Claiming the Courtesan

by Anna Campbell

  “Surely that’s her decision,” Kylemore said neutrally.

  Down on the dock, she’d all but announced that he had her full allegiance. How could she leave him now? Or was it that while she might want him, she wanted freedom more? Anguish clenched hard fingers into his heart at the thought.

  Verity raised her head. He waited in desperate hope for her to tell her brother that she’d changed her mind, that she meant to stay.

  But she looked over to Ashton and spoke in a firm voice. “Yes, Ben, I’ll come with you.”

  No!

  Ashton looked relieved, damn him. “That’s grand, lass. I’ve got a hired carriage ready. We’ll go when you say the word.”

  Kylemore swung around toward the tall windows open to the garden outside. He couldn’t let her go. Not now. Not when he knew she cared, even if she didn’t care enough. One hand lifted to the curtains and crushed the silk so tightly that his knuckles shone white.

  Even with his back to her, he felt her eyes upon him.

  He’d sworn when she’d nearly perished that he’d never compel her to anything again. But this was impossible.

  “Stay and eat something, at least,” he said to the gardens, although he hardly saw the sun shining on the perfectly maintained grounds. How absurd he could still sound like a civilized man when ravening demons clawed at his soul. “And use my traveling coach. It will be more comfortable.”

  “We want nowt of yours,” Ashton snapped. “Throwing your brass around won’t make up for what you’ve done. Any road, I’d prefer to get my sister well away from your bully boys before you change your mind and decide to keep her.”

  Kylemore didn’t bother to defend himself. What was the point? Ben Ashton would find out soon enough that he meant to abide by Verity’s wishes, no matter what it cost him.

  Perhaps one day she’d remember this moment and know she left him a better man than she’d found him.

  What a pathetic epitaph to his great love.

  “Ben,” Verity said quietly. “I’d like you to go to the village and arrange our departure. I want to talk to His Grace.”

  “I’m not leaving you on your ane with this sodding bastard. He’ll spirit you away before I get back.”

  Kylemore could hardly blame the fellow for mistrusting him. At their last encounter, he’d left the younger man to shiver naked in a cold ruin while his sister had disappeared to face who knew what violence and abuse.

  “He won’t.” Unmistakable certainty rang in Verity’s low voice.

  Thank you, mo cridhe, he whispered silently, before he spoke to Ashton. “The servants can collect your carriage and belongings while you wait in the hall.”

  “You could still bundle her off without me knowing owt,” the bumpkin insisted with a stubborn set to his jaw.

  “Ben, there’s nothing stopping him having you constrained now while he abducts me,” Verity pointed out gently. “Please leave us. There are things I need to say to His Grace.”

  Kylemore turned around to see Ashton glaring at his sister in indecision. Then he nodded abruptly. “If this villain makes the slightest false move, scream.”

  She tried to smile. Kylemore couldn’t say she made a success of it. “If he so much as touches my hand.”

  Kylemore didn’t pause for further objections. He led Ashton outside and gave the appropriate orders to his butler.

  He would have insisted they use his coach, but he saw that the disharmony between Ashton and himself upset Verity. And she, in spite of the fact that she’d gotten exactly what she wanted, had clearly reached the end of her strength.

  He left Ashton to kick his heels in the hall and returned to Verity. She’d risen and stood staring down into the flickering fire. Her profile was perfect and unutterably sad against the mythical revels carved on the marble fireplace. When she looked up, her silver eyes were dark with a misery equal to his own.

  How could he bear this? He leaned against the closed doors behind him and braced himself for what was to come.

  Verity knew this was the last time she’d be alone with the man she loved. Hungrily, her eyes traced his face and body. He looked the worst kind of ruffian, with his ruffled hair and rumpled clothes and the darkening bruises on his face.

  “I’m sorry he hit you,” she said softly without moving from the grate.

  “I deserved it.” Kylemore straightened and gingerly touched his cheek. “If your brother ever finds himself short of the ready, he’d make quite a career as a boxer, I warrant.”

