A Courtesan’s Guide to Getting Your Man (32 page)

He went still upon me. I remained where I was, the ropes pulled tight, fearing a trick. He did not move. I felt Kiri’s hands on mine, pulling the ropes away from my numb fingers.

“Stop. Dead is bad.”

Yes. Of course, dead was bad. I blinked and shook off my surprisingly homicidal surge. Dead was very bad indeed, especially when in reference to a member of the aristocracy found in a room with two battered prostitutes at an orgy.

I shoved at Lord C
____
’s limp body with my hands, scrambling out from under him with a damp and desperate giggle. Kiri and I stood on either side of the bed, gazing down in mingled horror and relief at our handiwork. I bent to check him gingerly. Though his head was bloody, he still breathed.

Pulling my torn dress up in an attempt to set something to rights on this very wrong sort of day, I straightened and gazed at my cocaptive. “We need to get out of this house,” I said firmly.

We started for the door as one. I was about to fling it open and race into the hallway but Kiri stopped me with a hand over mine. She pressed her ear to the oak panels and frowned. In alarm, I knelt before the keyhole and peered out.

Shadows in the hall. Voices.

“Which d’you think he’ll do first?”

“He’s already done the foreign bit o’ slag a dozen times. He’ll take the Blackbird.”

“Not before he’s made her pay, he won’t!”

Laughter, drunken and dirty.

“Fetch me a drink. I don’t want to miss a single scream.”

I pulled away from the keyhole and frowned up at Kiri. She gazed back at me stolidly. I stood, brushing at my hands.

“Right,” I whispered. “You’ve more than done your part. I’ll handle this.” Turning, I strode to the bed. With a brutal yank worthy of Lord B
____
himself, I stripped Lord C
____
’s trousers down to his knees. I turned to choose my implement from the display wall. My fingers hovered over the cat-o’-nine-tails, but moved on to the milder riding crop. Kiri had no such compunction. Her golden hand hefted the great whip with ease.

With a fearsome crack, she brought the whip down on Lord C
____
’s virgin buttocks. His unconscious body bounced on the bed. I’m sure Kiri’s only regret was that the man was not awake to feel it. No matter. The memory would linger, I was sure.

I let out a wild shriek of pain. We heard a thump and a muffled guffaw from outside the door.

Crack!
“Oh please, my lord, oh, have mercy!”

Snap!
“No, stop, I beg you!”

Crack!
“Help me, someone, please!”

Snap!
“Oh, my lord, I beg forgiveness!”

My arm grew tired. It had been a very long day after all. I sagged back and watched Kiri wreak just a bit more vengeance before I stopped her. She had been at Lord C
____
’s mercy longer and I knew her rage was black and bottomless. However, I heard the wits outside the door grow bored and move away. It was time to leave.

When I opened the door a wee crack and peered through, I saw no one in the hall. Kiri and I wrapped segments of torn sheeting about our near nakedness and crept out, looking like Bedouins on a raid, no doubt. By avoiding the ballroom, we managed to make our way outside seen by no one but a weary, incurious maid.

Once outside, I realized to my horror that we had no transport and would be forced to walk to succor in our strange and suspicious state. We would never get out of range of Lord C
____
’s scurrilous company by morning!

A rattle of carriage wheels on the gravel drive prompted a quick dive into the shrubbery. Kiri and I pressed together beneath the boxwood and watched a familiar vehicle roll to a stop virtually before our noses. Lord B
____
had apparently achieved his goal of enriching himself at my expense and was now ready to make his way back to London. His driver jumped to the ground with a grunt and ambled off to alert his master that the carriage was ready.

I smirked at Kiri in the darkness. “Little dancer, our ride is here.” We ran giggling through the darkness to steal the carriage.

*   *   *

Hours later, when I entered my house at last, I shut the door behind me and leaned against it in utter weariness. How long since I had slept? It felt like weeks. Sylla stumbled down the hallway in her nightdress, carrying a candle in one hand and rubbing her eyes with the other. I took the candle and sent the girl off to her bed. I wanted nothing more than to fall into my own covers and sleep for days.

