The Courtesan's Bed

by Sandrine O'Shea

  “I can’t do that. I’m committed to the earl now.”

  “Surely you can tell him you made a mistake.”

  “But I haven’t. He’s made love to me, you see, and shown me what I’ve been missing in the year I’ve been with you.”

  Luc turned bright pink and rose. “Enough! I want you to get out of my office, and never enter this bank again. Otherwise, you’ll be arrested and thrown into prison until you are a very old lady.”

  Régine let her eyes fill with helpless tears. “How can you be so cruel to me, Luc, after all we shared?” She reached into her handbag for a handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes, well aware her tears could melt the hardest heart.

  Luc brought his hands together in slow, mocking applause. “Brava, my dear. That was a performance worthy of the Divine Sarah herself. You may cry and plead, cajole and threaten, but I’m not giving you your money. Consider it my payment for a broken heart.”

  She took a deep, penitent breath and humbly dropped her gaze to the floor. “I’m so sorry I hurt you, Luc. I should have told you face-to-face that I was breaking off our liaison, but I thought it would be less painful for us both if I did it by letter. Evidently, I was mistaken, and I am very sorry.”

  “A very pretty apology, my dear, but it changes nothing. I’m still not returning your money, and I’m sure my broken heart will mend the moment I find a more accommodating mistress. Your kind is rather common and easily replaced. Now I wonder what I ever saw in you.”

  Staring at his smug, self-righteous face, Régine knew she had misjudged him badly, and that she couldn’t move him because he had no heart. He was too hurt, too angry, by what he’d termed her dismissal.

  If Luc refused to return her money—her life savings—she would have no money to pay her servants, to keep her horses and carriage, or buy the beautiful gowns that a courtesan required to keep up appearances in the cutthroat world of the grand horizontals. No money for food, champagne or lavish entertaining. She did have some gold Louis in the safe and the bag that Luc had given her the last night they were together. But they wouldn’t last long. What would she do when that money was gone?

  She couldn’t let him get away with such blatant thievery. She would find a way to get her money back. For now, she must hold her head up high and not debase herself for one more second.

  She looked down her nose at the contemptible little man she’d once held in such high regard, a man she could’ve loved if only he’d let her.

  “You haven’t heard the last of me, Monsieur Valendry,” she said with a confidence she was far from feeling. “I am only sorry I didn’t whip your wrinkled old ass to shreds when I had the chance.”

  Luc turned a furious dark pink and called her a vile name straight from the gutters of Pigalle.

  She blew him a contemptuous kiss, whirled on her heel and headed out of Luc’s office. When she flung open the door, she surprised Poisson, who gave a guilty start, obviously caught eavesdropping.

  Régine boldly chucked him under the chin. “The next time you make love to your wife, Mr. Fish, I would suggest that you leave on the lights.”

  Poisson gave a shocked, strangled gurgle, and then gasped for air.

  Régine winked flirtatiously at the admiring clerk before striding away in a soft swish of silk.

  Once back in her carriage, she leaned against the plush squabs and closed her eyes. She imagined Odile seated across from her, a vision in a frothy pink Worth gown and scented with sweet Guerlain perfume. Odile’s eyes held a wealth of wisdom, and a familiar knowing smile touched her full lips.

  Odile, what am I going to do now?

  The vision made a tsk, tsk sound and cocked her head. “You made a tactical error, chérie. You should’ve withdrawn all your money before you broke off your liaison with Monsieur Valendry. Or you should’ve agreed to return to him until he gave back your savings, and once you deposited them in another bank, dismiss him.” Odile’s tinkling laughter echoed through Régine’s mind. “Don’t you remember Odile’s First Rule of being a successful belle de jour?”

  Gold Louis come first, and our personal feelings second.

  Régine opened her eyes and her friend vanished.

  She desperately needed to get her money.

  Should she complain to the police? Consult her lawyer? Talk to her friend Beaucaire the journalist about telling everyone in Paris that Luc had stolen from her, and trying him in the court of popular opinion?

