10

My viscount arranged me on my knees, my bare derrière facing him. He mounted me like a stallion and, after stirring my honeypot to the point where I was sobbing in delight, he then took his slick staff and entered me in a most surprising way.

How slow and gentle he was. How tightly I gripped him. At first, I was uncertain, but he eased my worries. Such intense pleasure! When I reached the epic peak, my entire body sang with explosive force.

Then he surrendered with a cry that speared my heart and captured it for him.

I have been most circumspect about my dear viscount, but after this passage, you must be consumed with curiosity as to his identity.

I shall reveal only this: his title is one of courtesy, and he is heir to a grand dukedom. His initials are most unique. Once I set them to paper, my secret is out. So cheekily I give you this—the initials of the most delicious lover in London are X. Q.

 

—From an unfinished manuscript entitled A Courtesan Confesses by Anonymous

 

 

Armed with the Cyprian’s name—Nell—Sophie asked all around the stews. Her hope was that they’d heard of the Cyprian because she would be scandalous. Gossiping was as popular in sprawling London as it was in tiny villages.

She learned Nell had been an actress once, so she went to Drury Lane. There she heard wild stories. That Nell had juggled both a duke and an earl as lovers at the same time—Nell had even had them both in her bed at the same time. Then Nell had thrown both rich men over for the younger son of a viscount because he was so handsome.

It was said that Nell had turned down the Prince Regent seven times.

Allegedly, Nell had broken apart a diamond necklace she’d been given by the Prince Regent, and she had put all the money in accounts for all the children in a foundling home.

But Sophie couldn’t find anyone who knew Nell’s exact address. It was always described as “somewhere near Mayfair.”

Finally, in Spitalfields Market, Sophie found an elderly man whose son worked as Nell’s coachman. The older man had a flower stall that he operated with a buxom woman of about forty, who called him “Da,” which was an endearment for “Father,” and told him not to say a word. At least, not until Sophie produced a few shillings.

She surrendered them with a gulp. It was hard to give up money when she had so little. But if it got her a protector, it was a wise investment.

The elderly man thought his son worked for a gentleman’s widow. His daughter snorted, rolled her eyes, but didn’t correct her father.

The man gave her Nell’s address, and Sophie bought a flower for her bonnet. The man tried to give it to her for free, claiming it was because she was so pretty. But upon seeing the daughter’s sour look, Sophie paid. Then she hurried off to Nell’s.

She had no idea how to appeal to Nell’s good nature. But she knew Nell took bribes, and she prayed she had enough money to do so.

So to save a few more pennies, she walked from Spitalfields.

She was used to walking. Mrs. Tucker, her adoptive mother, had treated her as a servant—she had worked hard, had walked everywhere. She had cleaned the house, fetched food from the village, delivered things for Dr. Tucker.

Sophie knew, from her mother’s journal, that she hoped her daughter would be raised as a gentleman’s child.

But Sophie hadn’t been. The doctor’s wife took advantage of her, threatening to send her away or to a workhouse if she didn’t work harder at her chores. And the doctor was too caught up in his practice and his medical experiments to notice.

Sophie didn’t know life could be any different. She had worked hard, and she grew to like working hard. She’d liked walking in the country and talking to people when she delivered medicine to them. Most of the countrywomen had liked her and invited her in for tea or a treat. She’d loved to get a taste of fresh pie or a sip of milk, and she had loved to visit the farms at lambing time.

She knew she was illegitimate, and she’d known she could have been abandoned and left to die. That happened to poor, innocent babies.

So she’d never resented Mrs. Tucker. She’d thought she should be grateful, and that had made her happy.

Belle said she always looked for the best in things. She supposed that was true.

It had been only when she’d gotten pregnant and she’d been afraid for the future of her child that she had finally seen Mrs. Tucker for the cruel, grasping woman she was. The doctor’s wife had always hated her because of who her mother was. The woman had taken the money left for Sophie’s care and spent it on herself and her own children. And she’d been waiting for Sophie to make a mistake—for “her blood to show”—so she could hurt Sophie.

And when Sophie had been turned out of the house, after she’d had her baby, she and Belle had walked for miles with the children to try to find work and a place to live.

