The Courtesan's Bed (22 page)

He hailed a cab, annoyed when two dared ignore him by driving by without stopping. He'd been forced to seek his release in the body of a common, forgettable whore while his son was enjoying the considerable charms of the exquisite Regina, the woman who should be his.

The next cab stopped. He got in and gave the driver the name of his hotel. He folded his arms and settled back in his seat.

To win her back, he had to get his son out of the picture, but how? Darius had inherited his mother's stubbornness. Damned inconvenient. Unfortunately, he had underestimated his intelligent, skeptical child who'd seen through his ploy to separate him from Regina.

The marquess rubbed his temples, trying to coax another plan from his sex-fogged brain. He considered several possibilities and outcomes that would be in his favor.

Suddenly, an idea struck him like a bolt of lightning out of the blue. If he couldn't persuade Darius to leave Regina, maybe he could persuade Regina to leave Darius.

Now what would make her give up her wealthy, titled lover? A bank vault of money? According to his discreet inquiries, she was very wealthy in her own right. Besides, she might be insulted and become intractable. And all would be lost.

She had been much easier to control when she was a poor, innocent governess. A wealthy, powerful, independent Regina presented a more formidable challenge.

What about making her realize that Darius had family responsibilities to marry well, and that a woman in her profession was a liability? Perhaps she wouldn't care. But perhaps she still had some semblance of respect for family duty and the English way of life in that lush, mercenary body.

Why did he think she would even let him in the door, never mind listen to him? Regina despised him.

He swore under his breath. He was hitting one brick wall after another, and his frustration kept mounting.

Perhaps he could accomplish his objective if he found someone else to do his dirty work.

Now, who could possibly plead his case?

The cab finally arrived at his hotel. As he disembarked, he chided himself for being so focused on his son that he'd neglected his two daughters, especially the lovely Kate, about to embark on her first London Season.

Another idea flashed into his mind. It was a long shot, but the stakes were high and he had to try.

He had no time to lose. He'd leave for London first thing in the morning.

Régine was laughing so hard she could barely step down from her carriage and had to let Darius assist her. “Alice d'Alençon and Luc…now there's a pairing I still can't imagine. I wonder if she'll wear her favorite lacy white dress when she flogs him. He won't like that.”

They had just come from Maxim's, where her former protector and the youthful golden-haired courtesan had once again made an appearance and sat at a table not far from Régine and Darius.

He took her arm and guided her to her front door. “That tiny slip of a thing looks more like a little girl who still plays with her dolls than an experienced woman of the world. I'll wager she's not strong enough to meet Valendry's requirements for a lover.”

“Looks can be deceiving.” Régine watched as he unlocked the door. “Alice is as resilient as steel and can take care of herself, though I should warn her not to deposit any money in Luc's bank.”

Darius frowned as they went inside. “And then there was that bastard Dragomilov… I didn't like the way he kept staring at you like you were a feast he wanted to devour.”

“He looked more interested in dining on the voluptuous charms of the dark-haired cocotte at the far end of the room, much to the annoyance of his own mistress.” She kissed his cheek to soothe him. “As long as all he does is stare, he doesn't bother me.”

Once they were lying naked on Régine's bed, facing each other, nibbling sweet candied fruits and sipping more vintage champagne, Darius said, “My father came to my room before I left to come here.”

“Oh? And what did he want?”

“He told me he's leaving for London tomorrow.”

Régine raised her brows. “So he's giving up trying to separate us and going home?”

“That's what he said.”

“Knowing Penbry as I do, I find that hard to believe.”

“I was skeptical myself, but he seemed sincere. He even shook my hand, told me the best man had won you, and wished me well.” Darius leaned over and kissed the top of her breast. “Let's not worry about him and just enjoy each other.”

Régine sat up. “For some reason, I was thinking of Kate and Emma today.”

He grinned. “They've both grown into lovely young ladies.”

“Do you remember the puppets you had made for them in their likenesses?”

