The Accidental Courtesan

by Cheryl Ann Smith

  “I can call for Mrs. Hill.” Gavin swiped the cloth over one of her shoulders and then the other. “It isn’t too late.”

  She closed her eyes. He was being a perfect gentleman. It was the light brush of his fingertips as his fingers traveled across her skin with the soapy cloth that made it impossible to remain unaffected. It felt so good. She wanted to return to his earlier offer and ask him to start with her breasts instead. But her mouth wouldn’t wrap around the words.

  “The window isn’t locked,” she said, reminding him of her earlier threat to jump from it if he called for the housekeeper. To get over her hesitation to give herself to him, she had to overcome her anxiety. “Continue as you were.”

  She didn’t have to see his face to suspect he was smiling at her discomfiture. She leaned forward in the shallow water, and he slid the cloth down her spine to the cleft of her buttocks and back up again. With precision, he covered the entire surface without touching anything he should not be touching.

  Still, the act did have some effect on her. A little tingle here, a little shiver there. She was naked, after all, and he was the perfect male specimen with whom she wanted to eventually share a bed. And his hands were anything but soft. Each time a callused fingertip gently scraped across her skin, she nearly moaned aloud.

  With her ingrained belief that bedding a man was entirely for procreation, and his pleasure, why did she want to bed him at all? It was as if her rapidly warming body knew something her mind did not. Was it possible Gavin could actually satisfy her carnal urges? That she might truly find some pleasure frolicking with him among tangled sheets?

  He had pleasured her in the coach.

  Though Eva seemed to find satisfaction in her marital relations, not all women felt that way. Noelle had always considered herself somewhat frigid. Was it reasonable to believe, now, after the seductive coach encounter, that she was capable of making love with Gavin and actually enjoying his skills?

  Suddenly, she wanted more than anything to find out what it felt like to have his hands on her private parts. The brief time in the coach had been only enough to tease her to curiosity, and she’d been fully dressed.

  Unfortunately, he wasn’t making any effort to comply. He seemed very content to wash a groove in her spine and keep well away from her bum, her breasts, and the juncture between her legs. Any normal man would take advantage of the situation by at least “accidentally” touching something inappropriate.

  Not Gavin. He was entirely proper.

  “I think my back is satisfactorily clean,” she grumbled. “Move on, please, before you wear a hole in my skin.”

  “Yes, My Lady.”

  Noelle felt a tremor of frustration build when he lifted her right arm. He swept the cloth down the underside, then over her rib cage, careful not to touch any part of her breast. He moved to the left arm and repeated the action until her underarms had to be sparkling clean.

  She gnashed her teeth. Her breast was uplifted with her arm over her head, yet he didn’t once move in for a fondle, a nipple tweak, nothing. And she was intently hopeful he would. She jerked her arm out of his grip and petulantly stuck out her bottom lip. The place between her legs pulsed, and she was burning up.

  The man was certainly not acting like a lover. Any maid could serve just as well.

  A sound came from him, and she wasn’t sure if it was frustration or humor she heard. Was he purposely tormenting her, or was he as uninterested as he appeared?

  “Close your eyes,” he commanded.

  He squeezed the cloth above her head, and soapy water trickled over her face. She blew water off her lips and scowled. Frustration made her grumpy. He washed her hair and rinsed it from the bucket. Not once did he comment on the gentle curve of her neck or the satin texture of her skin. He was treating her with clinical care, and she hated it with everything inside her. She had to bring an end to this torture.

  “Wash the front, please.” Noelle flopped back in the small tub and water splashed about. She hoped she’d gotten his boots wet. It would serve him right. “My breasts are highly soiled.”

  It didn’t matter if her breasts were covered in lard or as pristine as well-polished silver. She wanted him to touch her intimately, even if she had to pull his hand to her nipples or shove it between her legs.

  Her entire body burned.

  Pressing her legs together didn’t help squelch her need. In her discomfort, she was shifting in the water. She couldn’t help herself. Never had she felt such a driving ache.

  How could he not sense her struggle?