Walking to Nell’s street barely left her breathing hard.

When she saw Nell’s home, a brand-new town house in a block of gleaming new white houses on the outskirts of Mayfair, Sophie stopped in her tracks.

It stood four stories tall with so many windows that sparkled in the sun. Freshly painted railings enclosed planters filled tidily with pretty crocuses and other spring flowers. The door had a gleaming brass knocker and handle. Delicate curtains were tied back in the windows.

The house spoke of taste, comfort, and money.

Her heart lifted with hope.

This was what she could achieve as a courtesan. What she must achieve!

If she found a protector, she could raise her son in a lovely house with clean beds and lots of food.

She walked up and boldly rapped on the door.

After a while, it swung open. Sophie expected a footman, but a young, slender girl in a brown dress gaped at her, then said, “No, you mustn’t come here. Deliveries and the like go downstairs. At the tradesman’s door. If you’re applying for a kitchen maid’s position, that’s where you go.”

Sophie’s heart plunged. In her old wool cloak over her ordinary dress, she supposed she looked like a servant. “I am here to speak with Mrs. De Lyon. It is in regard to a ball and to a—a payment she is expecting,” Sophie bluffed. Surely, Nell’s servants must have been told to admit certain young women, the ones who had come to give bribes.

The girl opened the door. “Follow me, then, miss.”

Sophie was lead into a small foyer with black-and-white tile. Nothing as ostentatious as the duke’s house, but still lovely. Ornate Queen Anne tables stood in niches, topped by vases filled with an explosion of white orchids. Those must have come from hothouses—there was a fortune in flowers surrounding her.

For all Nell sounded so wild, she had good taste.

She obviously loved beautiful things.

This was the life Sophie could have. And Cary thought she should run back home, where she would end up in a workhouse when she ran out of money, and leave herself prey to Devars, who just wasn’t going to leave her alone. The only way she could save them all was with money.

Cary meant well.

But he was wrong.

Sophie never used to think about money. She believed in love and happiness. But now, with a child to support and Belle’s family to help, it was all she could think about.

The maid, who was young, stopped in the doorway to a parlor and pointed to a chair. “Wait there, miss, and I’ll see if the mistress will see you.”

 

Left alone, Sophie was too nervous to sit.

Did she have enough money to tempt Nell to help her?

She walked to a window. It overlooked the small, neat rear yard. There were roses, and plots of earth obviously laid out for a kitchen garden.

It seemed so strange to think a woman who had stood naked in a fountain of front of hundreds of people (mostly men) thought of mundane things such as kitchen gardens. But Cyprians were people too of course.

Someone cleared her throat behind Sophie, and Sophie jumped and whirled around. The double doors of the drawing room had been opened, and a tall and graceful woman stood framed between them.

A dark crimson sheath of a dress clung to Nell’s slender form. Her black hair was lifted in a smooth, elegant knot. One long streak of white ran through her hair. Her lips were obviously painted, but that only enhanced their wide beauty. Nell was not young, but she was strikingly lovely.

Sophie had been called beautiful, but she felt like a plain brown wren beside a spectacular black swan.

“I am very intrigued,” the Cyprian said. “I take it you lied your way into my house. So who are you and what do you want? Or should I just have you thrown out now?”

“No, no, please don’t throw me out! Please. I’ll pay you for your help. I’ll pay you anything!”

Nell lifted a suspicious brow. Then she pointed at the silk-covered settee. “Sit down, girl. You look terrified.”

“You want me to sit? You aren’t going to throw me out?”

“Should I? Do you intend to hit me over the head and steal my silver? I wouldn’t try it. I learned how to fend off strong, big men when I was younger than you.”

“You did? I should like to know how to do that!”

Nell laughed. “Whoever you are, I do not think you are a threat to me. You wear every expression on your face. I take it you are a girl from the country who desperately wants to get into a Cyprian ball so she can live a glamourous life as a pampered courtesan?”

Her reasons to become a Cyprian had nothing to do with glamour and everything to do with survival and protecting the children, but she said, “Yes. But how did you know?”

“It is rather obvious.”

