The Accidental Courtesan

by Cheryl Ann Smith

  He wavered slightly when a gust of wind snapped the partially lowered sail near his head, and he ducked to keep from being hit in the face by the heavy canvas.

  Noelle gasped. When she was certain he was about to plunge to his death, he easily righted himself and actually laughed as he began the process of climbing down to the deck.

  Her skin tingled as he retrieved his shirt and walked toward her, taking his sweet time covering himself. The man was a preening peacock, showing off his attributes. It was obvious he enjoyed flaunting his sculpted body for her perusal. He was sweaty, gritty, and disheveled. And all she could think of was ripping off her gloves and exploring each curve and angle of his body with her bare hands. For hours, if she had her druthers, until she was certain no muscled plane had been left undiscovered.

  Sweaty or not.

  “No need to worry, love,” he said, coming to a stop before her and squinting in the sunshine. His hair was damp on his forehead, and perspiration gave his skin a damp sheen. “I have been climbing in the rigging since I was a boy. My maternal grandfather owned a shipyard much like this one. Only grander. Until it was sold to settle bad investments.” He looked down the row of ships, and pride was clear in his eyes. “I will outpace him someday in ships and coin.” He turned back to wink at her shadowed face. “Count on it, Milady Thief.”

  Noelle lifted her nose. She should have known her disguise wouldn’t keep him from recognizing her. Even at a distance. He’d been intimately close to her, several times. He probably realized who she was as soon as she alighted from the coach.

  “You are awfully confident, Mister Blackwell.”

  “Success takes confidence,” he countered, scratching the side of his head. Noelle locked onto the action. It aggrieved her greatly that his every movement fascinated her. She should find his dusty appearance repulsive. Instead, she wanted to know if he smelled as earthy as he looked.

  “Some find working in trade beneath them,” she said, hoping to remove the confident smile from his face. The hungry look in his eyes rattled her. She let her attention fall to his callused hands. “They leave labor to the laboring classes.”

  Mister Blackwell chuckled. “Spoken like a true aristocrat, dearest, from one used to living off the earnings of their ancestors and the hard work of others. Tell me, Lady Seymour, did you manage to get into that frock of yours unassisted, or did you need a slew of maids to help?”

  Involuntarily, her hand went to the trail of buttons on her dress. She gnashed her teeth when she realized he was mocking her. “You also have been living off the coin of others, sir. Your father was an earl’s son. That makes you as connected to the indulged upper class as I.”

  He cocked a brow. “Perhaps. Once. Now I find I enjoy watching the fruits of my own efforts grow and flourish.” He held out a hand to indicate the ships. They were beautiful against the blue sky and the Thames behind. “Did you know my father cut Mother off when she refused to return with me to England? If not for a small inheritance, we’d have been left with nothing. He paused and returned his attention to the ships. Pride seeped from his every pore. “Everything you see before you is mine. Every shilling that purchased these ships, I earned with back-bowing work.”

  Noelle felt a welling of admiration for the exasperating man. She hated the feeling. It was more acceptable to see him as a debaucher of innocent women, or a tradesman less than her equal. In truth, he was her superior in that he actually earned his way in life. She’d lived off her father and her uncle and all the generations of Harringtons before her. Truthfully, she wasn’t certain which previous Harrington was responsible for the family wealth.

  For the first time she saw herself as he must see her, a spoiled and indulged brat. Her throat burned.

  Something on her face must have caught his attention, for he reached out to cup her chin with rough fingertips. “Worry not, love. You have many other admirable qualities.”

  She sniffed lightly. He lowered his arm and closed his hand around hers. Her gloved hand was nearly encompassed by his. Only her fingertips showed.

  “Come,” he said. “Let’s get you out of this heat.”

  He pulled her toward the building, her feet moving quickly to keep up with his long strides. He opened the door and allowed her to pass inside the dim interior. The air was several degrees cooler than the heat outside. A row of open windows overlooking the Thames was the source of a cool breeze.

