A Courtesan's Scandal Read online

  “I will see him today,” Grayson promised.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Two days after the ball, Kate begged Aldous to accompany her to St. Katharine’s. Aldous did not care for the quays. He’d almost cocked up his toes there two years ago, fighting off an illegal press gang. He’d been a bluecoat serving in the Royal Navy, and he’d come in from a month at sea. He was quite happily foxed when the slave traders fell upon him. Aldous had heard of it happening from time to time—the merchants needed sailors, just like the Navy, and if they couldn’t assemble a crew for the voyage, they’d forcibly take however many men they needed.

  He’d fought hard when he realized what was happening, but he’d been one man against three. He’d begun to lose consciousness when he understood someone had come to his rescue. That was all he remembered; the next thing he recalled was waking up in Digby’s rooms.

  Later, Digby told him what had happened. Returning from the cloth halls in Cousineau’s company, Kate had seen the slave traders fall on Aldous. She’d begged Cousineau to send his men in to rescue Aldous. They’d had quite a row, apparently, but in the end, when Kate attempted to remove one of the men from Aldous herself, Cousineau had relented and sent his two henchmen in after her.

  How or why they had brought him to Digby, Aldous had never learned; but on one point, he was very clear: If Kate had not intervened, he would be lying on the bottom of the ocean or would be enslaved in a foreign land, on a foreign ship. Having been spared that fate, Aldous owed his undying gratitude to Kate.

  He’d not been able to resume his duties with the Navy, for he’d been badly injured during the attack. Digby and the angel Kate had nursed him through the worst of it.

  Aldous had been rather madly in love with her then. He’d amused himself during his long hours of recuperation with the fantasy of bedding her. When that had become too painful … and apparent … Aldous had imagined marrying Kate. But as he’d grown stronger, he’d realized she would never be his. Not in a thousand years would a woman of her beauty and kindness settle for a life with a sailor.

  It had been nigh on two years since Kate had rescued him, and standing here now, on the St. Katharine’s quay, he caught the scent of the sea, felt the lure of it in his bones.

  He wondered how long he might remain in London to keep an eye on Kate. He didn’t trust the Prince of Wales or his intentions, and he felt a strong need now, more than ever, to protect her to the extent that he could.

  Aldous waited outside the rooms Kate let for the girls, leaning against the wall and watching people come and go. He wished she’d be quick about it—it was damn cold. Aldous glanced to his right and happened to spot the chap who let the rooms to Kate—it was hard to miss his hook nose—striding down the alley toward him. Aldous straightened up.

  Before the man reached him, however, Kate came out of the building. “Meg has gone missing again,” she said frantically. “I don’t know—”

  “Miss Bergeron!” the owner called out.

  Startled, Kate whirled around. “Mr. Fleming!”

  He tipped his hat to her and eyed Aldous. “This is a good omen, meeting you like this, as I have wanted to speak with you. I am increasing the cost of the rooms.”

  “What?” Kate cried. “Why? It’s hardly a set of rooms at all, Mr. Fleming, and I pay you a pound a month!”

  Aldous almost choked at the exorbitant price. Twelve pounds a year for that sty? Bloody scoundrel.

  “The new cost is fourteen pounds per annum, Miss Bergeron. But I suspect you can afford it, given the company you keep.”

  Kate gaped at him.

  “Have a care, sir,” Aldous said.

  “I beg your pardon?” Fleming said almost jovially. “Did you think you’d not be recognized in the Times?”

  Kate looked questioningly at Aldous, but he shook his head. “I have no idea what you mean,” she said, turning back to the scoundrel. “You are trifling with me.”

  “Did you not see the morning Times, then?” he asked gleefully. “It was printed just yesterday.”

  Kate blinked.

  “On my word, did you think your acquaintances who can read would not see you in those words? And with a duke, no less!”

  Aldous could see the blood drain from Kate’s face. “The Times?” she repeated.

  Fleming laughed jovially. “Read it for yourself—you can read, can you not?”

  “Of course she can read,” Aldous snapped, although neither he nor Kate was particularly adept at it.

