His Courtesan Bride (Brides of Mayfair 3) (7 page)

Her words seemed to push Darius over an edge of control, which he had been fighting against since he arrived.

He took two long strides and pulled Serena close against him again, forcing her to hang onto him for balance. “Tell me again that you don’t want me, after this.” He covered her mouth with his, teasing, plundering, penetrating with his tongue. Serena fought to keep her head, for Darius was a formidable opponent in this sensual battle of wills. His blazing kisses were hotter than she had remembered, hotter than the ones she’d lain awake night after night thinking about, hotter than they had a right to be.

She pushed him back, and realized with shock that she was weak as a kitten. Her body flooded with passion, trembling from Darius’s sensual onslaught. She forced herself to look up into his sapphire eyes and saw with awful regret that they still had the power to make her melt like butter in the sun.

“It will take more than that to win me this time.” She stepped away from him, catching her breath, forcing herself to play the cool, controlled courtesan. She decided to blow a little smoke his way. “You see, you are too late. I’ve already chosen to accept an offer.” She paused. “From the Duke of Balfour.”

At that, anger blazed hotly in Darius’s eyes. “
Balfour
? You cannot be serious.”

“I am entirely serious,” she replied, haughtily. “Why shouldn’t I become his courtesan? The man is a duke.”

“The man is an idiot,” Darius scoffed. “And I am richer than he.”

Serena gave a regal smile. “There is power and position to consider as well. The duke is a favorite of the King. I’d have all the power and wealth of a duchess without the constricting bonds of matrimony to tie me down. I’d be insane to refuse him.”

“You’d be insane to accept him, you mean,” Darius replied.

“If you insist upon insulting me, I shall ask you to leave,” she said, icily.

“The man is beneath you, Serena,” Darius spat. “I fought alongside him at Waterloo, if you could call what he did ‘fighting.’ The duke is nothing but a coward. The thought of him touching you, of…”

“Taking me? Possessing my body, the way you never shall?” Serena twisted the words like a knife. “Like it or not, Darius, I am no longer the innocent girl you tried to seduce that night at the Telford Ball. I am a courtesan, now—mistress of my own fate. And I shall attach myself to whomever I choose.”

Darius stared deep into her eyes for a moment. She saw a primal fierceness that must have frightened many a Frenchman on the battlefields of Waterloo. He studied her for a moment before shaking his head in frustration.

“You’re wrong, you know,” he said. “You
are
the same girl that captured me in those weeks we shared together, that gave of her heart and soul so innocently, so freely that night in the Telford Gardens.”

He stepped away from her then, and she immediately felt her anger boil over. He was wrong. She was not that same girl, and she never would be again. That naïve girl was dead…just like his wife.

“I’ve left an envelope with the butler, outlining my offer to you. I think you’ll find it most generous.” Darius turned at the doorway. “But I hope that is not what sways your decision, Serena. I hope that what it comes down to, is the memory of
your
pleasure. Your passions. We both know there is much to explore between us. I bid you good evening.”

With that, Darius Manning, the Earl of Kane, took his leave.

Serena crossed the room to the plush velvet chesterfield, grabbed a cushion, and punched it with a tightly balled fist. Her blood burned with fury. How
dare
he think she would ever want him for pleasure? She hated the man.

She punched the pillow again, then threw it across the room where it whizzed past a priceless Chinese vase and hit the wall, bouncing off an equally priceless painting.

This meeting had not gone as she’d thought it would. Serena hated to admit that she’d been unprepared for the heat of Darius’s kiss, or the arousal his touch had stirred in her traitorous body.

It wasn’t fair. She’d been trained for this, trained to stay in control of her emotions at all times. And tonight, she had failed miserably. Darius had stirred her passions, and her hatred, like a chef stirring a pot. What was worse, he had known just how much he could still affect her.

That would not do at all.

The man was insufferable. Arrogant. Offensive.

And still, he managed to make her knees go weak with desire.

