Taming The Bride (Brides of Mayfair 2) (32 page)

Lady D smiled, while holding the exquisite canary diamond pendant aloft. “Sitara—it means ‘morning star.’ The Maharaja and I watched the morning star many times together, after a passion-filled night in his palace. Sitara has always brought me good luck, and it is my hope that the stone will bring you the same good fortune.”

Before Serena could protest further, Lady Devlyn was fastening the priceless bauble around Serena’s neck. The magnificent jewel hung from a string of smaller white diamonds, which sparkled and winked against Serena’s glowing skin. It felt heavenly.

“Ear bobs, of course.” Lady D handed Serena a pair of matching tear-drop earrings. “And a bracelet, I think.”

With the jewels adorning her, Serena felt an almost magical effect, which had undoubtedly been Lady Devlyn’s intention. Serena felt beautiful, she felt powerful and in control. She was ready to become London’s newest sensation.

Then why was her heart beating like the wings of a caged bird?

Perhaps it was the reality of what she was about to do. Playtime was over. The moment she stepped out into the Lady Devlyn’s salon, she would announce to the world that she, Serena Ransom, was a courtesan—a woman whose business it was to give a man pleasure.

It seemed a daunting vocation, now.

Lady D lifted Serena’s chin with a slim finger, meeting her eyes. It seemed her benefactress could read minds, too. “Remember, my dear—-the men out there will be clamoring for your attention, just as Marc Antony and Caesar begged for Cleopatra’s. And that is how you must act. Like a queen—and a queen needs no one. Least of all a man. If you believe that, then so will they. Men will fight duels over you. They will give up everything for you.” Lady Devlyn gave a radiant smile. “And isn’t that what it’s all about?”

Serena took a deep breath. “Yes. That’s what it’s all about.”

“But where are the other girls?” Lady Devlyn asked. “We cannot greet our guests without them.”

“We’re here!” Bliss called, as she and Felicity bustled into the room, the silk of their gowns swishing across the floor. Bliss’ strawberry blonde curls were complimented by flowing sapphire blue silk, while Felicity’s dark glossy locks were offset by a gown of emerald green. Felicity and Bliss were to make their debuts at a later date, but the men of the ton would get a peek at them tonight…and talk about them for weeks.

It was all part of Lady Devlyn’s plan to make the Courtesan Club a wild success.

“Serena, you look breathtaking!” Felicity enthused, stepping forward to hug her.

Bliss gave her a quick hug as well. “You’re a vision. You look like a Greek goddess in that golden gown. The men will go wild.”

Lady D gave a languid smile. “Yes, my dear—the men will go wild for it. For her. For all of you. And isn’t that what we set out to accomplish with the creation of the Courtesan Club—to bring the richest men in London to their knees?”

The girls regarded each other, their expressions a mixture of excitement, disbelief, and female pride. Now Miss Serena Ransom was about to make her debut as the first member of the Courtesan Club.

A confident smile danced across her lips and her veins hummed with excitement as she and her friends made their way toward the salon.

She hoped London was ready for her.

* * *

Darius Manning, Earl of Kane, took another sip from his crystal champagne flute and gazed about the opulent room. In one corner, a string quartet played a Mozart sonata. Footmen milled about serving hors d’eouvres from silver platters. It seemed to all the world like any other high society party. Except that the room was filled with men only, most of whom looked like wolves waiting for the poor little sheep to show up. Darius had to admit, his curiosity was getting the best of him as well.

Where was she?

“What do you think, Dare?” the man beside him asked languidly, popping a grape into his mouth. “Shall you entrap this virgin courtesan in your web tonight? Or will she entrap you?”

Darius flicked a brow at his companion. Major Havelock Price had stood by his side through the bloodiest battles of the Napoleonic Wars and knew him better than any other human being on earth. Still, Darius did not enjoy being thought predictable, especially regarding a woman he hadn’t even met yet.

Darius admitted to being many things, a notorious rake and womanizer being chief among them, but predictable? That could sully a man’s reputation.

