The Virtuous Courtesan

‘He did not intend you become my housekeeper. He intended you become my mistress.’

‘And are you happy that your brother has organised your future?’ Sarah scoffed.

‘Of course I’m not happy about it,’ Gavin replied bluntly. ‘But I am willing to accept it.’

‘Because you want to claim your inheritance.’ The statement was tinged with acrimony.

‘Yes, I want my inheritance.’

Eyes that had become sleepy roved her figure.

‘And I want you.’

Mary Brendan was born in North London, but now lives in rural Suffolk. She has always had a fascination with bygone days, and enjoys the research involved in writing historical fiction. When not at her word processor, she can be found trying to bring order to a large overgrown garden, or browsing local fairs and junk shops for that elusive bargain.

Recent novels by the same author:

WEDDING NIGHT REVENGE*

THE UNKNOWN WIFE*

A SCANDALOUS MARRIAGE*

THE RAKE AND THE REBEL*

A PRACTICAL MISTRESS†

THE WANTON BRIDE†

*The Meredith Sisters

†The Hunter Brothers

Dear Reader

The path of true love never runs smooth, so the old saying goes, and I have written a duet of novels with those wise words in mind. In this first book, THE VIRTUOUS COURTESAN, it is certainly a fitting adage! The heroine, Sarah Marchant, has suffered a traumatic childhood. When her future is cruelly bound to that of Gavin Stone—something neither of them wants—it seems matters must only get worse… or will they?

The second story features Ruth Hayden as the heroine. Widowed when very young, she has also endured a great deal of heartache in her early years. Then Sir Clayton Powell arrives, with an offer that should benefit them both. But can a marriage without love survive?

2008 marks the tenth anniversary of the publication of MR TRELAWNEY’S PROPOSAL, my first Regency novel for Mills & Boon. It is, therefore, a double delight for me to be part of this year’s centenary celebrations. Although I enjoy reading and writing historical fiction, it has been exciting to see the innovative and widening choice of books on offer by the world’s most famous romance publisher. The Mills & Boon success story is heartening proof that, despite uncertain times, very many people continue to have an enduring love of reading all types of romance.

In this special year I would like to take the opportunity of thanking all my editors and all my readers, past and present.

Mary

Mary Brendan

MILLS & BOON

Before you start reading, why not sign up?

Thank you for downloading this Mills & Boon book. If you want to hear about exclusive discounts, special offers and competitions, sign up to our email newsletter today!

SIGN ME UP!

Or simply visit

signup.millsandboon.co.uk

Mills & Boon emails are completely free to receive and you can unsubscribe at any time via the link in any email we send you.

Chapter One

It had been a calamitous few days for Joseph Pratt. Misfortune had first visited him on Monday when he had discovered his wife in bed with her young lover. On Wednesday he had lost thirty guineas on a wager, despite having it on excellent authority that the nag would secure a cup at the County races. Yesterday was no improvement; a rival firm of solicitors had poached one of his best clients. Now Friday had arrived and with it a raging toothache. Gingerly he probed the swelling with his tongue and flinched, whilst keeping his eyes fixed on the fellow seated opposite. Despite a throbbing gum his mouth stretched into a smirk, for he anticipated being soon so thoroughly entertained, it might compensate for his week of woe.

Beneath stubby fallen lashes, the lawyer took a summarising look at the preposterously handsome profile presented to him. The fellow was frowning out into a sunny afternoon and Joseph noted his honed, almost fleshless visage was unfashionably brown for a Mayfair dandy.

Mr Gavin Stone might possess an air of sleepy sophistication, but he obviously rose early enough on occasion to catch the sun and acquire a vulgar gypsy colouring. Joseph’s covert appraisal of his visitor continued; in fact, he found it hard to look away for the man was quite different to the louche individual he had been expecting. Not that his late client, Edward Stone, had spoken much about his younger brother. But he had gleaned from odd comments that the fellow was a damnable rogue.

Presently the rogue’s lips were compressed to a thin line and, if that alone did not signify his deep irritation, there were the long fingers drumming on a shiny boot perched atop an elegantly breeched knee. He might have a reputation as a libertine, and have his pockets to let, but he was not a man with whom one might take liberties, of that Joseph was sure.

Another look was slanted from beneath Joseph’s sandy brows at the fellow lounging in a chair. He had a hand plunged negligently into a pocket, ruining the effect of a suit of clothes that, even to Joseph’s jaundiced eye, looked to have cost a pretty city penny.