Sophie surged up from the settee. “I know I am asking a lot. And I’m sorry I told a lie to get in. I was afraid you wouldn’t see me. I have to go to the next Cyprian ball. I have to find a protector. The children will starve if I don’t, or I’ll have to let—no, I must become a Cyprian and you are my only hope. My only hope!”

Nell had not sat down. Her vehement speech had made Nell step back, startled.

Had she gone too far? But she had to go on. Nell must have been young and struggling once too. “You see, I was married”—she hated to lie, but it made her sound far more sympathetic—“but I lost my husband at Waterloo. He was only nineteen!” That was true, and it made her chest construct. It made her shudder in pain.

Nell sighed.

“It is now my responsibility to look after—well, my family.”

“You have children?”

Did she admit to it? “Yes. I have a son. And my very best friend—my only friend—lost her husband to war. She has children too. But she couldn’t do this. She would never be a courtesan. So it is up to me.”

Nell was not ringing any bell or summoning a servant to toss her out.

So she rushed on. “I desperately need to become a courtesan. All my life I’ve been told I was pretty. I know I am not beautiful, but I thought there might be some gentleman who would want me. My mother—my mother was a courtesan. I never knew her. But I knew she survived. She survived well. And I thought I could too.”

“Who was your mother—what is your name, child?”

“I am almost one-and-twenty, so I am no longer a child.”

“That is true. I am sure you have not been a child for a long time. Since you learned of your husband’s death, I should imagine.”

That was true, and Sophie nodded. “But I don’t know who my mother was. She gave me to a family in the country, paid them to raise me. I never even knew that until—until my husband had died. They would not even give me my mother’s name. I wish I did know who she was.”

“It is probably best that you do not know. You should go home.”

Nell was as bad as the duke. What was it about her that screamed she should not become a courtesan? With a courtesan mother and no money, what else was she to do?

“There are so many reasons I can’t. I do have some money. I heard”—she had to say this politely—“that you help young women, in return for a . . . gift.”

“Sit, and we shall have tea.” Nell swept to a tasseled bell pull and gave it a yank. She moved as though she floated above the ground.

Gentlemen would be transfixed just watching her walk. “How does a woman become as bewitching?”

The words came out of her mouth before she could stop them.

But Nell looked pleased. Returning, the woman smiled. “She becomes the protégé of an experienced and successful woman.”

“How would she do that? Would it cost money?”

“Not in this case. I have been careful, and I have sufficient money for my needs. The bribes do help though. They pay for little luxuries.” Her eyes twinkled. A rattling sound came from the hall. “Tea,” she said.

Minutes later, Sophie held a cup of tea in a fragile, gilt-rimmed cup.

She realized Nell was a truly independent woman. She had her own house, her own income, and she apparently did as she pleased.

Few women in England could make such a claim.

All Sophie had to do was forget the Duke of Caradon, and this could be her future.

But as she was looking at all of this, her heart ached.

She remembered what it had been like when she’d fallen in love with Samuel. Logic told her it was hopeless. She was an adopted daughter with uncertain parentage, and he was an earl’s son. But that didn’t stop her heart from relentlessly loving him.

In one night, she had fallen headlong into love with Cary, and it hurt terribly now.

But she had to think of her son. She had to forget love.

“Would you help me?” Sophie asked. “Do you think I could get a protector as I am? Do I need . . . work?”

Nell tapped her chin thoughtfully.

“I think I have potential,” she continued awkwardly. “I thought I might become the Duke of Caradon’s mistress—”

“Caradon?” Nell cried. “You do aim high. After he returned a war hero, he was an utterly reformed rake. Many women want him; none have tempted him.”

“I thought I had. He took me to his home. At the last minute, he pleasured me, but then he decided he had to send me home.”

A biscuit dropped from Nell’s fingers. “He took you to his home? To his bed?”

“Well . . . well, yes.” There were so many other details, but she didn’t want to explain them all. And the things he’d told her, they were private.

They sipped tea. Nell studied her. “It is unfortunate the Duke of Caradon did not succumb to your charms, my dear. He is a wealthy man.”

And gorgeous. And he had done the most wonderful thing to her with his mouth. He had given her the very first climax she’d ever had.

Unfortunate was hardly the word. Devastating. Disastrous. Heartbreaking.