  Fleming smirked and stepped forward to rap on the door. “By the bye, are you still a chum of the fat fellow?”

  “I beg your pardon!” Kate exclaimed angrily.

  “Tell your Mr. Digby that he ought to have a care whose perfume trade he attempts to pilfer,” he said sharply.

  The door swung open just then; Holly groaned when she saw him.

  “I shall expect a pound and a few shillings on the first day of the month, Miss Bergeron,” Fleming said, then looked at Holly. “Move aside,” he ordered her and stepped past her, into the room. Behind his back, Holly rolled her eyes, waved at Kate, then shut the door.

  Aldous could only imagine what business Fleming had here—

  “A newspaper!” Kate cried, latching on to his arm. “We must find yesterday’s newspaper!”

  “Calm yourself,” Aldous said, and took her elbow, urging her to walk. “That rat likes to kick up a lark, but he’s a fool. I’ll find a newspaper for you, and you’ll discover there is naught to alarm you, lass.”

  As it turned out, Fleming was a leech, but he’d not been untruthful about the Times. Aldous found a copy at the fishmonger’s later that evening that required an airing before Kate would allow it in the house. The following morning, Kate and Aldous pored over it, but the nuances of the on dit confused them. It wasn’t until the following evening, four days after the Twelfth Night Ball, that Digby arrived to read it and interpret it for them. In the same edition of the newspaper, Digby read aloud an interesting bit about Lord Merrick Christopher’s work to abolish the slave trade. It was the first Kate had heard of the movement. “They say the duke has been instrumental in bringing votes to his brother’s side,” Digby said.

  That night, as Amy dressed Kate for the opera behind a screen, Digby read the on dits again.

  “Here we are,” he said, and cleared his throat like an orator. “ ‘Yet perhaps nothing was quite as surprising as seeing the duke of D—— stand up on the second set and partner with a diamond of the first water, who is perhaps known in many salons as the one who is devoted to fine fabrics and clothing. Of late, it would seem that her devotions have spread beyond fabrics. The lady partnered with other notables, such as HRH and Lord B——.’ ”

  “Devoted to clothing!” Kate scoffed behind the screen. “There was not a single woman at Carlton House who was not devoted to her clothing!”

  “Who is Lord Bee?” Aldous asked.

  “Not Bee,” Digby said. “Some gobble-cock whose surname begins with the letter B, to protect his identity.”

  “What for?” Aldous demanded. “Ain’t he man enough to say he danced if he did?”

  “It has nothing to do with that.” Digby sighed with vexation as Kate stepped around the screen. “Honestly, Mr. Butler, it is impossible to make you understand the ways of the Quality—Lord help us!” he said as Kate moved into his view. He beamed at her. “A diamond of the first water, indeed!” he exclaimed gleefully as he admired her pink silk gown with the embroidered champagne overlay. “There, you see? I knew you’d be the most celebrated of all the ladies at the ball. Now you must tell your good friends, Kate—what of our man Darlington? A very graceful dancer, I would suspect. They train those high in the instep to dance almost the moment they learn to walk, you know.”

  Kate hesitated. She never kept anything from Aldous or Digby, but it didn’t seem her place to share Darlington’s affliction. He was a powerful man, a confident man. A handsome man. She kept thinking of the way his eyes had lo
oked when he’d agreed with her that their association wasn’t so terribly awful. And the way his hand had felt on the small of her back. And his smile. “Fine,” she said, turning her attention to the jewelry the prince had sent her. “But he does not care for dancing, I think.”

  “He likely prefers the gaming room to dancing,” Digby said with an air of authority. “Most men would, I should think. However, I prefer dancing.” He stood up and began to move around the room, mimicking the steps of a cotillion.

  The young maid giggled. Aldous rolled his eyes.

  A knock at the front door below filtered up to them, bringing the dance to a halt. As Aldous went to open the door, Digby fussed with Kate’s hair. “They shall all be agog when they see you tonight, Kate. Tomorrow morning The Times will report that bodies littered the opera house, all of them overcome by your beauty,” he said, and tucked a strand of her hair up under the pearls Amy had wrapped around her head to hold her locks in place.

