How to Wed a Courtesan--An entertaining Regency romance

by Madeline Martin

  The brush of his fingertips swept up her calf to just above her knee, where her garters were tied. His caress met her naked thigh and then stopped, hesitating.

  Disappointment crashed down on Lottie. They had come too far to stop now. She wanted this man who would be her husband in every way.

  She put her hand over his and met his gaze. ‘Make me your wife in body.’

  ‘God, Lottie.’

  He said nothing else as his fingers slowly inched up the hem of her white muslin gown until it tipped over her knees and fell against her upper thighs. His fingertips brushed over the juncture between her legs. She gasped in surprise at the exquisite rush of pleasure, and Evander’s mouth closed over hers as everything around her faded away, her focus fixed on that glorious sensation.

  The way he teased her most intimate area elicited cries and moans she could not stifle, sounds that melted between their lips. A strange tightness wound through her body, as if she was on the cusp of exploding.

  Evander drew his hand away and worked at his falls, hasty as he unbuttoned the placket of his trousers. She did not see him as he freed his manhood, but she felt its hot, fevered weight as it rested against her sex.

  ‘Are you certain?’ he gasped.

  Lottie looked into his face. His eyes were bright with desire, his cheeks flushed with a need that matched her own. ‘I love you, Evander. I will always love you.’

  A muscle worked in his jaw. ‘God, I love you. More than I ever knew possible.’

  He shifted over her and their gazes locked on one another as he slowly pressed the hardness of his longing against her entrance. His movements were careful and slow as he pushed in and withdrew, edging further into her each time.

  Sweat shone on his brow, evidence of his restraint that was echoed in his trembling body. ‘I think this may hurt.’ He grimaced.

  Lottie opened her mouth to ask what he meant when he clasped her hand in his and thrust into her. A sharp pinch cut through the haze of her pleasure and made tears sting her eyes.

  He kissed her then, tenderly and with all the affection she’d ever dreamed of. And it was through the immense love between them that the discomfort began to ebb and something far, far more enjoyable took its place.

  Their bodies were perfectly fitted together, locked as close as was possible, unified by love. The heat of desire warmed through her and rippled outward, so she was soon hot and panting once more. Evander flexed his hips into her as their pelvises met again and again.

  That tightening sensation was back. Too much to bear this time. It squeezed at her awareness until she was trapped by the pressure. When she thought she could stand it no longer, whatever it was snapped, and the most glorious waves of pleasure washed over her in time with Evander’s thrusts.

  His pace increased into hard jerks until he stopped suddenly, thrusting deep into her. He gritted his teeth around a groan and his hardness twitched with the same uncontrolled spasm her sex had made during the peak of her release.

  They remained where they were for a long moment, savouring their union, basking in the glow of their love, dragging out the last vestiges of bliss from their coupling before he lowered himself over her on his forearms and pressed his brow to hers. Together, their ragged breaths and racing hearts began to even out. The heat between their bodies cooled to a languid warmth and Lottie was struck with the longing to curl her body against his and sleep.

  ‘I didn’t hurt you too badly, did I, my love?’ Evander lifted his head to regard her.

  She shook her head. ‘It was incredible.’

  ‘I love you, Lottie Rossington, with all my heart.’ He smiled down at her. ‘Soon to be Lottie Murray, my baroness.’

  If he said those words to her a thousand times a day she would never grow tired of them. ‘I would listen to you tell me you love me for a lifetime.’

  ‘I’m happy to hear it, for I plan to tell you every day from here on forward.’ He nuzzled his nose against hers and then his mouth brushed hers. ‘Ready your things, my darling. Tomorrow we will leave at dawn for Scotland, to become husband and wife.’

  ‘I’ll be ready,’ she promised.

  Giddiness tickled through her veins. Tomorrow they would be well on their way to being man and wife. Their joy today a precursor for their happy life together.

  And her father would forgive them.

  Wouldn’t he?

  A shiver of trepidation eased its way down her spine. It was followed by the first whisper of unease in the back of her mind, but she quickly hushed it. With a love such as theirs, nothing could ever go wrong.

  * * *

  Happiness was a ray of sunshine that did not often cast its warmth over Evander. Now the whole of him practically shone with it.

  He left Lottie with the ring on her finger and the promise to return the following day. There would be much for him to prepare before their departure. A horse and carriage would need to be arranged, as he could not in good conscience take Lord Ender’s.

  And while he was on the topic of Lord Ender, he would need to write to his old chum and settle on a price for the manor in Oxfordshire. Evander had been sincere in his promise to ensure Lottie would always live near her father. A similar note would need to be sent to his father’s solicitor, to procure the necessary funds for purchase.

  Evander’s steps were light as he made his way the long distance to Huntly Manor—a journey he gladly took every day for the purpose of seeing Lottie. Indeed, he was nearly buoyant as he made his way up the long flight of steps to the exquisite home.

  The butler opened the door before he could even reach for the handle. The man’s mouth was turned down. More so than normal, and he had a propensity to be the dour sort.