“It was,” she said in a small voice.

“But there are more fish in the sea,” Nell said cheerfully. “I cannot see how you could not be successful. Your story has touched me, and I am willing to help. At the next Cyprian ball, which will be three days from now—”

“Three days!” Sophie cried. “I can’t wait that long. He’ll have come back by then. He’ll—” She broke off.

“Who will have come back? Not Caradon.”

“No, not him. I can’t talk about it. It doesn’t matter.”

“I think it matters very much. You are terrified of this man, aren’t you? He’s threatened you, has he? With what? Hurting your child, perhaps.”

Sophie’s heart almost stopped. “No. No, not that.” He’s threatened to see her hang, and she knew that would mean disaster for her son, left alone in the world. But Devars had never threatened her boy directly. No, he wasn’t capable of hurting an innocent child, she was sure of it.

“No, he hasn’t done that. Because he knows he can hurt me.” She knew Nell was waiting for her. Waiting for a name. “I can’t tell you who he is.”

“I won’t help you unless you tell me everything.”

“Then I have to go.” She couldn’t reveal what she’d done. It was too powerful and dangerous—she couldn’t let anyone know she had hit Devars and that she had taken his bracelet.

Sophie stood. Blinking back tears, she hurried for the door.

“My dear, whoever you are, wait,” Nell called.

Sophie stopped. And she turned back.

 

This was it.

Tonight she would find a man—other than the Duke of Caradon—and she would convince him to make her his mistress.

Sophie licked her lips nervously. She sat beside Nell in the woman’s carriage. They were traveling to a notorious private party in the country.

Nell had warned it was more scandalous than any Cyprian ball—and would be stocked to the rafters with gentlemen seeking mistresses.

Sophie shivered.

She had given up on Caradon. She had.

“Cold, my dear?” Nell asked.

“No.” Sophie pulled her cloak tighter around her. It was Nell’s old cloak, made of dark green velvet. It was lovely and warm. She felt like an empress wearing it, though Nell had dismissed her gratitude. “It’s not that kind, my dear. It’s getting rather worn.”

She wore the same gown as she had at the other ball, of course. She owned no other dress. Would gentlemen remember that? Would it matter?

“I’m not cold,” she said slowly. I’m heartbroken and fighting not to show it. Or even feel it.

“You are pining for the Duke of Caradon, aren’t you?”

Sophie stared. “How could you tell? I’m trying not to show it.”

Nell smiled mysteriously. Nell was truly beautiful. Her face possessed fabulous bone structure. Her figure was trim. Lines bracketed her mouth and radiated from her eyes, but Sophie thought that made her look even more elegant and rather patrician. When Nell gave that enigmatic smile that barely curved her lips, Sophie could understand why Nell had been successful—she was still a mistress to a duke, Sophie had discovered—for she looked sensual and intriguing.

Sophie was no woman of mystery. She wore everything on her sleeve.

Nell watched her curiously. “You never did tell me what he did to you to make you besotted with him after just one night.”

He rescued her. He cared about her. He pleasured her. Nell had coached her, taught her how to walk and how to look sultry. And had asked her a lot of questions about Caradon and what he was like as a lover. Sophie had been too shy to answer. And the things he’d revealed to her were private. She knew he would want them to stay secret.

“He was just perfect.” She sighed. “But it doesn’t matter because I am over him.”

“You had best be. You won’t find a protector if you are mooning over the duke.”

“I am not,” she insisted.

“Good. And you must be ready to be naughty. Are you afraid of being naughty?”

“Well . . . well, no. No, I don’t think so.” She had wanted to try to suck on Cary’s cock, and it had been surprisingly, wickedly fun. Until he had stopped her.

Nell put her gloved hand on Sophie’s knee. “What you must understand is that many gentlemen want a mistress because it is only with them that they can get the strange, wicked, and sometimes perverse things they desire.”

“Perverse?”

“You will see. What you must remember is that wives are not supposed to do such rude things. They are ladies. You are supposed to look ladylike but provide a harlot’s skills in the bedroom. That is why men come to you.”

Sophie nodded. “I can do that.”

“Even with a man who is not the Duke of Caradon?”

