A Courtesan’s Guide to Getting Your Man (41 page)

“If it weren’t for her, I’m afraid the Harringtons would go down in history as a bunch of insufferable bores,” Claudia had said with a wink.

Before the two of them returned to the exhibit entrance and the gala crowd, Claudia pulled her aside. “How did you manage it?” she asked, real wonder in her eyes. “I know the old farts on your board would never let you do this sort of thing, and LaPaglia looked like he’d been hit by a bus at the unveiling, so how did you do it?”

Piper gave that question some thought. “Friends … and luck,” she said. “But I had a lot of help and encouragement from my friends.”

Claudia smiled. “I just bet your dark-haired Irishman was a great source of encouragement. I don’t think I’ve seen a man look finer in a tuxedo in all my life, and believe me when I tell you that I’ve seen plenty of men in tuxedos in my seventy-eight years.”

Piper giggled, then automatically began searching for Mick in the crowd. She saw him making his way through the lobby with Brenna at his side, marching purposefully her way. His eyes briefly caught hers before she looked away.

“He nearly knocked me over running in here, you know. He looked worried that he was too late.”

Piper chewed her lip. Oddly enough, she’d not been the least bit nervous leading up to the big moment, probably because she’d been too busy. But now that it had passed, she felt unsettled—likely because she now had time to worry about Mick.

The exhibit entrance began to fill with people again, and Claudia asked them all to be quiet.

“I daresay this was quite a surprise.” Claudia paused to dab at her eyes. “But I believe that all of us need a little surprise in our lives. It keeps you young.”

Piper tried her best to focus on Claudia’s off-the-cuff commentary, but she sensed Mick’s eyes on her, hot and intense. She allowed herself a quick peek.

Oh God, he came back to me. He got off the plane. He gave up everything to be here. I can’t be angry with him. Why would I even want to be angry with him? I love him. And why is Brenna smiling at me like that?

Piper refocused just as Claudia reached the apex of her speech. “… further proof that women are rarely the paper dolls they’re made out to be in the history books. Ophelia Harrington was a dignified and brilliant woman with a true lust for life. She should be an inspiration to all of us. I know I’m terribly proud to be her descendant. And I would like to personally thank Piper Chase-Pierpont for having the courage to tell Ophelia’s full story to the world. Piper?”

Suddenly, applause broke out. A few people even whistled. Piper was shocked, and for a moment she felt lost.

“Go on and say something.” Claudia nudged her forward. “This is your night as much as it is Ophelia’s.”

Forty-two

London

I stepped down from the defendant’s box and slowly crossed the courtroom of the Old Bailey. All around me, people whispered and some even smiled congratulations my way, but my gaze was riveted on the tall, dark figure still standing by the judge’s bench.

Lord Malcolm Ashford, the man I’d fled twelve years before, waited for me—with Sir’s smile on his magnificent lips.

I stopped before him and tilted my head. Images of the two men, one arrogant stranger and one tender lover, flashed back and forth in my mind before resolving into a single, inconceivable whole.

My breath left me in a long sigh. “I am going to kill the Swan.”

Lord Malcolm’s smile flashed white. “She only did as I asked. I had no choice, you see. From the moment I looked across a ballroom and spotted a black-haired beauty with a red rose in her hair, I belonged to her. It simply took some time to understand that she would never belong to me.”

Regret swam through me. “I judged you harshly.”

He shook his head. “You judged me most perceptively. I was an ass. I convinced myself that my longing for you was nothing more than desire for another acquisition. I had the Swan arrange matters, hoping that your adventure with Sir would satisfy your curiosity and you would decide to wed me after all.”

Frowning, I fought to iron out these new wrinkles in the past. “My training was a lie.”

He snorted. “You’ve been the Blackbird for a decade. I’d say your training was most legitimate.”

I blinked. “But the Seven Sins?”

He glanced away with an abashed twist to his lips. “Ah, well … some of it I learned through extensive reading. Some I fabricated on the spot.”

Outrage flared within me at his deception, then just as quickly burned away. Whatever we had done, we had simply been trying to find our way to this moment. I was not the reckless girl of twelve years past. He was not the arrogant cad.

I held out my hand to him. “Hello, Lord Malcolm. I am Ophelia.”

