Claiming the Courtesan

Although, God knew, she was beautiful, even in the unbecoming gown and with that unflattering hairstyle. Its starkness merely emphasized the perfect oval of her face, the wide clarity of her remarkable eyes and the soft fullness of her mouth.

Her mouth…

He looked away before the thought of kissing that mouth overpowered him. Yet again, he reminded himself that he hadn’t stolen her away to fall back into her clutches. He’d stolen her away to show her she couldn’t make a fool of the Duke of Kylemore without paying the price for her treason.

He rose to his feet, partly to keep himself from reaching for her. “Shall I serve you? Mary is an excellent cook.”

Surprisingly, that damned succulent mouth quirked with sardonic humor. “The condemned prisoner ate a hearty meal?”

He began to fill her plate. “You’re welcome to face your fate on an empty stomach, if you prefer.”

“No,” she said steadily. “I’d rather keep my strength up.”

He laughed softly. He wanted her to keep her strength up, too, but for a completely different purpose. He slid a crowded plate in front of her and returned to serve himself.

True to her word, she ate everything placed before her. He noticed, though, she drank sparingly. Clearly, she was determined to keep her wits unclouded by alcohol. He could have told her she wasted her time plotting escape. Having caught her, he meant to keep her.

“The gown didn’t meet with your approval?” He indicated a rich ruby

garment spread across the bed. He’d sent it up with Mary for his mistress to wear after her bath.

It was a dress exactly right for Soraya—stylish, flamboyant, subtly exotic. He’d chosen it with great pleasure from the modiste who regularly supplied his mistress’s wardrobe. He’d had even greater pleasure imagining slowly stripping it away to reveal Soraya’s delectable body.

“No, I’d rather wear my own clothing.” She didn’t even glance toward the extravagant garment.

Strangely, he had to agree that the dress was inappropriate for the woman who sat with such hard-won composure across from him. It was a whore’s dress, although admittedly a woefully expensive whore’s dress. While his companion’s determined lack of artfulness could have almost convinced him she was indeed the chaste widow.

But of course, he knew better. The recollection of those long afternoons of sin in Kensington contradicted any image of propriety she strove to convey now.

Once more, the troubling idea snagged in his mind that she wasn’t the same woman she’d been then. And for the first time, he thought of her as Verity before he thought of her as Soraya.

“You’ll find yourself well and truly sick of those black rags before we’re done,” he said now. “And what’s the use of this small defiance? It does nothing to change the outcome.”

She shook her head and didn’t answer him, although he imagined he understood. Each compromise was another step on the road to final defeat. Little did she know she was already inexorably on that road.

Or perhaps she did know.

He rose to his feet and noticed her quickly suppressed recoil. Some devil made him move behind her and place his hands on her shoulders. As if she screamed it at him, he felt her urge to jerk away.

“You promised you wouldn’t touch me,” she said sharply.

“An offer I’ve decided was a mistake,” he said gently. He curled his fingers over her slender bones, testing her fragility and her strength.

“I won’t let you do this!” she cried out. Twisting from his hold, she dove awkwardly for the fire irons. It was the first ungraceful action he’d ever seen her make. “I’ll kill you before I let you take me again,” she panted, raising the poker. Her exquisite face was white with tension.

Without shifting from where he stood behind her empty chair, he laughed dismissively. “Don’t be a fool, Verity. What are you going to do? Beat my brains out?”

“If I have to,” she said. Her perfect breasts heaved under their covering of black bombazine, and strands of hair from the severe hairstyle broke free to brush her cheeks.

Her defiance wasn’t a surprise. After all, he’d taunted her into fighting him since the abduction. “You know I can get that poker away from you in the blink of an eye.”

“You can try,” she said unsteadily.

“Put it down. You achieve nothing except my displeasure.” He stepped toward her and extended his hand in a gesture of command. His voice became harder as he continued. “And considering you’re completely at my mercy, that might be unwise. So far, I’ve been remarkably restrained in my actions. Things could go much, much worse.”

“You don’t frighten me.”

“Well, I should,” he murmured, beginning to circle her.