The Courtesan

“Never mind Darnley’s baiting,” Farnsworth said. “You were about to tell us about Lady Belle and Vauxhall?”

His quarrel forgotten, Higgins’s eyes took on a prurient gleam. “Ah, yes! I’ll never forget it, though ’twas nearly four years ago. A group of us went to the gardens and spied Bellingham with Belle and some friends, all well in their cups. Belle was sporting a gown fashioned from some sheer material, the bodice so low cut it revealed nearly the whole of those delicious breasts. Indeed,” he continued, his voice thickening, “Bellingham said he would rather savor her, for her plump, pebbled strawberries were sweeter than any Vauxhall had to offer.”

By now, Jack’s entire group—and all the gentlemen sitting within earshot of it—had fallen silent, giving Higgins their undivided attention.

Seeming pleased by his large audience, Higgins continued, “Bellingham leaned over to Belle, and with men and woman of all stations in booths but a few yards away, started suckling her tits—right through her gown!”

After a chorus of indrawn breaths and assorted exclamations, Higgins continued. “When he finished, the bodice was entirely transparent—leaving those strawberries clearly visible for us all to feast our eyes upon—and, ah, how worthy they were of feasting! Before we could look our fill—though I doubt one ever could—Belle suggested a stroll. I felt sure Bellingham would hustle her down one of the dark walks and finish what he’d started, but he invited a group of us to accompany him. Hardly able to imagine what might transpire next, we accepted.”

Though shocked by the idea of so intimate an act being performed in public, within view of decent men and women, Jack was ashamed to admit that he was as titillated as he was revolted. An honorable man, he told himself sternly, would walk away, leaving the rest of Higgins’s ribald story unheard. Jack tried to tell himself to do just that—but his legs didn’t seem to be obeying his brain.

“Bellingham did head for one of the darker paths,” Higgins was continuing, “announcing that he felt the need to dispense with some of the wine he’d drunk. That business concluded, instead of sheathing his standard—its condition already, as you can imagine, at better than half-mast—he bade Belle walk on with him. Advising her to hang on to something firm, he wrapped her hand around his shaft and set off—her fingers caressing him at every step.”

While Higgins paused to take a sip, the entire company sat in a breath-suspended hush. Get up now, Jack instructed. His limbs continued to defy him.

Gaze abstracted, as if focused on the memories he was describing, Higgins resumed, “By the time we reached his carriage, Bellingham wasn’t the only one gasping for breath. The moment the footman opened the door, Bellingham hustled her back against the squabs—and with all of us, including the footman, still looking on, yanked her skirts up to her waist and thrust her legs apart. Such a vision of creamy white thighs and sweet nether lips in a nest of golden curls, I shall never forget! Then Bellingham lifted her breasts out of that excuse of a bodice and mounted her. The footman, too shocked to move, I suppose, never closed the carriage door, so we saw the whole. Belle’s eyes glassy and her mouth open as Bellingham pounded into her—those luscious naked breasts bouncing, barely a handspan away…I must admit, the footman wasn’t the only onlooker who discharged his weapon that night!” Higgins exhaled heavily. “’Twas the most erotic experience of my life.”

In the midst of the groans, sighs and ribald comments, Jack heard young Ansley mutter, “I don’t believe it.”

Though with the cynicism of age, he realized that the broad outlines, if not the coarse details, of Higgins’s tale were probably true, he found himself sympathizing with the infatuated youth’s disinclination to accept that the beautiful creature he obviously worshiped could have been involved in so crude and carnal an episode. Before Jack could decide whether he was more disgusted with Higgins for telling the tale or himself for listening to it, another man entered the room.

“Ah—Lord Rupert!” Higgins exclaimed, gesturing to the newcomer. “Another spellbound witness to the extraordinary events I’ve just described. Indeed, my lord was so enraptured by the, ah, sights and sounds that evening, he has been mad for the wench ever since, eh, Wendell?”

Ignoring him, Lord Rupert walked calmly onward. Turning back to the group, Higgins continued, “Bellingham removed her from town for a time immediately afterward, some alleged because he feared Rupert would try to bribe her away from him. Though, given the sums you’re reputed to have offered and had turned down,” Higgins said, addressing the baron, “it don’t seem she favors you.”

“If Bellingham were still alive,” Rupert said, fixing a chilly silver-eyed gaze on Higgins, “you wouldn’t have dared recite that story, you miserable muckworm. You, I, the others—we all swore to remain silent.”