  Noelle looked around and realized the large building wasn’t just an office, but some sort of workshop, too. There were various woodworks in progress, parts she assumed belonged on ships to help them sail.

  Several men clanked tools and sent brief speculative glances her way. Gavin led her toward an open door and into a cramped but tidy office. While he removed his soiled shirt, took a clean one off a peg, and pulled it over his head, Noelle walked over to a model of a ship that was similar, she thought, to the one on which Gavin had been climbing among the sails.

  “It’s a frigate, a warship.” Gavin joined her and touched a fingertip to the delicately carved mast. “The navy has commissioned me to build a dozen of them.” He smiled softly and ran the same fingertip over a tiny sail. “My grandfather should be turning in his grave with envy.”

  Noelle smiled. She couldn’t help herself; his humor was infectious. “Is this one of the ships I saw moored outside?”

  He shook his head, and several straight locks fell over his eyes. “I have yet to begin building. We start next week.”

  The ribbon at the back of his neck had proved ineffective against the wind and rigging climbing. His disheveled hair gave his face a boyish slant. Noelle’s hand twitched to brush the hair out of his eyes. But to do so would inform him of her desire to touch him and also offer unneeded encouragement on his part. Mister Blackwell was already free enough with his hands.

  She forced her eyes back to the model ship. “It’s beautiful.” A wistful sigh followed, and he chuckled.

  “Would you like a tour of a schooner?”

  Noelle nodded eagerly. “Yes, please.”

  Gavin watched her pale face turn animated. She colored with a light blush, obviously excited at the prospect of putting her pretty little feet on the deck of a ship. Most women saw ships as a means to get from one place to another and thought of little beyond that. Noelle seemed intrigued by the ship itself. He realized that besides his aching attraction for her, there was much about her to like.

  “Then let us proceed.” Gavin took her elbow and led her outside. The bright sun had moved temporarily behind a fluffy cloud. He wondered what she was thinking beneath the shadows produced by her bonnet. Everything about her puzzled him. One minute she looked like she wanted to lick cream off his chest, then the next, like she wished to put a bullet between his eyes and be done with him.

  He much preferred the former.

  Gavin chose the three-masted schooner less for its interesting lines than for the fact that it was currently unoccupied by workers. The ship belonged to a duke and had taken a beating during a stormy journey to Paris. Gavin had refitted the damaged pieces, and it would be sent off to Dover in the morning. It was the perfect place to get the lovely lady alone.

  It had come as a surprise to see her alight from the rented hackney in her drab costume. Gavin knew she’d been avoiding him. To see her arrive at his shipyard unattended by a chaperone had almost cost him his footing, and quite possibly his neck.

  Not that he was complaining, mind you. Her scent mingled with the salty sea air and teased his nose. He’d never thought sea salt and spice and fruit could arouse him until his cock twitched beneath his dirty breeches. The combination stirred up images of her in his bed, kissing him with that delicious mouth of hers. He was beyond tempted to taste her again, if only to assure himself she was not some heated daydream about to dissipate on the wind.

  Noelle lifted her face to the breeze, and her bonnet fluttered. He caught a brief glimpse of her pert little nose and fine angled features as the bonnet blew ba
ckward against the tightly tied ribbons beneath her chin. Just as quickly, the wind died, and the bonnet returned to its previous position.

  Gavin wanted to snatch it from her head to expose her face, and to crush the unflattering bonnet beneath his boot. He was stopped from doing so by fear of retribution from the petite miss. If he angered her and she ran back to the waiting hackney, then he might never discover the reason for her visit.

  And he was nearly expiring from curiosity.

  “I own the land from the warehouse down there”—he paused and pointed to the low, squat building perched on the end of the row, then turned in the other direction—“to just beyond the ketch with the pink sail.”

  Noelle screwed up her mouth, and Gavin chuckled at her puzzlement. “The marquis who owns it wants to present the boat to his wife for her birthday. He spent a sizable chunk of his fortune getting the sail tinted her favorite color.”

