A Courtesan’s Guide to Getting Your Man

by Celeste Bradley

  I scanned the packed courtroom and pointed to the offenders.

  “The judge, a man who has unsuccessfully courted me for more than a decade, a man known to grovel at my doorstep, only to burst into sobs when I sent him away. And the men bringing these charges…”

  I pointed at the two men seated on the prosecution’s side. “Here again we have two men whom I refused. Lord C____ paid Lord B____ to deliver me bound and bartered to his bed, so desperate was his obsession with me. Yet not even betrayal, silk ropes, and a guard outside the door could induce me to allow him to lay a finger upon me!”

  The crowd loved it. I leaned my hands on the railing and leaned far forward, giving half the courtroom an instant erection. “How did you like being whipped, C____? You must have had to sit on a cushion for a month!”

  Lord C____ paled at the roaring of the crowd, his face set in wrinkles of helpless fury. I turned my gaze upon Lord B____. “This is the wastrel who tried to sell me into sexual slavery years ago, only to beat me severely when I escaped his control.”

  The courtroom erupted into gasps and murmurs. Yet I was not done. I stood in the witness box and raised my voice high and clear. “Enlighten us, Lord B____. How did you explain your absence to your betrothed the day you drove me out to Lord C____’s orgy to sell me to the highest bidder?” Oh, I was so very finished with keeping all their dirty little secrets! “And that night, on the sixteenth of May, seven years ago, when you beat me nigh unto death? How did you explain away the bruises on your knuckles the next day?”

  Alice’s eyes widened and she turned to gaze at Lord B____ in alarm. He glared at me even as he patted her hand reassuringly.

  I sneered at the bench and the prosecutor alike. “This trial is naught but a temper tantrum thrown by enraged and undisciplined little boys, all of whom are in dire need of a good spanking!”

  I smirked at Lord C____. “Or in your case, my lord, another spanking!”

  The gallery exploded with glee. I was aware of glares directed at me by several of the aforementioned gentlemen, but none were so malevolent as Lord B____’s blue gaze. He waited out the snickers and guffaws, never taking his eyes off me. Standing, he bowed unctuously to the judge. “My lord,” he begged in his most earnest tones, “I beg to be allowed to refute such obvious lies.”

  The judge waved a hand. “Of course, boy. You have the right to speak on your own behalf.”

  Odd. Where was that right for me during the last two days?

  Lord B____ nodded graciously. “I can prove that all this is nothing but the last desperate fabrication of a murderess about to be condemned. On the seventeenth of May seven years ago, I spent the entire afternoon with the woman who is now my affianced bride.”

  All eyes shot to Alice, whose pale face and vulnerable beauty made every man in the room bridle in her defense. Alice gazed back with horror at being made part of the spectacle. Lord B____ bent solicitously toward her.

  “Do you not recall, my dear? That was the day I rescued that kitten from the thornbush. You bandaged my hand afterward.”

  Alice blinked and nodded. “I remember the kitten, of course. I still have that cat.”

  Her statement, uttered in her high, childish voice, brought an indulgent laugh from the crowd. I wanted to roll my eyes. What was it about spineless women that was so appealing? I would never understand.

  Lord B____ straightened with a smile. “She bandaged my hand, my lord, so she could not have missed such bruising as Miss Harrington describes. It is all a lie.”

  The judge seized upon the notion eagerly. “Well, I have had enough of listening to this woman’s mad falsehoods!” He raised his gavel. “I sentence thee—”

  “Stop!”

  Silence fell as all eyes turned. Lord Malcolm Ashford rose to stand before the bench.

  Thirty-seven

  Boston

  Mick almost crashed into Claudia Harrington-Howell. She was hurrying from the museum’s main lobby as he was racing in. The rigid set of the woman’s jaw—and the echoing silence coming from the exhibit itself—told Mick all he needed to know.

  He couldn’t get to Piper fast enough. His heart felt as if it were ready to burst from his ribs. He loved her. He’d made the wrong decision. He hoped she’d forgive him.

  Cullen had been right. For an educated man, Mick was a slow learner when it came to matters of the heart.