Joseph quickly averted his gaze as Gavin Stone lost interest in the pastoral scene beyond the window and cast a glower at the empty chair on his left. From the corner of his vision Joseph saw first one, then the other finely dressed long leg extend as they were stretched out. Joseph’s lips twitched a little maliciously. It was a small chair for such a well-built man and no doubt, after almost three-quarters of an hour stuck within its cracked leather arms, Gavin Stone was feeling cramped. Suddenly his visitor’s enviable physique was rudely impressed on him as the man surged to his feet.

The solicitor bent his head to peruse a document. Even when balled fists were planted gently on the edge of the desktop directly in his line of vision Joseph did not immediately look up. A moment later he met a penetrating blue gaze for he sensed that he continued to ignore Mr Stone at his peril.

‘How much longer must we tarry over this?’

Joseph cleared his throat; the smirk had long since withered from his lips. ‘I can only apologise, sir. My correspondence was most concise. The appointment was for one of the clock.’ Rapidly blinking eyes sought the wall clock. ‘I imagine Miss Marchant has been unavoidably delayed.’

‘I imagine you are right.’ Gavin’s response was silky irony. ‘But I am not prepared to wait for her any longer. We have given her the courtesy of forty wasted minutes. Let us proceed with the matter. You can advise the lady of her bequest at a later date.’

‘I’m afraid I cannot, sir,’ Joseph stressed in a horrified tone. ‘My late client was most specific in his instructions. His last will and testament must not be read until both parties are present.’

‘What?’ Gavin cursed inaudibly and pivoted on a heel. When he spoke his back was to the lawyer and his voice was speciously calm. ‘Why did you not inform me of this sooner?’

‘You did not ask, sir, and earlier there seemed no need to bring it to your attention,’ the lawyer argued.

Gavin’s back teeth met as he sought to control his vexation at that reasonable defence. ‘I intend travelling back to London this afternoon,’ he informed Pratt curtly. ‘I want to be on the road by three o’clock, four at the latest.’

Joseph grabbed at a little bell positioned on the edge of his desk. ‘There is yet time, then. Perhaps some more refreshment…’

The brass implement was snatched away by Gavin before he could again be tormented by its feeble clatter. He abruptly replaced it on polished wood. He had been fobbed off already with weak tea and stilted chit-chat and had no further stomach for either. ‘I think not… thank you,’ he curtly declined further hospitality. ‘I shall be at the Red Lion until four o’clock this afternoon. Should Miss…’

‘Marchant,’ the solicitor swiftly supplied the absentee’s name.

‘Quite…’ Gavin muttered impatiently. ‘Should she turn up before that time, send your clerk to the inn to inform me and I will endeavour to delay my departure. It is best to close this business today.’

It seemed that within one stride Gavin Stone’s tall figure was at the exit and he was stooping in anticipation of quitting the office through a low sloping portal. Slowly he straightened and frowned at the scrawny clerk who had silently appeared and was now in his way.

The young man stretched his neck in his stiff collar to take a peer around the broad chest blocking his vision.

‘Excuse me, Mr Stone…Mr Pratt,’ he piped. ‘Miss Marchant is below and sends her apologies for her late arrival—shall I…?’

‘Show her up…show her up,’ Mr Pratt hissed impatiently, finishing the nervous youth’s sentence for him. A flapping hand stressed the urgency to fetch her. ‘There…she is at last arrived,’ Joseph soothed. ‘We might speedily set to and you will still be refreshed and away in good time.’ He sidled closer. ‘Please, sit down?’ he hesitantly suggested, for the saturnine fellow remained close to the exit.

Gavin muttered something inaudible beneath his breath and, ignoring the invitation to be seated, strolled to an open window, braced a hand against the frame and moodily stared out. His dark humour started to evaporate as warm scented air teased his senses and he squinted against late summer sunlight.

At this time of the year this small country town was undeniably a pleasant spot. Picturesque cottages and the green sward of the town square could be seen from his vantage point. Pratt and Donaghue, the legal firm whose letter concerning his brother’s demise had summoned him from London, held offices on the first floor of a redbrick townhouse. The building was flanked either side by similar properties with sturdy entrance doors bearing brass nameplates of the educated fellows trading within. Along both sides of a narrow High Street were shops of varying sizes, some with wares displayed outside. It appeared enough was on offer in Willowdene to meet a person’s needs. Nevertheless, Gavin remained surprised that his brother had some years ago relinquished his Mayfair lifestyle to reside permanently in what, to Gavin, was simply a quaint backwater.