  Automatically, she took a step toward him and her hand rose to soothe his injuries. Then she remembered she’d forbidden herself such tender gestures.

  “At least he’s saved you a journey to Whitby,” she said, unable to hide her regret. She hadn’t wanted to prolong the pain of parting, but now that the final moment had arrived, she resented every second’s passing.

  “It would have been a privilege.” His expression was somber. “Verity, what you told everyone down at the dock, you didn’t have to say it.” He paused, obviously at a loss, then finished gruffly, “Thank you.”

  This time, she couldn’t keep herself from reaching for him. “Well, I couldn’t let him hurt you.”

  He took her hand in a rough grip. “Verity, don’t go. For God’s sake, don’t go.”

  She closed her eyes, fighting tears. Her own unhappiness was devastating enough. But the agony he no longer troubled to hide made her want to die.

  “I must.” She spoke as much to herself as to him.

  “Oh, Christ, I can’t stomach this! Why do you have to go? Why, mo gradh?”

  He flung himself away from her and prowled restlessly around the room as if he couldn’t contain his frustration when he remained still. “Hell, I thought it was clear enough. You were happy to be my lover for a few weeks in the glen, but you always meant to seek your independence.” Angrily, he ran his hand through his hair. “I’d even accepted it. God knows, after what I’ve done, you’d be deranged to stay with me.”

  He came to a furious halt in front of her. “But I was wrong, wasn’t I? You’re not leaving because you want to. It’s what you’d like me to believe, but it’s not the truth, is it?”

  “Kylemore, don’t,” she pleaded, vulnerable to this sudden attack.

  He ignored her entreaty. “Tell me, Verity—back at the glen, you said you wanted me. Was that true?” His eyes burned in his pale face and a muscle jerked in his cheek.

  “There’s no point in this.”

  “Was that true?”

  “Yes, it was true. You know it was,” she said wearily, unable to lie, although it would have been better for both of them if she had.

  “You still want me. Tell me I’m mistaken, Verity.”

  She bent her head, unable to bear the stormy torment in his eyes. Why was it so hard to do what was right?

  “No, you’re not mistaken,” she whispered and lifted a hand to ward him off as he made a convulsive move in her direction. “But it’s more complicated than what we feel. You’re a duke. I’m a whore.”

  “For God’s sake! You’ve had three lovers. My mother goes through more men in a week. And she’s received everywhere.”

  Regretfully, Verity shook her head. “My protectors paid to use my body. The whole world knows it and condemns me.”

  “I don’t,” he said steadily.

  “Perhaps not. But that doesn’t mean there’s any future for us. You must marry and have an heir, Kylemore.”

  “You’re the only woman I want to marry,” he said gravely. “Verity Ashton, will you grant me the unparalleled joy of consenting to become my wife?”

  She fought back another searing flood of tears. “You do me too much honor.”

  He stood straight and oddly still as if any untoward movement might startle her into running away. “If your fear is I’ll tire of you and abandon you in favor of another, it’s misplaced.” Then on a burst of feeling, “By my soul, mo cridhe, I have wanted you without ceasing from the first moment I saw you
. Surely you cannot doubt my steadfastness.”

  The strange thing was, she didn’t.

  In spite of the dissolute habits of the society he moved in. In spite of his charm and manifold attractions.

  She’d accepted that what he felt for her went far beyond physical desire, powerful as that physical desire was.

  But still, it wasn’t enough.

  She shook her head. “I cannot marry you, Kylemore. Our children would be outcasts. You’d be a pariah.”

  “Society can go to hell,” he said shortly.

  “You say that now. But you’ll repent giving your name to a woman like me. I couldn’t bear to cause you harm. It’s better we separate now.” Her voice broke on a sob, although she’d promised herself she wouldn’t cry. “Don’t press me, I beg of you. I’ve told myself a thousand times we can defy the world and live for ourselves alone. But we can’t! We can’t, Kylemore. All I ask is that you don’t make this any harder than it already is.”

