Bold Seduction

An Intriguing Proposition

Passion. Seduction. Pleasure. These are the qualities of any courtesan worth her salt. As owner of The Starling Club, London’s most notorious house of ill-repute, Madame Philomena McGrattan has seen it all, heard it all, done it all. There is little that surprises her anymore, and even less that excites her. So when she is presented a chance at an irresistible seduction, she can’t help but rise to the challenge.

A Dangerous Game

Studiousness. Practicality. Discipline. Such are the attributes of a good scholar, and such are the principles Lord Spencer Hornsby has built his life around. Alone in the Welsh countryside, with only his wolfhounds for company, Spencer has thrown himself into his work. There is little time for the pleasures of society, not even to think of the joys of the fairer sex. But when an unexpected guest arrives at his isolated hunting lodge, Spencer cannot help but be baffled by the presence of this dangerously beautiful woman. And when he discovers the reason for her arrival, and the pleasures she promises, he cannot help but find himself irresistibly intrigued . . .

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Bold Seduction

Published by Kensington Publishing Corporation

Karyn Gerrard

LYRICAL PRESS

Kensington Publishing Corp.

www.kensingtonbooks.com

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Copyright © 2015 by Karyn Gerrard

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First Electronic Edition: September 2015

eISBN-13: 978-1-61650-767-1

eISBN-10: 1-61650-767-5

Printed in the United States of America

To my dad, my first and always hero. You are missed.

My thanks to everyone at Kensington Publishing and Lyrical Press.

November 1881

Philomena McGrattan, owner and abbess of the brothel The Starling Club, thought she’d heard everything. However, this request managed to astonish and intrigue her. “Is this a joke? A sort of planned humiliation for this supposed friend of yours? I will not allow any of my girls to be used in such a manner.” She narrowed her gaze at the two men who sat across from her desk.

They shook their heads vigorously. The dark haired one--damn, what
was
his name--gave her a determined look.

“Not at all. We admire and like Spence immensely, we would never disgrace him. Your brothel came highly recommended; the ladies are clean, presentable, and by all accounts experienced. Spence, or rather, Lord Spencer Hornsby, will soon be entering his thirtieth year, and we thought to give him a surprise gift. A night with a woman who would be kind and patient, but knowledgeable in the carnal arts. You see, Spence is…well…” The man coughed and looked down at his hands while the other gentleman, a ginger-haired bloke named Jacob, nodded.

“Spence is the third son of the Duke of Gransford, and he’s a rather eccentric chap who prefers to be called Professor Hornsby rather than Lord Hornsby.” Jacob crossed his legs. “Spence lives a solitary life buried in research and academia. He has never been with a woman. Never kissed one either as far as I am aware.”

How fascinating. A male virgin of noble birth. Granted, a third son of a duke did not have a title of his own, but he did have the use of the non-peerage title “Lord.” This would be quite a feather in her brothel’s cap. It could open up a whole new breed of customer--virgin sons of the aristocracy--though surely the list had to be a small one.

Phil tapped her fingers on the oak desk. “This will not be cheap, and I will want a seventy-five percent payment up front.” Standing, she braced her hands on the desk and leaned forward. “Where does this hermit professor live? If it is too far, you will be paying for transportation as well. Will your Lord Hornsby turn away the girl I send? Is he amenable to such an arrangement?”

The two young men exchanged dubious looks. Jacob shrugged. “He is a man. Once the whore…I mean…young lady makes her intentions clear, I cannot see why he would not be agreeable. Spence lives like a bloody monk in that damned crumbling castle…”

From her standing position she observed the dark-haired man kicking Jacob in the shin, which quickly silenced him.

A challenge. How interesting.

Phil held out her hand. “Gentlemen, we have a deal. My club will take on the assignment.”

Late December 1881

Bloody insanity.
After an agonizing three hour train ride from London to Tenby, Wales, Phil sat in an open cart heading toward the residence of Professor-Lord Hornsby, or whatever he wished to be called. Her arse would never recover from the discomfort she’d been exposed to.

After much internal debate, she ultimately decided to take on the professor-virgin mission herself. At thirty-two years of age, she concluded she would be the only one who would possess the fortitude, comprehension, and patience needed for such a delicate job.

Besides, she’d become bored and restless the last several years. Phil longed to escape the everyday running of the brothel. Also, she hadn’t had a tumble with a man for three years, not that she missed it. Truthfully speaking, she wanted the money all to herself. She had a future to think of and plan for.

