The Courtesan's Bed (11 page)

“Monsieur Valendry does not concern himself with nonexistent accounts or patrons.”

She bolted to her feet. “Evidently I've been dealing with a pack of thieves.”

Monsieur Poisson turned purple. “Mademoiselle Laflamme, I resent your accusations.”

She leaned forward and braced her hands on his desk, looking at him with murder in her heart. “I demand to see Monsieur Valendry. Now!”

Fear flickered in the banker's eyes, and his mouth worked like a fish out of water. “Monsieur Valendry is a very busy man. I doubt if he can be disturbed.”

Régine took a deep breath and straightened. “Monsieur Poisson, you seem like a reasonable, intelligent man. I have friends in high places, many of whom do business with this very bank. If I don't see Monsieur Valendry at once, I shall tell my friends that you've robbed me. They will not be pleased. Word will spread through Paris like wildfire. Perhaps they shall withdraw money from this establishment in droves. Your vaults will be empty. This bank will cease to exist for lack of patrons, and ultimately, you shall lose your position.”

He rose and bristled indignantly. “Are you threatening this esteemed institution?”

She smiled with forced sweetness. “I am merely suggesting that you act in your employer's best interest.”

Poisson glared at her in ill-disguised dislike. “If you'll wait right here, I shall see if Monsieur Valendry is available.”

And risk Luc having her thrown out before she had a chance to confront him?

The minute Poisson headed for the door, Régine fell in step behind him. He stopped. “Mademoiselle, I asked you to wait.”

“I will see Monsieur Valendry, and I will see him now.”

The man pursed his fish lips and made no further objection until they arrived at Luc's upstairs office, where a clerk stood guard at a desk outside the door.

“Will you please inquire if Monsieur Valendry is available to see this—Mademoiselle Laflamme?” Poisson said.

With a shy, admiring glance at Régine, the young man rose, knocked on Luc's door and disappeared inside. A moment later he emerged and gave her an apologetic shrug. “I am very sorry, mademoiselle.”

Before he could close the door, Régine charged, managing to sweep right past him before anyone could stop her.

Poisson's outraged bellow of protest followed her as she hurried across Luc's plush carpet. She came to a stop before the most imposing expanse of mahogany desk she'd ever seen.

Luc remained seated, his face frozen into a cold, livid mask.

“Forgive me, Monsieur Valendry, forgive me for this intrusion,” Poisson said. “I tried to stop her, I truly did, but she kept following me and insisting that she see you.” He reached for Régine's arm. “I'll remove her at once.”

“Lay a hand on me, Mr. Fish,” she said, “and I shall break it.”

He pulled away as if burnt.

“Leave us,” Luc said.

Poisson and the clerk left quickly and closed the door.

A deafening silence filled the room, a silence so profound Régine felt it settle around her like a damp, smothering fog. She stared at Luc, searching his implacable face for any sign of the man she'd welcomed into her life, the man who'd entrusted her with his deepest, most shocking sexual secrets. She couldn't find him. He'd been replaced by this cold, hostile devil with horns and cloven hooves. Her heart sank.

“You know why I'm here,” she said.

“I received your letter of dismissal last night. I thought we had an understanding.”

“I provided you with a service, Luc, and my exclusive company, nothing more.”

“For which you were very well paid.”

Paid well enough to ignore her disgust at having to inflict such pain on another human being, even though he craved and demanded it. Paid well enough not to have her own strong sexual desires satisfied by her lover.

“Oh, so as long as I was
well paid
,
I should've been content to dance to your tune until you tired of me, is that it?”

He gave her a mocking smile. “But isn't money all that matters to a whore?”

She said nothing.

Luc stared at her. “Have you taken up with someone else?”

“Of course. Why else would I have broken off our liaison?”

“Do I know him?”

“Darius Granger, the Earl of Clarridge. He's the man who outbid you for Odile's bed at the auction.” The bed that was now waiting for her and Darius to christen.

“An Englishman.” His voice was edged with contempt.