  Her amber eyes softened. “He must love her very much.”

  Gavin shrugged. It wasn’t his business why the marquis had requested a pink sail. The money was good, and he’d have outfitted it with black dots had the marchioness liked dots. “She just presented him with an heir. Had the babe been a girl, she might have gotten a tea service.”

  Clearly she didn’t like his comment. “Are you always so unromantic, Mister Blackwell? In spite of the practice of chaining men and women together for financial or social gain, some people do find love and happiness in their marriages.”

  The lovely lady was a romantic. A surprise, for Lady Seymour seemed more of a practical sort. He knew very few couples who had genuine love and grand passion after their weddings, and none since his arrival in London. Most couples tolerated each other and found happiness outside their marriages with lovers.

  He stepped around to face her. “If you are so intrigued by the institution, then why, Lady Seymour, are you unwed?” He perused her upturned face. There was a tinge of annoyance in her eyes. He bit back a smile. “Certainly at least once since you were dragged out of the schoolroom and had your first Season you’ve received an acceptable offer to wed?”

  Her glower deepened. “Just because I believe the marquis loves his wife does not mean I believe all couples are happy. I have seen, firsthand, the destruction a miserable marriage can bring to a family. I have no desire to bind myself for eternity to a man I loathe.” She drew in a deep breath as if to collect her thoughts. “I am quite content to live my life as—”

  “A courtesan?”

  Noelle stewed. How dare he remind her of her folly again and again? Clearly, the man was missing even a small measure of manners.

  “You, sir, are insufferable.” She lifted her nose as high as she could comfortably do so without falling over backward. “As I have told you before, you have mistaken me for someone else.”

  Skepticism filled his eyes, and his square jaw twitched. She’d grown to despise that smug look. It showed her that no matter what she said, how many arguments she launched, he’d always know she was lying.

  If only the Thames were closer. She’d greatly enjoy pushing him into the vile water.

  “Oh, there is no mistake, Milady.”

  Before she could protest again, he grabbed her arm and fairly dragged her toward the schooner. Noelle sputtered at the mistreatment but was unable to pull away. He rushed through a litany of ship terms while dragging her across the deck. Boom, gaff, topsail, stern; her mind whirled, and she soon found herself belowdecks. When he finally saw fit to stop, she took the chance to breathe and scowl at her molester.

  “I hope you paid attention to your lesson on ships, Milady,” he said, chuckling. “For I intend to test you on all the terms and what purpose they serve. If you fail, I shall have to kiss you.”

  She shot him a stern look. He was impossible! Choosing to ignore the comment, she examined the small space that she assumed to be some sort of cabin, and dug her nails into her palms. If he planned to ravish her on the narrow bunk tucked against one wall, he’d be in for a fight.

  “Are you always such a charmer, or is there something about me that you find distasteful, Mister Blackwell?” She raised her closed fists to about waist level. He made no move toward her, nor did he appear worried. “I came to speak to you privately, and you accost me publicly.” She took a small sidestep toward the door. “I think I made a grave mistake believing I could plead my case to you.”

  This time his brows shot up. “What case is that, exactly?”

  Noelle focused on his chin and kept her eyes averted. In the enclosed room, he seemed large, bold. Her body was emitting small shivers, and she was having a difficult time remembering the words to explain why she’d come. She opened and closed her mouth several times with the struggle.

  “Perhaps I can be of help.” He took two steps to close the narrow gap between them and reached for the tie of her bonnet. Noelle’s breath caught. “You have come to fulfill your offer to become my courtesan.”

  Chapter Six

  Her teeth snapped shut with a clack. “Certainly not!”

  Why did he have to repeat that sentiment? It was as if confronting her with her shameful behavior was some wicked way to break down her denials and get her to confess to her misdeeds. She was not, and would never be, a courtesan! If he expected her to submit to the scandalous pledge, he would be extremely disappointed!

