THE VIRGIN COURTESAN (2 page)

Chapter Three

Guy stormed down the stairs, trying to regain his
composure before he encountered anyone. The innkeeper had already looked at him
with suspicion when he had arrived with an unconscious Juliana in his arms.

‘Too much gin,’ Guy had shrugged. The innkeeper, a florid man
with small, darting eyes in a fleshy face, had huffed in disapproval but made no
comment. It was the daughter, however, who Guy came across first. She simpered
at him prettily, her eyes boldly sweeping over him and finding him very much to
her liking. Guy smiled politely, avoiding her eyes.

‘Is it possible to have some supper brought up? I know it’s
very late.’

The girl batted her eyelashes. ‘Of course, sir. It may just be
bread and broth, I’m afraid.’

‘That will be fine, thank you.’ Guy tried not to sound
impatient with the girl as she continued to look at him boldly.

‘Is there anything else I can do for you, sir?’ There was no
mistaking the insinuation.

‘No,’ Guy was abrupt. He was used to the effect he had on
women, but found such blatant attempts at seduction distasteful. Though he
supposed it was at least more direct than the endless fluttering of fans and
demure hints of the ton ladies who were anxious to secure a husband. He thought
about the girl upstairs and wondered what had happened in her life to bring her
to the role of courtesan; for all the glamour, it must be an insecure and
desperate life, shunned by polite society and with any status only lasting as
long as the woman’s looks.

The way the woman had spoken to him had angered him but in all
honesty how could he blame her? She saw only what was in front of her and
believed Guy to be exactly what he had intended her to believe: a ruthless
highwayman. A thief. He should never have stooped so low.

It had been a desperate moment. Riding at a furious pace,
intent on getting to Bradcote in time to challenge his fool of a brother, Guy
had not noticed the two rogues until they had appeared in front of him, pistols
drawn and evil grins under their masks.

‘In a rush there are we, sir?’ one of them had sneered as Guy
pulled up his mare. Eyeing Guy’s fine clothes, his partner had sniggered.

‘Perhaps we could relieve you of some of your burden, sir? Help
you travel a little lighter?’

Guy saw red. Too angry to have a care for the danger he had
drawn his own pistol—the scoundrels had hesitated at that—and rode at the
nearest man. The ensuing struggle had ended up with one man on the ground,
unconscious from the pistol-whipping he had received from Guy, and the other man
dashing off into the night—having managed to take both Guy’s purse and watch,
he’d left his friend for dead.

‘Coward,’ Guy had snarled into the night after him. He
dismounted and stared down at the prone man before him, wondering if he should
try to find help. But for what end? The man would not thank him for bringing him
before the magistrate, and he had more pressing matters to attend to, such as
dealing with his murderous fool of a brother. Guy sighed as he realised that,
after this delay, he had little chance of reaching Bradcote in time for the dawn
showdown with his brother, and indeed riding alone at this time of night had
been asking for trouble. He had certainly not been intending to arrive at
Bradcote like this, dishevelled and devoid of wallet or purse. But now here he
was with no money to get lodgings for the night, and he couldn’t persuade a
kindly innkeeper to give him a room on credit without revealing his identity.
Talk spread quickly. But he knew food and some sleep would be advantageous
before he faced down Sinclair. Earlier he had been too full of rage to care.

So Guy had become a highwayman. Taking the unconscious man’s
hat and mask Guy had waited, on horseback at the nearest road for the first
stage, feeling like a complete cad. He would take only what he needed, he
decided, being as courteous as possible. Most people were terrified of
highwaymen—and with good reason—and would simply surrender what he asked and let
him be on his way. It would be reported afterwards, no doubt, and perhaps the
man that had robbed him would himself be apprehended. In fact, Guy reasoned, if
he had not chased the men off they would no doubt be lurking where he was now,
and the unwitting travellers in the next coach would have fared less well in
their hands.

Still, it did not make Guy feel any better about his
hare-brained scheme and he was about to ride off when he had heard the stage
approaching. Steeling himself, he had stepped his horse out onto the road.

