The Accidental Courtesan (9 page)

“Perhaps I can be of help.” He took two steps to close the narrow gap between them and reached for the tie of her bonnet. Noelle's breath caught. “You have come to fulfill your offer to become my courtesan.”

H
er teeth snapped shut with a
clack
. “Certainly not!”

Why did he have to repeat that sentiment? It was as if confronting her with her shameful behavior was some wicked way to break down her denials and get her to confess to her misdeeds. She was not, and would never be, a courtesan! If he expected her to submit to the scandalous pledge, he would be extremely disappointed!

While her mind filled with virginal indignation, her body shimmered with heat. The idea of playing courtesan, and freely giving herself to him for even one night, warred within her mind. He was too close, too perfectly male.

His mouth curved up at the edges, his confidence overflowing. It was as if he knew her struggle. Knew how much she wanted him. He'd give her everything she wanted, and more. All she needed to do was ask.

Alarmed, she stepped back and hit the wall behind her with her shoulder blades. In perfect synchronization, he followed, his body forcing her to press against the wall in an attempt to keep from touching him. He was so close she could feel his heat and the rough homespun of his shirt brushing her uplifted hands.

“I c-came to remind y-you once again of your m-mistake.” She stammered like a child caught stealing a cookie by a stoic-faced nurse. “Y-you must stop saying s-such things. Until the Tipton party, we'd never met. Your confusion has left me rattled. I am not, and never have been, a courtesan. To call me such is an insult.”

The words came without bite, and he chuckled softly under her weak protests. It seemed that with each heartbeat, he drew closer to her, until she was forced to place her hands flat on his chest to keep him from pressing against her.

“Mister Blackwell, please! You must stop this at once. I did not come here to be manhandled again. Surely you have some manners?”

“Manhandled?” He looked down to her hands resting on his body. “It appears it is you, My Lady, who has your hands on me. I am the one molested.”

Exasperation welled in Noelle. He was finding joy in her discomfiture. The only thing she could do was use her limited strength to keep a modicum of space between their bodies.

His hands moved to capture her hips and shift the lower half of his body against her. The act put her in intimate contact with his thighs. Her core pulsed, and her eyes widened in shock. Only his grip was keeping her upright. Somewhere deep in the back of her throat her breath lodged, causing her head to spin. She could do nothing but watch helplessly, and breathlessly, as his smiling mouth descended toward hers.

This time she managed a strangled whimper as his perfect mouth brushed her lips. His tongue pressed the seam. Then, without a moment of hesitation, she opened up to his exploration and he plunged his tongue inside her ready and eager mouth.

The floor fell away beneath her feet, and she momentarily clung to his shirt to get her balance before sliding her hands up to lock her fingers behind his neck. Desire raced through her. Noelle boldly lifted to her toes for a better fit, aching to feel his body against her in its entirety.

There was nothing outside his heat, the way he felt, his hands, his mouth. This man, this American-Englishman, fired something inside her that she found impossible to fight. She kissed him with everything inside her, wanting everything he had to give.

And more.

Gavin dug his fingers into her hips and ground her against his hardness. Noelle felt wild, untamed. The smell of the sea and the musty room added to her excitement and sent her imagination soaring. The adventuress and the ship captain were lost at sea in a storm, the raging swell matching the ferocity of their blinding passion.

She smiled for the briefest moment before realizing he was turning her around and backing her toward the narrow bunk. With the rush of reality came crushing disappointment. She'd refused to become his courtesan, and yet she was moments away from becoming what she denied. Once he took her innocence, there was no taking it back. She would be ruined.

Noelle broke the kiss. “I cannot,” she begged, and twisted to free herself. His hold was too strong. He leaned to nuzzle her neck with hot kisses. She moaned weakly, unable to fight his powerful draw.

“My beautiful lady courtesan,” he breathed against her skin, and ran a hand up to caress her breast. Her nipple hardened beneath his touch. “I cannot resist you. Come to my bed.”

“No!” she cried, bracing her hands on his shoulders to shove him back. She would not bed this stranger, no matter how greatly her body ached for him. She was Lady Seymour, not a common strumpet. It would serve her to remember her place.

“Unhand me!” The demand worked. He released her, and she stumbled back. Noelle jerked her skirts into place and smoothed her rumpled bodice. The desire still in his eyes did nothing to cool her body. How much she wanted him! “I think it best if we never see each other again, sir.”

With the air of a noblewoman of high birth, she collected her skirts in both hands, lifted the hem of her dress, and walked out the open door.

 

G
avin watched his Lady courtesan flee him, the
clack
of her boots like rifle fire on the wooden ladder leading up to the deck. He wanted to go after her, bring her back, lock her in the cabin with him, and make love to her delightful body all afternoon long. If not for the deep sense of propriety that always lay beneath her seductive surface, he would at this moment be relieving her of her clothes.

