Gail Ranstrom

by The Courtesans Courtship

  She twirled one dark curl of her wig around her finger as she studied him, sitting across from her in the coach. He was reading the Times and had only spoken to her in monosyllables since arriving home last night. She knew she had gone too far in goading him about his reputation, but he’d been so awfully prejudiced about Mr. Munro. Could he not see the man was suffering?

  He folded the paper and tossed it on the seat beside him. When he noted her study, he gave her a cool smile and folded his arms across his chest. “How are your fencing lessons coming?”

  “I am enjoying them immensely,” she admitted. “But I still do not think I could actually hurt someone.”

  “That is the whole point, Miss Lovejoy. If you cannot disarm or kill your opponent, why bother?”

  She could not dispute his logic so she merely shrugged. “I do enjoy my matches with Mr. Prescott. He says I am exceeding his expectations.”

  “That wouldn’t take much. He was not expecting anything from you.”

  That stung. Would it have hurt him to let her have her little victory? Why was he being so disagreeable? She gritted her teeth and turned her attention to the window until they arrived at the dressmaker’s shop.

  Madame LaFehr met them at the door and hurried them to the large dressing room. A rainbow of organdy, muslin and silk gowns were hanging for inspection and fittings. They were stunning, and Dianthe suppressed a sigh of pleasure at the thought that they would all be hers. Well, for as long as she continued her masquerade, anyway.

  “Come, little Lizette,” Madame LaFehr urged. “I ’ave one in the changing room ready for you.”

  Dianthe glanced at Lord Geoffrey. Was he not going to whatever room Madame reserved for waiting men? As if to answer her unspoken question, he gave her a devilish smile and sat in one of the comfortable chairs facing the mirrors and fitting platform. Would she have to endure his ill temper throughout this ordeal?

  Sighing in resignation, she entered the changing room with Madame LaFehr and closed the door with a slam. Madame pretended not to notice her loss of temper as she helped Dianthe undress and lift the gown over her head to let it settle around her.

  “Come, chère, and see ’ow it looks. Lord Geoffrey will want to see it, too.” She tugged on Dianthe’s hand and pulled her into the fitting room. “Up,” she prompted, urging her onto the dais.

  Dianthe faced the mirrors and glanced at the reflection of Lord Geoffrey in the chair behind her. He straightened and sat slightly forward, a look of appraisal on his face.

  Then she glanced at herself in the mirror. How had Madame managed a creation that was both seductive and innocent? The underdress, of an iridescent blue, clung to her form, while the overdress of sheer white embroidered organza lent her the modesty the sheath denied, and provided a small train in back. Low cut and trimmed in a narrow border of lace, the overdress hooked beneath her breasts, then separated down the front to reveal the clinging underdress.

  She glanced in the mirror again to catch Lord Geoffrey’s reaction. He was utterly still. Then his right hand came up and he twirled his forefinger.

  Obediently, she turned in a circle, stopping when she faced him.

  “This one has my approval, Genevieve,” he said, and his familiarity told Dianthe that he had done this many times before. “I do not think it will require additional alterations.”

  “But—” Dianthe began. Had he not noticed that the top half of her nipples, while not quite obvious, were still visible beneath the sheer organza?

  “Ah, I knew you would like it, Lord Geoffrey,” Madame interrupted. “It shows ’er figure to good advantage, no? And should you wish something more alluring, voilà!” She unhooked the band beneath Dianthe’s breasts and the overdress fell away.

  Dianthe gasped. The organza had left her with some semblance of modesty, but the sheath left her none. Lord Geoffrey sat back in his chair and smiled as his gaze came up to meet hers. Her breasts puckered and hardened in response. Her cheeks burned and she brought her hands up to cover herself. Lord Geoffrey raised one eyebrow in a question.

  “Là! She is so appealing, no?” Madame asked. “I can see ’er charm, my lord, even though she ’as not the complexity of your usual mistresses.” She turned to Dianthe and gave her a mockingly stern look. “Do not deprive your benefactor of ’is pleasure, little Lizette. Come now, shall we try on the next?”