“Gads, let’s have a look at the chit before you have me bidding for her, will you? She may not be to my fancy,” Darius said coolly.

Havelock tasted a morsel of soft cheese. “Not to your fancy? The only woman I ever knew who didn’t strike your fancy was your wife, old friend. And considering what a harpy she was, it was completely understandable—-God rest her soul.”

Darius turned and shot a dark look toward Havelock. “It does not become you to speak ill of the dead, my friend.”

“Bloody hell— I did say, ‘God rest her soul,’” Havelock said. “Forgive me, but Henrietta gave you nothing but grief. Ah, but that is not exactly true. She also gave you her father’s immense fortune which saved your family name and estates. But then, that was your plan all along, wasn’t it? I shouldn’t have skipped over that part. Now you have the wife’s fortune, the earldom in good standing, and you’re on the market for a courtesan to entertain your nights without any messy complications. I’d say you’re on top of the world, old chum.”

Darius pondered his friend’s words as he studied the other men in the room. Perhaps he should feel that way, considering he could out-bid any man here, even the young, brash duke at the billiard table.

He, the seventh Earl of Kane, was one of the wealthiest men in England. That fact alone had made him many enemies, namely the old families with ancient titles but no money left to run their crumbling estates. Havelock had spoken the truth. Darius had made a fortuitous marriage to Miss Henrietta Barton, heiress to a huge shipping fortune. He had not loved her, though his poor wife had fancied herself in love with him.

That had unfortunately been her undoing.

Darius reached for a succulent strawberry and pushed the unwelcome thoughts away. He’d spent enough time thinking about the women of his past. He was ready to move on.

And the first step in doing that was finding himself a new one to warm his bed.

He took a bite of the tart, luscious berry and decided that whoever this courtesan was, he would have her, for she was exactly what he needed.

Now that he was a widower, Darius was one of London’s most sought-after bachelors. The Mad Mamas of the Marriage Mart hounded him at every turn. They all wanted their daughters to be the next Countess of Kane. Well, they could all go to Hades. After Henrietta, he had earned a respite from the shackles of matrimony. As his marriage had left him without an heir, of course he would have to marry again at some point. He had a duty to ensure the family legacy.

But duty could wait.

What he wanted now, was sex.

Pure and simple.

And who better than a courtesan to provide him with imaginative, passionate, uncomplicated sex? Even a mistress was uncomfortably close to being a wife, in his book. But a courtesan was something altogether different. She existed only to beguile and intrigue. Any courtesan trained by the famous Lady Night was bound to be a legend in her own right. The London papers had been talking about her for weeks, speculating on her identity, as well as to the level of her sinful skills. Yes, he would have this “mystery woman” as his own private courtesan. Only she could banish the memories of his past, which haunted him like malevolent ghosts.

A loud gong sounded, echoing throughout the salon and causing the men to murmur amongst themselves when they observed a strange sight indeed. A man appeared at the bottom of the curved, marble staircase. He stood at least six foot five inches tall, dressed in flowing pale orange silk pants and a brilliant gold vest that barely covered his massive bare chest. His skin was the color of bittersweet chocolate, his dark eyes flashed dangerously, and his face was adorned with strange tattoos. On his head sat a turban of darker orange silk, with a brilliant sapphire at the centre of his forehead. A single blue feather stood proudly in the air above the sparkling stone. The man’s feet were clad in jeweled leather sandals, and a curved scimitar hung from his waist. His folded arms boasted bulging muscles the size of grapefruits.

Havelock gave Darius a nudge, looking impressed. “I don’t know who this bloke is, but I certainly wish we’d had him with us at Waterloo. Boney would have pissed himself.”

Some of the other gentlemen in the room appeared to be close to doing that, themselves. They had nervously taken a few steps back from the dangerous-looking man in the turban.

Darius tapped his finger on the armrest of his chair. “What else would you expect from a courtesan as experienced as Lady Night? She’s bound to have a bodyguard or two in her employ. And this one looks as if he could take on ten men without breaking a sweat.”

