A Courtesan’s Guide to Getting Your Man (23 page)

How intriguing.

He was a writer of some recent note and he played the value of his connections and his notoriety to the hilt. I admired the dash and disregard with which he traversed Society. He knew all the proper forms and phrases, yet did not hesitate to twist them to suit his dark sense of humor.

In my years with earnest, pure-hearted Robert, I had come to long for a man who could make me laugh.

Lord B
____
looked up just then and noted my regard. A wicked, inviting smile played upon his handsome lips as he boldly met my gaze. I lifted my chin and let my eyelids drop slowly as I rudely eyed him tip to toe. A flash of white teeth and a deep laugh answered my wordless sally. He held out his hands from his sides and turned slowly and obviously in place, offering himself for my view.

I had to admit, he was a very fine figure of a man.

I watched his approach with narrowed eyes and satisfaction singing in my veins. He was most definitely on the hook.

Lord B
____
’s eyes gleamed at me as he handed me a fresh glass of champagne. “You are without a doubt the most desirable woman in the room,” he said without preamble or pretense that either of us required introduction. “Why did you waste so much time with that stuffed arse, P
____
?”

I smiled archly. “Perhaps it was the incredible enormity of his … brain.”

Lord B
____
laughed easily.

Then he bowed to me and extended his hand. I smirked and set aside my champagne, then bowed back like a gentleman. He laughed aloud and straightened. Taking my hand, he pulled me into his arms and swept me out onto the ballroom floor, holding me much too tight and dancing much too broadly. We barreled through the dancers like bowling pins, howling with laughter, parading ourselves madly before the crowd. Just to make him laugh more, I fought to lead. He retaliated by lifting me entirely off my feet and whirling me madly. My giggles rose carefree as my tightly bound hair broke its bonds and tumbled down my back.

When he returned me to my feet, we grinned at each other like naughty schoolchildren.

I felt pleased to make him respond so. He was known to be cynical and dry of wit. When he dropped his bored façade and warmed to me, I felt special. When he leaned in close to whisper in my ear, I felt his charm envelop me entirely. He caught me up in a sense of intimacy between us, as if we were alone in the crowded room.

“You look like a schoolboy’s sticky fancy come to life in that rig. I imagine you would look quite astonishing naked and perspiring in the candlelight, impaled upon my enormous … brain.” His breath was warm and damp on my ear and I did not bother to fight a shiver of arousal. How delicious to be seduced! I felt the danger of him; I knew his reputation as an outlaw and a rogue, yet it only excited me more.

I was not a woman like others were. I was not looking for a husband. I was not seeking a good provider or a steady master. I did not even currently require a protector. Robert’s generosity had left me quite able to choose a man simply because I wanted him.

I was a woman free to be extraordinarily unwise.

What a delightful notion.

However, though I made no effort to hide my attraction, it would not do for him to be too sure of me. The Swan had taught me well.

I pulled my head away in order to smile up at him. “You are quite correct. I do look extraordinary naked and perspiring in the candlelight.” Then with a careless shrug of my scarlet-clad shoulder, I turned easily away from Lord B
____
and sauntered away.

I could feel him watching my bottom in the snug breeches. I tossed him an extra bit of sway, just to make his mouth dry. Smiling my triumph in my latest conquest, I almost didn’t see Sir until his broad chest rose before me, blocking my way.

Cocking my head at him, I grinned. “You have outdone yourself, Sir. The Swan will be more popular than ever as the world strives to learn your identity.”

He said nothing, but only continued to gaze down at me from behind his mask. I was too full of myself and Lord B
____
’s flattering attentions to care. I merely rolled my eyes and began to push past him.

His large hand closed about my arm. His touch always aroused a shiver in me and this time was no exception. For once, this annoyed me more than pleased me. I turned my head to snap something rude at him.

He spoke first. “Do not toy with that man.”

I blinked. “Lord B
____
?”

“Yes, Lord B
____
. He cannot afford you.”

