The Courtesan's Courtship

The Courtesan's Courtship
Gail Ranstrom

TO RESTORE HER REPUTATION, SHE MUST FIRST DESTROY IT…When Dianthe Lovejoy is accused of murdering a courtesan who bears an uncanny resemblance to her, she must go into hiding. And the only man who can protect her is her enemy–notorious rake and gambler Lord Geoffrey Morgan.Owing a debt of honor to her relative, Lord Geoffrey reluctantly takes in the meddlesome miss. But when he learns of her plan to masquerade as a courtesan to unmask the villain, he vows to put a stop to the ridiculous scheme. Thinking that training Dianthe in the courtesan arts will scare her off, Geoffrey discovers that he's met his match. Especially when Dianthe practices her newly acquired wiles on him….

“We’ve always been at sword-point in one way or another.”

“I did not love you before.”

He held his breath. “Do you…love me…now?”

She shivered and her voice caught on a sigh. “Yes.”

She loved him? But how could she? He’d flaunted her as a courtesan, warned her she could not trust him. But he’d never told her that she had taken his breath away the first time he’d ever seen her.

“Dianthe,” he said, his voice cracking over the force of his emotions. “I…not a single one of your relatives would thank me for loving you, and a few would call me out. And they’d be right. I want nothing more than to despoil you.” He held her closer, burying his face in her hair and breathing in her scent.

“Do not try to be noble,” she said. “Finish what you’ve begun…!”

Praise for Gail Ranstrom

A Wild Justice

“Gail Ranstrom certainly has both writing talent and original ideas.”

—The Romance Reader

Saving Sarah

“Gail Ranstrom has written a unique story with several twists that work within the confines of Regency England…. If Ranstrom’s first book showed promise, then Saving Sarah is when Ranstrom comes of age.”

—The Romance Reader

The Missing Heir

“Ranstrom draws us into this suspenseful tale right up to the very end…”

—Romantic Times

The Courtesan’s Courtship

Gail Ranstrom

www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)

Once again, with love, to my family.

Thank you for all the years of love, laughter and friendship. I couldn’t ask for more.

My gratitude and love to Rosanne, Margaret, Cynthia, Lisa, Eileen and Suzi, who always tell me the truth, even if I don’t like it. And especially to Sandi F., through thick and thin.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter One

August 18, 1820

F ragmented shadows skittered across the dark pebbled pathway in Vauxhall Gardens, confusing in their quickly changing patterns. A sigh. A moan. The wind? Even the shadows menaced. Dianthe was not timid, but she had never liked being alone in the dark. Objects seen or imagined disappeared with the next shift of the wind. She stumbled, certain her friends had come this way to watch the fireworks over the river just moments ago. Had she made a wrong turn in the dark?

The bushes nearby rustled and a prickle of fear raced up her spine. Was it the breeze off the river, or were Hortense and Harriett doubling back for her? Or could it be that strange man shrouded in a scarlet cloak who’d run into her earlier? She hadn’t been able to see his face, but he’d seemed surprised when she’d turned to glare at his hand on her arm, as if he had thought she was someone else.

She stubbed her toe again and seized the trunk of a tree to keep her balance. Eerie dappled moonlight filtering through the leaves and branches cast another kaleidoscopic mix of shadows and light, but this time there was no mistake. The object she’d stumbled upon was a woman. She looked like a forgotten doll lying facedown and partially hidden beneath a fragrant honeysuckle bush.

Dianthe recognized her—the girl’s white dress, actually. It was almost identical to her own, right down to the pink satin ribbon that trimmed the neckline and hem. She’d seen the young woman earlier in the evening, near the entrance.