The Accidental Courtesan (3 page)

And then she was gone.

G
avin Blackwell woke up the next morning with wool in his mouth and daggers piercing his brain. When he dragged open his eyes, bright rays of sunlight were streaming through the window and over his face, torturing him for his folly. He turned away with a parched groan and swore under his breath.

Tormented by his indulgences, he reached for the glass and its remaining splash of whiskey to wash some of the dreadful dryness off his tongue. Once he was able to speak, he cursed his poor judgment for dipping heavily into last evening's entertainment, and for not ordering the maids to close the drapes before he left.

The belated celebration of the opening of his shipyard had gone far past a few drinks with his cousin and his companions. He wasn't clear on much from the previous evening, but he did know one thing. He'd been carried home and up to bed while singing some nonsensical and very slurred Irish ditty. After that, the night was all a blur.

The clock chimed ten, and he pulled the sheet over his head with the intention of collecting a few more hours of sleep. He'd just begun to chase Morpheus back into oblivion when a light hint of lemon and cinnamon drifted up his nose to tease his battered senses.

He jerked upright on the bed. Pain shot through his head, and he cursed again.

A woman. He darted a glance around for signs of her but found nothing. Still, he wasn't completely deterred. A beautiful woman had been in his bed sometime during the night. He was sure of it. Well, mostly sure. He'd kissed her and tasted her lemon-scented skin and lush lips.

Hadn't he? Then where was she? Unless she'd climbed into the wardrobe or shimmied under the bed, she wasn't there.

He pressed both palms against his forehead and picked diligently through his muddled brain for a clear thought. The attempt proved futile. It might take a week to recover fully from his drunken stupor. Time he didn't have.

No, he assured himself, she hadn't been a dream. Her lingering scent on his pillow proved she was real, and not some delightful fantasy he'd conjured up for his amusement.

Gavin lifted the sheet and looked beneath. He was still wearing his trousers. He wasn't sure if he should be pleased he hadn't bedded the mysterious wench or bereft she'd escaped, unscathed, from his fumbling attempts to seduce her. With a face like hers, from what he could remember through the haze, it would be shameful not to recall every moment of their coupling.

What he did recall was the softness of her mouth and the scent of lemon and spice in her blonde—or was it brown—hair? He also seemed to recollect some sort of offer to become his mistress. But had the woman actually made such a bold offer, or was it a seductive dream?

Bloody hell! His head was ready to explode, and frustration weaved through the pain. If she'd been a whore given to him as a gift by Charles, she shouldn't be too difficult to hunt down.

He grinned. Next time he had her in his bed, he'd be fully sober and ready to enjoy the favors she'd offered. After all, it was high time to take a mistress. Brief couplings at brothels, with women of questionable cleanliness, had never appealed to him. He wanted a beauty to share the pleasurable intimacies of his bed. He wanted this mysterious beauty.

Knuckles rapped on the door and the panel swung open. Charles, Earl of Seabrook, strode into the room without invitation, dressed in lordly attire and ready to face the day. A wide grin split his handsome face. Clearly, one of them wasn't suffering the effects of too many drinks.

“I came to check your breathing, cousin, before I venture off to Bath.” He grinned stupidly and claimed a chair by the window. Charles rarely slept past noon and was already impeccably dressed for his trip. A late night out hadn't changed his habits. “I wasn't sure a man could survive such high amounts of whiskey and live to see morning. I expected to find you cold and dead.”

Gavin shot him a watery glare and slumped back on the pillows. “I seem to recall you kept my glass filled. Your tab at White's must be a level fortune.”

Charles chuckled. “I can cover it. My father left me a bloody king's ransom.” He stretched out his long, thin legs. Charles and Gavin revealed a hint of their shared paternal bloodline in their features and dark hair, but his English cousin was British-pale. By contrast, Gavin had spent most of his life in America, working on the docks and learning all there was to know about shipbuilding. His sturdier build and darker skin were the results.

“My father left me a worthless shipyard. I had to build my own fortune,” Gavin grumbled. Though their fathers were brothers, Gavin's father had been one of the younger sons and reckless in every regard. He suspected the only reason his father hadn't gambled away the shipyard was that he'd won it in a card game, then promptly forgotten he owned the property. “Perhaps I should push you under a coach and claim your inheritance. Then I could spend my life indulging my pleasures rather than working my hands to callused imperfection.”

It was only recently that Gavin had returned to this land of his birth, after the death of his Boston-bred mother. When his estranged father had died some years ago and left him the shipyard, he'd balked at returning to London. He had a life in Boston. But without his mother, there was little to keep him in America. Loneliness and curiosity drew him back to his birthplace, and here he would stay, for now, if this new shipping venture proved as successful as he planned.

“Don't forget Thomas and Cecil,” Charles said, and swung out an arm. “They have claim over all this before you. Surely you wouldn't push them beneath the coach as well?”

Gavin shook his head. His two young cousins, Charles's sons, were being groomed by their mother to inherit once Charles finally dropped dead.

And, truthfully, Gavin was quite satisfied with his lot.

Charles chuckled. “I know you, Cousin. You'd hate the responsibility that comes with my title. I am wed until my death to a woman who despises me. I carry the weight of the financial burdens of keeping my coffers full, so that I may leave my children more than the lint in my pockets.” He sighed. “You have the freedom I lack. Thus, I have to indulge in my pleasures when I can, to keep myself sane.”

Gavin lifted the glass. “Then here's to your continued good health, Cousin, and to that of your sons.” He swallowed the last few drops of liquid. “May you all live very, very long lives.”