‘I’m so sorry to be late. I hope you have not been greatly inconvenienced.’

Her voice was attractively youthful despite its note of husky anxiety. Gavin slowly turned his head, thinking it highly unlikely that Miss Marchant might look as good as she sounded. If he was surprised by what he saw, he restricted the emotion to a thoughtful pursing of his lips.

When informed earlier this afternoon by Joseph Pratt that a Miss Marchant had been named in his brother’s will, and would be joining them to hear of her bequest, he had imagined a loyal spinster servant was to be handsomely rewarded for looking after Edward, and asked no more.

Eddie had lived apart from his wife, Janet, for more than fifteen years. In the absence of a wife to marshal his household, it would be expected that a competent female would be hired to do so. Edward was ever a methodical man, if one disinclined to part with a penny more than he had to. It would not surprise Gavin one bit to find his brother’s menials were all owed back pay.

But this was no middle-aged servant. He levelled a steady blue gaze on the slender young woman who was in the process of removing a bonnet from her pale blonde hair. She then stripped off her gloves, very quickly, as though to make up for lost time. This was a lady of refinement. Had she not already spoken and revealed her class, he would have known from her deportment and poise that she was gently bred. But what kept Gavin momentarily spellbound was her undeniable beauty. And then misanthropic thoughts started to fill his head.

His eyes narrowed and his mouth took on a cynical slant. Perhaps he was beginning to understand his brother’s passion for the place. Considering the girl’s obvious youth and breeding, his suspicions should have been dismissed as ridiculous. Nevertheless he continued to ponder whether Edward might not have been quite the pious prig he’d liked to make out.

‘Umm…please sit here, Miss Marchant.’ Joseph indicated a similar armchair to the one Gavin had vacated. ‘And we can immediately begin. Mr Stone is impatient to get back to London tonight.’

Sarah Marchant took a step forward, her eyes again drawn to the imposing figure positioned by the window.

So this was Gavin Stone! He appeared stern, soberly dressed and nothing like the carefree wastrel Eddie’s description had led her to imagine. But it was not just his appearance that surprised her; she had expected a younger version of Eddie, for he had said they were physically alike. Sarah suppressed a wry smile. Eddie had obviously wished it so. This man was far taller and broader than his older brother had been and, she had to admit, far more handsome. He had darker colouring than Eddie and a luxuriant mane of hair framing the rugged planes of his face. Eddie had fretted over losing what remained of his thinning locks by the time he reached forty. Poor Eddie had been two years short of that milestone birthday when he caught smallpox. Sarah swallowed the little ache in her throat at the memory of his horrible illness. Thankfully it had been of short duration and he had succumbed quickly to its ravages.

Sarah quickly averted her eyes. She had been staring in quite a vulgar fashion whilst she compared the brothers. Remembering her manners she dipped into a neat bob. She also delivered an apologetic smile despite his surly countenance. But then Sarah accepted Gavin Stone had every reason to be annoyed. In fairness she would not have been pleased either to have kicked her heels in Mr Pratt’s office for so long. Before sitting down she made an effort to appear confident and briskly repeated her apology and strengthened her smile.

‘I hope you were not delayed by anything unpleasant?’

Sarah’s topaz eyes flicked to Gavin. He had uttered that in an odd tone…as though he expected her to furnish a reason for her tardiness. And now, far from appearing aloof, he had an amused, almost scornful look deep in his eyes that she found distinctly disquieting. ‘A domestic matter, sir.’ The concise information was quietly conveyed. She deliberately looked at the lawyer. A small nod of her blonde head indicated she was ready to proceed.

Joseph swung a sly glance from Mr Stone to Miss Marchant. He sensed a certain amount of friction between them already. Ten minutes hence, when the full extent of Edward Stone’s last will and testament was made known to them, he expected sparks to fly. He coughed and collected his papers together in a businesslike manner. Although he knew each protagonist was perfectly aware of the other’s identity, he made brief formal introductions. He could sense that Gavin Stone was intrigued and not a little impatient to know what part this lovely young woman had played in his brother’s life.

Earlier, when he had attempted to while away time by making small talk with Gavin Stone, he had purposely steered conversation away from the lady on whom they waited. Too much information about her might alert him to what may lie ahead and thus spoil the sensational surprise.

Gavin settled himself back in the chair he had recently vacated, but in such a way that he now faced Miss Marchant rather than the desk behind which the lawyer was hunched.