  He finally came to rest near the windows. He looked strong, controlled, arrogant. Infinitely dear.

  How can I bear to leave him?

  Because it’s what I must do for his sake.

  “I’ll give you the world if you stay.” His voice was low and laced with deep feeling. “My God, woman. Don’t you know I’d lie down and die for you if you asked?”

  Yes, she knew now that he cared for her. She found it in herself to wish he didn’t care quite so much, even while her heart opened to every ardent declaration.

  “I don’t want anything from you,” she said sadly.

  “Except your freedom.”

  “Yes,” she said, drawing on the core of steel that had helped her survive as Soraya.

  “I can say nothing to change your mind?” he whispered despairingly.

  “Nothing,” she confirmed in a husky voice. Then, summoning every shred of her courage, she looked directly at him. “Don’t bid me a decorous farewell outside. I…I couldn’t bear it. Let’s finish everything here. Good-bye, Your Grace.”

  His eyes darkened to navy as he registered her use of his title. But she was determined to remind him of the gulf that gaped between them, a gulf nothing as fragile as love could ever cross.

  She watched acceptance seep into his features, along with a deathly bleakness that made her stomach cramp with wretchedness. He bowed his head in her direction but mercifully didn’t touch her.

  She’d been brave enough to kiss him farewell back in Kensington. She couldn’t kiss him now. If she did, she’d shatter beyond repair.

  She took one last, longing look at him. Good-bye, my love.

  “Good-bye, Verity,” he said softly, then turned back to the window as if he couldn’t bear to watch her walk away.

  Chapter 24

  “Verity lass, will you tell me what happened?” Ben asked softly from beside her on the curricle’s padded bench.

  What had happened? Nothing out of the ordinary. She’d fallen in love, that was all.

  Hardly worth the fuss she made, she thought, staring dry-eyed into the woods they passed in their hired carriage.

  “Verity?” her brother prompted. They’d traveled for several hours, and he hadn’t pressed her for details. She appreciated his consideration, but even Ben’s patient silence couldn’t last forever.

  “I…I promise I’ll tell you everything.” A lie. She could never tell him everything that had happened in Kylemore’s hidden Highland valley. But she could say enough to make Ben understand, she hoped. She turned to face the brother who’d endured so much for her sake. “Just not now.”

  They were the first words she’d spoken in over an hour, since Ben had leaned down to broach the basket the butler at Kylemore Castle had pressed upon them. She’d refused to share the lavish provisions.

  The idea of food still sent nausea coiling through the leaden sorrow in her belly. A logical part of her mind knew that one day she’d talk and laugh and eat and sleep and act like a real person again, but her grieving core as yet couldn’t believe it.

  “Just tell me one thing.” Ben’s massive hands were white-knuckled on the reins, and he stared with a rigid jaw at their horses. “Did he hurt you?”

  “Yes,” she whispered.

  She fumbled desperately for the gray mist of apathy that had gripped her since she’d left her lover, but its protective edges became more ragged with every moment that passed.

  “Lord in heaven!” Ben wrenched their vehicle to a shuddering halt and whirled to face her. “I’ll lay charges against him at the first town we come to. I care nowt that he’s a sodding duke. If he hurt you, he’ll pay for it, lass.”

  His rage scorched away the last of her numbness. A massive wave of agony rushed into her soul. She dragged in an unsteady breath.

  “No, you don’t understand, Ben.” Then she spoke aloud the truth she’d repudiated for so long. “I love him.”

  “Love? What damned twaddle is…”

  Even in her misery, she saw Ben’s fury fade into angry bewilderment, into denial. Then his expression became ineffably sad. He knew her so well, this brother who had given up his own hopes and ambitions—and, yes, pride in his manhood—to watch over her.

  He knew just what this unwelcome love would cost her. Had already cost her.

  “Oh, lass, I’m that sorry.”

  Yes, he knew indeed. She managed a shaky smile. “I am too.” She reached out and took his hand where it held the reins across his knees. “But least said, soonest mended.”

  One of their mother’s favorite sayings. She saw the last of the tension drain from his face, leaving only compassion.