No matter how generous his offer, Serena was bound and determined to rip it up and throw the shreds into the fireplace where they belonged.

Of course, feminine curiosity made her wonder just how much Darius was willing to spend to secure her as his own private courtesan—a role which she would never play.

Serena pulled the bell, cinching her robe tighter. She admonished herself inwardly—as if the butler would be shocked by a show of cleavage. He was employed by Lady Night, after all.

In moments, Mansfield appeared. As if anticipating her thoughts, the tall grey-haired man held a silver salver in front of him. On it lay a crisp ivory linen envelope. She saw her name written upon it.

“Thank you, Mansfield,” she said.

He bowed in his customary way and exited the room without so much as a glance toward her half-naked bosom.

She tore open the envelope and quickly scanned its contents.

Her hand flew to cover her mouth as she gasped.

Darius had made her an impressive offer. Very impressive indeed. Her heart sank, for it easily exceeded the duke’s.

Balfour had promised her a yearly annuity and the use of his rented London townhouse, several items of jewelry, a luxurious coach at her disposal, and accounts with London’s finest seamstress and milliner in Bond Street.

All in exchange for the pleasure of her company.

Darius had offered her a larger annuity, a luxurious London townhouse—to be fully deeded to Serena at the end of their contract—as well as the services of a personal seamstress and milliner who were to be kept at her exclusive disposal, her own personal solicitor, as well as a landau with horses, to be housed in her own stable.

The list of jewelry took up a separate page altogether. Those pieces would also become her personal property after their contract expired.

Instead of being overjoyed at such a splendid offer, Serena found herself fuming. Darius knew full well that he could outbid the duke. And perhaps any other courtesan would rush to accept him as her protector, past history or no. But Serena would rather die than become Darius Manning’s plaything, even if it was the most lucrative offer she was likely to receive.

Lady Devlyn would be shocked, and more than a little disappointed in her protégée. Felicity and Bliss would most likely echo the sentiment. For everything they had been taught by Lady Devlyn flew in the face of what Serena was contemplating. She was letting her emotions affect what should have been a simple professional decision.

But how could Serena, in all honesty, become courtesan to a man she despised?

Clenching her teeth in frustration, she crumpled the papers and threw them on the floor.

She didn’t care what anyone thought. She was mistress of her own future now, and she would not accept Darius as her lover, not even if her life depended upon it.

Serena circled the room before finally plunking herself down on the plush velvet sofa, struggling to catch her breath. Somehow, the aftermath of her meeting with Darius had left her with a racing pulse and a dizzy head.

Was it anger that caused such a reaction? Or was it something else? Something she preferred not to think about?

One thing was certain. Darius was the Devil incarnate. He had already ruined Serena’s reputation and irreparably changed the course of her life. What more did he want from her?

Gingerly, she raised her fingers to her mouth, touching the tender skin there. Her determination to refuse Darius should have left her elated, but instead, she struggled with an unsettling thought. For even through all her declarations of refusal, the fact remained that her lips still burned—most exquisitely so—from his kiss.

And that knowledge frightened Serena more than she cared to admit.

Lady Devlyn had taught them many secrets about being a successful courtesan. One of them was that no matter what fiction you presented to a man, the consummate courtesan always knew the truth of the situation, inside herself.

That was what scared Serena.

The ugly truth.

Darius was a man who could tempt the Saints in heaven to trade in their wings, if only for one night in his sinful arms. And Serena knew exactly how wonderful those wicked arms felt as they held her close.

That was why she didn’t want to become Darius`s courtesan.

She didn’t know if she had the strength to endure such wicked torture again.

Chapter 4

“
In many ways, the true skill of the courtesan is not seen in the act of passion itself, but in everything that leads up to it. The most potent aphrodisiac is not perfume, or wine, but in the delay of pleasure. Make them wait…make them wait, and then, make them wait some more.”