“Of course. I especially remember the one that looked like you, the lovely Miss Willett puppet.”

Régine sipped her champagne. “Do they still have it?”

The warmth in his eyes cooled. “After my stepmama banished you, the puppet went missing. The girls were very upset, and when I confronted their mother about its disappearance, Penelope admitted that she didn't want any reminders of you around, so she burned it.”

“I'm not surprised. She hated me. Not that I blame her. I was thinking only of myself and should've repulsed your father's advances before they went too far.”

Darius placed his hand on her hip. “He was your employer, with the power to control your life. He wouldn't have let you ignore him, and you know it.”

“Thank you for reminding me.” After she put both glasses and the plate of candied fruits out of harm's way, she stretched out and propped up her head in her right hand. With her left, she walked her fingers down his chest and belly toward his groin. She smiled when his limp, resting penis suddenly stirred in anticipation.

“I think men should start wearing codpieces again, like in Elizabethan times,” she murmured. “That way, they could display their cocks and balls to the whole world…and women in particular, so we would know exactly what we're getting.”

His eyes lit up expectantly, and he raised his right leg, bending it at the knee, opening himself to her. “That's a very, very naughty idea, but I think most men would rebel at the thought.”

“Well, we women wear low-cut gowns to display our bosoms for men, but you gentlemen remain covered in your long frock coats and trousers.” She shook her head. “Most unfair.”

“But I am always so quick to remove my frock coat and trousers for you, my beautiful Régine.”

“And I do appreciate your haste to bare your beautiful body, Clarridge.” She reached down and cupped his testicles, weighing them. “These large, heavy balls would require an especially large codpiece made of bright red velvet tied with yellow, blue and green satin ribbons. And when an obliging lady such as myself untied the ribbons, the codpiece would come off, freeing the penis and allowing her to…” she wrapped her hand around the thick shaft and squeezed, “…torment it.”

Darius sucked in his breath and his eyes glazed. “Show me exactly how you would torment my willing cock.”

She tugged and pulled until the stiffness suited her, then she quickly straddled him with a seductive smile. She positioned the blunt tip against her opening and eased herself down the hot, silken shaft, uttering a long, low sigh of triumph as he fit perfectly. Once she had accommodated him as much as she could, she splayed her hands across his rib cage for balance.

“I like to see your face when I make love to you,” she murmured.

His gaze darkened and turned slumberous. He reached for her breasts. “And I like to see your face when I do this.” He tweaked her nipples and held on.

She gasped and leaned into his punishing touch, so she could raise herself just to the point of his organ slipping out. Then she lowered herself slowly, delighting in the friction heating her tight channel and the pleasure warming her breasts and traveling down to loosen her. She moved her hips up and down. In and out. Faster and faster.

She locked gazes with Darius, capturing his soul as surely as she'd enslaved his body. Soon, they were both swept away by their mutual passion, losing control, moaning as if in agony. Just when Régine thought she'd go mad, Darius released one breast to rub her clit furiously, adding enough sensation to send her soaring over the edge.

“Oh, God, Darius!” She contracted all along his length, urging him toward his own orgasm.

His brow furrowed in sexual agony, and he threw his head back when the fury of his own release slammed through him. “Yes!”

When the aftershocks subsided, Régine rolled off her sated lover, kissed him hard and curled up against him.

“You never cease to amaze me,” he whispered, nuzzling her neck.

She sighed in contentment, basking in sex's afterglow. “And you amaze me with your capacity for pleasure.”

His eyelids drooped, his head lolled, and suddenly her lover was fast asleep in her arms.

After attending a rollicking performance of the Comedie Française, making an appearance at Maxim's, drinking too much expensive champagne and just experiencing the most delightful, draining session of lovemaking, Régine should've joined Darius in slumber, but she felt as wide awake as if she'd slept for a week.

