The Courtesan Duchess (3 page)

“Will Colton acknowledge the child, I wonder?” her aunt asked, and sipped her sherry.

Julia frowned. “Why would he not? Every man wants an heir.”

“Well, what will happen if you deliver a girl?”

“Then I shall love her fiercely—from debtor’s prison.”

The Duke of Colton walked briskly toward Piazza San Marco, sidestepping the large puddles left over from the flooding earlier in the week. At this time of year, Venice experienced
acqua alta,
meaning the lower parts of the city were frequently submerged due to the heavy rains. Water, both in and around the city, was a natural state of affairs here.

Nick continued along the right side of the Piazza and entered Florian’s. He spotted Winchester straightaway, sitting at a table near the back of the crowded coffeehouse.

Winchester stood and clapped Nick on the shoulder. “Damned glad to get your note. It’s been too long.”

“Indeed, my friend.” The men sat, and Nick poured himself a cup of coffee from the pot on the table. “I must confess, you took me by surprise last night.”

“Did I? It does seem remarkable I’ve been in Venice for two weeks and not crossed paths with you before now. But then, I have been rather busy.”

“Ah, your Mrs. Leighton, you mean? She’s lovely.” Nick knew
lovely
did not do the woman justice.
Stunning
and
enchanting
were far more apt descriptions.

“Merely temporary. No one holds on to her for long. You would not imagine what I had to promise in order to get her to come on this trip. Even still, I fear I shall be replaced the minute we dock in London—if not before.”

“A shrewd business-woman, is she?”

Winchester nodded. “Shrewd and ruthless. Hardly needs the scratch anymore. A woman of her own means and can pick and choose her lovers for different reasons.”

“And what were her reasons for selecting you?”

“You mean besides my reputation in bed?” Nick snorted and Winchester laughed. “I promised her Venice for as long as she wanted to stay. That, and a cache of jewelry large enough to make a princess blush.”

Nick hoped Juliet would stay long enough for the two of them to become better acquainted. He’d felt the attraction last night and was sure she’d felt it, too, after the way she’d flirted with him. But it wouldn’t do to offend one of his oldest friends in the process. “And if she finds someone else while in Venice?”

Winchester shrugged, took a sip of coffee. “I cannot say it would surprise me.” He shot Nick a knowing glance. “Why, I do believe you are planning to outmaneuver me. Colton, how shabby of you.”

Despite Winchester’s teasing tone, Nick wanted to reassure his friend. “Only with your approval. You’re one of only a handful of men who have stood by me all these years. Mrs. Leighton is intriguing, but not worth the ruination of a twenty-year friendship.”

Winchester appeared uncomfortable for a moment, which puzzled Nick. Perhaps all these years abroad had made him more sentimental than was proper back in crusty old England.

He started to apologize, but Winchester held up a hand. “I don’t mind if you set your sights on her, Colt. It wouldn’t be the first woman I’ve lost to you. But her reasons for choosing a companion are her own. I could no more hold on to her than the wind.”

“How poetic,” Nick mocked. “You are becoming quite eloquent in your old age.”

“Since you are a few months older than I, you should refrain from comments about age. Nevertheless, if you plan on wooing my Juliet, I daresay I should begin searching for a replacement. How are the women in Venice?”

“Plentiful,” Nick answered with a grin. “Talented. Beautiful.” His mind traveled back to Francesca who, up until a few months ago, had been his mistress for nearly a year. With olive skin, black hair, and long legs, she’d had a fiery temper to match his own. Bedding her had been a fierce battle for control. “Spirited. Nothing like English women.”

“Do not be so quick to judge. There is one English woman in particular who is certainly all of those things.”

“Mayhap I will get the chance to offer up a comparison. Is there a Mr. Leighton?”

“No. Died years ago, left the poor woman entirely without funds. But there’s some nobility in her background. Her father was a cousin to the Earl of Kilbourne, I think.” Then Winchester grew serious, and Nick braced himself. “Colt, I feel compelled by my friendship with your wife to at least—”

“Enough. Did we not discuss this last evening? I have—”

“Let me speak!” Winchester set his cup down sharply. “There may come a day when you regret your poor treatment of that woman. Even now, the rakes circle her like a prized lamb. She will tire of waiting on you, and God help you when that happens, Colt.”

