The Courtesan Duchess (2 page)

Nicholas Francis Seaton, the seventh Duke of Colton, watched covertly from his seat at the card table as Winchester and Mrs. Leighton took their leave. Since returning from the terrace, he’d hardly been able to take his eyes off his friend’s companion while she charmed every other man at the party. She was good. The best, if the rumors of her superior wit, charm, intelligence, and passion were to be believed. But Nick had never placed much credit in rumors. Not after his own life had been turned upside down by gossip and innuendo, and he’d been forced to leave his home and country.

No, Nick was much more interested in discovering the woman’s talents for himself.

If he had to conjure up a vision of the perfect woman, the exquisite Mrs. Leighton would be it. With alabaster skin and clear blue eyes, her fiery hair, delicate features, and lush figure were all artfully arranged and displayed to her best advantage. Bloody hell, she was a goddess in every way. The low-cut dress had barely contained her ample breasts, and Nick swore he’d caught sight of one dusky areola.

And her smile . . . With lips tilting up mysteriously at the ends, her mouth teased and tempted. Begged a man to run his tongue along the edges in the hopes it tasted half as delicious as it looked. He’d seen a woman’s beckoning smile a hundred times before, but never one quite so charming as Mrs. Leighton’s. It had almost seemed as if she’d been amused by him at the same time she flirted with him.

No wonder Winchester appeared so unnaturally besotted. While growing up, many a woman had hopped from his bed to Winchester’s and vice versa. It had all been a game. But the tender way Winchester looked at Mrs. Leighton tonight had been surprising. So Nick would need to gauge Winchester’s feelings for the woman before making a move. Even though she had overtly flirted with him, he’d not offend one of the few men he still considered a friend.

Three-quarters of an hour later, he tossed in his hand. It had been a profitable evening and he was tired. Too many recent late nights. He collected his winnings and then departed.

Once on the street, Fitzpatrick, Nick’s valet and self-appointed guard, stepped out of the gloom. “Evenin’, Your Grace.”

“Christ, Fitz. Stop calling me that.”

“Just because you don’t want to hear it don’t mean it’s not true,” Fitz said in his raspy brogue and began leading the way to the gondola.

Nick muttered an obscene curse under his breath and Fitz chuckled. Nick knew Fitz would always use the proper title, no matter how many times he told the Irishman not to.

Seven years ago, Nick had rescued the giant man from a nasty fight in a Dublin back alley. Two ruffians had been holding Fitz down, while a third man used a knife to slice open Fitz’s face. Nick had recognized them all as local thieves, so he stepped in to help even the odds. In those days, Nick had been eager for any fight he could find, and he and Fitz made short work of the three criminals. Unfortunately, Fitz had been badly cut in the fray, scars he still bore to this day.

Fitz believed Nick had saved his life. Since then, he’d attached himself to the duke, and Nick soon learned it was easier to employ Fitz than to try and get rid of him. The Irishman started as Nick’s valet, but trouble followed Nick everywhere. Fitz had taken it upon himself to also look after Nick’s safety and had repaid the favor with Nick’s own life many times over.

They turned a corner and onto a relatively desolate street with little light. A pair of men approached, and Fitz slid a hand inside his coat, ready to produce the pistol tucked inside his waistband. The men, however, remained in deep discussion and passed without incident. Fitz relaxed and they continued walking toward the water.

“You’re overly concerned,” Nick told him. “We haven’t had a scuffle in eight months.”

“Three separate attacks in two years. Not to mention the mishap in Vienna. Perhaps you should be a little
more
concerned, Your Grace.”

This was a familiar conversation, and Nick knew he wouldn’t be able to dissuade Fitz from the notion that danger stalked him. He stepped into his gondola. “How many times must you save my miserable life before you realize I’m not worth it?”
Unworthy, ungrateful whelp,
his father’s voice sneered. Nick beat back the memory, like so many times before. “You could be living a comfortable life in your homeland, Fitz. You’re a fool to exile yourself on my account.”

Fitz took a seat in the back near the gondolier. “You saved my life. Until the debt is repaid, or you no longer be needin’ me, I stay.”

An argument was futile, so Nick leaned back and watched the other boats float by.