Charles chuckled. “If only your father had been born first. . . .” He let his wistful voice trail off.

Though his cousin complained about his responsibilities, Gavin knew Charles enjoyed all the privileges his title offered, Lady Hortense aside. From the stories Charles told, the woman was a veritable shrew, and Gavin had thus far taken pains to avoid meeting her. It was impossible for him to understand how Charles managed to get four children by her without snapping her scrawny neck.

Perhaps it was remembering the immense dowry old Lord Pottsworth had offered Charles to wed and bed his oldest daughter that allowed his cousin to perform his husbandly duties. The dowry rivaled the value of the crown jewels. Still, no fortune would have convinced Gavin to take Hortense, in spite of her rumored lovely face. Charles claimed her harsh voice was enough to freeze a man's bollocks blue.

Gavin shuddered and quickly changed the topic. “I would like to thank you for the woman you sent me, though I fear I did not get to indulge myself, thanks to you and your whiskey. I would, however, like to ask where you found her, so I can discover her whereabouts. I'd appreciate a second chance to taste her favors.”

Charles frowned. “Woman? What woman?”

“The woman you sent to my room.” Gavin watched Charles's confusion, and his stomach tightened. His cousin looked positively befuddled. “Didn't you send me a doxie last night?”

Charles shook his head and looked around the room. “A woman was here in this house?” he said, surprised. Then his surprise turned quickly to excitement. “Was it Bliss?” He gave Gavin a brief description of his vanished courtesan. His desire for the girl was clear on his face.

“It wasn't her,” Gavin said. “The eyes and hair were not the same.” His sneak thief–courtesan's eyes were a soft amber brown with flecks of what he thought might be green around the pupils, and her hair was lighter. That much he could remember from that moment they'd been nose to nose.

Concern drew him out of bed. Gavin stumbled to his coat and found his coin purse undisturbed. “Then who was she?”

Charles stood and walked around the room. “I haven't any idea. This is as much a mystery to me.” Peering into every nook and corner and behind the drapes, he eventually stopped at the dressing table and lifted something off the surface.

“Hortense's necklace. I had the spider clasp repaired.” Charles turned and dangled a very expensive piece from his fingertip. Sapphires and diamonds glistened in the sunlight. “Odd. I thought I'd lost it. Hell, I thought Bliss had stolen it a couple of days ago, during my last visit to her town house. That was right before she vanished without word. Are you certain it wasn't her?”

“Very certain. This woman did not have blue eyes.”

The two men fell silent. Gavin was puzzled. Was the mysterious woman a thief? Or had she found and returned the necklace? The idea was absurd. How could she know the rightful owner unless she'd had a part in the theft? And if she was a real thief, why return it at all?

Perhaps Charles had accidentally dropped it and one of the maids found it and left it on the table. An improbable solution he quickly dismissed. A necklace such as this would be returned to the earl immediately, not left lying around for anyone to lift.

There were too many puzzling pieces of this story. Suspicion welled. What
had
she been doing in his room? Suddenly, Gavin wanted to find the mysterious woman and shake the truth from her.

“I did suspect Bliss had taken it. I'm pleased to see I was mistaken. Perhaps I should call the Runners to make an investigation,” Charles said tightly, and closed his hand around the necklace. “If my dear wife had discovered I'd lost the piece, she'd have had me castrated. It is her favorite.”

“I think you should wait,” Gavin countered. He couldn't imagine his lovely little thief in shackles. He had other plans for her. “There was something about this woman that led me to believe she was not a common criminal. There's no proof she had anything to do with the necklace.” More memories surfaced, and he grinned. “I do recall that she thought I was you and offered her services as Bliss's replacement. Perhaps it was as simple as a desperate woman looking to secure a wealthy patron.”

Slowly, Charles relaxed. “Then I shall defer to your suggestion. No harm is done. Perhaps if you find the chit, you should send her to me.” He walked to the door. “Clearly, the girl finds me worth risking her neck for. And, as you know, I am in need of a new courtesan. Bliss has been missing for two days. I fear she is not coming back. Pity.”

With a wink, Charles left him. Gavin settled back and stared at the ceiling as his conversation with the selfproclaimed courtesan began to come back to him. Tension returned as he recalled her words. She mentioned spotting him in Hyde Park and hatching a plan of seduction. If that was true, then why didn't she immediately recognize he was the wrong man?

 

W
hen Noelle returned to the courtesan school that morning, she discovered Bliss in a state of hysteria. The brunette's face was plum red from weeping, and tears streaked her cheeks, ruining her pretty features.

Bliss launched herself from the settee with a rustle of fabric. Noelle took a quick step back to keep from being knocked flat and held up her palms as a barrier. The girl clasped her raised fingers tightly and jerked Noelle's hands toward her.

“Did you return the necklace?” Bliss said, her eyes pleading and filled with unshed tears. She moved Noelle's clasped hands under her trembling chin. “Please tell me you returned the necklace!”

“I returned it.” Noelle pulled free with some effort, sidestepped around the young woman, and pulled off her cloak. “You need not worry anymore.”

Bliss went down to her knees in a pouf of pink, nearly vanishing beneath skirts and petticoats. Relief filled her pretty features. “Thank you, Miss Noelle. You have saved me.”

Noelle frowned at how quickly Bliss had recovered from her hysteria. A smile spanned the courtesan's face.

Had the woman actually learned anything from her poor choice, or was she destined to get herself into more mischief in the future? Noelle had risked her neck for the girl, not knowing the earl was still in London, and she couldn't resist telling Bliss so. She had to make the gravity of the situation as clear as possible for Bliss's sake.