A strong breeze swirled with a strength capable of cutting a person in two. Up above, the clouds looked to be rather ominous. She silently hoped she would arrive at her destination before it rained or snowed. “Are we there yet? How long will it take?” she cried to the driver, trying to be heard above the clopping of the horses’ hooves and the increasingly loud wind.

“Another hour, missy. His lordship lives a piece.”

Oh good God.
“What are all these packages?”

The back of the wagon overflowed with numerous parcels and boxes wrapped in brown paper.

“’Tis his lordship’s food order, or most of it. I come up this way but once every six or seven days.”

What?
“You must be mistaken. I’m only staying two nights.” Phil grabbed her bonnet to keep a gust of wind from carrying it away.

“Unless you made other arrangements, missy, this be the only transport to his lordship’s. Once a week. I know for a fact Lord Hornsby don’t keep horses and coaches.”

She would
slay
those two popinjays who’d hired her. They never mentioned that salient piece of information. Now she would be stuck at the virgin professor’s for close to a blasted week! Anger boiled her blood. The two men cheapened out on the transportation as well. Damn them. They paid third-class for her train ride, and she sat on a hard wooden bench the whole way. Now, she was being bounced about in a bloody merchant’s wagon.

Her cheeks flushed in annoyance. What should she do? Turn around and make the return trip with the grizzled grocer? “What does the professor do in an emergency? If a doctor was needed, how would he get one? What sane man would live in such a circumstance?”

“Beats me, missy. He be a strange one.”

Phil exhaled. It would be insane to come all this way just to turn around and depart. Besides, she could not abide another train ride back to London in the same day.

“I’ll pay you extra to come back in two days time,” she offered the old man hopefully.

He shook his head as he puffed on his pipe. “Nay. I be a busy man. I don’t make trips up here with an empty wagon. Stick to me schedule, I do.”

Phil gritted her teeth in exasperation. Christmas had come and gone last week, but she did not feel jolly or charitable at the moment. Even though she brought two pieces of luggage with her, she’d only packed enough clothes for two days. If she knew it would be this bloody cold, she would have tossed in more woolens. She pulled her shawl close about her shoulders, but it did little to keep the bracing breeze from chilling her bones. Not even the sun made an appearance to warm her. Glancing about at her surroundings, Phil noticed the scenery turned bleak and sparse. A barren landscape free of human beings and cottages trailed behind her for several miles as the driver continued on his path.

An uneasy feeling rolled through her. This could be one of the biggest blunders of her life. Considering what mistakes she’d made already, what was one more?

* * * *

After what seemed an eternity, the wagon turned up a full-of-ruts narrow and twisting road. Trees closed in and the leafless branches scraped together in the wind making a mournful sound that froze her heart.

A crumbling castle came into view. Though the structure perched on the edge of a cliff, she would hardly describe it as a castle as the place lacked the size and medieval grandeur. However, the blackstone structure looked foreboding and ancient. The property was surrounded by a tall wrought iron fence that leaned in all directions from obvious neglect. A small garden area, if it could be called that, appeared to be choked off by a tangle of dead weeds.

After pulling the wagon around back, the old man halted the horses and jumped down. “You best come in this way, missy. No one to greet you at the front.” The grocer grabbed a few parcels and made his way toward the door.

Phil shook her head in disbelief and gingerly descended from the wagon. She grabbed her two carpetbags and followed the driver through the servants’ entrance. An older woman drinking from a jar sat at a rickety table with her feet up on it. Tangles of wiry gray hair poked out from under her dirty lace cap and her faded wool gown sported a tattered hem. The apron that covered her appeared to contain stains of dubious origins.

“Thanks be to God ye made it. We be runnin’ low of foodstuffs, William. Thought I’d have to dig for roots in the ground to gnaw on!” The woman cackled at her own joke. She sobered when her gaze fell upon Phil. “Who be this? His nibs ain’t expectin’ company.” The woman’s bloodshot eyes scanned Phil thoroughly. “She be a tart. Look at the paint on ‘er face and the fancy dress.”

William laid the parcels on the table and shrugged. “Came from London on the train. She knew where to find me and waved papers with his lordship’s name and directions to this place right under me nose.”

“Excuse me? I am standing right here,” Phil said.

“Aye, I see ye standin’ there and all. I’ll not stay and wait on a doxy. Who sent ye? His nibs wouldn’t. Don’t even know what a woman looks like I’ll be bound.”

The old woman coughed and spat on the floor. Phil winced. The kitchen was an abomination. Dust and cobwebs clung stubbornly to every nook and cranny of the room. Dirty crockery sat in a sink, and used pots were piled up on the stove. Garbage and rotting food littered the floor. The surroundings fit the woman’s filthy appearance.