That was true enough, but I disliked being told my own business. I lifted my chin. “I am not toying with him. I find him most entertaining company.”

Sir gazed down at me. For the first time, I realized that his eyes were not black-brown at all, but a deep hazel that reminded me of a forest so thick it never sees the sun. Startled, I realized that I had never seen Sir out of the dim candlelight of our lover’s bower. We had never stepped from that room.

We had never waltzed.

I found myself overpowered with the desire to dance in his arms. I looked away from his gaze. “Would you—” I felt absurdly shy. “Would you care to waltz, Sir?”

He did not reply. I looked back up to meet his eyes, but he was looking past me. I glanced over my shoulder to see the Swan, surrounded by eager men once more, holding court as of old.

“I cannot play the fool with you as B
____
did,” Sir said, his voice a growl. “Do you care nothing for preserving the victory you fought so hard to bring about?”

My gut went cold and I cursed my costume. For the first time that evening, I felt ridiculous instead of alluring and outrageous. I tugged my arm from his grasp and turned my back on him. I wanted nothing more than to run from the ballroom and strip my silly male clothes from my body. I could not leave, however, for I had arrived in the company of Sir.

Hot humiliation tempted me to walk home rather than submit to riding back with him and the Swan, but the London streets were not safe, not even for a man alone. Anyway, I looked nothing like a man. I looked like a plump prostitute stuffed into male clothing like a sausage about to split its skin.

I strode away, my eyes hot. I did not cry, for weeping in public was something I could not do. Instead, I forced my way through the crowd, snarling at any man stupid enough to utter a sally in my direction. When I arrived at the front door of Lady Montrose’s house, I had made my decision.

Sir’s gleaming black conveyance stood waiting with all the others, lined up across the street, the horses bored and the drivers snoozing on their seats or gaming on the cobbles with dice. I slammed my hand upon the shining ebony door to wake Sir’s driver. “Oy!”

He sat up abruptly and glared down at me. “What ye want, there?” Then, “Oh, it’s you, miss.”

“Take me to my house at once.”

He blinked at me uncertainly. “Er … is Himself ready to depart?”

I snarled. “Himself is busy with Herself. I, on the other hand, have a splitting headache and no desire to stay and watch the nauseating conclusion to the evening. Either you drive me home or I walk. Do you think your employer wants me walking the streets alone tonight?”

Straightening, he hopped down from his perch to open the door for me. “If yer sure, miss.”

I bared my teeth. “Never have I been more so.”

I collapsed in the back of the carriage and pressed the heels of my hands to my hot eyes. I knew how ridiculous I was being but I seemed to have no control over my behavior at the moment. Too much champagne and too little Sir.

I would not be this silly girl. I was the Blackbird, seductress extraordinaire! Leaning back in my seat, I turned my mind from Sir’s callousness to Lord B
____
’s flattering admiration. His blue eyes flashed in my memory, his interest evident, his desire present in the heat of his hands on my waist when he’d lifted me.

He was very strong. I had the certain impression that he liked using his strength in bed. I thought of him above me, driving his cock into me powerfully, his large hands pinning my wrists down on either side as he took me again and again. My cunte dampened instantly.

Yes, I could take a man like that to my bed, simply for my own amusement. I had never done such a thing before, but why not? It would do my reputation no harm to break my own patterns of behavior.

Mystery, after all, was everything.

*   *   *

The next morning, Sylla brought me a sparing breakfast of dry toast and boiling hot tea to wash the night’s drinking from my throat. My eyes still burned, I knew not why. I had put Sir and the Swan entirely from my mind and focused all my thoughts on my latest seduction.

I was not surprised to see a letter from Lord B
____
. He did not seem the sort to waste time and I was right. His note was bold and insultingly erotic. It left me breathless.

Where did you go last eve? I would have taken you away in my carriage and stripped you naked before we’d driven a block. I wanted to bind you with your own cravat and keep you for my pleasure. I thought about you all the way home and imagined myself on my knees before your lush beauty, my face buried between your thighs as you writhed above me, your skin ivory in the darkness, your cries rising above the rattle of the carriage wheels, your hot, salty nectar sliding down my tongue …

Oh yes. This was a man I could spend a few wicked hours exploring.