“Yes, an Englishman. One of my countrymen. So please have the grace to accept that our liaison has come to an end.” She held up her bank book. “I'll take a draft for my money and be gone.”

Luc sat back in his leather swivel chair and studied her with pity and amusement. “Alas, mademoiselle,
we have no record of your ever having patronized this bank.”

A wave of anger heated Régine's whole body. She waved the book. “I have all the proof I need right here.”

“It proves only that you are a clever, calculating forger. Did you have an accomplice, or did you concoct this absurd scheme to defraud my bank on your own?”

This entire situation was all of Luc's creation. He'd told Poisson and every employee what to say should Régine appear to close out her account.

She straightened to her most regal height. “How dare you accuse me of forgery when you are nothing more than a common thief?”

Luc's complexion darkened, and he laughed, a sharp, bitter bark. “And you're nothing but a common whore, who spreads her legs for money.”

“And I want the money my body earned, you spiteful bastard, and I want it now!”

“There is a way you can get your money,” he said. “I'll tear up the letter you sent me, and we'll continue as before. We'll forget this unpleasantness and let bygones be bygones.”

“I can't do that. I'm committed to the earl now.”

“Surely you can tell him you made a mistake.”

“But I haven't. He's made love to me, you see, and shown me what I've been missing in the year I've been with you.”

Luc turned bright pink and rose. “Enough! I want you to get out of my office, and never enter this bank again. Otherwise, you'll be arrested and thrown into prison until you are a very old lady.”

Régine let her eyes fill with helpless tears. “How can you be so cruel to me, Luc, after all we shared?” She reached into her handbag for a handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes, well aware her tears could melt the hardest heart.

Luc brought his hands together in slow, mocking applause. “
Brava
, my dear. That was a performance worthy of the Divine Sarah herself. You may cry and plead, cajole and threaten, but I'm not giving you your money. Consider it my payment for a broken heart.”

She took a deep, penitent breath and humbly dropped her gaze to the floor. “I'm so sorry I hurt you, Luc. I should have told you face-to-face that I was breaking off our liaison, but I thought it would be less painful for us both if I did it by letter. Evidently, I was mistaken, and I am very sorry.”

“A very pretty apology, my dear, but it changes nothing. I'm still not returning your money, and I'm sure my broken heart will mend the moment I find a more accommodating mistress. Your kind is rather common and easily replaced. Now I wonder what I ever saw in you.”

Staring at his smug, self-righteous face, Régine knew she had misjudged him badly, and that she couldn't move him because he had no heart. He was too hurt, too angry, by what he'd termed her dismissal.

If Luc refused to return her money—her life savings—she would have no money to pay her servants, to keep her horses and carriage, or buy the beautiful gowns that a courtesan required to keep up appearances in the cutthroat world of the grand horizontals. No money for food, champagne or lavish entertaining. She did have some gold Louis in the safe and the bag that Luc had given her the last night they were together. But they wouldn't last long. What would she do when that money was gone?

She couldn't let him get away with such blatant thievery. She would find a way to get her money back. For now, she must hold her head up high and not debase herself for one more second.

She looked down her nose at the contemptible little man she'd once held in such high regard, a man she could've loved if only he'd let her.

“You haven't heard the last of me, Monsieur Valendry,” she said with a confidence she was far from feeling. “I am only sorry I didn't whip your wrinkled old ass to shreds when I had the chance.”

Luc turned a furious dark pink and called her a vile name straight from the gutters of Pigalle.

She blew him a contemptuous kiss, whirled on her heel and headed out of Luc's office. When she flung open the door, she surprised Poisson, who gave a guilty start, obviously caught eavesdropping.

Régine boldly chucked him under the chin. “The next time you make love to your wife, Mr. Fish, I would suggest that you leave on the lights.”

Poisson gave a shocked, strangled gurgle, and then gasped for air.

Régine winked flirtatiously at the admiring clerk before striding away in a soft swish of silk.