He had not been expecting the coach to contain only a woman,
and a courtesan on her way to an illicit soiree at that. He had certainly not
been expecting her to faint. Or to be so beautiful. As he had made her
comfortable in the bed, it had taken all his self-control to avert his eyes from
her body, her feminine curves visible under the thin shift. Underneath the
too-garish rouge on her cheeks was a perfect peaches-and-cream complexion, and
she had a pouting mouth that begged to be kissed. Guy had not felt such an
instant attraction to a female in a long time. A pity that the only woman to
catch his attention was a Covent Garden woman. Unusual for her to travel out of
town to meet a patron; no doubt she had secured herself a regular benefactor who
would, for a while at least, keep her in some style. Guy sighed. Unlike his
brother, who perused
Harris’s List
eagerly every
year and had been known to frequent some of the most notorious brothels in
London, he had never had an interest in such ladies. He wanted a woman to be
warm and willing beneath him, not for money or fame but for the sheer enjoyment
of it. Although it had been a while since he had lain with a woman. He disliked
the cold, empty couplings his brother seemed so enamoured of, without a thought
to the woman’s enjoyment. Or at times, even her consent. Sinclair had always
been wayward, the spoilt heir, but as he had got older, what could be taken for
boyish high jinks had begun to take a much more sinister turn.

The thought of his brother made him frown again as he trod back
up the stairs. What the hell he was going to do about this latest situation, he
had no idea. In his initial fury he had wanted nothing more than to meet his
brother’s challenge and put an end to his dishonourable ways for once and all. A
duel. His wastrel of a brother had challenged him to a duel at dawn. With
pistols; to the death. Although such contests had long been outlawed, they were
still not uncommon, and it was a matter of honour. Among the ton, honour was
everything. Not that his brother had any; no doubt he would have tried to
cheat.

The challenge had come earlier that evening, delivered by his
brother’s sly-faced valet. After an hour pacing in front of the fire at his
lodgings in town, Guy had saddled up his horse and left. Now he had to ask
himself, could he really shoot his brother in cold blood? Family was family,
after all, but Guy had no doubts that Sinclair would have no such qualms. In
truth, Guy knew that there was a very real possibility that his brother could be
the death of him. As well as the fact that they were both renowned marksmen and
a duel between them was no mere play, the gossip in ton society was that this
would not be the first time a man had met his death at Sinclair’s hands. As he
re-entered the small room he saw the empty bed and thought for a moment she had
gone out of the window; he would have seen her had she come down the stairs.
Then he turned to see her sitting by the fire, with the blanket wrapped around
her. She had done something to the fire; it was crackling away merrily now, no
longer the pitiful smoking he had managed to produce. She looked up at him as he
entered, her expression unreadable, but he thought he saw a flicker of
apprehension in her eyes and felt like a complete cad. She must be terrified
underneath her feisty demeanour, and that was entirely down to him. What a mess
he had made.

‘Is something troubling you?’ she asked, looking genuinely
concerned. Guy sighed heavily and resolved that he must tell her at least part
of the truth, if only to reassure her she was not at the mercy of a dangerous
rogue.

Just as he opened his mouth to speak, however there was a rap
at the door and the innkeeper’s daughter appeared, bearing a plate of food. The
smell made Guy’s stomach rumble as he realised how long it had been since he had
eaten.

The girl looked at Guy with the same undisguised wanting she
had displayed downstairs, then glanced at the woman by the fire with distaste.
Suddenly annoyed, Guy snatched the plate from her.

‘That will be all, thank you,’ he snapped. The courtesan looked
at him in surprise, though the ghost of a smile played at the corners of her
mouth.

‘It would appear she liked you,’ she commented wryly.

‘Do you have a name?’ Guy blurted out. She looked so
vulnerable, her petite form huddled up by the fire, that he felt a sudden desire
to protect her. It made a hypocrite of him, considering the circumstances that
had brought her here.

She hesitated before speaking. ‘Juliana,’ she said softly,
omitting her surname. He nodded at her.

‘Guy. Do you mind if I join you by the fire?’