  “Aye, lass, that’s true. I’ll get you back to Whitby and you’ll forget what you’ve been through right soon enough.”

  He was wrong, but she honored his attempt to cheer her. “We can’t stay in Whitby, Ben. The scandal of the false Mrs. Symonds will still be the talk of the town.”

  He urged the horses to walk on. “Then we’ll buy a sheep farm where no one’s any the wiser about who you are. We’ll get Maria out of that school and have her live with us. Don’t you fret owt, lass. Good Yorkshire air will bring the roses back into your cheeks. This won’t seem so bad when your family’s around you.”

  “Yes, Ben,” she said, although she didn’t believe it.

  She stared over the horses’ flickering ears and told herself the pain would pass. One day. When she was very old.

  When she was dead.

  They drove on in silence, while Verity tried not to remember. Remembering hurt too much.

  But she couldn’t help it. And her starkest memory was of Kylemore’s face when he’d asked her to marry him today. He’d looked as though her refusal had crushed his last hope.

  Ben intruded into her private hell when he shoved a crumpled white handkerchief in her direction.

  “What’s this for?” she asked unsteadily.

  “You’re crying, lass,” he said in a gentle voice.

  “Am I?” She raised a shaking hand to her face and found it soaked with tears she hadn’t known she’d shed.

  No, she’d never forget. Not even when age turned her hair gray and lined her face. She didn’t want to forget, however much remembering tortured her.

  Silently, she wiped her face and stared ahead. She gave up her futile battle with herself and began to revisit each precious moment of the last weeks.

  The cruelty, the violence, the sadness, the sweetness.

  The overwhelming love.

  Beside her, Ben clicked his tongue to encourage the horses to a faster pace.

  “What the Devil?”

  Ben’s muttered imprecation stirred Verity from her stupor of exhausted misery.

  “Oh!” The curricle lurched to an ungainly halt and threw her hard against her brother’s side. She clutched at his shoulder as the horses neighed and plunged in their traces.

  “Someone’s blocked the road, Verity lass,” Ben said, peering ahead.

  “Blocked the road?” she repeated daze
dly.

  Before she could gather her thoughts, rough hands grabbed her and hauled her from the carriage. Surprise more than terror made her scream for her brother as her assailant hurled her to the road. She landed painfully on one knee and threw out her hands to save herself from sprawling flat.

  “Verity!” Ben shouted as two men dragged him from his seat and flung him to the ground beside her. She struggled to rise, ignoring the way her grazed and bleeding palms smarted.

  “Don’t hurt him. I’ll come willingly,” she said sharply.

  In spite of the harsh treatment, joy flooded her heart. This wasn’t some random robbery. Kylemore must have come to get her and take her back to the valley.

  She didn’t care if they couldn’t be together forever. She didn’t care that what they did was wrong. She’d be with him now. That was all that mattered.

  She looked up at the brawny men in nondescript clothing who surrounded her, expecting to recognize a Macleish or two.

  But the men who encircled her in the late afternoon light were strangers. Desperately, she tried to see past them to where Kylemore must wait for her.

  “I’ll kill the bastard!” Ben staggered upright. “I told you not to trust him, lass!”

  “Get down!” The largest of their captors aimed a kick at Ben’s legs. Her brother collapsed with a groan. “Tie him up.”

  Verity was confused. The orders were delivered in an English accent. In Scotland, the duke always relied on local retainers.

  “Kylemore?” she called in a puzzled voice. “I won’t fight you. You must know that.”

  The man who had spoken reached down to grab her arm in a bruising grip. “Shut your gob,” he growled, wrenching her to her feet.

  “I told you I won’t resist.”

  She stumbled before she regained her balance. Surely, her lover knew he had no need to force her to go with him. They’d moved on so far since Whitby.

  Hadn’t they?

  Foolish to be frightened. He’d never hurt her. He’d sworn that, and she believed him. But chillingly, she remembered his anger when she’d refused his proposal then abandoned him in London.