  Dianthe was more than pleased to escape to the changing room. But as she tried on one gown after another, it was much the same—daring décolletages coupled with elegant, clinging fabrics. To her surprise, there were accessories to match all the gowns, from fans, shawls, pelisses and bonnets to satin slippers and reticules.

  When she tried on the final gown, a sophisticated gold-and-blue-striped taffeta that rustled as she moved, Lord Geoffrey rose from his chair at last. He came toward her, removed a flat box from the inside of his jacket and handed it to her. Curious, she lifted the lid and found a stunning necklace nestled on black velvet. The gold chain was woven in a narrow lacy pattern and a clear blue sapphire pendant surrounded by small diamonds was suspended from it. She’d thought she’d never seen anything as beautiful in her life.

  “It is yours, Lizette,” he said when she looked up at him.

  She blinked. “Th-the congé? So soon?”

  Lord Geoffrey coughed. “Congé? Where did you learn about that?”

  “From…the others. A parting gift, I believe? Are you sending me away?”

  There was a long hesitation and Dianthe’s anxiety rose. Her pulse quickened when she remembered the feel of that horrid man from Curzon Street tightening his hands around her throat. Where would she go?

  Geoffrey removed the necklace from the box and moved behind her to fasten it. Then he cupped her shoulders and leaned close to her ear. “I should,” he whispered. “God knows I should. But no. It is merely a gift.”

  “It is far too expensive, my lord. If I should accept such a gift, people would think I am—”

  “A courtesan? My mistress? Exactly, and I cannot have them thinking I am miserly.”

  That never would have occurred to her. She sighed with relief. When his finger traced the woven gold where it lay against her throat, a tingle coursed through her. Then he stepped back and returned to his chair.

  Unable to move, she stared as he pulled his watch from his vest pocket and checked it. “We have a little time, Genevieve. Continue, if you please.”

  “But this is the last of the dresses,” Dianthe said.

  “Ah, Lizette! Now the fun begins, no?” Madame gave her a little push toward the changing room.

  Once she was down to her shift again, Madame opened boxes with an array of delicate items carefully wrapped in tissue. There were negligees, nightgowns, sheer stockings and soft ribbon garters. Corsets, stays, shifts, camisoles, drawers and dressing gowns. All were made of the most exquisitely soft fabrics Dianthe had ever seen—silk, lawn, finely woven muslin and satin. And they were all crafted so intricately that she swore they’d been made for royalty. Or made to…entertain in.

  “Come, Lizette. ’Urry. Lord Geoffrey is not the patient man, yes? ’E is waiting.”

  Her jaw dropped. “You mean he expects me to dress in these and…and show him?”

  Madame laughed. “But of course, chère. It is ’is money, is it not? ’E ’as a right to know what ’is money ’as purchased. Come. The dressing gown first. No! The white silk nightgown, and the dressing gown over it. Yes?”

  “No!” She tried, unsuccessfully, to slap Madame’s hands away as she lifted her shift over her head. How humiliating! Dianthe had not worn stays this morning, in her haste to join Mr. Prescott, who had been waiting in the ballroom for her fencing lesson.

  “Là!” Madame exclaimed when Dianthe was completely naked. “You are perfection! It is no wonder, then, that Lord Geoffrey ’as chosen you.” She dropped the sheer white silk nightgown over Dianthe’s head, helped her into the dressing gown and tied the blue sash around her waist.

 
“I cannot go out there like this,” Dianthe whispered.

  “But why not, chère?”

  “It…it is indecent!”

  Madame frowned. “Indecent? Alors! Are you the virgin or the woman of the world? Lord Geoffrey may find this modesty a novelty, eh? But ’e will soon tire of it, Lizette. I ’ave seen it before. ’E is a man of sophisticated tastes and ’igh expectations. This coyness of yours will grow old quickly. If you wish to keep ’is interest and succeed in the demimonde, you will ’ave to overcome this foolishness.”

  “I…I—”

  “You flush, petite Lizette,” the woman observed. A knowing smile came over her face. “Ah, ’e is your first protector, yes? You are new to the demimonde.”

  For lack of a better explanation, Dianthe nodded.

  “Not to worry, my sweet,” she said. “Lord Geoffrey is very kind. And very skilled. You could not ask for a better tutor to introduce you to this life. But do not strain ’is patience.”

