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

‘Let the horses have their heads. They will keep to the road. Since I’m expected, someone is sure to be waiting at the gate with a lantern.’

They should not have let her drive out alone, and he intended to tell them so, but he did as she suggested. It felt odd, handing control of their lives to a couple of dumb beasts, but their ears pricked forwards as if they knew where they were going when he let the reins hang slack. After only a minute or two, he saw a light swinging ahead of them, a faint twinkle rocking back and forth. Within moments a wizened man in a coachman’s caped coat was leading them between the shadowy forms of a pillared gate. They rounded a turn in the drive and more lights glowed through the swirling snow. They pulled up at a magnificent portico.

Two more men rushed out of the dark with lanterns.

‘We’ll see to the horses,’ the coachman bellowed over the wind. ‘Get yourselves inside afore ye perish, Miss Draycott.’

One of the grooms helped her down.

Charlie jumped down on his side.

‘This way,’ Miss Draycott called, hurrying up the steps.

Charlie followed. The blast of heat as the front door opened let him know just how cold he’d become.

Merry stripped off her coat and handed it to Gribble, whose smile expressed his relief.

‘We were beginning to worry,’ he said.

‘Gribble, this is the Marquis of Tonbridge.’ She gestured towards the stern dark man who was looking around him with narrowed eyes. She suppressed a chuckle. Grandfather’s idea of the style of a wealthy industrialist was a sight to behold. ‘My rescuer will need a room for the night.’

Tonbridge’s gaze shot to her face, dropped to her bosom as he took in the low-necked green muslin gown. It barely covered her nipples. She’d worn it quite deliberately today. Clearly her guest did not approve, for his firm lips tightened, before his gaze rose to her face again.

She cast him a flirtatious sideways glance. ‘You don’t have a choice, my lord.’

‘The green chamber is ready, Miss Draycott,’ Gribble said. ‘I’ll have Brian bring up your valise, my lord. He will serve as your valet while you are here. May I take your coat?’

Still frowning, Tonbridge shrugged out of his fashionably caped driving coat and handed it over, along with his hat and gloves. The lack of a coat didn’t make him look any less imposing. His black morning coat clung to his shoulders as if it had been moulded to his body, an altogether pleasing sight. Or it would be if she cared about that sort of thing. Without his hat, his jaw looked squarer, more rugged, but the smooth wide forehead and piercing dark eyes surprisingly spoke of intelligence. She doubted their veracity, because although his thick brown hair looked neat rather than fashionable, his cravat was tied with obvious flare. It must take his valet hours to turn out such perfection.

Merry knew his sort. An idle nobleman with nothing to do but adorn his frame. And there was plenty of frame to adorn. A good six feet of it, she judged. Tall for a woman, she still had to look up to meet his gaze. But she’d known that already. He’d loomed over her out there on the moors. And made her heart beat far too fast.

And the odd thing was, it was beating a little too fast now, too. And grasshoppers in hobnail boots were marching around in her stomach.

Surely she wasn’t afraid of him?

Or was it simply a reaction to the events of the past few hours? The disappointment at the mill owners’ intransigence, followed by the accident. It had not been a good day. She straightened her shoulders. She wasn’t beaten yet.

She needed to talk to Caroline. ‘Where is Mrs Falkner, Gribble?’

‘In the drawing room,’ the butler replied. ‘Awaiting dinner.’

Blast. She’d have to change, which meant no time to talk over what had happened with Caroline until later. She turned to Lord Tonbridge. ‘Gribble will see you to your room. When you are ready, please join us in the drawing room.’

She ran lightly up the stairs. Dandies took hours at their toilette. She stopped and turned. Tonbridge was watching her with an unreadable expression.

‘Dinner is in one hour. Please do not be late.’

His slackened jaw made her want to laugh. He must think her completely rag-mannered. And so she was.

She continued up the stairs to her chamber. If she was quick, she could speak to Caroline before their guest arrived downstairs.

A frown gathered beneath the chestnut curls on Caro’s brow. Her hazel eyes filled with sadness. ‘There is no help from that quarter, then,’ she said, at the end of Merry’s swiftly delivered report.

No matter how drably Caro dressed—tonight she’d chosen a dark blue merino wool with a high neck and no ornament—or how serious the expression on her heart-shaped face, the petite woman was always devastatingly lovely.

‘None at all, I believe,’ replied Merry, who always felt like a giant next to her friend. ‘Do not worry, the women can stay here for as long as is needed.’

She paced the length of the drawing room and came back to face Caro. ‘I’m so sorry I could not convince them.’

Caro gently touched her friend’s gloved hand. ‘It is not your fault. We will find another way.’

‘I wish I knew how.’

‘We will think of something. What is our visitor like?’

A generous change of topic given Caro’s disappointment. Merry filled her lungs with air. ‘Tonbridge? Handsome, I suppose. Rather disapproving of me, I’m afraid.’

‘That’s because he doesn’t know you.’

If he knew her, he’d be more disapproving than ever. She sat beside her friend. ‘I hope he doesn’t take too long. I’m starving.’ She looked at the clock. In one minute the hour would be up.

Tonbridge stepped through the door. He had shaved and changed from his driving clothes into a form-fitting blue evening coat, starched white cravat and ivory waistcoat. His tight buff pantaloons fitted like a second skin over muscle and bone. One would never guess from his languidly fashionable form he had recently heaved a wrecked carriage off the road single-handed.

He’d looked magnificent, like Atlas supporting the world.

‘Come in, Lord Tonbridge,’ Merry said. ‘Let me introduce you to my dear friend and companion, Mrs Caroline Falkner.’

‘I am pleased to meet you, Mrs Falkner.’ Tonbridge made his bows, gracious, elegant and formal. Coolly distant. The highborn nobleman meeting the unwashed masses. No wonder Caroline looked thoroughly uncomfortable.

‘I hope my unexpected arrival is not a dreadful inconvenience,’ he said, moving to stand beside the fire.

Polite blankness hid Caroline’s thoughts. She sounded calm enough when she spoke. ‘I am so grateful you were on hand to help Miss Draycott.’ She rose to her feet. ‘I hope the servants took good care of you?’ She went to the console on the far side of the room.

‘Excellent care,’ he said.

‘And your quarters are to your liking?’ Merry asked.

‘Indeed.’

A consummate liar. Merry hid her smile. Like the rest of the house, the green guest chamber was a nightmare of ostentation.

‘Let me pour you a libation to warm you after your ordeal,’ Caroline said. ‘Sherry for you, Merry?’ She turned to look at Tonbridge. ‘A brandy, my lord?’

Tonbridge was looking at Caroline with a frown of puzzlement. And no wonder. Caro’s ladylike airs and modest appearance would seem at odds with this house of gross opulence.

Oppressive scarlet velvet curtains, gilt scattered with abandon, garish fabrics on the floors and wildly patterned silk on the walls—she could almost see Tonbridge wince as he looked around.

Grandfather had wanted no one to underestimate his wealth.