Nick ignored the small amount of guilt produced by Winchester’s words. His wife was nothing more than his father’s instrument of control, Nick reminded himself.
She’s the best you’ll ever do, you ungrateful whelp. Do you think to do better, boy?
Nick had no intention of doing anything his father wanted, even if the arrogant whoreson was long dead.

With practiced control, he fought down the bleakness and anger inside his chest, and calmly took a sip of coffee. “If my wife finds someone else, all the better. I never want an heir, and I will not fashion myself into a proper duke and husband. Her Grace is free to do as she pleases. Hell, the woman is a bloody duchess with no husband to curtail her freedom. How could she complain?”

Winchester drummed his fingers on the table, a sure sign that Nick’s answer had annoyed him. “Her name is Julia, Colt. She’s a real living, breathing person and innocent in what happened. I know you blame your father, but you’re making her suffer needlessly. If you do not wish to live in England, send for her. Bring her here.”

A part of Nick accepted the sense of those words, but the bigger, angrier part of him wanted to punish everyone involved with his family—including the woman who’d married him. Besides, why would a gently bred lady want
him,
a man far more familiar with brothels than ballrooms? God, she’d been so young and beautiful—and so innocent—on their wedding day. How could he tarnish such a chaste
girl
when he’d driven his own brother—

Nick deliberately stifled that particular line of thinking. No, his wife was better off finding a well-titled young buck who knew how to be a careful, respectful lover. “I won’t send for her, and I’ll not apologize for it. If you are truly her friend, I trust you will relay what I’ve told you. Let her find happiness elsewhere, for none can be found with me.”

Winchester leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest. “Fine. But you’re making a mistake.”

Nick regarded his friend thoughtfully. “Have you developed feelings for my wife? You are unusually concerned with her happiness.” Winchester turned a dull red, and Nick added, “I have no tender emotions for the woman. But if
you
do, I promise it would not affect our friendship. In fact, it would explain why you are so determined to see me return to England.”

“I am not mooning after Julia. That distinction belongs to Wyndham.” Nick’s eyebrows rose at that piece of news but he made no comment, so Winchester continued. “But don’t you think you’ve given it enough time? The scandal, I mean. Damn, it’s been eight years, Colton. And to watch Templeton act as if
he’s
the duke . . . Christ, it’s disgusting.”

Nick shook his head. “All of London believes I seduced my sister-in-law, which caused my brother to fly into such a rage that he fell off his horse and broke his neck. That, on top of all the Depraved Duke nonsense, ensures the
ton
won’t ever forget me.”

“The nickname is a fair one, as I witnessed much of your youthful depravity myself. The label merely became catchy for the printmakers once you assumed the title.” His voice lowered. “But Colt, we both know the true circumstances behind your brother’s death.”

And I bear the guilt of those circumstances every single day.
“It doesn’t change a thing. Not to mention, as long as my mother draws breath, you are wasting yours.”

The dowager duchess deserved as much—if not more—of Nick’s anger than anyone else. After all, it was she who ensured the governess brought only his brother to the drawing room for his parents’ daily inspection.
Nicholas is ill-mannered and completely unworthy of the Seaton name. Only Harry may come down at the requested hour. No one else.

From that moment on, Nick had decided he didn’t need his family. And inheriting the title hadn’t changed a thing.

“Animals who eat their young have more maternal instinct than that woman,” Winchester muttered. “I saw her recently. Gave me the dragon’s stare from across a crowded ballroom.”

“Disapproval, no doubt, of our lasting friendship, when almost everyone else had the good sense to cut me. Pray fabricate the most horrifically sensational stories about me and be sure to relay them to the dowager duchess the next time you see her. I fear my current location is too far from London for my salaciousness to reach her ears otherwise.”

“About this salaciousness,” Winchester drawled. “If things progress with Juliet, you’ll be . . . careful with her, won’t you?”