  Heavens! Was there even one woman in the demimonde who had not slept with Lord Geoffrey? While Dianthe was still contemplating that question, Madame LaFehr opened the changing room door and pushed her out. She nearly tripped over the dais and stood facing her “protector.”

  He blinked, let his gaze drop to her bare feet, then sweep slowly upward until he reached her face. His expression did not change, but his breathing had deepened.

  “Exquisite, is she not?” Madame asked.

  “Exquisite,” he repeated in a flat voice, his attention shifting lower.

  Dianthe glanced down and moaned. The white silk was so sheer that it revealed as much as it hid. When she looked up again she caught a quick grin on Lord Geoffrey’s face. The villain was enjoying this! He was extracting pleasure from her embarrassment. She spun around and hurried into the changing room, tossed the gossamer silk aside and pulled on the clothing she’d come in.

  “Did he tell you how to cut the gowns, Madame? Or how much of me he wished exposed?”

  “Mais non, Lizette! You were ’ere. You and ’e chose the gowns and fabrics together. The cut is identical to the gowns I make for the elite of the demimonde. And Lord Geoffrey’s tastes are well known to me. I ’ave dressed ’is mistresses before.”

  So Lord Geoffrey hadn’t expressly told Madame to cut the necklines so deep, or to use sheer fabrics? That fact calmed Dianthe considerably. Still, he had taken full advantage of the situation to make a spectacle of her.

  Madame LaFehr crossed her arms and shook her head. “This is not the way to please Lord Geoffrey. If you are not very careful, chère, you will find yourself put aside. ’Is attentions are brief as it is. If you could be as pleasing as possible, per’aps ’e will keep you longer than the rest.”

  Fear and anger mixed as Dianthe seethed inside. What was wrong with her? She was fully aware that her safety was only at Lord Geoffrey’s sufferance. One minute she was terrified of losing it, and the next she was doing everything she could to insure that she would. But it wasn’t all her fault. He’d been making a jest of her from the moment they’d arrived, allowing—no, requiring—her to pose in risqué gowns and underpinnings. He was a scoundrel and he deserved to…to be punished. Yes. She’d find a way to turn this back on him.

  Despite that they were risqué, Dianthe’s new gowns were the most luxurious and elegant she’d ever had. The small-clothes and nightwear were beyond beautiful. She folded them reverently and placed them in her bureau drawer.

  Only a few of the gowns had been ready to come home with her, and the rest had remained with Madame LaFehr for further alterations. But the pendant lay on her dressing table where she could see it whenever she looked in that direction. She regretted that she would have to leave it behind when the killer was found and she could go home.

  A timid knock on her door startled her. Surely Giles or Hanson hadn’t come of their own accord?

  She opened the door and had to stifle a giggle when she found Giles, red-faced and shuffling his feet. He held a silver salver with an envelope on it.

  “Miss Lovejoy, there is a woman in the parlor who says she would like to see Miss Deauville. Would you like me to send her packing?”

  Send her packing? Dianthe could rarely decipher what Lord Geoffrey’s servants meant. She took the envelope and broke the seal. A single sheet of paper contained a few scrawled lines.

  Miss Lovejoy, Please accommodate Miss Osgood, whom I have hired to instruct you. I shall return by nine o’clock to escort you to Thackery’s. Cordially, Morgan.

  How curious. She looked up at Giles and smiled. “Please tell Miss Osgood I shall be down presently.”

  “As you say, miss.”

  Dianthe returned to the dresser, pinned her hair up and donned her dark wig.

  By the time she entered the small parlor off the foyer, Miss Osgood was removing her hat and gloves. She turned as Dianthe closed the door.

  “Ah, Miss Deauville! Lovely. Yes, you are quite lovely. I can see why Lord Geoffrey would want me to undertake this particular task.”

  “Might I ask what task?” Dianthe inquired as she took the woman’s measure. Miss Osgood was of a diminutive stature, very pretty for her years, and impeccably dressed. What did Lord Geoffrey have planned this time?

  “Did he not tell you? Why, I am to instruct you in all things Cyprian.”

  “Cyprian?” she repeated. “Whatever do you mean, Miss Osgood?”