Kiri had driven the carriage, for I had no ability there at all. It took much less time to return to the city because Kiri drove like a drunken blind man. Once back in London, we’d made our way to the Swan’s house first for it was closer. I left Kiri there, sleeping on the Swan’s velvet settee, too weary to speak more than a brief word before dropping off. The Swan wanted the entire story, of course, and after my ridiculous distance lately I felt I owed her that.

Finally, when the words would scarcely stumble past my weary tongue, she woke her driver to take me home. She begged me to stay but all I wished in the world was my own bed.

So close now. Never had the stairs seemed so steep nor the hall so long. When at last my own pillow beckoned, I nearly wept with relief. The nightmare was over. I fell to bed and knew no more.

*   *   *

It must have been near morning when I woke to a heavy hand on my shoulder.

“Wake, you scheming slag.”

So recent was my fear that I knew I was in danger before my eyes could fully open. I jerked away with all my strength and scrambled across the bed. My legs tangled in the covers and I fell over the side, landing on the carpet with a thud. I fought free of the clinging sheets but a vicious kick to my side knocked me down again. Bright agony exploded within me. With the breath wheezing in my lungs, I clawed at the carpet, crawling away as best I could. I cast one look over my shoulder at the twisted, furious visage of Lord B
____
and cursed my own carelessness.

I should have stayed at the Swan’s. I should have known he would pursue me.

Poor sleepy Sylla was too far away to hear anything in her attic chamber. The other staff lived out of house, for I cherished my privacy. There was no one to help me.

Lord B
____
bent over me and took a hard grip on my arm, pulling me upright. I cried out but my voice was cut off by the next backhanded blow to my face. I saw red and green flashes in my vision as my head snapped back under the force of it. He dragged me all the way to my feet and shook me, his big hands cruel on my upper arms. “Who do you think you are? I had to beg conveyance from Lord C
____
. He doubled my debt because of you!” Another strike to my face. His hands seemed to be made of stone. “No one makes me out to be the fool!”

I sagged in his grip, stunned and unresisting. I had no wit to fight him off. There was no thought in my head of flight or succor. I was a mindless thing, in too much pain to think at all. My face exploded with agony every time my heart beat. My ribs creaked with every breath, while vicious pain enveloped my chest. Through swollen eyes I saw his fist rise in the air once more. Something small and pointed glittered in the predawn light. The knife I used to sharpen my quill.

“Pretty whore no more,” he said through gritted teeth. I despaired at the sadistic exhilaration in his gaze. “No one will want you when I have done with your face.”

It was the height of a night full of horrors. I had been so willfully blind to his true nature, when all the while he was worse than the corrupt Lord C
____
could ever be. Now I would carry the scars of my stupidity forever.

I had scarcely the breath left in me to care.

In my blurred vision, I saw a large shadow move behind my tormentor. Abruptly, Lord B
____
flew away from me to impact the opposite wall with a wrenching thud. That wall, it crossed my mind dully, was brick. Lord B
____
slid down to his knees, shaking his head. The shadow moved between us. It was big and wide and powerful.

I had no fear left. I sank down to the carpet, without the strength to even lift my pounding head. From my lowly vantage, I saw the looming shadow stretch his large, menacing hand toward Lord B
____
. Before I lost consciousness, I noted with great satisfaction that Lord B
____
’s eyes widened in fear. He scrambled to his feet and fled the room. I saw the shadow hesitate before pursuit. It turned toward me. Then darkness took me away.

Twenty-six

My dreams were filled with black desolation. When I slid from terror to wakefulness, the pain in my face and body led me to believe the nightmare continued. I made a sound, a senseless noise of despair. Something moved near me. I shrank back, lost in the confusing tangle of dream and reality.

Like a dream, I could see nothing. Yet I could smell sandalwood and brandy and the faintest scent of horse.

Sir.

With a wordless cry, I opened my arms. He came to me and wrapped me gently in his embrace. I clung to him, trembling, only then feeling completely safe for the first time in weeks. After a long moment, I eased my grasp, lying weakly back upon my pillow.

I whimpered. “Cannot see.” My words were muffled. Confusion whirled inside my battered brain.

I felt the breath of his short laugh on my cheek. “You cannot see because your face is bandaged.”