“Was that your friend Lord Winchester I seen come out a few minutes before you?”

“Yes,” Nick answered.

“Lovely bit o’ goods on his arm.”

Nick almost smiled. Mrs. Leighton was much more than your average Cyprian. “Find out where they’re staying, will you? I’d like to send a note round to Winchester tomorrow.”
And perhaps a small token for Mrs. Leighton as well.

 

 

“Two years! You saw him
two years
ago and never told me?” Now inside their gondola, Julia stripped off her gloves and threw them on the seat inside the
felze
. The blinds were drawn, and the single interior lamp cast a warm yellow glow about the cabin. She was too angry to sit but had little choice in the confined space. “How could you keep that from me, Simon?”

The boat pushed off from the dock as he dropped next to her. “There was no reason to tell you. I came to Venice and tried to convince him to return with me. I told him of you. Sang your praises, really, but I failed to win him over. I worried it would hurt your feelings to learn of it.”

While Julia thought on that, he continued. “The only reason I brought it up tonight was for you to be perfectly aware of what you face with Colton.”

“What did he mean, calling me his father’s pawn? Pawn for what, exactly?”

Simon sighed. “To him, you’re the woman his father married him off to, without considering his wishes on the subject. Like I’ve said, he was the forgotten son ’til his brother died. And when he became the heir, Colton’s father was desperate to get his only living son to fall in line, to become responsible. In Colt’s eyes, you’re merely another attempt by his father to bring the wayward son to heel.” Simon stretched his long legs. “But you know how well that turned out. Didn’t he leave for Paris directly after reciting his vows?”

Yes, and that had stung. And while she could imagine how manipulated Colton must have felt, Julia needed to stay focused on her plan—a plan Simon was not entirely privy to. “Well, he’s interested in Mrs. Leighton. After I lure him in, I can spend time with him not as a wife, but as a woman. Then I shall be able to satisfy my curiosity regarding my husband,” she lied.

“God save men from intelligent women,” Simon muttered with a yawn. “I am not so sure this relationship with Pearl Kelly has been beneficial, Julia. You never used to be so . . . bold.”

“I had no choice. I’m tired of waiting and wondering if Nick will return. I’m tired of the pity and the scorn, all the rumors. The innocent wife of the Depraved Duke—it would be laughable if only it were someone else. We’ve talked about this, Simon. I should have the ability to at least meet the man I am married to. To see if we suit.”

“Oh, it’s Nick, is it?”

The gondola stopped, and Simon rose to offer his hand. They stepped out onto the boat dock and continued toward the stairs of their rented palazzo. “He insisted,” she said. “I told you he was interested.”

“Of course he’s interested. He’d be a fool not to be—and Colton is no fool. As I’ve said, I am in full approval of this plan. Colton has ignored his responsibilities for far too long.”

They had procured a few local servants upon their arrival, and no one suspected the renters were not who they claimed. As far as the servants were concerned, the trio included a wealthy English lord traveling with his mistress and her companion. Julia, Simon, and her aunt, Theodora, took great pains to maintain the illusion, unless absolutely certain they were alone.

Once inside, Simon removed her cloak and handed it to the footman. Aunt Theo appeared in the parlor doorway. “Would either of you care for a sherry?” Judging by the messy riot of curls on Theo’s head, Julia guessed her aunt was already on her second or third drink.

“Yes, I believe I shall. Darling?” She gave Simon a seductive smile for the benefit of the servant hovering nearby.

“Lead on, my love,” he said easily, gesturing to the doorway.

“And how was your evening?” Theo asked as she settled her rounded, lush frame on the divan. Her aunt was fond of sherry and cake and hardly a day went by when she didn’t indulge in at least one.

“Productive,” Julia answered, closing the door behind her. “Simon, bring me a glass of whatever you’re having. Sherry makes me gag.” She dropped into a chair opposite her aunt.

Simon pressed a glass into her hand and Julia took a sip. Claret, she realized, and took another grateful swallow. “Oh, Aunt Theo,” Julia breathed. “You would not have believed this party.
Shocking
would be a paltry description. What freedom these women have! A world away from Almack’s, to be sure.”