  The warmth of his low chuckle teased her senses. “Yes, My Lady.” Gavin stood up and dragged the stool around to the side. His sleeves were rolled up to the elbows, but the water had gotten on them anyway. The fine hairs that she remembered on his broad chest showed beneath the open collar of his shirt. Where dampness from bathing her had wetted the front of the linen, it clung to him in patches.

  She wanted to draw her tongue across the damp spots and feel the warmth of his body beneath his shirt. She wanted to climb into his lap and rub her core against him as she had done in the coach, to fulfill her driving need.

  Staring at the man through besotted eyes made him appear even more desirable to her than he had during their first meeting. However, even if they were both old and wrinkled, she knew she’d always find him the handsomest man in all of England.

  “Left or right?” His voice cut into her seductive musing.

  “Left or what?” she asked absently. She pulled her attention from his chest to his face. He had a blank expression.

  “Left or right breast?” he asked again. His face was a stoic mask, but there was devilishness in his eyes he couldn’t hide. “Where would you like me to start?”

  It took her no more than a second or two to realize he was tormenting her on purpose. He knew she was heated up, and he’d do his best to keep the fire lit. She shot a glance to his open legs and his erection pressing the limits of the seams. Gavin wanted her as badly as she wanted him. He was keeping his emotions in check to torture her.

  And doing a right fine job of it, too.

  Wickedness raced through her mind. If he could play games, so could she. By the end of the bath his suffering would be the likes of which he’d never suffered before. He’d beg her to ease the pain between his legs, regardless of her weakened condition. The courtesans had mentioned the aches men felt when they couldn’t satisfy their urges. Her reluctant lover would suffer a similar fate.

  “Left, please.” She hid a smile. “And be sure to put extra effort in. I have been wallowing in filth long enough.”

  Noelle stretched out as much as possible in the limited space and dropped her knees open against the sides of the tub. The soapy water was just deep enough to hide the patch of curls between her legs from view. She put her arms on the edges of the tub and leaned back with her eyes closed, knowing her nipples were pointing upward for his perusal.

  His breathing took on a ragged quality, and she wanted to grin like an idiot. Finally!

  Squish. The cloth slopped over her breast, and her eyes opened. Gavin’s stare was innocent. He jerked the cloth left and right like he was buffing a tea service. “Like this?” He swirled the cloth around her nipple, and the peak hardened. “I am not well schooled in the art of breast washing. You might have to give me detailed instructions.”

  Oh! The man was intensely exasperating! Then why were her nipples already forming tight, rosy peaks?

  “Do what you will,” she snapped. Just as quickly as she had wanted to play this game, the desire to best him fled. She’d not beg him to help end her suffering. “Just be quick about it.”

  Leaning her head back, she waited for his awkward fumbles to finish. For all his handsomeness and, she suspected, his great knowledge of bedding women, he was clearly as clumsy as a schoolboy in the art of pleasing a woman in her bath. She wondered how she would spend her winnings from the wager; how far she’d travel on one of her beautiful new ships. />
  With all her mental grumbling, she wasn’t immediately aware of the gentle caress of the cloth over and beneath her breast until the sweep of his rough fingertips brushed the hardened peak.

  Noelle looked down and found that his scrubbing back and forth, like a washerwoman on a marble floor, had been replaced by a more seductive stroke. Slowly he moved to the right, to begin a sensuous assault on her other breast. He swept and swirled the cloth over the sensitive nipple, sending a shocking wave of heat down her body.

  Her woman’s core pulsed harder in response.

  Gavin leaned to place his mouth to her ear. His breath caressed her like a feathered kiss. “Better?”

  Noelle nodded dumbly. Rivulets of soapy water ran down her chest as Gavin soaped and caressed her breasts as only an experienced lover could. He’d decided to stop his torture and give her what she needed. She arched back and lifted her buttocks off the bottom of the tub. The thatch of curls danced on the surface of the moving water. She couldn’t turn her eyes away from his hand as he lowered the cloth to circle her navel.

  She moaned helplessly.