Or days.

Perhaps even weeks.

The letter closed with, “You know you want me as well. I could smell your desire, like a hound after a fox. Just like that hunting beast, I will not leave the trail. Surrender now and spare yourself the distress of trying to make up lies why you won’t see me.”

His joke made me smile, until the thought slid through my mind that I did not know him well enough to know if he were jesting.

Do not toy with that man.

My chin lifted with a jerk and I determined to reply to Lord B
____
’s invitation as soon as I had bathed and dressed.

Then I opened the next envelope on the tray. There was nothing inside but a blackbird feather.

He wants to see me.

Me.

I closed my hot eyes and trailed the cool feather across my flushed cheeks. Perhaps … perhaps my reply to Lord B
____
could wait until the morrow.

*   *   *

That evening’s display of the Swan was a simple visit to the opera. Sir had managed to procure the very best box in the house through his mysterious connections. The Swan wore silver brocade, a rich, lush gown with more than a hint of Renaissance styling. Once more her gleaming hair rippled loose down her back, this time crowned with a wreath of tiny white flowers. She seemed more elaborately costumed than the performers and was certainly more closely observed by the audience.

I wore a revealing silk gown of deep rose that was all bosom and no mistake. My curves set off the Swan’s slenderness. We both provided a feast for the eyes, no matter one’s preference. Sir brooded darkly between us, his evident lack of interest in the substandard performance only adding to his arrogant appeal. Indeed, the man with the square jaw framed by the mysterious mask was all that was required to distract the ladies. I doubt that anyone present could recall a full minute of the evening’s entertainment.

Mission accomplished. Thank goodness nothing was required of me but to provide visual fodder, for my mind was in tumult. I wanted nothing more than to get Sir alone, but whether to speak to him or to strip him naked and make him pay? I wanted his apology. I longed for his touch. I needed to feel him next to me, above me, inside me. I needed him to tell me he was sorry.

The ride home from the opera was slow, for the streets were full of carriages leaving their various diversions offered by the city. Sir sat opposite the Swan and me, facing backward as gentlemen did, so I could not speak to him privately at all. The Swan seemed relaxed and weary and entirely unaware that her reintroduction to the
haut ton
had any personal repercussions for me. She made a little desultory conversation about the packed audience and I managed to reply sensibly, after which she faded away, a satisfied little smile on her lovely face.

My jealousy repelled me. How could I let such darkness come between me and the best friend I knew? How could I allow Sir to do this to my emotions?

It isn’t Sir. It is you.

I knew I was being selfish and entirely absurd. I had lovers. We all three had lovers. Our friendship was what made this mad threesome better than merely sexual. I would not allow my strange possessiveness to interfere with that magical circle.

I want him.

Honestly, I despair of myself sometimes.

Nineteen

Although the carriage dropped me off first, I did not fear I was being left out. I knew he would come as soon as he’d seen the Swan home, and I wished for every possible moment to prepare. I tossed red roses into my bath by the handful and rubbed them into my steaming skin. I massaged myself with sweet almond oil until my body gleamed like satin. I brushed my long curling hair down my back and forward over my breasts and tied it up high, finally growing weary of my indecision and letting it fall naturally where it might. Gown myself in something sheer or await him naked and eager? I tossed through my wardrobe of wicked attire but everything seemed too studied, too much the arsenal of the professional. I finally donned a simple, short chemise that clung to my already aroused nipples and showed off my bottom with clinging emphasis.

Bare and natural, I awaited him as myself.

I knew Sylla would let him enter unannounced, so I lay down across my bed on my belly and tried to busy myself arranging the rest of the rose petals upon the coverlet. The tick of the clock seemed like a painfully slow heartbeat as the long minutes passed. With all the traffic on the streets, it might take another hour for him to make it back to me.

Or perhaps he dallies with her.