  Luc Valendry was a very wealthy, powerful, well-connected member of Parisian high society. Régine couldn’t predict what he’d do if publicly attacked in the press. He’d no doubt make her life a living hell in a thousand ways she couldn’t yet imagine.

  She’d never felt so alone. So helpless.

  “But you’re not alone, chérie,” a familiar voice reminded her.

  Now she had Clarridge.

  Chapter Ten

  Darius knew something was terribly wrong the minute he saw Molly’s white, worried face.

  He set his hat on the hall table, pleased to see the bronze figurine of Undine so prominently displayed for all callers—especially other men. “Is something amiss?”

  She wrung her hands. “Yes, your lordship. Something terrible has happened.”

  Had his father found Régine? A heavy knot of dismay formed in the pit of his stomach.

  A resounding crash came from the drawing room, making them both start, followed by a loud screech. “I’ll kill that loathsome worm. I’ll cut off his wrinkled little balls and stuff them in his ears. And then I’ll—”

  Darius brushed past the distressed maid and ran into the drawing room, where he found Régine standing there with shards of glass from a broken vase scattered at her feet. Her eyes held a wild, desperate glint, and two spots of furious color rode high on her cheekbones.

  The minute she saw him, her face crumpled and her eyes glistened with tears.

  “Régine?” He quickly looked around the room, but his father was nowhere to be seen. “What’s wrong?”

  She staggered toward him with arms outstretched, glass crunching beneath her feet. “Oh, Darius…”

  He drew her into his arms. She buried her face against his chest and clung to him as though she couldn’t stand without him. He tucked her head beneath his chin to draw her even closer. Her soft hair smelled as sweet as a meadow full of wildflowers on a cool summer morning, and the crush of her breasts filled him with longing.

  He ran a gentling hand down her back. “There, there. Take a deep breath and tell me what has upset you.”

  “It—it’s Luc Valendry.”

  “Your old gent? Don’t tell me he died in his sleep and you’re angry with him.”

  She stopped crying, took a step back and looked up at him, her eyes now bright with amusement. “I wish he had. No, the vengeful bastard won’t give me my money.”

  “Is this because you ended your association?”

  She nodded.

  Darius led her over to the settee. “Why don’t you sit down, have a glass of sherry, and we’ll try to sort this out.”

  She took out a handkerchief and blew her nose while he poured them both a generous sherry. As they sat there sipping, Régine told him of going to the old gent’s bank to withdraw her life savings, and despite having her bank book as proof of every transaction, they claimed they had no records of her account ever existing.

  “That—that pompous little ass had the gall to accuse me of being a forger.” Her voice shook with indignation.

  “Monsieur Valendry is obviously very angry and upset that you’ve sent him packing, and is retaliating,” he said. “However, even if his pride is wounded, such deplorable behavior is unworthy of any gentleman.”

  “He’s obviously not a gentleman.” She dabbed at her eyes. “You’d think I’d know better than to underestimate a Frenchman’s pride.” She took a deep breath. “What am I going to do? He has stolen my entire life savings. Except for a small amount of cash in the house, I have no money. None!�
�� Fresh tears fell. “I can’t pay my bills or my staff’s wages.”

  Darius set down his sherry and took her cold hand in his. “Don’t worry. I’ll handle Monsieur Valendry. Give me your bank book, and the bank’s address.” He stood. “I’ll go there right now and straighten out this mess.”

  Régine gave him a hopeful, tremulous smile that was its own special gift. “Do you think you’ll be able to convince him to return my money?”

  Oh, he would be very convincing. “Don’t spare him another thought. I’ll see to it that he does the honorable thing.”

  She rose and left the room. When she returned, she handed him her precious bank book. “You don’t know how much this means to me.”

  “You are under my protection now, Régine,” he said softly. “I will not allow this Valendry, or anyone else, to cheat you.”

  He was about to leave when she caught his hand. “I was so upset, I failed to thank you for the beautiful gifts and all the pretty compliments.”