  “Yes. More.” She didn’t realize she’d spoken aloud until the cloth dipped beneath the water and over her inner thigh. He drew it up between her legs, and it skimmed across the sensitive bud he found there. She let out a small cry.

  Somehow the cloth disappeared in the water and was replaced by his searching fingers. Noelle gasped in shock when his fingertip brushed her most intimate place. He teased and played with the bud until her body responded by bucking recklessly against him. Gavin dipped his head and pulled a nipple in his mouth, sucking the peak until she was mad with heat. With a gasp-cry, her body exploded into a mass of sensation as he brought her to a shuddering release.

  Noelle’s breaths came in small gasps before he caught her mouth with his and kissed her deeply. She played her tongue with his and lifted her hand to run through his soft hair. When he broke the kiss and peered deep into her eyes from beneath his tumbling hair, she knew that even if she lived to a very old age, she’d never love another man as she loved this man.

  “My thanks,” she whispered as her lids drooped. Sated and fatigued, she hardly felt him quickly finish her bath and step away. Beneath halfway lowered lids, she saw him spread a clean sheet across the bed and make an awkward attempt to smooth the edges. The result was a lumpy mess across the surface.

  “Your skills lie elsewhere, Mister Blackwell,” she teased softly. She couldn’t bring herself to leave the bath and help. “However, we are not abed. The wager still stands.”

  Gavin gave up on the sheet and returned to her. He pulled her to her feet, dried her with a well-used towel, and carried her to the bed. Easing her down, he tucked a warm blanket around her. She nestled in, knowing he’d sacrificed his own pleasure to satisfy her need. Once she was well, she vowed, she would return the gesture tenfold. He’d be her lover even if she had to get him thoroughly drunk and take advantage.

  “Sleep,” he whispered softly, and his hand slid over the top of her damp head. “The wager can wait.”

  It was the last Noelle heard and felt before she drifted into deep slumber.

  Gavin waited until she was breathing softly in sleep before leaving her to rest. He went downstairs to ask Mrs. Hill to fix a bowl of broth for Noelle, then found Crawford sprawled in a chair in the small library. The man had his bad leg stretched out on a footstool and held a tumbler of something Gavin assumed was cheap whiskey.

  “Is the Lady recovering from her ordeal?” the investigator asked, taking a sip from his glass. Oddly, the sparsely furnished house and inexpensive spirits didn’t quite fit what Gavin knew of the investigator. Crawford had to be a man of some wealth. He was well paid for his services, and Gavin wondered if he had another place he called home when he wasn’t working in London, a hideout away from the dangerous men he crossed during his cases.

  That was likely the case. This town house was almost unlivable, as spartan as it was. Not the sort of place one would consider a home. Crawford had given up this town house for Noelle’s use without hesitation. Clearly he wasn’t overly attached to the place.

  Gavin nodded. “She has awakened and is speaking coherently. I am confident she’s suffered no lasting ill effects from the injury.” He went to the sideboard and poured a glass of the spirit for himself, and discovered it was watered-down wine. He grimaced.

  “Remind me to send you a case of the good stuff.” He swallowed the rest of his drink and poured another. “This swill isn’t fit to wash the windows with.”

  Crawford grinned. “The ladies don’t seem to mind.”

  Dropping into the other chair, Gavin grinned. He liked the man. He wondered what sort of trouble they could get into, given the proper time and setting. “Then you aren’t spending time with the right sort of ladies.”

  Crawford peered over the rim of his glass. “With what you’re paying me, I’ll soon be able to consort with the right sort.” He looked around the sparse room. “And be able to purchase some furnishings, too.”

  Gavin snorted. “I think your tastes run much higher than this drab den.” He scanned the room. “But you can keep your secrets. Every man is entitled to keep some part of his life tucked away from prying eyes.” As long as he found the information Gavin needed, Crawford was free to do what he wished with his time and money.

  “Has our friend broken his silence and given you what we seek?” Gavin asked, sobering. He turned the glass on the arm of the chair and braced himself for the report.