She raised her eyebrows at him as though surprised by his
sudden courtesy. ‘You have already abducted me, undressed me and stolen my
purse; why bother to concern yourself with my feelings now?’

Guy glared at her, his protective feelings forgotten. She was
right, of course, but nevertheless she was an insolent chit.

‘I undressed you, madam,’ he said the last word with no small
amount of sarcasm, ‘because your clothes were damp from carrying you here; it
was beginning to rain. As for abduction, if I were the scoundrel you believe me
to be, I would simply have left you at the side of the road, and stripped you of
your pelisse and gloves, too!’

Juliana lifted one shoulder in a delicate shrug. ‘Instead you
compromise my honour and reputation by bringing me here?’

‘Reputation? Need I remind you where you were going before I
interrupted you?’ At that Juliana flushed and dropped her gaze. Tears stung at
her eyes and seeing them Guy stepped forward, an apology on his lips, but she
looked up again and glared at him with such force that he took a helping of
bread and stormed to the other side of the room, sitting on the chair next to
the bed. They ate in silence, the air simmering between them.

Juliana was ravenous, foregoing any ladylike dainty nibbling in
the face of a day without food and the ensuing shock. To think only a few hours
earlier she had been on her way to Lord Salter, wrapped up in all her finery and
delivered like a prize package. As much as she had hardly been looking forward
to the meeting, she needed a wealthy patron to survive her new life. She
wondered what the very proper, blustering Lord Salter had said when his
frightened coachman had turned up sans Juliana. She doubted there would be any
search parties out for her. She would have to make her own way back to Rose in
the morning, who would know what to do to rectify the situation. Although quite
how she was supposed to do that when the mysterious highwayman had taken what
little money, she had she had no idea. Had he no idea of the mess he had left
her in? She could hardly help the momentary thought that she would be better
left by the road, before reprimanding herself for being weak. She would get by;
she had to. She had her wits, her education and of course her looks and the
tricks Rose had introduced her to. Although, she had yet to put those tricks
into practice. She looked over at Guy, flushing at the thought of doing so with
him. From courtesan to criminal’s woman—could she sink any lower?

‘Nevertheless, sir, regardless of your opinion as to my
destination, you have cost me dear this night.’ Lord Salter had been interested
in her for her virginity, he may well discard her if he thought she had been
abducted and ravished by a highway thief. The implications of that frightened
her; she could not live like Rose, giving herself to any wealthy patron,
ferreting away for what would no doubt be a lonely old age.

He raised his eyebrows at her and she bristled, wishing he
would stop looking at her like that. ‘I will recompense you for the room—and for
anything else you have lost this night.’

Juliana could not help giving a mocking laugh. ‘How will you do
that? By scaring the wits out of some other poor woman, no doubt.’

Guy looked as if he were about to say something, then closed
his mouth in a tight line. Juliana regarded him thoughtfully.

‘There is something more to your story isn’t there? You do not
strike me as any common criminal.’

‘Perhaps.’ Guy wondered how much he should tell her. The woman
deserved some sort of explanation, given what he had out her through, but
supposing she knew his brother? Sinclair was well known about town, both among
the ton ladies come for the Season and women of a very different sort. He did
not want the story of his actions tonight getting around; his brother had
disgraced the family name enough. ‘I could say the same for yourself,’ he said
instead, ‘it can’t be an easy path you’ve chosen.’ He felt a sudden stab of
sympathy for this young woman, who in spite of her feisty demeanour had an air
of vulnerability about her. Not that she would thank him for pointing that out,
he was sure.

‘I felt there was little other choice,’ she murmured, dropping
her gaze and sounding suddenly so wretched that Guy crossed over to her and laid
a hand on her shoulder. What was wrong with him that he kept letting this
beautiful young woman antagonise him?

‘Forgive me. I have no right to question you, especially after
your trials tonight.’

Juliana looked up, her eyes glowing in the firelight. Her face
and lips were flushed, her eyes huge, and she looked so alluring that he had
bent to kiss her before he could stop himself.