Once back in her carriage, she leaned against the plush squabs and closed her eyes. She imagined Odile seated across from her, a vision in a frothy pink Worth gown and scented with sweet Guerlain perfume. Odile's eyes held a wealth of wisdom, and a familiar knowing smile touched her full lips.

Odile, what am I going to do now?

The vision made a
tsk, tsk
sound and cocked her head. “You made a tactical error,
chérie.
You should've withdrawn all your money
before
you broke off your liaison with Monsieur Valendry. Or you should've agreed to return to him until he gave back your savings, and once you deposited them in another bank, dismiss him.” Odile's tinkling laughter echoed through Régine's mind. “Don't you remember Odile's First Rule of being a successful
belle de jour
?”

Gold Louis come first, and our personal feelings second.

Régine opened her eyes and her friend vanished.

She desperately needed to get her money.

Should she complain to the police? Consult her lawyer? Talk to her friend Beaucaire the journalist about telling everyone in Paris that Luc had stolen from her, and trying him in the court of popular opinion?

Luc Valendry was a very wealthy, powerful, well-connected member of Parisian high society. Régine couldn't predict what he'd do if publicly attacked in the press. He'd no doubt make her life a living hell in a thousand ways she couldn't yet imagine.

She'd never felt so alone. So helpless.

“But you're not alone,
chérie
,” a familiar voice reminded her.

Now she had Clarridge.

Chapter Ten

Darius knew something was terribly wrong the minute he saw Molly's white, worried face.

He set his hat on the hall table, pleased to see the bronze figurine of Undine so prominently displayed for all callers—especially other men. “Is something amiss?”

She wrung her hands. “Yes, your lordship. Something terrible has happened.”

Had his father found Régine? A heavy knot of dismay formed in the pit of his stomach.

A resounding crash came from the drawing room, making them both start, followed by a loud screech. “I'll kill that loathsome worm. I'll cut off his wrinkled little balls and stuff them in his ears. And then I'll—”

Darius brushed past the distressed maid and ran into the drawing room, where he found Régine standing there with shards of glass from a broken vase scattered at her feet. Her eyes held a wild, desperate glint, and two spots of furious color rode high on her cheekbones.

The minute she saw him, her face crumpled and her eyes glistened with tears.

“Régine?” He quickly looked around the room, but his father was nowhere to be seen. “What's wrong?”

She staggered toward him with arms outstretched, glass crunching beneath her feet. “Oh, Darius…”

He drew her into his arms. She buried her face against his chest and clung to him as though she couldn't stand without him. He tucked her head beneath his chin to draw her even closer. Her soft hair smelled as sweet as a meadow full of wildflowers on a cool summer morning, and the crush of her breasts filled him with longing.

He ran a gentling hand down her back. “There, there. Take a deep breath and tell me what has upset you.”

“It—it's Luc Valendry.”

“Your old gent? Don't tell me he died in his sleep and you're angry with him.”

She stopped crying, took a step back and looked up at him, her eyes now bright with amusement. “I wish he had. No, the vengeful bastard won't give me my money.”

“Is this because you ended your association?”

She nodded.

Darius led her over to the settee. “Why don't you sit down, have a glass of sherry, and we'll try to sort this out.”

She took out a handkerchief and blew her nose while he poured them both a generous sherry. As they sat there sipping, Régine told him of going to the old gent's bank to withdraw her life savings, and despite having her bank book as proof of every transaction, they claimed they had no records of her account ever existing.

“That—that pompous little ass had the gall to accuse
me
of being a forger.” Her voice shook with indignation.

“Monsieur Valendry is obviously very angry and upset that you've sent him packing, and is retaliating,” he said. “However, even if his pride is wounded, such deplorable behavior is unworthy of any gentleman.”

“He's obviously not a gentleman.” She dabbed at her eyes. “You'd think I'd know better than to underestimate a Frenchman's pride.” She took a deep breath. “What am I going to do? He has stolen my entire life savings. Except for a small amount of cash in the house, I have no money. None!” Fresh tears fell. “I can't pay my bills or my staff's wages.”