  Slowly, Crawford nodded, his smile turning into an evil grin. “He did give new information, though he does not know the name of the woman who hired him. The extent of their contact was a brief glimpse of her face when the maid climbed from a coach to pay him a deposit for his services. She clearly works for the second woman and was placed in Bliss’s household. He, too, knows the maid only as Freda. I assume that isn’t her true name.”

  “There’s a second woman?” Gavin sat upright in the chair, his eyes hard on Crawford. Had he heard this news incorrectly ? “The person behind this case is a woman?”

  Never during the last week had he suspected the mastermind behind the theft of the necklace was female. He expected, wrongly, that the master thief would be male. This clearly turned the case on end and sent it in a new direction. He pinched the bridge of his nose. The culprit list was expanding. It was quite possible that the necklace had been only part of a grander operation. But how did Bliss figure into all this?

  “I suspected the maid wasn’t capable of setting the plot into motion alone but thought a man was certainly handling the puppet strings,” Gavin said. “This is an interesting development. Could Bliss’s maid be traveling from house to house, under the guise of a servant, to steal valua bles? Mistresses often get expensive gifts.”

  Crawford stood and walked to the bookshelf. “It is possible. A woman wouldn’t arouse suspicion in thefts as much as a man would.” He picked up a sheet of parchment and examined it closely for a few seconds. “The footpad believes the woman he glimpsed is a Lady of means, and he managed to give a fairly apt description.”

  “A Lady?”

  Crawford moved over to Gavin and held out the sheet. “Just because she has wealth does not mean she is an aristocrat. Stolen jewels can buy nice clothes and a fancy coach.”

  To Gavin’s surprise, a face was sketched on the parchment in ink, a very nice likeness of a woman with pretty features. There was something familiar about her, but there wasn’t enough detail in the rendering to bring the owner of the face to the front of his mind. Still, it was well done by an artist of talent.

  “Where did you get this?” he asked, and lifted the page into better light. He ran his gaze over her nose, her cheekbones, the cut of her brow; memorizing every curve. If she was a woman of society, he intended to watch out for her.

  “A Lady with whom I am acquainted uses the artist to sketch suitors for her matchmaking services.” Crawford leaned to look at the pag
e. “I know she is pleased with his work, so I asked for his help. The footpad described the face as he remembered it, and the artist made the sketch. You will find his payment on your bill.”

  Gavin smiled slowly, stood, and felt confident for the first time since he had stumbled into this pit of mire that they might actually solve this case.

  “Well done, my good man.” Gavin stood and clapped Crawford on the shoulder. He wanted to get back to Noelle. She was recovering well, but he still had to be vigilant lest she take a downward turn. Besides, he’d developed a habit of watching her sleep. “Get this concluded by the end of the week and I’ll triple your fee.”

  The older man grinned. “I shall do my best.”

  After Crawford left, Gavin jerked open the drapes and took a few minutes to carefully study the sketch. He realized rather quickly that there was indeed something familiar about her, but he couldn’t quite put his mind around how he knew her.

  She looked very much like Lady Crowley, a former lover of Charles. Could she be behind the necklace caper? Their arrangement had ended unhappily.

  If the likeness was even close to correct, she didn’t have the bluntness to her features of the lower classes. The footpad was correct; she was a Lady, or could pass as one with the right trappings. And in order to pay someone to coerce Bliss to steal the necklace, and a trio of thugs to steal it back, she had to have some wealth.

  The question, then, was why?

  What could have caused this woman to set into motion a theft, an attack on him, and Noelle’s kidnapping? He knew women could easily be as devious as men, but their reasons usually came down to money or jealousy.

  If she was wealthy in her own right, he could set aside that reason. If she was indeed a woman scorned, certainly that would explain much. It would be easier to accept that the necklace had been stolen by a woman out to punish Charles rather than by a random band of thieves. He peered into the face. The woman also somewhat resembled a mistress Charles had had before Bliss. Maria, he thought. He’d seen several of Charles’s former lovers during his brief time in London. His cousin liked to boast about women with whom he’d once shared a bed. And Charles certainly had a look he favored. That relationship with Maria had ended on a sour note with breakable objects being thrown at Charles’s head.