“Careful?” Nick frowned. What, precisely, was Winchester worried about? If Mrs. Leighton was as talented as the rumors suggested, he suspected she could easily hold her own against any man.

Winchester waved a hand. “You know what I mean.”

“No, I don’t. I haven’t a bloody clue what you mean.”

“She may seem . . . worldly. But she’s a good actress. All women in her position are, really,” he amended. “I shouldn’t want to see her hurt.”

Something was off. Nick could feel it in his gut. Perhaps Winchester really did have feelings for Juliet—feelings Mrs. Leighton did not reciprocate. After all, his friend wouldn’t be the first man to fall in love with a courtesan. Just look at Fox and his Mrs. Armistead. “If you would rather I did not—”

“No,” Winchester interrupted. “I merely want her next protector to be as . . . generous with her as I have been.”

“You’ve nothing to fear, then. I shall be all that is kind and generous, if she’ll have me.”

“I’ve yet to meet a woman who could resist you, Colt—even before you became a duke. But Mrs. Leighton will decide for herself.”

 

 

The following night, Julia and Simon entered the duke’s box at La Fenice. The interior of the opera house, with its noble yet simple architecture, was luxurious. Rows of private boxes surrounded the gilded interior for the wealthiest of patrons, while the floor provided ample space for those of lesser means.

Colton’s large box was crowded, with at least six men and an equal number of women. The need to search for her husband, however, was rendered unnecessary as he immediately appeared at her side.

“Mrs. Leighton,” the duke greeted as she curtsied. He took in her embroidered white satin dress with its silver
bandeau
and accompanying emerald green robe. “How stunning you look this evening.”

She could say the same about him. The duke wore a fitted black tailcoat and breeches over a single-breasted white waistcoat, which emphasized his lean torso. His snowy cravat, folded in a complicated array of knots under his clean-shaven chin, proved a stark contrast to his dark features. When he noticed her staring, he gifted her with a smile both intimate and sly, almost as if the two of them shared a private joke. Her breath came a bit faster despite her resolution to remain unaffected. “Good evening, Your Grace.”

Nick greeted Simon and then introduced the rest of the party. There were two ambassadors—one former and one current—as well as a Russian count, a Venetian painter, and a French actor. While the women were beautiful, one could discern by their dress and demeanor that there were no wives in attendance. Well, if one didn’t count her, she thought.

Nick led them to their seats. Julia used the opportunity to struggle with a swatch of hair that had fallen over her forehead. Fiorella, the young girl she’d hired as a lady’s maid, wasn’t as proficient with hair as Meg back in London. Tonight, Fiorella had lifted Julia’s thick red hair up in a series of artful curls and secured it with a silver band. But one unruly layer would not cooperate, and it drooped down to almost completely cover her right eye. With no hope of righting her coiffure on her own, Julia had little choice but to ignore it.

As they settled, she wasn’t the least bit surprised to find herself seated between Nick and Simon. On Simon’s other side was an empty chair, but it was soon filled with a striking Venetian actress. Nick relaxed in his seat and pressed the outside of his leg against Julia’s knee. She lifted her glasses to peer into the audience and willed her heart to slow.

“Did the flowers meet with your approval, Mrs. Leighton?”

The previous day, Nick had sent her a large bouquet of white roses, artfully arranged in a colorful vase made from Murano glass. It was a stunning display. His card had been concise and clever:
To friendship.

Part of her was so angry over the gesture she wanted to shout at him like a fishwife. He couldn’t bother to send his wife of
eight years
a mere note . . . and yet rushed forward with a token of regard to a woman he’d met not even twenty-four hours earlier. Julia swallowed her outrage and bitterness in order to remember the part she played and the reason for it. Tonight, the goal was to flirt, thereby ensuring the duke’s interest in her charms. “They are exquisite, Your Grace. You are too generous,” she replied, giving him a teasing glance through her lashes.

“I fear you have high standards, Mrs. Leighton. After all, I heard you once sent a necklace back to Wellington because it contained an odd number of diamonds rather than even.”

Julia bit her cheek to keep from laughing. That particular anecdote was one of Aunt Theo’s contributions to Mrs. Leighton’s legend.