“Such freedom does not last long when your looks fade or your benefactor tires of you. And the health risks!” Theo waggled her finger at Julia. “Do not envy them. It’s a hard life, full of uncertainty and scorn.”

“But they do wield a certain amount of power. Pearl has had liaisons with two dukes, one earl, a viscount, and a Bavarian prince. Two lifetime annuities have been settled on her, and she’s only thirty-one.”

“Julia, don’t be naïve,” Simon said. “Not every woman could possibly be Pearl Kelly.”

“Have you met her?” Julia asked him.

“Yes, once at Vauxhall Gardens. A group of us went for supper one night, and she accompanied Lord Oxley. She is intelligent and witty,” he admitted. “Not only can she carry on a conversation, she listens. And Pearl makes a man feel as if everything he says is important—which in Oxley’s case would’ve been nothing short of a miracle. But she’s deuced expensive.”

“Worth every banknote and gem she receives, I’d wager, if half of what she told me is true.”

“I almost pity that poor husband of yours,” Simon drawled.

Julia frowned. Colton deserved no pity. The man was a reprobate. And he’d left her at the mercy of his cheating, lecherous relative.

She started to argue but Simon held up a hand. “I said ‘almost.’ No one knows of your unhappiness these last few years better than I. Colt deserves retribution for what he’s done—and more. However, it does seem as if you’re well on your way to achieving your goal.”

“Oh, saints be praised!” Theo slapped her thigh. “How long, then, do you believe we must stay in Venice?”

“Not long. If I were to wager, not long at all,” Julia answered with a sly smile.

“Well, I’m off.” Simon rose and drained his glass. “I know of a few more parties I should like to visit this evening—without Mrs. Leighton’s watchful eye, of course.”

Julia held up her hand. “Say no more. We wish you luck, don’t we, Aunt Theo?”

Glorious crackpot that she was, Theo nodded, her brown curls rocking back and forth. “Indeed. Here’s to wine, women, and song, my lord.”

Simon gave them an elaborate bow and left.

“Do you think this scheme will work?” Theo asked once they were alone.

“It must. Templeton’s last visit continues to give me nightmares.” After informing her—again—of the further reduction of her monthly stipend, the grotesque excuse for a man had suggested what services Julia could provide to make up the difference. And by services, he hadn’t meant mending his clothes.

The thought of intimacies with Templeton—with his small black eyes, sweaty brow, and demeaning attitude—almost made her physically sick.
Damn Colton for putting me in this situation.
“Oh, how I wish my father was still alive.”

“My brother would’ve dragged your duke home by his whirlygigs by now, that’s for sure.”

Julia chuckled. “Perhaps. Templeton wouldn’t be a problem, in any case. I know my father believed marriage to a duke to be an unparalleled match for his only daughter, but I’d like to think he would have reconsidered if he’d known how much trouble it would bring me.”

“The trouble is your duke ignoring his responsibilities at home. Leaving you to fend for yourself for eight years. With naught a word from him!” Theo sniffed in disdain. “And to wash his hands of the estate business. Does he believe all estate managers to be honest men? You know very well that Templeton is paying off Colton’s man to follow his orders.”

“Colton does not care. He told me himself he never plans to come back to England. So we had to do
something
. As you well know, the last of our jewelry went to pay Pearl and fund Mrs. Leighton’s wardrobe. We barely have enough to carry us through until spring.”

“I still say we could’ve asked Winchester for help. Or perhaps your Lord Wyndham.”

Julia bristled. “You know we cannot ask for another man to support us indefinitely. And he is not
my
lord anything. I told you I merely flirted with Wyndham in hopes of forcing Colton back to London. But either my husband didn’t hear the rumors or didn’t care about being cuckolded because it failed to work.”

“So if Colton does not care about being cuckolded . . .”

“I still couldn’t do it. Colton would know the child was not his, and I cannot risk him telling anyone. If it were found out, my child would be an outcast. No, Colton must father my child. And when I find myself with child, we shall return to London and I’ll write to my husband, explaining what I’ve done.”

They both fell silent, contemplating the duke’s reaction to such a letter, while the mantel clock ticked loud and steady throughout the room.