by Claudia Dain
“I would never presume to tell you what to do, Anne,” Sophia said, giving her hand a squeeze. “I only feel it is my duty to point out a good match when I see one. It is your choice to make, as it is your life to live. You have a home with me for as long as you wish it, even after Caro moves out to pursue her life’s goal.”
“Excuse me?” Caro said. “Move out?”
“Well, I can hardly have a known courtesan living under my roof, can I?” Sophia said. “Think what it would do to my reputation.”
“Mother, you can’t mean to say that you would . . . throw me out to make my way on, on the streets, do you? Would you?” Caro said, her elegant features wreathed in shock and disbelief.
“Darling, just where do you think a courtesan begins, if not on the streets?” Sophia said sweetly. But there was iron beneath that sugary coating; Anne could feel it. Could Caro?
“When I said I wanted to be a courtesan—”
“Darling, what you said was that you were going to be a courtesan,” Sophia interrupted.
“Yes, well,” Caro stuttered, “it was in the hope of finding a man who would want me for myself and to do that, to achieve that goal, it’s going to take time to find the right man. I am not going to rush. I am not going to allow just any man to . . . to, well, to . . .”
“If you can’t say it, Caro, how on earth are you going to do it?” Sophia said with a sarcastic smile.
“Whatever I allow him to do,” Caro rallied, “it will be because I have chosen him, not because I am desperate or any such low thing.”
“Yes, darling,” Sophia said. “I quite understand your thinking. Your plans are quite clear. Unfortunately, they have little if anything to do with the way things truly are.”
“I understand how things truly are!” Caro flared.
As much as Anne adored Caro, she had to side with Sophia. Caro was very protected and very pampered. She had no idea what the world was like outside of the shelter erected by money and position.
“Caro, being a wife is much preferable to being a courtesan,” Anne said solemnly.
“I’m less than certain of that,” Caro said stiffly.
“You should listen to your mother,” Anne said. “She’s been both, you’ve been neither. Perhaps it’s not too late to accept the arrangement with Lord Ashdon. He certainly seemed . . . interested in you earlier.”
“Interested? He wanted to break my neck,” Caro said. “Besides which, any interest he had in human companionship fled his mind the minute the gaming tables were set up. The man’s a remorseless gambler. I will not—”
“Yes, darling, I think we are all well aware of the many things which you will not. Let us not discuss it now. I must go and tell Staverton the bad news regarding Anne, you are certain, Anne, that a match with him is not to be?”
Anne was less certain of everything the longer she listened to Sophia and Caro argue, but she nodded, letting the die be cast as she cursed herself for a sentimental idiot.
“Very well,” Sophia said. “No woman should be forced to marry a man not to her tastes and inclinations.”
“Exactly,” Caro snapped, her eyes gleaming in righteous fervor.
“But what a woman who is a courtesan is forced to do,” Sophia snapped in reply, her own dark eyes gleaming ruthlessly, “is an entirely different matter. You, my darling daughter, have set a course for yourself. As of tomorrow noon, you must be prepared to make your way in it.”
“What? Wait a minute, Mother—”
“A clever woman would use every hour and every man available to her, beginning now, when the hour is late and the men are well into their cups, to find herself a protector. A silly woman would argue and whine until the hour of noon tomorrow until she found herself deposited on James Street considering the loveliness of Green Park. I leave it to you, Caro. Use that famous intellect of yours. Now, on to Staverton.”
And with that, she left them in a quiet corner of the yellow salon, where both young women stared at each other in complete shock.
“She can’t mean it,” Caro said.
Anne didn’t reply since it was blatantly obvious that she did mean it, every word of it. Sophia, always smiling and pleasant, had a will of steel and was not shy in inflicting her steel on others.
“Can you not find it in you to make amends with Lord Ashdon ? ” Anne asked. “It would be a good match for you.”
“Only until he killed me,” Caro said wryly. “And you speak to me of good, wise matches? Run, and tell my mother you have changed your mind about Staverton and I will do the same about Ashdon.”
“You would?” Anne said softly.
Anne knew the answer, of course.
Caro leaned her shoulders against the wall and sighed. “Absolutely not. I hate him. He is a vile man, horrible, ill-mannered, and ungovernable.”
“Ungovernable?”
“Did he not gamble his way onto the marriage block? Did my mother not buy him for me?”
“What is it you hate, Caro, that your mother bought him or that he allowed himself to be bought?”
“What is the difference between the two? He was for sale and the sale was made. Or almost made. He disgusts me.”
“And he ruined your gown,” Anne said wryly.
“Add clumsy brute to his list of faults. I should make him pay for it, just to add to his financial burdens. He should be made to, you know. A gentleman would offer, would make some effort at gracious apology. He really should be made to pay.”
Caro’s gaze slipped to the fine turned leg of the small sofa nearest them. They were almost alone in the room, except for the soft snores that marked the location of Lord Dutton.