She so wanted it to be with the duke. “I need to find a protector within five days so I no longer care about the duke.”

“Your lover will expect you to take his cock in your mouth.”

“I know.”

“And some men enjoy putting their staff in a woman’s derrière.”

Sophie blushed. That was what had been meant in that passage in the book. “Oh goodness!”

“Men are highly inventive when it comes to sex, dear. They will do the most remarkable things when driven by lust. Some like to tie a woman up, or spank her. Some enjoy inflicting pain. Some like to dress in a woman’s clothes. Some like to be ridden like a horse. And for everything a man wishes to do to a woman, no matter how odd, there are always men who want it done to them. Do you feel you are up to that task?”

Was she? Sophie swallowed hard. But she must be. And she said, “I will be.”

“We will start you with someone easy, my dear,” Nell continued. “Someone who is not too demanding. I have a few gentlemen in mind.”

Sophie nodded. She should ask who. But she didn’t care.

She couldn’t help it. All she could think of was Caradon. She would try anything he wanted. But with another man—

“Have you ever fallen in love with one of your protectors?” she asked Nell.

Instead Nell said, “I have just realized that the night you spent with Caradon was the night that girl was murdered behind his mews. You must know all about it.”

Nell was watching her carefully, and Sophie realized Nell was not going to answer her question about falling in love.

“I don’t really know all about it,” Sophie said. “The magistrate came and asked us questions, but we had been in bed . . . um, asleep for most of the night. I did recognize the girl though.” She realized she could maybe learn things from Nell. In the days since, she had seen stories in the newssheets about the murdered girl found in the mews behind the “Hero-Duke’s” house. Gossip was already going through London that maybe the duke was not such a hero after all. Maybe he was a murderer.

But it was the insidious kind of gossip that couldn’t be traced. Or stopped. Sophie kept protesting he was innocent to the few people she saw near her rooms. But no one believed her.

Maybe Nell knew something about the girl. “She was Sally Black, and she was at the Cyprian ball that night. She had an argument with Angelique. She must have been going to meet someone near the duke’s house.”

“Or maybe she went to see the duke. You told me about that night. I am sure he didn’t plan to be attacked. He might have made an arrangement to see her.”

“You think he killed her, just like all the other people who like sordid gossip. He didn’t.”

“No, dear, I know the Duke of Caradon had no hand in her death—I knew his father well, and know that the current duke is a very noble man. A bit wild in his youth, but then he went to battle. Distinguished himself as a complete hero. He is not the sort of man to hurt an innocent. But I wonder why she was there.”

“I don’t know. But at least you think he’s innocent.” Sophie thought of how the village where she’d lived had reacted to her. Once she had been thrown out of her home, even before it had been widely known she’d been pregnant, everyone had judged her. “Why does everyone leap to the conclusion that he is guilty?”

“A duke and a war hero who has fallen from his pedestal? Unfortunately, that bit of speculation will be too delicious to resist. Some would be very delighted to see him hang.”

“But he’s innocent.”

“Innocent men have hanged before, my dear.”

The carriage stopped. Nell’s stunning white carriage looked like something Sophie would picture Marie Antoinette riding in—pure white, with light blue trim and curlicues everywhere. With blue ribbons and ribbons on the white horses.

Nell’s footman, in powder-blue livery, rushed around from the back of the carriage, opened the door, and helped them down. They stood in an enormous drive in front of a house so large, Sophie gasped. Dozens of carriages stood in the drive. A crush of people made their way up the steps. Women held up velvet cloaks and silk skirts. The men wore immaculate evening dress. Everyone wore cloaks and masks—it was a masquerade.

“Here is a mask for you, my dear.” Nell held out a white mask and helped Sophie tie it in place. “Tonight you cannot think about Caradon. Remember.”

But he was all she could think about now! She was terrified for him. “But haven’t you ever fallen in love with a protector?”

“I enticed aging earls and dukes for money. I seduced young titled men because it was fun. But love is a dangerous thing. If you want to survive, Sophie, do not fall in love.”

“My mother wrote about love. It was in the book she was writing about her experiences. She was always falling in love. That was why she had me. Because she was in love.”

“Then you must not make her mistakes, Sophie. And take this advice—do not ever be the first one to speak of love when you are with a protector.”