  Mick weaved through the crowd of frozen, silent gala guests, most with their mouths hanging open, some holding cocktails in midair. Everyone had gone so still Mick felt as if he were navigating a maze of formal-wear mannequins. At last, he reached Piper’s side.

  She gave him an almost imperceptible shake of her head but didn’t meet his gaze.

  “I love you, Piper,” Mick whispered directly into her ear. “I got off the plane in Chicago and turned around because I love you. I canceled the meeting in L.A. I was wrong to go.”

  Piper adjusted her stance, giving him the back of her elegant neck and magnificently bared shoulders. It might not have been the best time to get sidetracked like this, but Mick couldn’t help but notice Piper’s dress. It had a low, square neckline, a high waist, tight short sleeves, and yards of shimmering red satin with hints of black lace, and all of it hugged every curve of her bust before cascading loosely to the floor. He was no fashion historian, but to him it looked like something Ophelia Harrington might have worn in her courtesan days.

  As he stared, Mick wanted desperately to stroke her right between her shoulder blades. Her skin looked as soft and juicy as a pale summer peach. Her dark hair was gently gathered up, tendrils falling soft at the nape of her neck.

  She was so lovely. He felt like a complete shitehawk.

  Mick noticed the crowd had begun to defrost. Murmuring started, followed by a few chuckles, then a wave of whispers. Suddenly, all hell broke loose, and Louis LaPaglia released a gurgling sound of fury as he pushed his way to the front, shouting for someone to turn off the exhibit lighting. Linc Northcutt volunteered so quickly and with such glee that Mick was worried he might wet himself with the excitement of it all.

  “Piper,” Mick whispered into her ear.

  “I can handle this on my own,” she said, speaking over her shoulder and over the noise of the crowd.

  “I know there’s nothing you can’t handle on your own.” Mick sighed. “But you don’t have to, Piper. Not tonight. Not ever.” He reached for her, brushing his fingers against her cool hand.

  She spun around. Her expressive green eyes were on fire and her color was high. Mick knew with certainty that he’d never seen a woman as fiercely beautiful—or pissed—in all his life.

  “Ladies and gentlemen! Please!” LaPaglia stood in front of the now-dim installation entrance and shouted over the crowd, waving his arms. “I apologize for the inconvenience, but please!” He tugged at his tuxedo collar as the panic raced across his mottled face. The guests only got louder.

  “Everyone!” he shouted. “I must ask you to move into the lobby area!” LaPaglia gestured with both hands. “This way! Your cooperation is appreciated!”

  Some of the guests—Piper’s parents among them—turned and headed for the exit. Suddenly, an anonymous female voice rose above the din.

  “Nobody’s going anywhere!” It was Claudia Harrington-Howell. The crowd parted for her. She marched back into the exhibit hall, chiffon billowing out behind her.

  LaPaglia’s eyes bulged. “Er … ah … Claudia—”

  “What idiot turned off the lights?”

  “Please accept my sincerest apologies to your family and—”

  “Oh, just shut the hell up and let’s get on with the show.” As Claudia adjusted her wire-rimmed eyeglasses, she accomplished what LaPaglia couldn’t—the crowd went silent.

  Claudia glanced around the hall and waved her hands. “What is wrong with you people? I ran to the limo to get my spectacles—can’t see a damn thing without them.”

  She peered at the guests until she found Piper off to the side,
near the wall. “Come on up here, Miss Chase-Pierpont, and somebody, for God’s sake, turn on the damn lights!”

  With a barely audible squeak, Piper stepped forward and went to stand near Claudia. Mick watched the two women square off, the high-heeled and elegant Piper nearly as tall as the statuesque silver-haired Claudia. Their eyes locked on to one another.

  “I will tour the exhibit momentarily,” Claudia said, her eyes unflinching. “But right now, you are going to explain to me how you can possibly make such a claim about my ancestor.”