“Caro?” Anne said.
Caro looked at her with the light of inspiration, devilish inspiration, surely, in her eyes. “He really should be made to pay, shouldn’t he?”
Oh, Lord.
“Caro, what are you thinking?” Anne said, just a bit desperately.
Caro looked up at her, her dark eyes gleaming with just a hint of malice. “I’m thinking that a little revenge would be in order. And so well deserved, too.”
“Revenge? Because he made an offer of marriage for you?”
“Was that what it was? I thought I was merely the means to cancel his debts.”
“Caro, marriages are made on just such a foundation every day. Why are you so very insulted?”
“Because,” Caro said softly, her voice coming out in a hiss of anger, “I have spent my whole life learning to be the perfect woman, and for what? So that some man who’s never even seen me before should make an offer for me, merely to clear himself of debt? I want to be wanted, and I will be. Being a courtesan, being wanted by absolutely hoards of men, sounds completely wonderful. I won’t have a husband who must be bribed and bought for me. I want to be wanted, for myself, no matter who my mother is.”
“Caro,” Anne said in frustration, “that is all beside the point at the moment. You are about to be tossed out onto the streets by your mother. You must find a haven. Is there anywhere you can go, anyone who will take you in?”
“Markham will never allow it,” Caro said.
“I am sure that is true, but Markham is not in Town and hardly able to help you by tomorrow noon. Is there anyone to help you? Have you no friends? No relatives in Town?”
Caro lifted her chin and said, “You are my friend, Anne. I . . . well, I am not very well liked, I’m afraid. I don’t have many friends, and my father’s relatives are all deceased. My mother’s family, aside from our guardian, has little to do with us. I am quite alone. Except for you. I quite understand,” she said, voice quivering just slightly, “that my mother bought you for me as she tried to do with Lord Ashdon. I know that, unless destitute, you would never have lowered yourself by coming into my mother’s house to befriend me. I have chosen to believe that you have come to actually like me, in spite of everything.”
Caro’s dark eyes, so large and expressive, were filled with un-shed tears, yet she looked
anything but cowed. In spite of admitting herself friendless and without hope of succor, she had the look of a warrior set to face his final battle, unafraid and clothed in honor. It was one of the most endearing aspects of Caro and one of which she was entirely unaware, this stalwart warrior in silk and pearls, dark blue eyes unblinking.
“You are a complete idiot,” Anne said, taking her by the hand and leading her past the still snoring Lord Dutton and to the doorway of the salon that opened onto the dining room at the rear of the house. “You know I adore you, for one. And for another, there are things you don’t know about me, things which your mother kept from you out of kindness on my behalf.”
“What don’t I know about you?” Caro said as Lord Dutton’s snores slipped into drunken mumbling.
“Dear Caro,” Anne said. “You know nothing of the life I lived before coming to live with you.”
“You’re a widow. Your husband died at sea.”
“Yes, true, but how did your mother find me? I’ll tell you how. She and my mother were friends of a sort. They were both courtesans, though my mother did not fare as well as yours.”
“What? I don’t believe it!”
“Believe it,” Anne said crisply. “Also believe me when I say that the courtesan’s life is not what you imagine. Not at all.”
“I don’t believe a word of it. You’re just saying this to try and change my mind.”
“I am trying to change your mind, that’s certainly true, but all the rest is true as well. You think being a courtesan is easy? Try your hand at it now, while they are gaming. Try and find a man who will pay a month’s income for the promise of your kiss. If you cannot, beg on your knees to your mother that she will forgive you your willfulness. Marry the next man she buys for you. Do anything to avoid that life. I beg you, Caro. ’Tis no fit way to live.”
“You don’t think I can, do you?” Caro said. “You don’t think any man would want me that much.” And with that dire pronouncement, Caro sailed into the dining room.
Anne followed nervously behind her, murmuring, “That is not at all what I meant!”
When the yellow salon was empty and all hope of further conversation dashed, Lord Dutton stopped snoring, sat up, and said to the sparkling crystal chandelier above him, “Sophia really does provide the most delightful entertainments.” And with that, he straightened his cravat and sauntered into the dining room.
Eleven
CARO surveyed the dining room like a seasoned general, which spoke more to her determination than experience. Unfortunately, she had no idea how to seduce a man, but it couldn’t be that difficult, could it? Richborough had to have been some sort of horrid abberation, mustn’t he?
She really didn’t want an answer to that question. She didn’t even want to think about that question. She just wanted to prove to herself and to, as long as she was being honest, the whole of London, that she was desirable, even on the most base of levels.
That’s where men dwelt as a matter of preference, wasn’t it, on the most base of levels?
Another question she didn’t want an answer to.