With that, Nell propelled her inside.

 

Sophie gaped in shock. In the foyer of the huge house, a woman stood on a low pedestal of marble. But she was shackled at her wrists and ankles. Her arms were lifted above her head, suspended from a gold chain that hung from a chandelier. Two women in only corsets and stockings were on their knees in front of the woman and behind her. Their bottoms were bare. Their breasts spilled over the corset cups.

Not only that, the kneeling women held the gauzy fabric of the suspended woman’s skirt aside and thrust two long, dark phallus-shaped wands inside the woman.

Nell had been right. About bottoms.

Sophie’s face was on fire.

The woman moaned. A strip of heavy white lace over her eyes, tied at the back of her head. The woman had red hair, henna red, and it hung to her waist.

Then the woman’s moans came faster. The woman thrashed against the shackles, writhing wildly. Being suspended allowed her to move like a houri in a mad dance.

The crowd moving in pushed Sophie along.

But she couldn’t stop staring.

As Sophie walked past the woman, she had to look behind to see what happened. The slit skirt was pushed aside to reveal a plump, pink bottom. And a wand of dark jade protruded from between the lush cheeks, with the other courtesan’s hand wrapped around it.

A strange twitchy feeling struck Sophie all over. It seemed to shoot through her and throb between her legs.

The woman screamed, and Sophie knew she was having her climax. In front of all these people. This might be just a bit too scandalous.

“Nell—” she began.

But Nell did not stop. “Come this way, my dear. There is usually a rather thrilling display in one of the side rooms.”

A door stood open, but a curtain had been affixed in the entrance. Nell drew it aside. “Ooh, I do love games where handsome young men play together.”

Billiards? Cards?

No, it certainly wasn’t that kind of a sport.

On a large mound of pillows, a man was on his hands and knees. A young man, beautiful as a Greek god with pale blond hair tied in a queue. Sophie’s eyes could not go any larger. The young man on all fours took the cock of another young beautiful man into his mouth. Then a third man joined in, his breeches pushed down low on his hips. He took his long, jutting staff and worked it against the derrière of the blond.

Sophie retreated, face aflame.

“He pays for these tableaux to arouse his guests,” Nell said.

“And of course, they are all supposed to service him afterward.”

They left that area. Nell grasped two champagne flutes from a passing footman.

Sophie gulped hers. “Service who? Whose party is this?” She realized she didn’t actually know. Then she thought—surely, it was just the women he engaged for himself.

“One of the Wicked Dukes.”

Cary was a Wicked Duke. But this couldn’t be his house—

“The Duke of Sinclair. He is the wickedest of the four of them. Greybrooke is tamed now that he is married. And your favorite, Caradon, has become reclusive and noble. The only ones left who are fun are Sinclair, known as Sin, and Saxonby, known as Sax.”

Sophie felt very relieved.

Nell glanced around the room. Then she smiled. “It is time to take you into the ballroom. I believe you will be surrounded by gentlemen in no time.”

And she was. Soon she was in the center of a group of eight gentlemen, all gathered by Nell.

A gruff voice growled, “This is my mistress, gentlemen. Do not poach on my preserve.” Suddenly, two of the men were shoved out of the way.

Caradon! He lifted her hand and kissed it. Quivers went through her. His eyes captured hers. In a low, dangerous voice, he growled, “What in Hades are you doing here? Are you completely mad? Of all the daft things to do—you come to a damned orgy?”

She registered his furious gaze, his narrowed blue eyes. He wrapped his long fingers around her wrist and dragged her across the ballroom.

She was too stunned to resist.

Then Sophie gathered her wits. She couldn’t dig in her heels on a parquet ballroom floor. But when he reached a door to the outside, which must have led to a terrace, she gripped the doorframe. Obviously, he could have pulled her free, forced her to go, but when he felt resistance, he stopped.

Goodness, here by the wall, in the shadows behind potted plants, couples were making love.

There were groups of three as well.

“I can’t leave,” she cried, though he was right—she was not ready for this. But she wouldn’t admit it to the man who wanted to send her back to the country. “I have come to find a protector. And why are you here? If you are looking for a woman to make love to, why couldn’t she be me?”