  ‘My lord, you received an express just after your departure.’ He offered a heavy envelope to Evander, with a thick, red wax seal at its centre. ‘I was informed to advise you of its urgency.’

  Evander accepted the envelope with a nod of thanks, and waited for the butler to depart before breaking the seal and unfolding the letter.

  It contained only two lines, written in his mother’s elegant, looping script.

  You must return to London immediately. Your father is dead.

  Chapter Six

  Evander returned to London with the expediency his mother had requested. Though he’d wanted to see Lottie prior to his departure, his conversation with her father the day before left him with little choice but to write her a quick letter, to be delivered while he was en route to Westix Place.

  The grand townhouse in London was silent upon his arrival, and his mother and sister were both as dry-eyed as he. There had been little love between the Earl of Westix and his family, any sense of affection discarded before it could ever begin to take root.

  And so it was that Evander embraced first his mother, whose bland expression indicated no true sense of mourning, despite the severity of her black gown. Next came his sister, Eleanor, who had that quiet, tucked-in look she had acquired in his time away at school. Never again had she been the laughing, playful girl he had spent hours running wild with through the Scottish countryside.

  He’d been tempted in the past to attempt reparation, and now wished once again that he could do so. But it was not the time. Not when their father’s estate had to be seen to. Not when Evander would have to fill the Earldom and ensure his sister and mother were well cared for.

  He had been tempted to tell them of his intention to wed Lottie, but the oppressive silence in the house would sully such happy news. And so it was that he resolved to tell them once his father had been buried.

  Through it all, at the forefront of his mind, was Lottie and the way she’d looked at him when she’d said she loved him, with her entire heart open and pure and loving. Recollections of the pleasure they’d shared rose in his thoughts and the cries of her pleasure echoed in his ears.

  H
ow must she have looked when she’d received the news of his hasty return to London?

  He grimaced even to consider it.

  His father’s funeral was a solemn affair, with barely anyone in attendance—only him and the estate’s solicitor, Mr Edsby. Whatever wedge had been driven between his father and the Duke of Somersville, along with the other members of the adventure club, must have been deep, as noted by their poignant absence.

  Evander had difficulty summoning up sorrow for his father’s passing. The man had been irascible, short-tempered and cold. There had been nothing about him to endear him towards his children. Not after he’d punished Eleanor. Guilt inhabited the place in Evander’s chest that sorrow usually occupied upon the passing of close family—an emptiness that he could not fill with a genuine feeling of loss.

  Mr Edsby wasted no time encouraging a discussion with him in the study at Westix Place following his father’s funeral.

  The solicitor, who had overseen the legal affairs of the Westix estate for years, sank into the large armchair in front of the desk and pulled out several sheets of paper from his glossy leather briefcase. ‘Would you like a drink before we begin?’

  Evander shook his head, realising it would be best to discuss numbers with a clear head.

  Mr Edsby considered the stack of papers and lightly touched them with his fingertips, his expression one of obvious discomfort. ‘It would perhaps behove you, my lord, to have a bit of brandy in you for this discussion.’

  ‘Very well.’ Evander went to the small table which held his father’s best liquor and splashed some into a glass. ‘Would you like one?’

  ‘Please,’ Mr Edsby answered without hesitation.

  Evander poured one for him as well, and returned to the desk, both glasses in hand. He offered one to the solicitor, who drained the drink in one swig.

  Apprehension tightened in Evander’s gut.

  ‘Come, now,’ Evander said with forced lightness. ‘It can’t be all that bad.’

  Mr Edsby closed eyelids withered with age behind his spectacles. He gave a long exhale and opened his eyes once more. ‘Forgive me, my lord, but it can.’

  Worry squeezed at the back of Evander’s neck. Were there perhaps some issues with the estate in Scotland? Or with the manor in Southampton ?

  ‘Out with it, man,’ Evander prompted. ‘You cannot leave me in suspense.’

  Mr Edsby’s thin chest puffed out with a great breath. ‘You’ve almost nothing left.’

  Evander blinked, certain he had heard the old man incorrectly. ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘Your father had a great many debts,’ Mr Edsby began. ‘Your steward, as you know, simply provided your father with funds when they were requested. I am not certain the late Earl was aware of the plight into which he had plunged his family.’

  A great many debts?

  Evander tilted his glass to his lips and drained the brandy as the solicitor had done. It did nothing to ease the tension in his chest. He’d had many dealings with his father’s steward in overseeing their land. Never once had he mentioned dwindling wealth.

  A sudden thought prickled through Evander like crackling ice. If there were no funds remaining to pay his father’s debts, he could not afford to purchase Huntly Manor. He could not make good on his promises to Lottie.

  She deserved better than this. She deserved to be mistress of a grand estate while draped in the most fashionable gowns, visiting the finest establishments London had to offer and seeing an opera every damn night if she chose to do so.

  That was what Evander had intended to give her. Now he could offer nothing but debt and a future of ruin.

  Rage filled him all at once, for the father who had shirked his responsibility towards them for years in favour of his damnable adventure club, traipsing around the bloody world for trinkets while they all grew colder and more distant at his behest. And now this—to be left with nothing but the Westix title, which would, at best, give them only a few more months of living on credit.

