The Accidental Courtesan (10 page)

Brenna picked the vase nearest her and helped with the search. She sighed dramatically. “I so envy you, Cousin.” She plucked a pink rose from a vase and held it under her nose. “I have never been the recipient of such devotion.”

Noelle scowled. She'd been trying to rid herself of the pesky American, and Brenna found the man admirable. If only Mister Blackwell had the same feeling for her cousin, Noelle would happily match the two.

“Then you are welcome to run off to Gretna Green with him if he'll have you.” On her fifth vase, she finally spotted a square of white paper. She gingerly reached between the lilies to extract the note. “He is not the sort of man one seeks as an admirer.”

“Indeed?” Brenna put the rose back and walked over to peer at the envelope. It had Noelle's name and address carefully penned in black. “Devastatingly virile? Wealthy? A face women swoon over?” Brenna cocked a brow and looked at Noelle like she'd clearly lost her mind. “You are absolutely correct, Cousin. He has absolutely none of the qualities one seeks in a mate.”

The cousins frowned at each other.

“And sarcasm doesn't become you, Brenna.” Noelle ripped the envelope open and removed the folded paper. She snapped it open and scowled. “Wait until you stumble upon a man who annoys you and challenges you and feels free with his hands, and then tell me you will welcome the crush of his attentions.”

 

 

Her hand and the note dropped to her side. Brenna reached to take the paper from her. Noelle wandered to the nearest high-backed chair and lowered herself into it. She hated that the note, in his carefully penned hand, had the ability to send her stomach tumbling. She hated that part of her that found his gesture, though more than a little garish, impressive. The cost for the flowers alone must have severely lightened his purse.

“G?” Brenna asked, drawing Noelle's gaze. She waved the note. “Perhaps you should explain just how intimate your association is. This is not from a man who once kissed your hand and found the taste of your knuckles delightful. This man feels he knows you well enough to rush past any and all formalities.”

“In spite of your suspicions, we have no intimate association. I have insisted several times that he end his pursuit, and he obviously has no intention to do so. I cannot allow this to continue.”

“Has he taken liberties?” Brenna pressed.

Maybe too vigorously, Noelle shook her head. One wrong word, and Simon would pound Mister Blackwell into the dirt. Though the idea had merit, she couldn't do it. “No. Unless one calls a few stolen kisses liberties.”

“He has kissed you?” Brenna slumped onto the settee. Her eyes narrowed. “Tell me his kisses were sloppy and repulsive.”

“Unfortunately, they were not. His kisses are perfect. He makes me shiver in places I should not, and did not know one could shiver in. Every time he puts his arms around me and pulls me close, I cannot think outside of wanting him to kiss me again.”

“Oh, dear.” Brenna placed the note on a side table. “This is a bother. Chasing him off is almost impossible now that he knows of your attraction.”

“And I do try to resist,” Noelle said helplessly. “I resisted all of a full second this last time before I kissed him back. Surely he can sense my distaste.”

Brenna giggled and leaned forward to put her elbows on her knees. “Perhaps next time you can offer him an onion scone before he pulls you into his arms. Then his breath will be so foul you won't want to kiss him.”

Onions would be a deterrent to kissable breath.

“Remind me to ask cook to purchase a large bag of onions,” Noelle said, and closed her eyes. “I fear not even onions can stop my attraction for the beast. He has fully engaged my body. I do so ache for his touch.”

Silence fell for a long stretch.

“Perhaps you should wed him and be done with it.” Brenna toyed with her cream-colored skirt. “You could choose worse.”

“I cannot.” There was no force behind her words. Mister Blackwell had battered her defenses so fully that she had no will to fight. “I will not.”

Noelle looked around the parlor, with its plain white walls, dark furniture, and bland cream upholstery and drapes. The simple taste of her uncle had been transformed by the beauty of the flowers. This house had been a place of laughter when her father was alive. Then a place of mourning, then the place she escaped to when her mother became overbearing.

Now Mister Blackwell had brought life back into this house, this room, and Noelle wasn't sure what to make of the change.

The only touch left of her father was a miniature painting on the mantel of him as a young man. Most of his personal belongings had been sent to her mother or stored when her uncle claimed the title. Noelle kept his pipe, a second miniature of him, and a few trinkets in her room. She supposed she should be grateful there were few reminders of her loss. Even now, years after his death, the pain was still fresh.

Not once had she considered that her mad flight through life was a way of running from the grief that always seemed to nip at her heels. She loved her sisters, had a strained relationship with her mother, and possessed a general affection for others around her. But she did nothing, nothing, to risk her heart.

As she thought about the man behind this audacious attempt to woo her into his bed, she worried that her one grand adventure was nothing compared to what he wanted her to risk. What she would risk for him if he pressed her.

With a groan, she dropped her head into her hands.

W
hat I can't figure out is why he is so intent to seduce you,” Brenna said. “Other than your obvious physical merits, of course. This situation goes past a simple courtship. Certainly, having been raised American does not make him unable to control his baser needs. Well, as much as men in general can control their needs,” Brenna scoffed. “There has to be something he wants other than kisses.”

Noelle wrinkled her nose. “Isn't it obvious what he desires? It is what all men desire: a woman to warm his bed. And clearly his focus is on me.”

“He's well aware you are a Lady, and therefore not a common trollop with whom he can frolic below stairs. No, he has a reason for his keen interest, and I think you know exactly what it is. Now why don't you tell me the truth? You can't keep secrets from me forever.”

