The Courtesan's Daughter Read Free Page B

ruined on something so whimsical as a word ,” she said. There, she had laid it all out for him. Let him now show her just how desirable he found her. She would prefer in deed , but she would tolerate in word . She was not unreasonable, after all.
    “A lady of rare virtue,” he said. It did not sound at all complimentary. “However, I would consider it a failure to my manhood if I did not endeavor to protect you from any possible harm.”
    He bowed as he said it. As if that excused him from the insult he had dealt her. Caro might be innocent but she was not stupid; she knew very well that men in the throes of blazing desire did not give a fig for anything beyond satisfying that desire upon any likely female.
    It was patently obvious that she was not even remotely a likely female.
    Her mother, the most likely female that the men of London had apparently ever seen, chose that exact moment to enter the yellow salon. It was the most perfectly dreadful cap to a most hideously embarrassing situation.
    “Lord Richborough,” Sophia said smoothly, “how early you are today. I had not thought to see you until this afternoon. I trust Caroline has kept you entertained?”
    Hardly. At least not in any way that mattered. Things had not gone at all the way she had hoped, but when did they ever?
    “Perfectly,” Lord Richborough said, kissing Sophia’s outstretched hand. It seemed to Caro that her mother’s hand was always outstretched for one reason or another and that she always managed to achieve whatever it was she was reaching for. Caro was not at all certain how she did it. “She is your daughter in every delightful detail.”
    Sarcasm, if she’d ever heard it, and she had.
    “But of course she is,” Sophia said with a smile. “Now, how may I entertain you, Lord Richborough? In much the manner my daughter has already done? Or are you ready for a change of pace?”
    From that moment on, neither Richborough nor her mother had eyes for any but each other. Caro made her excuses and then her exit, all her questions about her desirability answered in the most demoralizing manner conceivable. This courtesan business was getting more complicated by the moment.

Three
    LORD Ashdon arrived promptly at the Countess Dalby’s Upper Brook Street house for his eleven o’clock appointment. The time was just past eleven. He considered that arriving just past eleven was as prompt as he was willing to deliver; the Countess of Dalby, Sophia to her many intimates, was not going to have him walking the street in front of her immaculately maintained London home, begging entrance early. He had some pride left to him. Not much, but enough.
    Arriving late was a small insult, but deserving, nonetheless. What the Countess of Dalby was attempting deserved at least some responding insult.
    He knocked, was admitted with a cordial nod by Fredericks, famously loyal to Sophia from her courtesan days to this, and was led to the yellow salon. Where he was made to wait until almost noon.
    “Unfailingly prompt,” Sophia said, entering in a rustle of soft muslin. “Thank you for that, Lord Ashdon. One finds manners so appallingly on the down these days.”
    Which meant, of course, that she knew exactly when he had arrived and was repaying insult for insult. She was rather famous for doing that.
    He watched her as she arranged herself on a yellow silk damask sofa, toying with the folds of her ivory-colored muslin skirt. She was the beauty she had always been. Tall and slim, her breasts high and white, her throat smooth, her complexion creamy. Her black hair was still dark and glossy, no trace of silver to mark her years. Her almond-shaped eyes were black pools set under a straight and narrow brow. Her lips were full and red, her nose slim and aristocratic, her face a perfect oval of feminine beauty. She exuded serene poise, aristocratic condescension, and simmering sensuality.
    No wonder she had been the talk of her time.
    No wonder Dalby had married