–
from Memoirs of a Courtesan, by Lady Night

“Certainly, you must do what you feel is right, Serena,” Lady Devlyn said, as she brought the ivory china cup to her lips and took a sip of steaming, fragrant jasmine tea. “And if you have decided to refuse Lord Kane, no matter that his offer is so impressive, you must have good reason to do so.”

The day after Serena had received offers from the Duke of Balfour and Lord Kane, she and the rest of the Courtesan Club were sitting in the salon discussing Serena’s future.

She had been prepared for this—-for the questioning looks from her friends, and the cloaked disapproval from Lady Devlyn herself. But she hadn’t been prepared for how uncomfortable she would feel when trying to explain her reasoning.

“The duke’s offer is quite good as well,” Lady Devlyn said, “and though perhaps not as financially rewarding, there is his influence with the King to consider. Of course, if you must accept the duke’s offer, don’t let him know right away. Men enjoy the chase. Let him fight for you. Just because you are a courtesan does not mean you can be taken for granted, even by a duke.”

“What do you have in mind?” Serena asked. She had thought her decision to accept the duke’s offer would put an end to it.

Lady D continued, “I think you should play hard to get with Balfour.”

“Let me be quite certain of what you mean. You want me to refuse the duke?” Serena asked, surprised.

“Not outright. Just don’t accept him yet,” Lady D advised. “The offer you received from the Earl of Kane exceeded the duke’s, but they don’t have to know that. Play each one off the other. Tell them their offers were too close to decide upon. If one of them wants you to be their exclusive courtesan, they’ll simply have to do better.”

Serena felt her heart race. She didn’t want Darius to try to improve upon his offer. “But Lady D, I never want to see Lord Kane again. I am going to become the duke’s courtesan, so what does it matter?”

“You are not just any courtesan, Serena,” Lady D said. “You are a
virgin
courtesan. It is a very rare prize you hold—one that men want to possess. You have a perfect right to demand more than a man’s initial offer, and use whatever means in your power to do it.”

Serena knew that her benefactress spoke the truth. She just didn’t want to believe it. Because then she would have to deal with Darius again.

She would rather pull out her teeth, one by one, than do that.

Lady Devlyn smiled serenely. “My advice to you is to ignore the both of them, for the time being. Let them come to you. I assure you that they will. They’ll be unable to control their curiosity about your decision. Make them wait. Make them woo you. And above all, make them work for it.”

Perhaps Lady D was right. If Darius wished to jump through hoops for her, Serena would let him. It would only serve to drive up the duke’s offer, which was what she wanted, because
he
was the one she meant to accept.

* * *

A few days later, Darius and Havelock stepped out of Matterly’s gaming club. Darius was quite pleased with himself, having just fleeced Lord Whitfield of a large sum of money. The man’s fortune dwindled each day at the tables.

“I say, Dare, you could have shown him a little mercy in there,” Havelock chided.

Darius straightened his lapels as they walked down the busy street in search of his phaeton. “If Whitfield wants to throw away his money, I’ll gladly take it off his hands. I mean to open an account at my bankers’ in his wife’s name and deposit my winnings there. If her husband is set on his own ruination, no doubt she’ll be needing the money eventually.”

“Ever the good Samaritan, I see,” Havelock said wryly. “By all accounts, Lady Whitfield is a saint. She deserves a better husband than the one she’s got. I say, if Whitfield drinks himself to death, which I hear some are betting on before the year is out, perhaps I’ll take his ‘Merry Widow’ to wife. I could do with some spending money.”

They came to Darius’ black phaeton parked in an alleyway, its red wheels glossy and gleaming. Darius had one of the fastest vehicles in London, as proven by the races he’d won against members of the
ton
who were foolish enough to compete with him. He had paid a boy to watch the phaeton for him while they were at the club, and now tossed him another coin for his trouble. The young lad looked amazed at the shiny guinea he held in his dirty little hand. With a smile, the boy quickly scampered away into the busy throng around them.