The Courtesan's Book of Secrets. Georgie Lee
‘I like rogues, they’re so much more interesting than ordinary gentlemen.’ She adjusted the creamy strand of pearls looped around her neck, making the beads rattle together as she settled them against her voluptuous bosom. ‘I hope to see more of you at my card party next week. Perhaps we can knock hands and you’ll find me above you.’
‘I look forward to the challenge.’ He bowed again, but not quite so low. It wasn’t the first time a woman long in the tooth and even longer in the purse had tossed him an offer. He wasn’t about to become a kept man, but he wasn’t about to make an enemy of the Dowager Countess either. Whatever her hungers and family reputation, she possessed connections and he valued them as much as the sovereigns in his pocket.
Her offer delivered, she whirled with the grace of an empress and made for a group of sombrely dressed matrons surrounding a thick-waisted poet. The Dowager Countess tossed Rafe one last suggestive glance before taking her place at the centre of the semicircle. Rafe struggled not to laugh at her imperiousness and her brazen suggestion before another sight knocked the humour out of him.
Cornelia.
She stood just beyond the old crows, near the open window. The evening breeze rustled the sheer gauze of her embroidered blue overdress and the white under-dress hugging the lines of her round hips. Her dark hair was drawn up in a mass of loose curls wound with a black-satin ribbon, leaving the arching line of her neck exposed to tease him. He opened and closed his hand, eager to slide his fingers up the warm skin, dislodge the hairpins and send the tangle of ebony ringlets cascading over her shoulders. There was nothing more beautiful than her dark curls hanging just above the tips of her pointed nipples, the pink buds eager for his touch, her rich, blue eyes wide with anticipation.
He tightened his fingers into a fist before releasing them one by one. Tonight wasn’t about some dalliance from his past. It was about protecting his future and he couldn’t allow the tightness in his breeches to distract him from his goal.
He strolled around the outside of the gathering, watching Cornelia’s gaze slide from one guest to another, sizing up her prey like a wolf waiting to pick off the weakest lamb.
At last her eyes met his, dipping down the length of his body before she flashed him a dazzling smile. Rafe stopped as if he’d hit a wall. He knew this smile. It was a warning, not a welcome.
She settled herself on a nearby sofa as he approached, arranging her skirts over her legs before laying her hands in her lap to greet him like a queen. His ego chafed at her arrogance. How dare she take airs with him? He knew her history, both the real one and the one they’d invented the night she ran away with him from Sussex. Pride demanded he cut her, but he forced himself forward.
‘My dear Cornelia, what a pleasure it is to see you back in London.’ He swept into a low bow, noticing a small stain on one of his stockings before he straightened, careful to keep his smile wide and gracious.
‘I’m the Comtesse de Vane now, or have you forgotten?’ She held out her hand, a large diamond glittering on her middle finger.
‘How could I forget?’ He slid his fingers beneath hers, squeezing them as his lips brushed the knuckles, catching more of the large stone than her skin. The clear gem danced with small rainbows and jealousy cut through him. Even before Paris, he didn’t possess the means to offer such tokens. No wonder she’d abandoned him for the Comte. ‘Especially after the trouble you took to secure it.’
‘It was hardly any trouble at all.’ Cornelia slid her hand out of his grasp, tilting it to view the stone, as if checking to make sure it was still in its setting. ‘The Comte didn’t possess the necessary vigour to fulfil his conjugal duties.’
The ever-so-subtle tightening of her full lips didn’t escape Rafe’s notice. So, the marriage hadn’t been all bliss. He should have taken delight in the subtle revelation, but he couldn’t, nor could he believe she’d sold herself to the old man for a few thousand francs and a title. The idea of the Comte’s gnarled hands pawing at Cornelia made his meagre dinner roil in his gut, but he hid it as he would a disappointing hand in a tight game.
She’d chosen the hunched old man as her bedmate. No one had forced her into it.
‘And now you’ve returned, the happy, wealthy widow.’ He sat down next to her, the cushion beneath him sinking and making her lean closer.
Her full lips eased into a gloating smile as bright as the diamonds dangling from her ears. ‘I couldn’t have imagined a more delightful way to come home.’
He motioned to an exceptionally tall footman carrying a tray of champagne and selected one of the offered flutes. He took a sip, allowing the tart liquid to cool the acid remarks dancing on his tongue. ‘And you’ve also stumbled upon an inventive way to increase your widow’s portion. Tell me, who do you intend to threaten for money?’
He’d never thought her cruel enough for blackmail, but after the clever way she’d duped him with the Comte, he wouldn’t put anything shady past her now.
She tilted her head to one side, placing a small amount of distance between them. Pulling open her fan one stick at a time, she revealed the painting of Venus lounging nude in Mars’s arms. He knew the fan. She always carried it when on the hunt for a lucrative and less talented opponent. ‘What makes you think I purchased the register for such a sinister reason?’
‘What other reason could you have? It’s hardly pleasurable reading.’
‘Oh, you’d be surprised at how much fun it is to peruse.’ She fanned herself with three quick flicks, making the candles on the pillar behind them waver. ‘The full list of every titled man Mrs Ross ever paid to betray our country during the colonial revolt. Some of the names are quite shocking.’
‘For instance?’
She cast him a sideways glance, her eyes skimming the length of him, focusing on his foot before rising to meet his face. For a moment he didn’t think she’d tell him, then he saw the sense of satisfaction widen her eyes. He inwardly cringed. She wasn’t just going to tell him about the register, she was going to torture him with it.
‘For instance, the Dowager Countess of Daltmouth.’ She lowered her arms, levelling her fan at the imperious woman. ‘It appears her late husband accepted quite a generous amount from the French to turn coward at the Battle of Saratoga.’
Rafe let out a low whistle. ‘Which means all the old rumours are true.’
She sat back, adjusting her diamond bracelet. ‘Given her massive efforts to reform the Daltmouth name, she can hardly afford to have any evidence of his treason come to light.’
‘Which she’ll avoid by paying for your silence.’
‘It is but one possibility.’
She flicked the top edge of her teeth with her tongue as she always did at the end of a well-played hand. He eyed her mouth, bitter desire twisting his insides. He wanted to brush his lips across the delicate blush of her cheek, take one small earlobe in his teeth and remind her of everything he could do to her, to make her want him beyond reason. Then he could leave her the same way she’d abruptly left him.
He straightened and set his champagne glass on the side table. There would be time for more pleasurable business later. ‘An interesting plan, but incredibly flawed. She’s weathered worse storms than you. Threaten her and she’ll crush you.’
Cornelia’s eyes flashed with irritation before she took a deep breath and they softened to their usual languid blue. ‘Ah, Rafe, ye of little faith. I have no plan to blackmail the Dowager Countess.’
A loud laugh from the far end of the room silenced the gentle murmur of conversation and everyone turned to watch the current Earl of Daltmouth, the dowager’s pudgy son, throw back his head so far, he nearly stumbled into the sharp-jawed footman passing behind him. The Earl straightened himself with a great deal of effort and the footman’s assistance. ‘I’m going to blackmail him.’
Rafe studied the stout fellow.