Here, in her dimly lit boudoir, she couldn't believe that Penbry Granger had given up trying to win her back and make her his mistress. He wanted her.
Still
wanted her, if she was any judge of men. The bright, possessive, lustful glint in his eyes when he came to call on her had given him away.

And yet he was giving up the chase and returning to London.

She inhaled deeply and expelled her breath in a long, drawn-out gust. Her suspicions were unwarranted. Darius had bested the sly old fox, and he was gone from their lives forever. That's all that mattered.

A week later, Régine was eating lunch in the tiny walled garden behind her house, deciding it was time for Darius to move in with her. Why should he remain in the Hotel Continental when he spent more time here?

She sipped her tea and smiled. How delightful to have him with her twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, to make love anytime they chose. What man could possibly object?

Molly came bustling through the French doors. “There's someone here to see you, Miss, though it's early for proper house calls. A Lady Katherine Granger.”

Shock rendered Régine speechless. She cleared her throat. “Kate? Here? To see me?”

“That's what she said. All the way from London to see Miss Willett. Fancy that. I put her and her pinch-faced chaperone in the drawing room.” Molly suddenly brightened in recognition. “Is this one of the little girls that you taught when you were a governess?”

Her hand trembled slightly as she set down her teacup. “The very same.”

“Now quite the elegant young lady.”

Régine wondered why a respectable gentlewoman would risk her reputation by calling on a notorious courtesan.

“Best we see what she wants.” She rose and headed for the drawing room, her heart thundering out of control because she knew deep inside that this was not a social call.

She would've recognized the lovely young woman seated in the drawing room as Kate even though she was seven years older than when Régine had last seen her at the manor, playing with her puppets in the schoolroom. The same shade of dark burnished-gold hair, the same blue eyes. Her oval face had lost its childish softness, and her figure had filled out, though she was still as slender as a sapling. Kate's traveling ensemble was the same dusty blue color her mother had always preferred she wear, though now of the finest silk.

Régine hesitated in the doorway.

“Kate,” she said with a welcoming smile, when the girl and her chaperone rose and faced her. “What a pleasure to see you again after all these years.”

She blushed prettily. “Miss Willett. Thank you for seeing me.” She introduced her chaperone, and Régine suggested that the woman accompany Molly to the kitchen for tea.

When they were alone, Régine sat down across from her unexpected visitor. “Can I get you anything? A glass of sherry, perhaps, or brandy?”

“Sherry would be delightful, thank you.” Kate knotted her fingers together and threw darting glances around the room, as if she expected a mustachioed music hall villain to jump out from behind a chair and drag her off to a brothel.

“How is Emma?” Régine asked as she poured one glass of sherry and another of brandy for herself.

“She's fine.”

That was all she said about her younger sister. Régine handed Kate the glass and expressed her sympathies on the loss of Lady Penelope.

The girl nodded and took a rather large swallow that made her cough and her eyes water. “Thank you. Emma and I were quite devastated.”

Régine seated herself in the chair across from the settee and sipped her brandy. “Why have you come all the way to Paris to see me, Kate? I suspect it's not to discuss those days when I was your governess. So please be direct, and tell me what you want.”

The girl swallowed hard. “Papa says you're a—a courtesan.”

“Do you know what that is?”

Her eyes flashed. “Of course I do. I'm not a child. You live a scandalous life and sell your favors to gentlemen, and Darius is your latest conquest.” Her gaze slid to the floor and she blushed, obviously nervous and embarrassed to be speaking of such matters so frankly.

“Your papa is right about my being a courtesan, but how do you know that your brother is my latest conquest?”

“I overheard Papa talking when he thought I wasn't around.” Kate set down her glass and blurted, “I've come here to beg you to give up my brother.”

Régine raised her brows, taken aback by the girl's effrontery. “And why should I agree?”

“My future happiness depends on it. I'm going to be starting my first London Season soon, but already I've fallen in love. With Lord George Worthing, the Duke of Sefton.” Her face glowed dreamily when she said his name.