The Courtesan's Daughter (33 page)

“Won the wager, to be more precise,” Sophia said. “These distinctions are so important, as your husband knows perhaps better than all of us.”

“We were not discussing Ashdon. We were discussing your bet,” Caro said.

“You see how good she shall be for you, Westlin,” Sophia said. “You shall not run riot over her.”

Caroline gave a cursory glance to Lord Westlin before turning back to her mother. “I do not care for having my name on White’s betting book, Mother. It is not at all the thing I aspire to.”

“But, darling, your name was already there. Why not make a profit on the ignorance of others?”

“What do you mean?” Caro asked. “Why should my name appear as a bet? ”

“Because you’re
her
daughter, you ignorant girl,” Westlin snapped.

Caro turned to consider him for several long moments, so long, in fact, that the Earl of Westlin turned a bit red about the ears.

“I would so like to have a pleasant relationship with you, Lord Westlin,” Caro said eventually, “as you are my husband’s father, but do not mistake me for a girl who requires your approval. My husband is fairly bewitched by me and that is quite all I require.”

“Impudent girl!” he sputtered.

“Yes,” said Sophia with a grin, “and isn’t it delightful? There is nothing better for a girl than to be impudent. I do fear that this modern education of women quite drives all impudence out of them. I don’t know what England will come to without a good supply of impudent women.”

“As if you care about England’s future!” Westlin argued.

“But of course I care,” Sophia said softly, her eyes gleaming. “I care very much. In fact, I give it quite a lot of thought.”

“And I am giving quite a lot of thought,” Caro interrupted, “to exactly why my name should appear at White’s and what you did about it, Mother, and what I shall do about it now. As impudent as I may be, it does not seem at all the thing.”

“But of course it is the thing, darling, because you shall make it so. I daresay that in a year, eligible girls will be desperate to have their names appear on White’s betting book. It shall become the new fashion, a mark of excellence.”

“I don’t think being the subject of a public wager shall ever be fashionable,” Caro said.

“Listen to your mother on this,” Lord Staverton said from his slouch on the side chair. “I’ve never known Sophia to be wrong about things of this sort.”

“You mean the tawdry sort, obviously,” Westlin said. “That my son’s wife should be the subject of bets … revolting.”

“Come now, Westlin,” Sophia said smoothly, “do not pretend that you are a stranger to White’s betting book. Your name has appeared there more than once.”

“But not my wife’s!”

“Perhaps because people forgot she was alive?” Sophia said brightly. “But of course, I never forgot her, poor dear.”

“We were speaking of your daughter,” Westlin said, “not my wife.”

“Yes,” Caro said, “and the nature of that bet. What was it?”

“I can’t think that it matters now,” Sophia said evasively, arranging the fringe on her shawl so that it draped more elegantly over her white arms.

“It matters to me,” Caro said, staring at Sophia.

“Yes, well, I don’t suppose it could do any harm to tell you, particularly as I’ve made quite a lot of money as a result,” Sophia said.

“And that’s all that matters?” Caro said stiffly. “Making a profit? ”

“Darling, let me assure you, it is far more enjoyable than suffering a loss.”

“There are more things to be lost than money,” Caro said, her voice tight with emotion.

Sophia looked into her daughter’s eyes and smiled lightly. “Of course there are, Caro, but why lose money when the opportunity to make it presents itself?”

“And I was that opportunity?”

“In a manner of speaking,” Sophia said. “The way I understand it, the Earl of Westlin and his brother, Baron Sedgwick, became engaged in a rather vigorous discussion at White’s that, as these sorts of discussions inevitably do, ended up as a bet on White’s book. The argument and subsequent bet being that Sedgwick, a delightful man, you’ll so enjoy him, Caro, bet Westlin that Lord Ashdon would be courting you by the end of the Season. Lord Westlin obviously bet that his son, the charming Lord Ashdon, would
not
court you. But, of course, Lord Ashdon not only courted you, he married you, and swiftly. And there you have it. The bet was made. I bet against Lord Westlin and I have won.”
As usual.
Sophia didn’t say it aloud, but those in the room heard it as clearly as if she had.