  “You deserve to be showered with beautiful gifts.” He stared into the beguiling blue depths of her eyes, so like a clear, tropical ocean. “And my compliments were sincere.” Unlike his father’s, used to seduce the young, inexperienced governess.

  “I know that.”

  She escorted him to the front door, making him feel like Lancelot going off on a noble quest for his fair lady.

  “I’ll be back with your money before you know it.”

  She leaned forward and pressed her lips against his for a quick kiss that warmed his heart and fueled him with determination. “Luc is a stubborn Frenchman. He won’t be easy to persuade.”

  “I am a stubborn Englishman, and we can be very persuasive.”

  He was willing to bet his entire fortune that the stubborn Frenchman wasn’t going to like his methods.

  After Darius left, Régine listened to his carriage roll away. Would he be able to pry her money out of Luc’s clenched, spiteful fist? Until he had arrived and reassured her that he would succeed, Régine had been mindlessly frantic with panic.

  She tried to calm her mental and physical turmoil. Of course, if Darius was successful, she’d be deeply beholden to him. Was he the kind of man who would ruthlessly use that indebtedness to bind her to him? No. He’d told her they would stay together only until one tired of the other. Unlike Luc, he understood the demimonde’s unwritten rules.

  Régine returned to the drawing room where she found Molly stooped down, sweeping up the shattered remains of the floral Gallé vase.

  She rose with the full dustpan. “What a shame to destroy such a beautiful vase, miss.”

  “Monsieur Valendry gave it to me, and I have no desire to be reminded of that man.” Though she shrewdly intended to keep the more valuable gifts he’d given her, and sell the others.

  Molly left the room without comment, and when she returned, lines of worry scored her brow. “What if Lord Clarridge can’t persuade Monsieur Valendry to give back your money? Will I have to look for a new position? Who’s going to want to hire an old lady like me?”

  Régine hugged her fiercely. “If the worst happens, we may have to tighten our belts and rely on Clarridge to pay our bills, but we’ll stay together, even if I have to sell every piece of my jewelry.” She released her and smiled reassuringly. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

  “That’s very reassuring, miss.”

  “Both of us could use a little treat. Why don’t you go down to the pâtisserie and get us some of our favorite raspberry and almond cakes? And when you come back, we’ll have a nice hot cup of tea like proper Englishwomen.”

  “That would certainly take my mind off our troubles.”

  Régine gave her some money, and Molly went to get her hat and cape. She left Régine alone to watch the clock and wait for Clarridge.

  Darius sat across from the officious Monsieur Poisson in Valendry’s bank. He’d dealt with his type many times, petty bureaucrats with an inflated sense of their own importance.

  Since Régine had told Valendry the name of her new protector, Darius had thought it prudent to hide his identity. He was now Daniel Greene, Earl of Sommers.

  “So, your lordship,” Poisson said, his thick lips stretching in an unctuous smile, “how may we be of service to you today?”

  “I am planning to move a very profitable branch of my business to Paris soon,” Darius replied, “and I need a local bank with which to do business. As you can imagine, I plan to make a substantial deposit and provide the bank with my exclusive patronage.”

  “Naturally, we would be most eager to handle all of your financial needs.” He opened a desk drawer. “I shall start the paperwork immediately.”

  Darius shook his head. “I’m sure you’re most competent, monsieur, but since I shall be depositing a great deal of money, I must deal with Monsieur Valendry personally.”

  Poisson’s face pinched in dismay. “Monsieur Valendry is a very busy man, your lordship. I’m afraid—”

  “If he wants my business,” Darius said, giving the man an imperious sneer that would’ve done his father proud, “he’ll make time for me. Now. Need I remind you that there are other banks in Paris that would treat me with the deference I deserve?”

  Poisson turned an alarmed red. “Of course you’re right, your lordship. I’m sure Monsieur Valendry will make time for such an august potential client.” He rose. “If you’ll follow me…”

  Poisson said little as he escorted Darius upstairs and had him wait outside of Valendry’s office while he went inside to inform Régine’s former lover of a possible wealthy English depositor.