  Suddenly his father’s recent obsession with a missing ruby made sense. The Coeur de Feu was doubtless worth a fortune—one that might recompense their own, which had been so frivolously spent.

  ‘Bollocks he was unaware,’ Evander muttered.

  ‘I beg your pardon, my lord?’ Mr Edsby lifted his brows.

  Evander shook his head, putting aside the bitter remark. ‘I need to think. Surely there is something that can be done?’

  ‘If I may be so bold, my lord...?’ Mr Edsby let the suggestion hang in the air, waiting for permission.

  Evander regarded the solicitor with desperation. ‘By all means.’

  ‘You are still in possession of The Adventurer—the vessel the former Earl used in his travels. I am also aware he took considerable notes on his journeys.’

  Mr Edsby turned in his chair to regard the shelves filled with his father’s journals, all stamped with that ridiculous adventure club compass.

  ‘I will not waste what little we have left and push my family into further ruin by leaving them to travel around the world myself.’

  Evander took the other man’s glass from where it had been set on the edge of the desk and marched across to refill them both. If ever there was a call for a considerable amount of brandy, it was in this moment.

  ‘You misunderstand me,’ Mr Edsby said. ‘Your father went for fame.’ He accepted the glass with a grateful smile upon Evander’s return. ‘Fortune is far easier to come by across the ocean.’ His forehead wrinkled. ‘If you went with that purpose in mind, I believe you would find yourself quite a wealthy man once more.’

  ‘What of my mother and sister?’

  ‘Ah, now that matter is in good order.’ The solicitor set aside his drink to rifle through a stack of papers. Finding the one he needed, he plucked it from the pile and regarded it through the lenses of his spectacles. ‘Lady Westix had a trust set up in her name after she married your father. It has sufficient funds to cover her expenses for at least five years—six if she is frugal.’

  His mother was not frugal. Nor was Eleanor. Five, then. Maybe even four.

  Could Evander truly find a way to make a fortune through his father’s compendium of travel notes?

  He reconsidered the notebooks with renewed interest.

  * * *

  Two days later, he had his answer. Based on his father’s reporting, and that of his fellow club members, who had all marked various locations throughout the journals, finding opportunities to make money abroad was not difficult. By Evander’s estimation it would take approximately six months. At most a year.

  After explaining circumstances to his mother, he received her blessing. Both of them agreed to keep the matter from Eleanor, who would hopefully remain oblivious until his return.

  Now he need only tell Lottie of the delay that would keep them from being together for a little while longer. Surely once she realised fortune would be at the end of the long wait, and she would be a wealthy countess, she would understand.

  * * *

  The days Lottie spent without Evander seemed to drag on for the span of a lifetime.

  She continued her walks at the usual time every day, in the hope he would eventually join her.

  The bend she rounded reminded her most of him. It was where he would wait for her in those weeks they had walked together and fallen in love. And near the place where they had given themselves to one another in body as they had in soul.

  It made her breath quicken to think of it—how he’d touched her, how their bodies had joined so completely, creating sensations of love unlike anything she had ever dreamed possible.

  Nearly a fortnight of walking around that notable corner of the trail had passed before she encountered a wonderfully familiar sight. A tall gentleman with auburn hair and a lean, muscular frame.

  She cried out when she saw him, and r
aced the short distance into his arms. He wrapped her in his strong embrace, filling her with sensual notes of sandalwood that brought a swell of such joy and affection it seemed as though her heart would burst.

  It was only when he had held her for a long time that she remembered to put aside her elation at seeing him out of respect for his father’s death. She had wept for Evander when she’d read his missive about the Earl of Westix’s sudden death. She couldn’t imagine what life would be without her own father, who had always been such a pillar of support. Without him, she would be lost.

  When Evander finally released her she looked up him, unable to ignore the lines of fatigue and stress showing on his face. Her chest ached with empathy.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ she said gently.

  One might think she would be adept at consoling the bereaved, being a vicar’s daughter. But she never knew exactly how to respond—for was there truly any one thing that could be said to ease the enormity of such loss?

  She wished she could have been in London with Evander, to offer comfort. But at least he was here now, where she could help him heal.

  Rather than offer dull platitudes, she folded her hands around his, as if she could cradle away his hurt.

  He seemed to understand what she meant by the gesture and gave her a sad smile. Her brave, wonderful Evander.

  ‘Lottie...’

  His gaze settled on the ring on her finger—the ring she only dared wear on these walks, when she might see him. Otherwise she left it on a chain that hung beneath her gown and rested against her heart.

  He ran his thumb over the winking diamond and sighed. ‘I have to postpone our marriage.’

  Her head snapped up and she regarded him with shock. These were not the words she was expecting to hear.

  ‘What is it?’ She tried to stuff down the welling panic inside her, the fear that he might be slipping away. The fear that all the happiness she’d amassed in the time she’d known him was simply ephemeral, to be whisked away on the first hard breeze. Surely their love was made of stronger stuff than that.