Of course, she
had
stumbled into ruination, been enticed to it by Ash, actually, which had been the cause of her swift marriage, but if Lord Westlin didn’t know about her being ruined, she wasn’t going to be the one to enlighten him.

“That was the bet?” Caro asked suspiciously. “The bet was about me? About Lord Ashdon and
me
?”

“Why, of course, darling. What else?”

They all looked at Caro expectantly, even Lord Staverton with his wandering eye seemed to have focused on her more intently that she would have thought physically possible.

“I, well,” Caro said, fidgeting with her fresh fichu; she never had found the other one that Ashdon had so purposefully disposed of in the dining room. “I was under the impression that things were rather more about you and Ashdon.”

“Things? What things are you referring to, Caro?”

“Just … things.”

“I can’t imagine what you mean,” Sophia said with a laugh. “Here you are, in the flush of impudent youth and flagrant beauty. I can’t think how Ashdon resisted you for as long as he did.”

“Three days?” Caro said sarcastically.

“Darling, I am quite certain he was besotted after three hours. He just didn’t realize it. Men are rather slow about these things,” Sophia said, winking at her daughter. “They often require much patience and careful handling. An important point to remember as you begin your life together.”

“Women’s rubbish,” Westlin said in a low snarl. “If you are going to lie to your daughter, at least do it well. Tell her the rest, Sophia, or I will.”

“Can’t you keep things civil, Westlin?” Staverton said, getting up from his chair and moving to one of the street-facing windows. “Let things settle. They are as they are.”

Caro could feel her stomach dive into her hips before bouncing back to lodge under her heart. She was, however, fairly certain that she was maintaining a poised and politely bland expression, which was all that mattered.

“She looks like she’s about to cast up her accounts,” Westlin said.

“Don’t be absurd,” Sophia said. “My daughter would never fall to such behavior, especially not in front of her husband’s father.”

Which of course, straightened both her spine and her resolve.

“I feel perfectly fine,” Caro said sweetly. “Thank you for your concern, Lord Westlin. In this instance, it is completely misplaced.”

Sophia smiled in approval and nodded serenely. Whatever had occurred, Lord Westlin was
not
to see any weakness in her; that Caro understood very well.

“Of course, if there is something I should know, I should be more than eager to know it,” Caro said. “Mother? Is there more?”

“Nothing of particular interest,” Sophia said. When Lord Westlin began to grumble, Sophia continued, “Only that I wagered you would marry Lord Ashdon by six o’clock today. I made a tidy sum on that, as well. Well done, Caro.”

Oh, Lord.
She and her mother both knew how
that
had been managed. It had been her mother’s idea, after all, the entire pearl price, which would naturally result in the pearl seduction, which would even more naturally result in either ruination or marriage, and in her particular situation, both. She had been used. By her mother. For profit. Perhaps even for revenge.

Had Ashdon been right about her mother? Had this all been about wielding some blow against Westlin and nothing at all to do with her happiness?

No, not even Sophia could be so coldly calculating.

Though it was her mother who had convinced her that a pearl seduction was the only way to reliably achieve the elusive and completely contrary Lord Ashdon. It had seemed a logical plan at the time, particularly for a girl who had limited options. All right. She had had
no
options, or none that she could see, anyway.

Had she been managed from the start?

It
had
been her mother’s idea to marry Lord Ashdon initially, hadn’t it? Somehow, it had become
her
idea, or she had been persuaded to think it was her idea.

How very convenient that Sophia’s only daughter was married to Lord Westlin’s only son. What a very tidy revenge, and for profit, too. Her mother, she well knew, never discounted the possibility for profit.

Caro was developing a very healthy headache.

“And well done to Ashdon,” Staverton said from his window post, the late afternoon sun slanting across his features. “He wagered against the Marquis of Dutton that he’d wed you and bed you before four o’clock today. He was collecting from Dutton as I left White’s. A tidy sum, too.”