  The woman laughed and the sound was a musical trill. “Why, the arts of your profession, Miss Deauville. I gather Lord Geoffrey dotes upon you, but he expressed his concern that you are just a little gauche in company.”

  “Gauche?” Dianthe fairly reeled from the insult. “He said I was gauche?”

  “He said the word in all fondness, Miss Deauville. He simply thinks your skills could be improved upon.”

  “My…skills?”

  Miss Osgood leaned forward as if sharing a confidence. “He told me you were new to the calling and had not perfected the art of seduction. He indicated that you would be a willing student. Is this not so?”

  Dianthe opened her mouth to refute Lord Geoffrey’s claim, but a sudden thought made her pause. If she could put her pride aside, as well as her modesty, this might be the perfect means to exact a fitting vengeance on the arrogant Lord Morgan. “By all means, Miss Osgood. When will this instruction take place, and how long will it last?”

  “We can begin today, and I am to come every afternoon until Lord Geoffrey is satisfied.”

  Satisfied? Oh, make no mistake! She’d satisfy the lecherous rake! Satisfy him that he’d taunted the wrong female! She’d see to it that he got value for his money, and everything he so richly deserved. “Shall I send for tea, Miss Osgood?”

  “Yes. I think we shall need it. We have quite a daunting task ahead of us.”

  Daunting? Good heavens! Dianthe tugged the bell pull and went to the door to request tea from Giles, then returned to Miss Osgood. With a sweep of her hand, she indicated a chair. “Shall I assume this can be done sitting down?”

  Miss Osgood laughed again. “Most of it,” she said. “The rest will be done reclining.”

  Wearing the blue sheath with the organza overdress and a shawl of white fringed cashmere, Dianthe took Lord Geoffrey’s offered hand to step down from the coach in front of Thackery’s. They hadn’t spoken on the way and all Dianthe could do was study his face and speculate as to his motives for educating her in the demimonde. At the very best, to prepare her to be convincing in her role. At worst, to provoke her into quitting. She suspected the latter.

  To give her credit, Miss Osgood’s first lesson had been nothing short of a revelation. The lecture had been about a woman’s power over men, and Dianthe was reminded of Lord Geoffrey’s discourse on why a man was attracted to a courtesan in the first place. Miss Osgood had also instructed her on how to tell if a man was interested in her, and how to use that interest to her advantage. Then she’d told Dianthe that men like confidence in a woman. She suggested that Dianthe pr
actice her bearing, carriage and confidence in her mirror. Miss Osgood said that men found silence intriguing and mysterious.

  And, judging by Lord Geoffrey’s quizzical study in the coach this evening, Miss Osgood had been right. He would know that the woman had called on Dianthe, and he was waiting for her to rail against him or take him to task in some way. Her silence on the matter was obviously driving him to distraction.

  There was one thing, however, that she hadn’t been able to do. She simply could not expose herself in the gown as Miss Osgood had urged her to do. Instead, she’d tucked a narrow strip of lace into the neckline to shroud the pink crowns of her breasts. She’d never be brazen enough to reveal herself in such a manner.

  In the foyer of Thackery’s, Lord Geoffrey took her shawl and handed it to a footman. He smiled when he saw that she’d worn the sapphire pendant.

  “I am going in search of a game, Miss Deauville,” he said, slipping a five-pound note into the top of her décolletage. “Try not to get in trouble, eh?”

  He wore an expectant smile, waiting for her to slap his hand or make a protest. Recently schooled by Miss Osgood, however, she smiled back enigmatically as she plucked the note from her gown. “I shall try to make this last, my lord.”

  “Find me if you need more.” He winked and headed for one of the rooms notorious for deep play.

  Free to pursue her own goals, Dianthe strolled slowly up the curved stairway to the mezzanine, pausing halfway up to observe the crowd.

  “Ah, Miss Deauville,” came a voice from the landing.

  She glanced up to find Lord Reginald Hunter descending toward her. “Bonsoir, Lord Lockwood,” she answered.

  He grinned. “I am flattered that you remembered me.”

  Here was a perfect opportunity to practice some of her new skills. “My lord, you are…’ow you say, not to be forgotten?”