  LaPaglia couldn’t keep quiet. “Ms. Harrington-Howell, on behalf of the museum trustees, staff, and donors, I want to express to you how profoundly sorry I am for—”

  “Eee-nough!” She snapped her head toward LaPaglia. Mick was afraid for the man—Claudia Harrington-Howell looked like she could kick his arse to kingdom come as an afterthought.

  LaPaglia must have reached the same conclusion. “Of course,” he muttered, shuffling backward until he bumped into someone.

  “How?” Claudia asked Piper.

  “Uh,” Piper croaked, then cleared her throat and started over. “I found Ophelia Harrington’s diaries from the years she spent as a courtesan in London,” Piper said matter-of-factly. “They were hidden in a false bottom of a trunk.”

  A collective gasp went up from the attendees.

  Oddly enough, Claudia did not seem shocked. Mick detected the beginning of a smile at her lips. “Where are the diaries now?”

  Piper gestured toward the exhibit entrance. “Under Plexiglas within the exhibit. I made a copy of the diaries for you as well.”

  “What the hell is she talking about?” LaPaglia didn’t even bother to keep his voice down. “What diaries?”

  Claudia nodded sharply. “What do the diaries reveal? Tell me. A snapshot will do for now.”

  Piper chuckled nervously. Mick figured she was thinking the same thing he was—that distilling Ophelia’s story into a “snapshot” was damn near impossible. It had been hard enough to pare it down to a single museum installation.

  He watched Piper search the crowd for her parents. She found them holding each other up near the exhibit hall exit, their faces ashen.

  “The diaries tell the story of a young woman unwilling to stifle her spirit, her intellect, or her sexuality simply because it was expected of her.” Piper smiled sadly at her parents as she finished the sentence. Then she continued.

  “Ophelia became a highly prized courtesan living outside the social norms of her time, and though it was a life of pleasure and adventure, it grew stale eventually. She longed for what many of us long for—meaningful work, a family of her own, and a life partnership based on love and mutual respect.”

  No one breathed.

  “And this?” Claudia gestured behind her to the life-sized image of Ophelia in chains. The older woman’s eyebrows arched dramatically on her forehead. “Explain this.”

  Piper nodded. “My central question—and probably yours as well—was how did a London courtesan become a Boston abolitionist? And the answer is twofold.”

  Piper reached for Claudia’s forearm and pulled her to the side so that she, and the rest of the assembled guests, could see the central display in all its glory.

  She went on, looking at Claudia as she spoke. “Your great-great-grandmother possessed the courage to battle American slavery because her life as a courtesan gave her a taste of personal freedom. She came to believe that freedom was a God-given right that should be available to all human beings, including women and the enslaved.”

  Piper paused, noting that several attendees had begun to nod in appreciation. “But that wasn’t the only reason,” she said. “There was a single defining moment in Ophelia’s life, a moment so horrifying, it changed her forever. And a seed of outrage was planted inside her that allowed her to blossom from courtesan to crusader.”

  Claudia’s eyes shot to the image of Ophelia. “What happened to her?”

  Piper nodded, and it looked to Mick as if she were steeling herself for the last bit. “Though it was only the barest taste of human bondage, Ophelia Harrington had been placed on the auction block herself, treated as an animal, or worse—a commodity—and sold to the highest bidder. It happened when she was taken to an orgy and sold as a sex slave.”

  Piper’s mother fainted. A woman cried out. The murmurs grew into exclamations of shock and shouts of disbelief.

  Piper craned her neck to make sure her mother got back on her feet. “Does anyone have a Three Musketeers bar?” she asked the crowd. “A Snickers?”

  “I’ve got a Butterfinger, but it’s only Fun Size!” A man toward the back held up the telltale yellow wrapper.

  “Thank you,” Piper said. “That’s just what we need right now—more fun.”

  Thirty-eight

  London

  My gaze locked on Lord Malcolm’s even as my heart stumbled in its beating. He held my eyes with his as he continued.

  “Lord B____ blamed Miss Harrington for his inability to pay his debts with the money he was to get for selling her. I saw him enter Miss Harrington’s house well past midnight. I—I did not follow him inside until I heard her scream. Then I entered to find Lord B____ standing above Miss Harrington with a knife in his hand. She lay insensible on the floor, having been most severely beaten.”

