A Regency Courtesan's Pride: More Than a Mistress / The Rake's Inherited Courtesan

A hard intent gaze searched her face. She tried to look calm, unaffected. ‘I don’t believe you,’ he said finally. ‘You are not one to give up, Merry.’

The way he made her name sound like a caress caused her breath to catch in her throat. But worse yet was his correct assessment of her nature. It wasn’t like her to give up. She made a desperate bid to unscramble her thoughts. ‘What I do is nowt of your business, my lord.’

His lips tightened. ‘Because I won’t engage in trickery.’ He curled his lip. ‘I am shocked, Merry. Draycott’s is known for honest dealing, in word and deed. Would you compromise your good name?’

His accusation struck her on the raw. She held on to her rising temper, a hot fizz in her chest. ‘It is precisely because I treasure my good name that I am refusing your offer.’

He blinked. ‘I do not see the connection.’

‘I am sure you do not.’ And she wasn’t going to tell him. ‘Let us be quite clear on your position: while the Draycott name may be known for honest dealing, I certainly understand why it is not good enough to be linked with that of Mountford.’

‘Blast it, Merry, I didn’t mean that.’

But he did. She could see it in his eyes. Rich Merry Draycott. Low class and unacceptable, unless someone wanted her money. She folded her hands together in her lap and tried not to show the ache in her heart. ‘You are leaving tomorrow. None of this is your concern.’

He got up and threw a log on the fire. The scent of burning apple-wood filled the room. ‘So you are refusing my aid?’

‘Yes.’ She put up her hand, when he opened his mouth to speak. ‘The matter is closed.’

He turned to face her, his eyes hard. ‘You expect me to walk away when your life is in danger.’

‘Do you think that words falling from your lips will change that? You faffing in my business will only make things worse. I will speak to the constable and the magistrate myself.’

She didn’t see fit to add that the local magistrate was also a mill owner or that his wife had been among the most vociferous in her objections to the house in town.

He clearly wanted to distance himself from her and she’d offered him the perfect way out. She certainly had no reason to feel hurt by his rejection. He owed her nothing.

Nor did she need his approval. She didn’t need anyone’s approval.

‘Let us not talk about this any more. It is a storm in a teacup. Would you like me to play for you?’

Without waiting for an answer she went to the pianoforte and lifted the lid. She arranged her skirts around her on the seat and began to play.

A look of frustration passed over his face.

Well, it would. He could scarcely interrupt her. It would be very rude indeed. The one benefit of attending a select academy for young women was that she knew all the rules of polite society. Grandfather had been so proud of her accomplishments. If he’d any idea how she had suffered in that place, it would have broken his heart.

As well as teaching her social niceties, to paint and play the pianoforte and the harp, her time there had taught her to survive all the meanness the world could toss her way. She’d also learned something about men.

Charlie wanted to strangle her as she played one piece after another. The moment he began to applaud a piece, she started another. Her playing was excellent. Not a single note did she miss, and she played without music.

The pieces were all about lost love. Positively heart-wrenching, if one had a heart to wrench.

An hour had passed and the punishment continued. Though what he had done, he couldn’t imagine. Unless it was his sensible alternative to her madcap plan.

Clearly the headstrong wench was too used to getting her own way. And while he could see a kind of logic in her devious plan, it put him in a hell of an awkward position, when he was on his way to make overtures to Lady Allison.

Not to mention that the men she planned on duping, if they didn’t want her blood now, would once they realised her trick. If she refused to accept his offer of help, there was little he could do. He’d have to accept her decision, much as it went against the grain.

He leaned back in his chair and let his mind drift. She looked beautiful tonight and completely different from the previous evening. Her modestly cut gown only hinted at the lush figure beneath. Her black hair, pulled back severely from her face, showed off her high cheekbones, vivid blue eyes and unblemished milky skin. It also revealed the faint blue lines at her temple and tracing down her long elegant throat. If anything, she looked more alluring than she had in her seductive attire. Unattainable and therefore utterly desirable.

Beautiful. Cool and closed off. And brittle. The tension from their earlier kisses vibrated in the air. Whatever was happening, he feared if it went on any longer, she might shatter.

The closing notes of the piece she was playing brought him to his feet. He clapped loudly at the same time as he strode to the piano. He took her hand and kissed the back before she could start again.

‘That was lovely, Miss Draycott; however, I think it is time I retired.’

She glanced at the clock. ‘Eleven already? I had no idea. Still, I am sure that is not all that late for a man such as you.’

Ah, still angry then. He smiled wolfishly. ‘And what sort of man would that be?’

Her lips parted. Her face flushed. ‘A man who spends his time in London, I suppose.’

‘Have you ever been to London?’

The blush deepened. ‘I visited once. As a child.’

‘Perhaps it is time you visited again. And when you do, let me know, and I will be delighted to show you the sights.’ He took her hand again, held it in his and had the urge to bring her to her feet and kiss her again, recapture that moment of blissful mindlessness in the sleigh. The moment before she made her outrageous proposal, which now hung over them like a storm cloud. Kissing her would be a mistake. She would think his resolve was weakening.

He would not be twisted around any woman’s finger.

He raised her hand to his lips one more time and dropped the tiniest of kisses on the back of it, felt the tremor in her fingers in response and his body clenched.

He released her hand. ‘I bid you goodnight.’ He bowed and strode for the door before he changed his mind.

Why did doing the right thing feel so completely wrong?

Merry paced her chamber; her nightdress swirled around her ankles each time she turned and the rug was rough beneath her bare feet. Two hours has passed and she still couldn’t settle. She just wished she could clearly see a path.

Caro was right. She was. They must find a way to accomplish their goals and vanquish their opponents. She certainly didn’t need the help of a husband. Not even a pretend one. A woman with a husband wasn’t a person. She had no rights. No freedom of choice or of decision. Until Caro came, she had never thought of it that way. She’d always thought that one day she would have a husband and children. Men married for money and power. A man would absorb her money, wield her power, without consultation. Grandfather had trusted her enough to leave her his hard-earned business; she would never hand it over in exchange for a ring. Or companionship in bed.

She kicked her gown out of the way and turned. Tonbridge had no place in her life.

The thought left her with a deep sense of loss. Because her body was yearning for the pleasure it knew could be hers? Was that the reason she felt restless? On edge. She kept remembering his beauty as he left the drawing room. Virile, powerful and unbelievably handsome.

And that was the problem. She glared at her empty rumpled bed. The flare of heat in his gaze and the intensity of his kiss this afternoon had called to long-repressed desires and longings.

It had been years since she felt the warmth of a man. And this one knew how to seduce a woman’s senses. When his mouth had plied her lips, her body had been overjoyed.

She missed it.

She clenched her fists until they stung from lack of blood and lifted her gaze to the portrait above the mantel. Her mother. Daughter of an earl, beloved wife of her father—what would she think of the wicked thoughts going through her daughter’s mind, the hot fires of lust burning in her loins?

They burned within him, too.

Merry turned away from the gentle face looking down. No doubt her mother would be ashamed of her along with the rest of the fashionable world.

Tonbridge lay nearby alone in his bed and she would lie alone in hers. This was her future. She and Caro would live together, helping each other while she remained a spinster in name, if not in truth, forever.