Noelle worked very hard not to squirm in the chair and give away her guilt. She was a terrible liar. The entire family knew she couldn't lie to save her hide. One stern look from Mother or Nanny, and she'd break down and confess all her misdeeds.

Pressure pulsed in her temples. Knowing Mister Blackwell lacked a wife and children had taken away the one large barrier between them. And obviously he had plans to slobber over her at every stolen opportunity. The cad!

Lud, if only he did slobber! But his kisses were divine!

Perhaps confiding in Brenna would help ease her worry. Between the two of them, they might find a solution to the matter of the haughty American and discover a way to chase him off.

“I offered to become his courtesan.” The simple statement brought Brenna to her feet. Her cousin had the surprised look of a woman about to be run down by a speeding mail coach, knowing there was nothing to do but brace for the impact.

“You did what?”

Noelle lifted her hands and hid a smile. The shock on her cousin's face was delightful. Brenna wasn't easily ruffled.

Noelle felt better already. “Well, it wasn't the proper Lady Seymour who made the offer, but a nameless adventuress who allowed stolen kisses in an effort to keep from being arrested.” She let out a wistful sigh. “That adventuress is certainly without control.”

“An adventuress?” Brenna dragged the chair she was sitting in across the narrow space between them, the legs making a squawking noise against the polished parquet floor. Once the two cousins were face-to-face, she sat down and glared. “Tell me everything. Now.”

For the next quarter of an hour, Noelle filled her in on every detail. From finding the sobbing Bliss on the courtesan school steps, to her little trip to the docks to beg her tormentor to leave her be. She skipped over the most heated exchanges between her and Mister Blackwell, dismissing his kisses as nothing more than brief pecks on the mouth. She couldn't admit to her cousin that she'd almost allowed him to make love to her on a narrow bunk on a rocking ship, without one squeak of protest. The matter was too shameful to share.

“Did you offer him any explanation for your appearance in his bedroom?” Brenna said. “If you continue to deny you were the desperate courtesan seeking a wealthy lover, you need to do a much better job of fibbing to the man. Blushing and plucking at your sleeves will give away your involvement.”

“I have denied any knowledge of the break-in, and I do not pluck my sleeves when I'm lying. Not anymore, anyway. In fact, I denied knowing him at all. I still do.” Noelle rubbed her forehead. She tried to remember if anything she'd said or done would have given away her guilt. Truthfully, she couldn't think of a single thing. Still, he'd not believed her, and she knew why. “It was the lemon-cinnamon bath oil I purchased from the peddler that gave me away. He followed it like a hound right to me.”

Brenna snorted. “Men. They are dogged in their determination. They believe once they are on the scent of their prey, a woman no longer has a choice but to succumb to their paltry charms.” She tapped her foot. “If not for your absent mother who has given up on ever seeing you wed, and mine, who doesn't believe in forcing her daughters into unwanted marriages, we'd both be chained to pompous lords who believe women are to grace one's arm and not be heard.”

Noelle thought for a moment, then realized Mister Blackwell was not the kind of man who'd want a woman with little substance between her ears. He appeared to enjoy their verbal sparring. It certainly hadn't dulled his ardor. She'd felt proof enough of his ardor against her thigh. More than once.

“The question remains, what am I to do about my situation?” Noelle knitted her fingers. “I can deny our acquaintance until my face turns puce, and he believes I am just being coy. I can explain the real reason for my nocturnal visit and throw myself on his mercy. He might accept the return of the necklace with grace, but what of the earl? Would he be kind? I have a title behind my name, but what of Bliss? The woman has no family to protect her. The earl cannot take kindly to the theft of such a costly item, even if it was returned. She could hang.”

Brenna's eyes widened. Finally, her cousin seemed to grasp the seriousness of the situation. “Certainly he would not be so cruel?”

“Does either of us know the earl? No.” Noelle flinched. He'd probably want a front-row seat at their double hanging. “I have never met the earl, nor had I met Mister Blackwell before that night. Have you?” Brenna shook her head. “Other than setting the ladies of society all atwitter, he could be a deranged murderer who's left a trail of dead women from here to the colonies.”

“You cannot think that!” Brenna said, appalled. “He seems like a very nice man. If he was a murderer, someone surely would have figured out his evil deeds by now.”

It didn't matter about Mister Blackwell's history or whether he spent his free time changing the soiled nappies of baby orphans. A crime had been committed, and Noelle was a sort of accomplice after the theft. She jutted out her chin and briskly shook her head.

“I must protect Bliss from her bad decision. For all her history as a courtesan, she is a simple girl.” Noelle recalled the tears with which Bliss begged for her help. She'd done wrong but didn't know how to fix it. “She sees the world through childlike eyes, as if all people are good. It was the influence of her maid that caused her to take the piece. If anyone is to blame and deserves time in Newgate, it is that woman.”

Brenna fell silent for a long moment to ponder the information as Noelle's mind flicked to Gavin.

A little tremor tickled her skin. The adventuress he knew would have pulled him down to his bunk and torn open his shirt to expose his magnificent chest. She would have taken him into her body and let him show her all the pleasures one found outside the cold marital bed.

It was the Lady Seymour in her who could not take a man to her bed, in spite of her deep desire to do so.

But not just any man could relieve the ache in her body. Mister Blackwell had shaken her to her foundation and shown her what desire was. And unchecked desire had led many women to ruin.

If she found herself unwed and with a child growing in her belly, the scandal would knock the entire Harrington family tree onto their collective rumps, and they would be shunned by society.