ Lenore called out weakly to the girl, trying to compose herself. The door swung open and Eleanor crossed the room carrying a silver tray bedecked with various bottles and glasses. There was an elegant blue and gold-painted teapot on it, as well as Madame’s best milk jug, and two fine bone china cups and saucers. Madame had obviously instructed the girl not to stint in the hospitality to be offered to a duke. The very best china had been brought out in honour of the occasion, she saw, and the port and the good wine too.

  The girl set the tray down on the small table in front of the chaise longue, and bobbed a curtsey.