Higgins’s face colored. “B-but that was only—”

“I think, in honor of his memory, I should take care of you for him,” Rupert interrupted, giving Higgins a thin smile. “Perhaps it might be…healthier if you left town. Now.”

Under Rupert’s unnerving scrutiny, Higgins turned pale, then red again. After a moment’s hesitation, while Rupert continued staring silently at him, Higgins rose and walked out.

“As for the lovely Lady Belle,” Rupert continued, his voice calm as if nothing unusual had transpired, “I have every expectation of her eventually accepting my carte blanche. Make no mistake—sooner or later, that lady will be mine.”

“She is not, however, yours yet,” Ansley reminded doggedly. “Any one of us has the right to approach her.”

“Anyone?” Rupert gave a disparaging bark of laughter. “I’d hardly count on winning yourself a kiss, young pup. ’Twould require a swordsman of far more skill than you’re ever likely to possess.”

“I daresay Carrington might do it,” Aubrey said, startling Jack. “He’s been the best fencer of us all since Eton.”

“So he has,” Montclare agreed. “What do you say, Jack? Shall you have a go at it?”

Recovering from his initial shock, Jack knew he should put an immediate end to the discussion. After all, Higgins’s tawdry story should have inspired him with a firm disinclination to have anything further to do with a woman who had allowed herself to be displayed more crudely than the cheapest prostitute out of Seven Dials.

Except he couldn’t quite reconcile that vision of offensive carnality with the fierce gaze and intense, focused concentration of the woman who had disarmed her fencing instructor, demolished her subsequent opponent and left the room without responding to any of the offers shouted at her by a gallery full of eager supplicants.

Base voluptuary. Scheming, money-hungry jade. A woman of kind heart. Which of those descriptions—if any—reflected the true Lady Belle?

“Of course he’ll do it—won’t you?” Aubrey’s reply pulled Jack’s attention back to the present.

Without having made any conscious decision, Jack heard himself say, “I suppose so.”

“Famous!” Aubrey said. “That kiss is as good as won.”

Jack laughed, but before he could respond, he felt a prickling between his shoulder blades that had, during his years as a soldier, often been a presage of danger. He turned to find Lord Rupert’s gaze on him.

“You might win a kiss,” Rupert conceded after studying him. “But you will never win Belle to your bed.”

“I say, is that a threat?” Aubrey demanded.

“Nay, ’tis more like a dare,” Montclare opined.

“Indeed not, ’tis a wager!” another man cried.

“So it is,” several others agreed. And before Jack could utter another word, calls went out for a waiter to bring the betting book.

Though Jack disavowed interest in anything beyond a contest of blades, the other men, after informing him his participation was unnecessary, duly recorded the wager.

That done, with a cold nod to Jack, Rupert departed. As the other men drifted away, Jack declined Aubrey’s invitation to a hand of whist and accepted Edmund’s offer of a lift back to his rooms. After bidding Aubrey good-bye, the two friends set out.

After tooling his high-perch phaeton down several streets, Edmund turned his attention to Jack. “Do you really intend to challenge Lady Belle?”

“It should prove…interesting. She is quite proficient—amazingly so for a woman.” Jack hesitated. Edmund had always been a steady sort, more detached and observant than the volatile Aubrey. Knowing he could trust his level-headed friend’s opinion, he felt compelled to ask, “What do you think of Lady Belle?”

“Do I believe she actually took part in Higgins’s frolic? Or do I suppose his tale to be a drunkard’s embellishment of a more innocent incident?”

Jack shrugged. “The account was a bit…shocking.”

“I’m afraid I don’t know the truth. Lady Belle has always seemed to me to possess too much…dignity to have participated in such a display. Either way, I doubt it has any bearing on her skill with a foil.”

“I suppose not.”

“If you wish to get a better sense of the woman, you might stop by Drury Lane tonight. Lady Belle keeps a box there. When do you mean to challenge her?”

“Aubrey committed me for tomorrow morning.”

Having reached Albany, Edmund pulled up his horses. “I shall have to delay going to the office until after the match, then. May I wish you good luck.”

“Thank you,” Jack said, accepting his friend’s hand down. “For the ride—and the opinion, as well.”

Edmund nodded. “Drury Lane, upper right. I must work tonight, or I’d be tempted to join you. In any event, I hope Rupert, that slimy bastard, doesn’t end up with her.” Flicking the reins, Edmund set his horses in motion.

Jack watched as his friend drove off, then took the stairs with a purposeful stride. He had his rooms to put to rights, his solicitor to consult, a valet to hire, new garments to order and Horse Guards to visit.

And he didn’t want to be late to the theater.

CHAPTER THREE