He took my hand in his large, warm one and smiled. “Hello, Ophelia. I am in love with you.”

Somewhere deep inside I had always known this, yet to hear it aloud made my eyes dampen. “The sentiment is most sincerely mutual, my lord.”

His dark hazel eyes, so nearly black, flashed at this. “Then I have something I wish to ask.” He reached into the small pocket sewn into his weskit. Still holding my hand in his, he pressed an object, warm and hard and circular, into my palm.

I held a ring of ruby. The large oval stone was as red as a kiss and the shimmering diamonds encircling it were reminiscent of the petals of a flower. “You carried this ring to a murder trial?”

A flash of anguish crossed his face. “I have carried that ring every moment of the last twelve years. I bought it the day after I first saw you at the ball. The ruby reminded me of the rose gleaming in your black hair.”

My heart thudded and my vision swam, yet a small laugh bubbled up from somewhere perverse. “Goodness. I truly made you pay for that ‘transaction’ remark, didn’t I?”

He bowed his head slightly. “No more than I deserved.”

He’d said he had a question for me. Looking down at the ring resting in the palm of my hand, I felt dizzy with the thing that I must now do. I reached for his hand and pressed the ring back into it. His fingers clung to mine as I pulled them away.

“Ophelia.” His voice dropped to Sir’s husky murmur. “I love you. I have loved you for a dozen years. After all, I followed you to this moment, didn’t I?”

I drew back regretfully. “I have loved you all these years as well, but I cannot go back to that world. Being someone I am not nearly suffocated me during the trial.” I took a single agonizing step away. “I cannot be your Lady Ashford.”

He stepped forward, closing the distance between us. “Could you be Mrs. Harrington?”

I blinked. “Then who would you be?”

Malcolm took my hands and enfolded them in his own. “With two elder brothers with sons of their own, I am not in the line of succession to my father’s title.” He shrugged. “I will be Mr. Harrington.” Then he grinned wickedly. “But you may call me ‘Sir.’”

Forty-three

Boston

Piper sought out Brenna’s beaming face, then Mick’s sweet smile. She saw her parents’ stunned expressions. She noticed Linc Northcutt hanging around the doorway, pure disgust on his face. It made her laugh.

“I am the one who’s surprised,” she managed. “I knew I had to the tell the truth about Ophelia, but I was convinced the truth would not be welcome here. It appears I sold Ms. Harrington-Howell short, along with the BMCS board of trustees, and for that, I apologize. I do hope you all enjoy the exhibit.”

Piper began to slink away when Mick’s voice boomed over the hum of the crowd.

“Just one more surprise, if I may!”

Piper’s mouth unhinged as Mick jogged toward her. He came to stand at her side and addressed the thoroughly flummoxed crowd.

“I’ll let you get to the exhibit in a flash, but first, there’s something important I need to do.”

Mick lowered himself on one knee and reached for Piper’s left hand. Her head began to spin. This could not be happening. There was no way …

A ruckus rose from the crowd, but a few sharp
shh
-ings put an end to the noise, and the room went silent. Piper quickly glanced up at Brenna, who was crying. Piper had never once seen her best friend cry.

Suddenly, an elderly gentleman shouted, “This is the best damn Fall Gala I’ve ever attended!” As the laughter rose and fell, Mick continued to hold Piper’s left hand, stroking her flesh with his thumb as he gazed up into her eyes.

“Oh my God,” she breathed.

Mick grinned up at her, and she knew that if she hoped to remain standing she needed to focus on his handsome face, his soulful blue eyes, his perfect, smiling mouth.

“Piper Chase-Pierpont, I love you. You are the most incredible woman I have ever known.”

As Mick pulled a dainty gold ring from his trouser pocket, Piper realized she was light-headed, that no oxygen was making it to her brain. She told herself to snap out of it—there was no freaking way she would space out during the most romantic moment of her life.

“Please marry me, Piper. Be my wife. Give me that honor.”

She opened her mouth to speak. Nothing came out. Mick waited patiently, his smile never letting up.

“Yes,” she eventually whispered. “Yes, yes,
yes
!”

VOLUME IV

Forty-four

Boston

Mick reached for the doorknocker, the solid brass of the lion’s head shining in the morning sunshine. “Charming little hovel she’s got here.”