  “Not unconscious,” I added. “Not quite yet.”

  His eyes darkened. “It all happened so quickly,” he said softly.

  “You could not have known,” I said. I turned to the judge. “Lord B____ was preparing to slice my face to ribbons, my lord. I did not see who it was that pulled him away from me.” I let my eyes rest on Lord B____. “But I definitely recall that Lord B____ ran from the room like the filthy coward he is, only brave enough to brutalize those weaker than himself.”

  A growl began in the gallery, a sign that public opinion was about to turn against Lord B____ forever.

  From my place on the stand, I watched the bewildered green eyes of Miss Alice Wainwright as she heard her fiancé accused. Don’t be a fool, Alice!

  When I saw her confusion turn to stubborn denial, I had to speak. “My lords, whether or not I am declared innocent, I must do this.”

  I turned to Alice. “Run. Run for your life from this man.” She drew back from my intensity. I gripped the railing until my knuckles paled. “Don’t you realize that you’re free? No matter the splitting of the inheritance, you are a wealthy woman in your own right.”

  She bit her lip. I softened my voice. “I know you’re frightened. I know it’s terrifying to be alone. But please believe me, you are better off alone than with this man. Leave him. Take your father’s fortune. And run.”

  I could not be sure that she heard me, but there was nothing else I could say to persuade her. I turned back to the judge. “You may continue with your sentencing now.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Why, thank you, Miss Harrington.”

  We all waited. I could scarcely breathe. The judge raised his gavel.

  “Stop!”

  Thirty-nine

  Boston

  Though LaPaglia seemed dangerously close to a nervous breakdown while waiting for Piper and Claudia to complete their private tour, Mick noticed that not a single gala guest left the museum, not even Piper’s parents. They chatted excitedly, drained the bar dry, and consumed every single cheese puff and bacon-wrapped shrimp in the joint.

  The break gave Mick a chance to get some air and think things through. He sat on the brick edging of a raised garden in the museum’s courtyard, watching the night clouds obscure the moon, and thought about Piper, how beautiful she looked that night, and how he’d mucked things up something awful.

  “Mind if I join you?”

  Mick looked up to find Brenna standing behind him, cool and ethereal in a silvery cocktail dress, her blond hair pulled back from her face. “Sure,” Mick said. “Grab a brick.”

  Brenna did, settling down with a sigh. “Good of you to join us.”

&nb
sp; Mick snorted. “Yes, I was a complete tool for going to L.A. I’m aware of that.”

  Brenna smiled at him pleasantly and folded her hands in her lap. She was as cool a slice as ever, Mick decided, but she was a devoted friend to Piper, and for that he was grateful.

  “Do you love her?”

  Mick nearly choked at the bluntness of the question, but he supposed it was fair, considering his actions. “I do. I love that woman.”

  “Good, because she deserves nothing less. She’s waited a long time for you.”

  Mick sighed, letting that sink in. After a moment, he chuckled.

  “Something funny?” she asked, looking at him sideways.

  “You know, ever since I got on that damned plane I’ve been thinking how I don’t want to lose her. I can’t imagine my life without her now. I’m not even sure I want that stupid cable show if she isn’t in my life to share it with me.”

  Brenna nodded.

  “I want to marry her,” Mick said. It didn’t even surprise him to hear the words come from his mouth. They’d been forming in his brain since his talk with Cullen that morning. “I want all those things Piper just talked about—the love and mutual respect, the family, the meaningful work—and I know in my heart that I’m supposed to have them with her.”

  Brenna raised an eyebrow. “I’m not the one who should be hearing this.”

  Mick nodded. Brenna was right. “Do you think she’d say yes?”

  She shrugged.

  “I have half a mind to charge right in there and ask her in front of everybody.”

  “Hmm,” Brenna said, looking him over from tip to toe. “I’m not sure you have what it takes for that.”

  Mick laughed in surprise. “So you don’t think I have the balls, eh?”

  “No,” she said. “I don’t think you have the ring.”

  Mick had no response for that.