“I came,” he said, between gritted teeth, “because I received a note telling me that you would be here. What was your game? To get me here to rescue you? Well, I’m here.”

“Note? What note?”

“The anonymous note you sent, Sophie.”

“I didn’t send any notes to you. Anonymous or not. Why did you think I did?”

“Who else?”

“I don’t know—” Nell knew she would be here. Why would Nell—? Oh, heavens, had Nell hoped Caradon would come to her rescue?

But why, when Nell had told her that love was dangerous?

“Why in God’s name have you come here to find a protector? Sinclair is my friend, but his entertainments attract some of the most perverse and dangerous of London’s rakes,” he said curtly.

“They just look like gentlemen to me.”

He lifted his brow. “In name only,” he said. “And you are far too intelligent for me to believe you saw those displays in the entry and you still believe that.”

“Well, you refused me,” she pointed out, “so I had to come to another ball. I found Nell, for she gives out invitations for money. And you are just scaring men away! You told those men I am your mistress when I am not! It’s hardly fair.”

And it was agony on her heart. Why was he so possessive of her when he didn’t want her?

“I need to think,” he growled. “I am not going to stand by and let you turn yourself into a whore.”

That word pricked her pride like a burning hot fireplace poker. “One protector, if I’m devoted to him, does not make me sinful. I believe that. Even if I haven’t said vows, it’s not wrong if I’m faithful.” That was what her mother had written in the anonymous manuscript. That she was more faithful to her protectors than most ton wives were to their husbands. “If I’d had my way, my night with you would have been the first of many nights with you.”

When he didn’t answer, just watched her, she grew furious. “It is easy for you to judge. You are a rich duke. Do you know what it’s like to have nothing and starve?”

“I know what it is like to face death and to be starving and held prisoner. I know the last thing I would surrender would be honor.”

“What if it was the choice between your honor and watching three innocent children starve? What would you do then?”

“There has to be another way,” he barked. “Look at the women here—pretty enough, but they are hard, ruthless survivors at the core. You are so sweet.”

“I have to learn to be ruthless. I want to survive.”

“Goddamn it,” he said, his voice low and hoarse. “I will give you an offer. I will give you all the things you dream of having as a courtesan. You’ll be mine. But you will not make love with me. You’ll have your house, your allowance, and food and safety for your family.”

She gaped at him. All around them, people were having sex in all sorts of tortuous positions, but she was blind and deaf to it all. “You’re making me an offer for—”

Another man stepped right up to them, so close she had to see him. He was shirtless, wearing only trousers and boots. Wicked intent glittered in his dark eyes, and his coal-black hair hung over his brow. He was breathtakingly handsome, with a broad chest and huge arms.

“I am the Earl of Stratham.” He bowed over her hand, in the middle of an orgy, like a knight of old. “I overheard that Caradon made you an offer. Ungentlemanly of me to eavesdrop, but when such a beauty is about to be claimed, a man can be excused for some desperation. I promise you three times whatever he offers you.” His voice lowered, and he bent to her ear. “As well as jewels, gowns, carriages, and a town house, I am prepared to offer an allowance of five thousand. I believe Caradon won’t top that.”

Five thousand! It was a fortune. If a gentleman came with that, debutantes would club him over the head to drag him to the altar. A year of that and Sophie could keep her family for a lifetime. The children’s futures would be secured. With a fortune like that, it wouldn’t even matter that her son was illegitimate. Well, it almost wouldn’t matter.

And she could tell Devars to take a long walk on a short pier.

She knew what she must do—she must say yes.

But when she met Cary’s shocked gaze, her heart flip-flopped in her chest. What should she do?

Would he really give her a house and an allowance to not sleep with her? And he said he needed to marry—he wouldn’t keep her then.

She suspected Stratham would.

Oh God, then she would be kept by a man who had a wife. The Earl of Stratham might already have a wife. She hadn’t thought of that.

But she had only days—then Devars would destroy them all.

“What’s your name?” Stratham demanded.

“Sophie,” she managed.

“All right, Sophie,” Stratham said heartily. “What’s your choice?”

She parted her lips. She couldn’t look at either of the men. She knew what she must choose—