Piper chuckled. Claudia’s Beacon Hill monstrosity had been the home she’d shared with her beloved Theron Howell, who’d owned a chain of New England sawmills. Though he’d long been dead, his money and Claudia continued on here. Piper smiled up at Mick, recalling how she’d been similarly wowed the first time she’d seen the place.

“Still no idea why we’ve been summoned to the manse?” he asked.

“Nope,” Piper said.

The imposing door opened, and Claudia appeared in all her silver-headed glory. “Fabulous!” she said, ushering them in. “Let’s have our little get-together in the parlor, shall we?”

Claudia gestured toward a set of gilded double doors. Piper felt Mick stiffen the moment they stepped into the room.

“Make yourselves comfortable. I’ll be right back.” She swooped out into the hallway.

Mick studied the heavy brocade drapes, the heirloom carpets, and the groupings of little straight-backed chairs and shook his head. “Where exactly are we supposed to get comfortable?” he whispered.

Piper elbowed him. “Whatever we’re here for, I’m sure it won’t take long.”

He scoped out a dainty velvet love seat and settled in. Piper squeezed in next to him and clasped her hands in her lap.

Claudia reappeared, a silver tea tray in her hands.

Mick attempted to stand again. “Let me help you with—”

“Oh, don’t be silly. You’re my guests. Sit. Sit.”

Within seconds Claudia had arranged the tray of cookies and tea things on a small table near the love seat. “Help yourself.” She sprawled back in a chair, her silk drawstring trousers cascading softly around her long legs, one arm draped over the chair back. “Well, how are you two? Glad all the excitement is behind you?”

Piper sneaked a quick glance at Mick and couldn’t help but giggle. Claudia’s statement wasn’t accurate by any stretch—their lives were a whirlwind of combining households, planning a wedding, and plotting out the first season of Mick’s cable show. The producers thought Mick’s profane ultimatum and return to Boston were part of the negotiation, and doubled his per-episode offer. Piper and Mick were set to meet the cable executives the following week—in New York. She didn’t correct her hostess, however.

Claudia poured herself a cup of tea and added two sugars. “I wanted to talk to you about the board of trustees situation. You must know that Forsythe has been riding my ass nonstop since the exhibit opened.”

Piper sat up straighter. “Uh, Claudia, I really don’t have anything to do with—”

“Why would I want to be on that board? I plan to continue my travels and I certainly don’t want to be tied down to insufferable meetings that only provide a venue for rich old men to drop names and get all tingly from the sound of their own voices.”

“Actually—”

Claudia waved her hand through the air, stopping Piper. “Oh, I know you quit your job. Good for you, though you’ll be missed, I’m sure. I wanted to ask you to deliver this check to them.”

Claudia reached for an envelope she’d tucked under the cookie plate and handed it to Piper. “They don’t want me, anyway. They just want my money. There’s enough in there to do something flashy—a new wing, a few new curators—frankly, I don’t care how it’s spent as long as the Ophelia Harrington exhibit is made permanent. Oh! And I want them to redo that phone operator show from last year—thought it was to die for!”

Piper considered the envelope, then Claudia, then Mick, and the envelope again. She didn’t know which was funnier—that Linc Northcutt would be in charge of the Ophelia Harrington exhibit—
in perpetuity,
no less—or that LaPaglia would have to restage the switchboard girls. Piper couldn’t suppress her smile. “That’s very kind of you, Claudia. I’m sure Mr. Forsythe will call you immediately.”

Claudia let go with a dramatic sigh. “All right, kids. Now I can get to the real business at hand.” She pushed herself up from her chair. “Don’t go anywhere!”

After she’d darted from the room once more, Mick mumbled, “How much is in there?”

Piper peeked, reading the check upside down. She gasped. “Sixteen million.”

“Dollars?” Mick squinted one eye.

Almost immediately, Claudia was back. She held a leather-bound book in one hand and a small velvet box in the other. Piper had no idea what the woman was up to.

She arranged herself comfortably again and held out an obviously old book. The tiny hairs on Piper’s forearm stood straight up, like they’d been electrically charged.

“I thought you needed to see this,” she said.

Piper accepted the book. It was just slightly larger than Ophelia’s diaries had been, and featured a thick, masculine band of gilding along the edge. Slowly, it began to dawn on her. Could this really be…?