“My face?” My hands flew to my cheeks, only to encounter the layers of muslin strips. They covered my face from my top lip to my crown, with a few more beneath my chin holding my jaw shut. I could only manage a squeak of dismay that did nothing to convey the sickening horror that choked me. “Cut!”

Large warm hands tenderly encased mine and pulled them away from the bandages. “He did not cut you. However, your nose is broken, your jaw is sprained, and you’ve discovered new varieties of black and blue. You’ve some broken ribs as well. The physician said you’ll mend in time. Your nose may never be the same, but it was always a bit too snub. I foresee a patrician arch. Most authoritative.”

My ribs creaked painfully at my short laugh. “Don’t. Hurts.” I relaxed back against the pillows once more, too tired to worry about anything short of true deformity. Needing reassurance, I ran my hands up his arms to his shoulders, then up to caress his face.

He wore no mask. “Not fair!” My protest was a weak one, however. I felt sleep tow me under once more and I went gratefully. In the darkness, I did not have to relive my abysmal mistakes.

*   *   *

For several days, I “saw” no one but Sir. I heard Sylla’s voice a time or two and once I heard the Swan outside my bedchamber door, but Sir would allow no one to care for me but him. No bite of food passed my lips that he did not spoon up for me. No sip of broth went down my throat that he did not hold the bowl to my lips. He bathed my battered body with warm water and a touch so tender that it nearly made me weep. Never in my life had I been so looked after.

When I thanked him for his treatment of me, his voice turned harsh. “Show me no gratitude. I could have prevented all this, had I not been too proud to speak openly.”

I shook my head, wishing I could see his face, read his dark eyes, measure his unease by the way he clenched his jaw. “I am responsible for my own folly, Sir.”

I felt him take my hands in his. Heated skin pressed to my knuckles. He rested his brow on our tangled fingers. “If I had lost you…”

Warmth bloomed inside me. Unaccustomed shyness stole my voice. I tightened my fingers on his and listened to his breath hitch in his throat. My sweet defender. My conscience and my reason. If he had lost me, I would be lost, indeed.

In my private darkness, I allowed the tears to leak from my eyes. How close I had come to throwing everything away in a childish fit of pique and rebellion. How foolish, to willfully lose before I even realized that I might win.

That night, I pulled him into my bed so that I might sleep in his arms. Sir protested but I would not be swayed. There was no pain too great to keep me from his embrace. Carefully propped and cushioned, we slept the night through together as we never had before. Waking safe and warm and surrounded by him was the greatest pleasure he had ever given me.

In the early morning quiet, we clung to each other.

“I have to leave soon,” he told me.

I tangled my fingers in his. “Why?” The word came out small and breathy.

I felt him inhale deeply. “I am not what you need, sweet one. I want too much from you.”

My belly went cold. “I am interfering in your work? You are not able to perform with other women?”

He gave a small, rumbling, regretful laugh. “I cannot even imagine performing with other women.”

“You could stay with me,” I offered tentatively. “I have a little money saved. I would not have to find a new protector for some time.”

He was quiet for a long time. “Do you want a new protector?”

I did not answer for a long moment. The same question had been plaguing me for weeks. I had seen my rebellion through and I was done with it. Yet to give up my life entirely? To put the Blackbird to rest forever? I loved the Blackbird. She was so brave, so liberated.

“I must be free,” I said slowly.

He sighed. “I do not want you to be free. I want you to be mine.”

Sadness coiled within me as I raised my hand to stroke his beautiful, unmasked face that I had never seen. “Yet I cannot be yours, for I must be mine.”

He held me tightly for a long time in silence. We spoke no more of it that day. A tender, silent good-bye stretched through those daylight hours, making each smile and casual touch ache with poignancy.

The next morning when I awoke, the bandages that had covered my face for seven days had been removed.

And I was alone.

*   *   *

A few mornings later, the Swan, who had taken over my nursing, wandered into my bedchamber as I breakfasted at the small table by the window. I sat in my wrapper with my hair braided down my back, gazing dreamily at the garden outside. I was up and about at last and although my face was still swollen and my nose still tender, I could see the distortion diminish every day.