“So right,” Havelock agreed. “Best not to upset him, I suppose. So when Lady Night and her new protégée appear, try to act like a gentleman.”

“Don’t I always, when dealing with the fairer sex?” he asked.

“You don’t really want me to answer that, do you?” Havelock said wryly.

Darius quirked a brow. Just because he didn’t offer to marry any of the women who gave themselves willingly to him for a night of passion, didn’t mean he treated them with anything less than respect.

And he always paid for their carriage ride home in the morning.

The bodyguard clapped his massive hands twice. In a booming voice, accented with the inflections of a far-off land, he announced, “Gentlemen, may I present to you, Lady Night.”

At that, the lady in question made her entrance, drawing appreciative murmurs and applause from the gentlemen present. She wore a gown of pale lavender silk, her arms clad in white gloves that stretched to the elbow. She fairly dripped in sparkling diamonds and amethysts. Her face was mature, but exquisitely beautiful. It wasn’t difficult to imagine emperors and princes falling at her feet, which, apparently, more than a few had done.

“Handsome woman,” Havelock said. “Didn’t you say you’d met her once before, Dare?”

“Yes, in Bath, just before the war,” he answered.

Though Lady Night had been attached to a rich Marquess at the time, the beautiful courtesan had flirted with an impoverished young earl named Darius Manning who was about to go off and fight Napoleon. She had even let him taste a kiss or two, completely free of charge. When he’d left that soiree, he’d felt like a king. The memory of her kiss had sustained him on more than one occasion during his darkest days in the war. For that, he would always thank her.

A mature woman, she was still breathtakingly beautiful. Though a few strands of grey appeared in her chestnut hair, it seemed to compliment the planes of her face—the high cheekbones, the intelligent blue eyes and full mouth. Legend had it she was now one of the richest women in the Kingdom; some of her fortune acquired through the generosity of her benefactors, and some through clever investments. Either way, Lady Night was a woman to remember. If her new protégée was anything like her, Dare mused, the men of London were about to be set into a tailspin from which they would never recover.

Lady Night flashed an entrancing smile at her guests in the packed salon. “Gentlemen, thank you for coming to my little soiree this evening. I am delighted that you have chosen to attend what surely proves to be the most unforgettable night of the Season. Though I have tried to keep news of my protégée under wraps, there has been much speculation about her existence in the press, no doubt which many of you have read. Why, a recent article in
The Sentinel
advised ladies of the
ton
to insist that their husbands remove themselves to the country, so as to protect them from this corrupt creature of Lady Night’s creation. One article even suggested a most dreadful course of action: fleeing to the wilds of Scotland for safety!”

At this, robust laughter rolled through the crowd.

One man yelled out in a thick Scottish brogue, “I hail from Scotland, Lady Night, and I can tell ye, a Londoner would nae be safe up there, except for ye and yer bonnie lass we’ve come ta see!”

More chuckles sounded at this, and Lady Night joined in as well. “Indeed,” she said. “A rather drastic scheme. And why? To deny you, the most powerful men in the Kingdom, the chance to make the acquaintance of a beautiful, educated, fascinating young woman—a woman who is unlike any you have met before. Be warned, she is fiercely independent, highly intelligent, and selective. She knows what she wants and will settle for nothing less. On top of all that, she is a virgin…as yet untouched by the passion of a man, but skilled in the knowledge of how to stoke that fire. I know this description will alarm some of the gentlemen here tonight,” she said, with a sly look in her eyes, “but to the right man, one who is truly worthy of this exquisite creature’s company, these will be attributes that will increase the pleasure—-and yes, gentlemen, there will be much pleasure—-of their association.”

Lady Night paused a moment, seeming to size up each man in the crowd before she continued.

“Before I introduce you to my new friend,” she continued, “I ask that you remember two things: please keep the fisticuffs to a minimum, and duels, if they must be fought tonight, should be conducted on the East Lawn.”