Caro considerd possible targets, mentally classifying the occupants of the room as either friend or foe. Ashdon was sulking, frowning down into his cards: foe. Anne was right behind her, breathing warnings and pleadings into her ear: in this instance, foe. Her mother was talking softly to Lord Staverton, her hand on his arm in gentle comfort: most definitely foe. Lord Dutton, having ceased his snoring, was leaning against the drapes and studying her with an interested gleam: a possible friend. More than friend? Dutton was a very attractive man, though rather a wastrel. At least he was a solvent wastrel. Such could not be said of the insolvent Ashdon.
Her gaze went back to Ashdon, for what reason she could not imagine since he had already been itemized. The cards were being shuffled, and Ashdon was straightening his waistcoat over what appeared, based on her very casual observation, to be an extremely taut belly. The churning in her own belly to that most casual and disinterested of observations clearly placed him, unreservedly, in the foe-to-the-death classification. She need waste no more time on Lord Ashdon. She would ignore him like the insect he was and make her move on some other gentleman currently taking up space in the Dalby town house. She would never waste another thought for the indolent and insulting Lord Ashdon.
Caro walked straight over to where Lord Ashdon sat, indolently, and stood behind his chair.
Lord Ashdon ignored her.
“How much have you lost?” she said to the top of his head. His hair was very glossy and very thick, which was only proper as he was a complete wolf.
“Not as much as you’re about to lose,” he said lazily.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Would you like me to explain it to you?” he said, looking askance at her in sullen and sulky boredom.
“What? And break up the game?” Viscount Tannington said. Caro had never much liked Lord Tannington; he was entirely too savage looking, added to which he displayed the most obvious manner with her mother.
“It’s broken,” the Duke of Calbourne said, standing up and discreetly stretching. The Duke of Calbourne was endlessly and reliably discreet, at least according to gossip. Actually, Calbourne might make a lovely candidate for her favor, and with the way he was looking at her, she could confidently place him in the “friend” category. “I’m out as well. Switch to piquet, if you’ve a mind. I’m off for home.”
“Cannot I not tempt you to stay, your grace?” she said before caution could hobble her. In for a penny, in for a pound, and with nowhere to stay as of noon, she was most definitely in for a pound.
Calbourne, his hazel eyes smiling, said softly, “Lady Caroline, I believe you could tempt me to anything.”
She was quite beyond proud that she did not blush at these words, particularly since they were practically the first words Lord Calbourne had ever said to her. There was definitely something to this courtesan business, something she enjoyed quite a lot.
“You make me feel quite decadent, your grace,” she said with a coy dip of her head.
“One of the duke’s most well-versed skills, Lady Caroline,” Ashdon said, rising to his feet, nearly knocking over the small chair he had been using, “that of enticing to decadence. You’d do well to be on guard against his particular brand of enticement.”
“I’ve never been enticed before, Lord Ashdon,” she said, looking at the Duke of Calbourne with a soft smile. “Not to decadence, nor even to folly. Tell me, is there a particular brand of enticement, your grace, and are you practicing it on me?”
“I am merely responding to the temptation of you, Lady Caroline,” Calbourne said. “If it leads to decadence or folly or even damnation, I find I cannot stop myself. Your eyes beguile me.”
Beguiled. How far was it from beguiled to besotted? And could she get there by noon?
“Go home to your son, Calbourne,” Ashdon growled. “The night is done. There is nothing for you here, I promise you.”
The Duke of Calbourne smiled, bowed to her, kissed her hand, and made his way over to her mother to make his departure of the hostess, all before Caro could say a word past the rage in her throat at Ashdon’s high-handedness.
“ ‘Nothing for you here,’ was that insult directed at me, Lord Ashdon? ” she said finally, almost sputtering.
Ashdon took her by the elbow and led her to one of the rear windows in the dining room. The predawn sky was pale black and empty of stars, the last moments of night empty of sound. Her heart pounded loudly against her lungs, filling the universe with its beat. All because of the heated look in Lord Ashdon’s intense blue eyes and the feel of his hand hard on her arm. It was with extreme disgust that Caro realized that if anyone could lead her into folly, it was Ashdon. He apparently could do it by merely touching her arm above the glove.
She wanted to strike him, a lovely, vicious blow right in the eye. The only thing that held her back was the look in Ashdon’s eyes th
at proclaimed that he’d like to do the same to her. Beastly man.
“You really are nothing like your mother,” he said.
He could not possibly have hit upon a more violent insult. Her entire dilemma was that she was nothing like her mother in appeal and too much like her mother in Society.
“And you really are speaking out of turn,” she countered, pulling her arm free of his grasp. “You are not well acquainted with my mother and you know me not at all. By every action you declare yourself an impulsive and explosive man of questionable character. That you are of limited means only adds to your list of flaws.”
Ashdon took a step nearer to her, his shoes slipping under the hem of her gown. It was most improper. She couldn’t make herself move to thwart him. Hideous beast of a man.