  “You are given to exaggeration, Digby.”

  “Perhaps I am, but not on this occasion. Now then, enjoy yourself! Lord knows you deserve to.”

  Kate didn’t know if she deserved to, but she was incautiously enlivened by the idea of another evening spent in the duke’s company.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Something crystallized for Grayson when he saw Kate come down the stairs with that soft, sultry smile. He realized he’d thought of her quite a lot in the last few days. And when she looked pleased to see him, he felt something flutter strangely in his chest.

  He understood, in a rare moment of self-awareness, that he was pleased to see her, too.

  The prince was a lucky man in more ways than one, he thought, looking at Kate now. She was wearing an exquisite gown scalloped along the hem. The overlying tunic split down her lap to reveal elaborate embroidery on the underskirt. It was a masterpiece of construction, a gown that even he recognized every woman in London would covet. She was desirable in a way that could drive a man to his knees in certain, intimate circumstances.

  He drew a steadying breath at that thought. He was feeling the effects of abstinence, he reasoned. With Eustis in London, Grayson had seen Diana only once in the last fortnight, and that had been in a public forum where he couldn’t touch her or speak to her more than in passing.

  “Good evening, Your Grace,” Kate said, curtseying so low that the large pearl pendant she wore danced about her décolletage.

  “Miss Bergeron. I hope the evening finds you well,” he greeted her.

  “Exceedingly!” she said brightly. “I have very much looked forward to this evening, for I adore the opera.” The butler held up a pelisse that matched her gown; she put her arms into it, then fastened the buttons. “I hope you won’t find it too tiresome.”

  The evening’s opera was The Dragon of Wantley by John Frederick Lampe. Grayson hoped it would be short and painless, but was resigned to the likelihood that it would be neither of those things. “I think I shall find it much more tolerable with such pleasant company.”

  “Oh my,” Kate said, her brows rising with surprise. “It would seem that we have become partners in this ruse after all.”

  “My goodness, Miss Bergeron, did you ever doubt it?” he asked.

  Kate grinned. “I did think you rather boorish at the beginning, Your Grace…but I never thought you beyond redemption.”

  Grayson smiled and offered his arm to her. “How kind of you to believe that I can be a redeemed boor.” He opened the door.

  Kate smiled as they stepped out, and called over her shoulder, “Good night, Aldous!”

  “Good night, Kate,” he said after her.

  Startled by the butler’s use of her given name, Grayson looked back at the servant, but he had, as was his bothersome habit, shut the door the very moment they’d stepped over the threshold. There were many things Grayson desired to know about Kate, and now he added another item to the list: Why did she allow the butler to call her by her given name?

  In his carriage—Kate sitting backward again—Grayson signaled the driver to proceed. As the carriage rolled on, Kate asked, “How have you fared since the ball, Your Grace?”

  “Very well, thank you. And you?”

  “Oh, very well,” she said, smiling a little. “But I’ve not been burdened with the counting of votes for abolition.”

  He could not have been more surprised. “You know of the abolition bill?”

  “It would seem everyone in London knows of it, sir. Shockingly, even me.”

  “I didn’t mean—”

  “Do you have the votes?” she politely interjected.

  “I’m not certain.”

  “What will you do if you can’t manage enough votes?”

  “It is hard to say,” he admitted, and told her about the abolition movement and particularly Merrick’s role in it. She listened attentively, nodding at the things he said, but quite honestly, there were times Grayson felt as if he was speaking in a foreign tongue so captivated was he by her pale green eyes. They glittered as he talked, illuminating her face in the very dim light of the coach.

  When he finished talking, she proclaimed, “I think what you and your brother are doing is wonderful. No one should be master of another.”

  It was, Grayson thought, an ironic thing for her to say, given that she was a woman whose livelihood depended on having a master. He couldn’t help his mind wandering a little with that thought. If she were his to command…

  “Is something wrong?” she asked.

  “Wrong?”

  “You are looking at me curiously.” Her voice was smooth, her eyes shining. She was well aware of her ability to enchant men.