Her boots clomped across the deck, speaking her ire through the heavy footfalls that passed over his head as she found her way off the ship. He moved to a small window and peered out, watching the stubborn sway of her hips. Keeping a careful watch to make sure she returned to the waiting hackney unmolested, he chuckled when she climbed inside without assistance and slammed the door closed behind her. Once the conveyance could no longer be seen, Gavin turned and leaned back against the wall.

He closed his eyes, remembering her slightly parted lips and the hunger in her eyes in the moment he lowered his head to kiss her. He'd felt her heartbeat against his chest and heard her breath catch. Though she denied their encounter in his bedroom and refused to acknowledge her attraction, she couldn't control her body's response to him, no matter how hard she tried. She wanted him with a vigor equal to his desire for her.

“I will have you in my bed, My Lady,” he whispered, and chuckled at the image of her pink flush when she'd fled the cabin. Her desire was strong. She'd be back. “And you will eagerly welcome me when that moment arrives.”

Lady Noelle Seymour was a fiery witch with amber eyes and a passion that took his breath away. Beneath her cool exterior and silky white skin beat the heart of a courtesan.

Patience would bring her around.

And he would not be satisfied until he taught her all the carnal delights he had to offer.

N
oelle thought the courtesan school would offer a distraction from her riotous emotions, but when the driver pulled up to the town house, she found she could not alight from the hackney. Her boots felt nailed to the gritty floor.

Though there were only two courtesans in residence and class would not begin for two weeks, Bliss and Edolie made more racket than a flock of magpies. At times their endless chatter could be diverting, but Noelle had no desire for it now. Gavin's attempted seduction was too fresh, his taste still lingering on her lips.

So she urged the driver on to Mayfair, requesting to be let off a distance from her house and using the walk in the brisk air to clear her mind.

The dreaded American had launched a volley of cannonballs over her defenses and breached the line behind which she carefully kept ardent suitors at bay. It wasn't that she didn't enjoy the company of men; she just didn't care to be courted if marriage was the end result.

Sometime between the carefree moments of her childhood and her marriage to Noelle's father, Mother had grown drawn and bitter. Noelle's fear was to become the same, should an arranged marriage turn out badly. She much preferred to continue living off the good graces of her absent uncle and to slowly and happily slide into spinsterhood.

And once the bloom had diminished from the rose of her youth, she'd no longer have to suffer the amorous attentions of men, and she'd be content. Well, as content as she could be, never having children of her own. That was the one negative to her plan: giving up motherhood.

The first thing Noelle noticed when she finally pushed open the door to her uncle's town house was the overwhelming smell of roses. The second was the scent of lilies mingled with the roses, then other flowers she couldn't quickly name. Then came the strange sensation that she was passing through a garden of flowers in full bloom. The combination made her want to sneeze.

“What have you done to the house, Alfred?” she asked, easing her bonnet from her head. “Has the gardener brought the garden inside?”

The middle-aged butler smiled, showing a small gap between his two front teeth. He'd been with the family for ten years and well knew how to keep the family secrets.

“The garden
is
inside, Milady; however it is not Mister Brown who brought it in.” He indicated the parlor. “You must see for yourself to believe it.”

Noelle handed him her bonnet and began to walk hesitantly down the hallway. She'd never been one to enjoy surprises.

She stopped in the open parlor doorway and gasped. The sound brought Brenna to her feet. In vases on every surface of every table, and in one particularly large vase that had no surface on which to rest and was left in the center of the floor, were every kind of bloom, in every color one could imagine. It was a horticulturist's dream.

“Good lord.” Noelle pressed her hands to her chest and glanced at her cousin. “Brenna, what have you done?”

“It wasn't I,” Brenna said, pressing her knuckles to her smiling mouth. “I think my dearest Noelle has an admirer.” She turned an encompassing glance about her at the vast array of blooms. “A very zealous admirer.”

Noelle stepped slowly into the room. She loved to spend time reading in the garden but never thought to bring the whole inside. Add a buzzing bee and a skittering butterfly or two, and the picture would be complete. “I'm worried that if I don't leave a trail of bread crumbs for Alfred to follow, I may become lost in the maze of vases, never to be found again.”

Brenna laughed lightly. “I shall send for a full king's regiment should the need arise to launch a rescue.” She joined Noelle, and they stood shoulder to shoulder. “Perhaps you should look for a card.”

“I suspect I know the sender.” There were several men who'd made overtures toward her this Season, gently rebuffed of course, but none as bold as the dastardly Mister Blackwell. She would be shocked to her toes were the man behind the grand, and somewhat embarrassingly excessive, gesture any other than the outrageous American.

The mystery remained: How had he pulled this off so quickly? She'd left him no more than two hours ago. The cost for the rushed purchase and delivery must've been staggering.

“Mister Blackwell?” Brenna asked. “Do you think he is the mysterious suitor?”

“He has expressed his, shall we say, enthusiasm for me several times.” Noelle stepped to the closest bouquet and leaned forward to search for a card. There was nothing but flowers. So she moved on to the next. “Unless you have another suspect with such abject boldness, and the wealth to pull off such folly, I think we need not find the card to name the culprit.”