  A minute later a beaming Poisson said, “Monsieur Valendry will see you now, Lord Sommers.”

  The minute Darius strode into Valendry’s office and saw him sitting like a little king on a throne behind that mile-long expanse of polished mahogany, he wanted to reach over and grab him by the collar for treating Régine so shabbily. Instead, he raised his head imperiously as he crossed the room.

  The Frenchman rose, smiled broadly and rounded the desk. “Lord Sommers, what a pleasure it is to meet such an august and accomplished gentleman. Can I have Poisson get you anything? Coffee? A glass of sherry, perhaps?”

  “Nothing, thank you.” Darius extended his hand, and they shook.

  Valendry dismissed Poisson and offered Darius a seat before taking his own. “Now. How can I be of service to you?”

  Darius leaned forward and gave the man a look that would freeze fire. “By returning Régine Laflamme’s savings to her.”

  Valendry started, then quickly schooled his features to look innocent. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Oh, but you do. She ended your liaison because she’s taken up with me, and she came to you this morning to collect her life’s savings, which she’d entrusted to your bank. You, venal bounder that you are, claimed you had no record of her ever patronizing this bank.” He wagged a reproving finger. “You were most rude to the lady, monsieur, and accused her of forgery. We both know that is a lie.”

  The old gent turned red. “You are not the Earl of Sommers at all, are you?”

  “Astute of you.”

  Valendry’s eyes narrowed in dislike. “I don’t know what fiction Mademoiselle Laflamme spun for you, Clarridge, but I am telling the truth. She has never been a depositor with this bank.”

  Darius reached into his breast pocket, pulled out Régine’s account book and held it up. “This is all the proof I need that you’re lying.”

  “A skillful forgery. For all I know, you are her accomplice. And if you’re not, she has duped you, sir.”

  Darius rose, braced both hands on the desk and leaned across it, regarding Valendry with sneering contempt. “There is nothing more pathetic than a spurned lover who cannot accept the fact that his mistress no longer finds him desirable and must plot petty vengeance against her.”

  Valendry jumped to his feet. “How dare you!”

  Darius straightened and stared dow
n from his superior height at the bristling little man. “You are going to write Mademoiselle Laflamme a draft for the exact amount of her savings, including this month’s interest, as a way of apologizing for your rude behavior. And all of your empty threats to report her to the police for forgery will cease.”

  Valendry regarded him with an infuriating smirk. “I’m of half a mind to have you arrested for threatening me.”

  “You can try, but I wouldn’t advise it.” Darius smiled slowly. “You have insulted the lady, and you have insulted my intelligence by your blatant lies. Such a grievous offense to my honor demands satisfaction. Would you prefer pistols or swords at dawn in the Bois de Boulogne, monsieur, or another place of your choosing?”

  The Frenchman had such a look of incredulity that Darius almost burst out laughing.

  “You—you’re challenging me to a duel?” Valendry sputtered.

  “I fought several while I was in Oxford, even though dueling is against the law in England. I left behind two young men who were grateful to escape with their lives and very sorry they insulted me.” He raised one brow. “Would you like to join their ranks?”

  “Dueling is illegal, and I would never break the law.”

  “Laws can be ignored when a matter of a lady’s honor is at stake.”

  Valendry swallowed hard. “You are bluffing, monsieur.”

  “Oh, I can assure you that an Englishman never bluffs—except at cards. And, in addition to facing you with pistols or swords, afterwards I shall make you the laughingstock of Paris. The journalist Anatole Beaucaire will see to it that all of society knows you stole Régine Laflamme’s life savings because she sent you packing. They will know what a petty, vengeful little man you are. Everyone from a lowly fishmonger to a highborn duchess will laugh at you behind their hands, monsieur, and perhaps they’ll withdraw their savings from your bank. You’ll regret the day you ever insulted Mademoiselle Laflamme and the Earl of Clarridge.” He lifted one shoulder in an insolent shrug. “I can’t imagine your wife and children would enjoy being humiliated, either. How would you explain this tawdry business to them?”