  While her mind filled with virginal indignation, her body shimmered with heat. The idea of playing courtesan, and freely giving herself to him for even one night, warred within her mind. He was too close, too perfectly male.

  His mouth curved up at the edges, his confidence overflowing. It was as if he knew her struggle. Knew how much she wanted him. He’d give her everything she wanted, and more. All she needed to do was ask.

  Alarmed, she stepped back and hit the wall behind her with her shoulder blades. In perfect synchronization, he followed, his body forcing her to press against the wall in an attempt to keep from touching him. He was so close she could feel his heat and the rough homespun of his shirt brushing her uplifted hands.

  “I c-came to remind y-you once again of your m-mistake.” She stammered like a child caught stealing a cookie by a stoic-faced nurse. “Y-you must stop saying s-such things. Until the Tipton party, we’d never met. Your confusion has left me rattled. I am not, and never have been, a courtesan. To call me such is an insult.”

  The words came without bite, and he chuckled softly under her weak protests. It seemed that with each heartbeat, he drew closer to her, until she was forced to place her hands flat on his chest to keep him from pressing against her.

  “Mister Blackwell, please! You must stop this at once. I did not come here to be manhandled again. Surely you have some manners?”

  “Manhandled?” He looked down to her hands resting on his body. “It appears it is you, My Lady, who has your hands on me. I am the one molested.”

  Exasperation welled in Noelle. He was finding joy in her discomfiture. The only thing she could do was use her limited strength to keep a modicum of space between their bodies.

  His hands moved to capture her hips and shift the lower half of his body against her. The act put her in intimate contact with his thighs. Her core pulsed, and her eyes widened in shock. Only his grip was keeping her upright. Somewhere deep in the back of her throat her breath lodged, causing her head to spin. She could do nothing but watch helplessly, and breathlessly, as his smiling mouth descended toward hers.

  This time she managed a strangled whimper as his perfect mouth brushed her lips. His tongue pressed the seam. Then, without a moment of hesitation, she opened up to his exploration and he plunged his tongue inside her ready and eager mouth.

  The floor fell away beneath her feet, and she momentarily clung to his shirt to get her balance before sliding her hands up to lock her fingers behind his neck. Desire raced through her. Noelle boldly lifted to her toes for a better fit, aching to feel his body against her in its entirety.

  There was nothing outside his he
at, the way he felt, his hands, his mouth. This man, this American-Englishman, fired something inside her that she found impossible to fight. She kissed him with everything inside her, wanting everything he had to give.

  And more.

  Gavin dug his fingers into her hips and ground her against his hardness. Noelle felt wild, untamed. The smell of the sea and the musty room added to her excitement and sent her imagination soaring. The adventuress and the ship captain were lost at sea in a storm, the raging swell matching the ferocity of their blinding passion.

  She smiled for the briefest moment before realizing he was turning her around and backing her toward the narrow bunk. With the rush of reality came crushing disappointment. She’d refused to become his courtesan, and yet she was moments away from becoming what she denied. Once he took her innocence, there was no taking it back. She would be ruined.

  Noelle broke the kiss. “I cannot,” she begged, and twisted to free herself. His hold was too strong. He leaned to nuzzle her neck with hot kisses. She moaned weakly, unable to fight his powerful draw.

  “My beautiful lady courtesan,” he breathed against her skin, and ran a hand up to caress her breast. Her nipple hardened beneath his touch. “I cannot resist you. Come to my bed.”

  “No!” she cried, bracing her hands on his shoulders to shove him back. She would not bed this stranger, no matter how greatly her body ached for him. She was Lady Seymour, not a common strumpet. It would serve her to remember her place.

  “Unhand me!” The demand worked. He released her, and she stumbled back. Noelle jerked her skirts into place and smoothed her rumpled bodice. The desire still in his eyes did nothing to cool her body. How much she wanted him! “I think it best if we never see each other again, sir.”

  With the air of a noblewoman of high birth, she collected her skirts in both hands, lifted the hem of her dress, and walked out the open door.