Claiming the Courtesan Read Free

servant.” He stalked out of the library, his mind hard with a determination as bright as a diamond.
     
    Verity was in the kitchen when the maid found her. “Beg pardon, miss, but His Grace is in the drawing room asking for you.”
    “What?” She spun around too quickly and knocked the pottery candlestick she was packing to the flagstones.
    “Oh, miss!” Elsie fluttered around her, wringing her hands at the shattered mess on the floor. “Oh, miss, don’t move or you’ll cut yourself.”
    “It’s all right, Elsie.” Although, in fact, Verity had been rather fond of the sturdy brown candlestick. “Did you say the Duke of Kylemore was here?”
    “Yes, miss. I’ll get a broom and sweep up the pieces.”
    The terrified pounding of Verity’s heart blocked out the maid’s fussing. Why was Kylemore here? He called on herwith almost military regularity on Mondays, Tuesdays and Thursdays. He arrived, he took his pleasure, he departed. Occasionally, he sent a carriage to bring her into Town for the theater or a party. But having left Kensington, he never, ever returned on the same day.
    Was it a coincidence this was the very evening she meant to disappear from his life? He must have found out. But how? She’d been so discreet, so careful.
    Her hands shook as she pulled off her grubby apron and stepped over Elsie, who was dealing with the remains of the candlestick. Verity hardly did the legendary Soraya justice in her plain gray muslin, but antagonizing the duke by making him wait seemed unwise. If he’d discovered her plans, she needed every shred of goodwill she could garner.
    Although she sailed into his presence with her head high, her heart raced. Her intentions weren’t strictly illegal, but strict definitions of legality became irrelevant if one’s enemy was a powerful man. And a duke was about as powerful as a man could be.
    “Your Grace? What an…unexpected pleasure.”
    Slowly, he turned from contemplating the empty spaces on the walls. The picture dealer had left in the last hour with the unremarkable artworks Kylemore had deemed suitable for his mistress’s abode.
    Verity rushed in before he could speak. “I shall order tea. Or would Your Grace prefer to…go upstairs?” The bluntness was unworthy of the great Soraya, but she was badly rattled.
    The duke’s puzzled gaze settled on her with much the same expression he had worn facing the blank walls. “You look…different.”
    Verity could imagine she did. Soraya never appeared before her protector in less than her best—unless she wore nothing at all.
    Kylemore considered the depleted room. “What is happening here?”
    Verity gave Soraya’s laugh—low, husky, endlessly suggestive. “Your Grace has caught me in a domestic moment. We are cleaning the house.” With studied elegance, she subsided onto a chaise longue and gestured for the duke to be seated.
    “We? I don’t expect my mistress to play the household drudge. If you require more staff, you need only ask.” He sat opposite her, all black-haired, hawk-nosed magnificence. His gentian-blue eyes surveyed her critically.
    She shrugged. “I like to see my standards are met, Your Grace. The house is, after all, mine.” She hoped he’d recall the reminder after she’d gone.
    “You have a smudge on your cheek.”
    Unbelievably, she colored. She, who had traded her chastity for a livelihood at the age of fifteen. Today, it seemed, was to be full of singularities.
    The kiss. The duke’s second visit. And now a blush.
    Perhaps the time had really come for the great Soraya to retire.
    “I have displeased you with my appearance,” she said evenly. “I shall go and change into a gown more appropriate to receive Your Grace.” She started to rise.
    “No, I am discourteous. I apologize.”
    Astonishment sent Verity back onto the chair.
    Unprecedented indeed! She couldn’t have just heard her proud, difficult lover say he was sorry.
    The duke’s expression was unreadable. “You could