  “I was admiring your necklace,” he said casually.

  “Thank you.” She touched her fingers to the pearl, toying with it, then lightly touched the hollow of her throat.

  “It is lavish,” Grayson said. “It must be a gift from a lover.”

  “One does not reveal such intimate secrets,” she said with a wry smile. “Only to lovers.”

  The coach hit a rut; the force of it bounced Kate off her seat. Grayson caught her by the arms, and for one highly charged moment he looked at her mouth. He imagined those lips on him—all of him.

  Kate swallowed—even in the soft light he could see it and he wondered, did he frighten her? “I know that look in your eye,” she said softly.

  “Do you object?”

  Her gaze slipped to his mouth. Her lips parted and she drew a shallow breath. “I don’t know,” she said, sounding the slightest bit bewildered.

  God help him, but Grayson had never wanted to kiss a woman as ardently as he wanted to kiss her, to feel her mouth beneath his, to feel her bare skin, warm and fragrant, against his, to feel her body hot and wet around his. “Kate …”

  “I think we’re here,” she whispered.

  He didn’t quite understand her.

  “Here,” she said again. “The Royal Opera House.”

  Grayson made the mistake of looking; Kate faded back and away from him.

  The moment was lost and he felt the bitter disappointment in the hard beat of his heart. “Yes,” he said.

  There was hardly anyone about when they stepped out of the carriage; they’d arrived late. They walked quickly inside and up to the Darlington family box, where they tossed their coats to the footman who hurried up behind them. They could hear the musicians tuning their instruments—the curtain would rise in a matter of minutes.

  Another footman stood just outside the door of Grayson’s box and bowed as he opened it for them. Much to Grayson’s surprise and chagrin, his sister Prudence and her husband, Robert Carlisle, the Earl of Beaumont, were already seated. For a moment, Grayson was at a loss for words; his blood was still racing from being so close to Kate. He hadn’t known his sister would attend, hadn’t even thought to ask his secretary who might be at the opera this evening.

  Beaumont saved the moment by greeting Grayson first. Prudence was much slower to find her fee
t, as her wide eyes were riveted on Kate. But Kate smiled at Prudence as if they were old friends as Grayson ushered her into the box.

  “It is our good fortune you have come, Your Grace … is that not right, Pru, darling?” Beaumont asked, giving Prudence a pointed look.

  “Yes! Of course!” Prudence said, and remembered herself. She stepped forward to kiss Grayson’s cheek. But when she stepped back again, she was gaping at Kate.

  Kate glanced at Grayson. He could see a twinkle in her eye, as if she knew he found the situation disconcerting, and was amused by it. His gaze narrowed slightly in warning. “Prudence, Robert,” he said, his eyes on Kate, “may I present Miss Katharine Bergeron. Miss Bergeron, I am pleased to introduce Lord and Lady Beaumont. Lady Beaumont is my sister.”

  “A pleasure to make your acquaintance,” Kate said with a curtsy.

  Prudence was only a year younger than Grayson, and he knew her perhaps better than his other siblings. And what he knew about his sister at that moment was that she was aghast. He could scarcely blame her—he rarely attended the opera, and when he did, it was in the company of family or close friends. He was very careful with his public persona and reputation and did nothing to give rise to the slightest bit of gossip. Looking at his sister’s face now, Grayson realized he was unduly agitated.

  “Miss Bergeron, it is our pleasure,” Prudence said, slyly taking in Kate’s gown. “How did you become acquainted with my brother, if I may ask?”

  “The Prince of Wales introduced us,” Kate said easily.

  “The Prince of Wales?”

  “Mmm,” Kate said, and looked across the opera house to the prince’s box. “There he is.” She smiled and lifted her hand in greeting.

  Prudence, Robert, and Grayson looked across the house. The prince acknowledged them with a nod of his head.

  Prudence looked at Kate again, her eyes even wider. “I think you look rather familiar to me. Is it possible we’ve met?”

  “I am sure we’ve not,” Kate said politely.

  “Then are you new to London?”