She was on her feet and at the door of the white salon before she knew it. She had to get out of this room before she did cast up her accounts, all over Lord Westlin’s feet. Not that he didn’t deserve it for having such a horrid son.

“What a clever man,” Sophia said smoothly, “to be paid twice for the same act. Perhaps he is better at money than he first appeared. How fortunate for Caroline.”

Caroline turned to face her mother, her eyes wide with shock.

How fortunate for Caroline. Oh, yes, how very fortunate. He’d done it for money. He’d done it
all
for money. He was more of a courtesan than she could ever have dreamed of being.

The door opened behind her and she slipped back an unsteady step into the opening, slipped back and felt Ashdon’s hand on her back, steadying her. She knew his touch; even through her clothes, she knew his touch and yearned for it.

She’d like to kill him for that.

“Hello, my irresistible wife,” he murmured against her hair.

His scent tantalized her, bracing and enticing. She could hate him for that as well. What wiles
hadn’t
he used to make a pound off her too-willing flesh?

She stepped sharply away from his touch and faced him. He looked the complete innocent, the scoundrel.

“I’m surprised you don’t jingle when you walk,” she said.

“I beg your pardon?” Ash asked, still playing the innocent, loving husband.

“I said,” she snapped, slamming the door to the white salon closed, “that I’m surprised you don’t jingle when you walk. From all the money you’ve made at my expense. From all the bargains and wagers you’ve made with me at their heart. From all the times and ways you’ve sold yourself, and me, for money.”

Ashdon actually had the
cheek
to look grim. The man had no shame, certainly no morals, and it was highly questionable whether he would continue on with all the parts he’d been born with.

“I think you should know now, Caro, that I shan’t discuss financial matters with you. That is not the way our marriage shall be arranged.”

“Fine!” she said, staring him down. If he thought he could frighten her with a grim and forbidding look, well, he didn’t know her at all, did he? “You may or may not discuss what you wish. You will understand, of course, that while you are making pronouncements about how our marriage shall be arranged, I shall be making funeral arrangements. For you. Freddy? A candlestick, if you please?”

Without any hesitation and certainly no reluctance, Freddy handed her a nicely solid silver candelabra. It would work beautifully as a weapon, and Freddy would never testify against her. Of that, she was certain.

“What the devil do you think you’re doing?” Ash said. His tone was harsh and condemning. She could hardly have cared less.

“If you will just stand still for a moment, I am going to hit you soundly on the head. Preferably the face. I should so like to disfigure you. Permanently. It will be a closed casket, of course.”

“Caro—”

“My name is Caroline,” she interrupted. “You may call me Lady Caroline, if you must call me anything at all.”

“Caro,” he said sternly, eyeing the candlestick, which she had raised over her head and which was growing somewhat heavy, “put that down. We must talk a few things through.”

“Oh. Now you’re willing to talk? Well, there is nothing to talk about, is there? It was all a lie. Everything. From the very start.” She was starting to cry. It was most embarrassing. Of all things, she did not want Ashdon to see her cry. “Everything was for the money. It was never about me at all. You probably hate the very sight of me. No wonder you hurried through our … well, what to call it? Not our wedding night. It isn’t even night yet. You just wanted to get it over with, didn’t you? I suppose I should be grateful you didn’t fling my skirts up over my head so that you could forget who—”

“Caro!” he roared. She dropped the candlestick. It made a dent in the floor and rolled dully to a stop at Freddy’s feet. “Enough!”

“Yes, enough,” she said stiffly, sniffing back her tears. “Fully enough. Freddy? The door.”

Freddy complied and opened the door. Ashdon grabbed her in his arms as she tried to pass him, crushed her to him, and kissed her savagely. She was on the edge of losing herself in his kiss, which was completely usual. She was completely disgusted with herself for her girlish weakness where Lord Ashdon was concerned. It was time for a completely different sort of action altogether.

She kneed him in the groin.

It was rather more than satisfying to see him drop to one knee and turn white about the gills.

Apparently, she had struck him rather hard for even Freddy groaned. She was sorry for that, but she couldn’t see how it could have been helped.