Aware that she was under scrutiny, Sarah flicked up her dusky lashes to boldly gaze back. When that did not deter him, but rather intensified the amusement at the back of his eyes, she flushed. She sensed that Gavin Stone had already taken against her. Perhaps he thought she was about to snatch away his inheritance. Well, she knew she was not. Eddie had told her that the bulk of his estate would pass to his only sibling despite the fact he didn’t like Gavin and rarely saw him. But he had promised to make adequate provision for her future. Today she was to find out what that was. She was hoping for a permanent tenancy of Elm Lodge, and an annuity. She flushed, ashamed of her mercenary thoughts. But then everybody must live…somehow… She just wished that there had been no need for her to participate in this pantomime in the lawyer’s office today. In life, Eddie had chosen to avoid his brother; she was coming to wish he had afforded her that privilege after his death.

‘I will come straight to the point,’ Joseph said in a ponderous tone and swept a glance between the pair seated opposite. ‘Mr Edward Stone, deceased, has left his entire estate and possessions to his brother, Mr Gavin Stone.’ He paused for a moment to allow that information to be digested. ‘However, there is a condition attached to the house in Brighton. The deceased’s wife presently resides there and is to benefit from free and uninterrupted use of the house until she dies. Edward has also left his estranged wife a small sum of money to be paid as an annuity.’ Another pause, then he added, ‘It was not necessary that Janet Stone attend today. In fact, it was Edward’s wish that she should not be invited to do so.’

Gavin slanted a look at the lady sitting adjacent. ‘I see,’ was all he said, but his eyes lingered on her.

Sarah felt the colour in her cheeks rising. The odious beast might have guessed the nature of the relationship between her and his brother, but did he have to make it quite so obvious that he disapproved?

She had been a mistress, but no marriage breaker. Edward and Janet Stone had lived apart for many years before Sarah had even met Eddie. She clasped her hands in her lap to steady them, determined to ignore his barbs. After all, people in glasshouses should not throw stones. And she’d heard enough about Gavin Stone’s character to know he inhabited a very fragile domain. Having thus boosted her courage, she nevertheless wished that Eddie had shown more consideration for her feelings than to insist she attend, like a grasping harlot, and tolerate the company of two gentlemen she sensed held her in contempt.

‘Now we come to the role Miss Marchant must play…’ The lawyer coughed and stuck a finger between his collar and his rubicund neck. ‘That is to say, Miss

Marchant is also mentioned in Mr Edward Stone’s will. Her bequest is linked to yours, sir.’ Despite the slick, quiet way in which he had introduced that last bit of information, a dangerous gleam immediately flared in Gavin’s eyes, making Joseph hasten on. ‘In order that your inheritance might be taken up, you must comply with Edward’s stipulation that you continue to keep Miss Marchant in the manner to which she has become accustomed.’

Joseph sat back in his chair, his lids lowered to shield the fact that his eyes were excitedly batting between the couple in front of him. He had expected a stunned silence, but after many seconds, when all that could be heard was the clock ticking on the wall, he peeked up and ventured, ‘Are there any questions?’

Finally Sarah broke free from her debilitating daze. It could not possibly be what she thought! Eddie would not do such a vile thing. He had said he was fond of her. There was a mistake…an infelicity in phrasing… ‘Would you please repeat that last?’ she murmured with a trembling smile.

‘Yes…please repeat that,’ Gavin uttered in a voice so consumed with icy rage that the lawyer again loosened his collar from his fiery neck.

‘The gist of it is that you, Miss Marchant, will henceforth be protected by Mr Gavin Stone.’ He turned a wary blinking eye on the dark face of the gentleman. ‘For you, sir, the gist of it is that you must continue to pay for Miss Marchant’s keep or you forfeit your inheritance.’ He swivelled the papers about. ‘Here…you may read it yourself,’ he offered. ‘If you refuse these terms and conditions, I’m afraid you will not receive a penny piece from your brother’s estate and in six months’ time the Crown may have it all.’

Further words of explanation from the lawyer were lost as Gavin sprang to his feet. ‘Is this some kind of joke?’ His eyes were fixed mercilessly on Sarah’s whitening face. ‘Did you know of this? Did you put this mischief in to my brother’s head?’

The accusation and disgust in his voice fired Sarah’s temper. Her head was flung back, sending blonde hair rippling about her shoulders. ‘I assure you, sir, had I known of this I would not have bothered turning up at all today, late or early.’ She jumped up, bristling with indignation. Barely a foot of space separated them. ‘I am as shocked and appalled as you are.’ She sent a look over his raw-boned face. Oh, he might have the veneer of quality, but close to she could tell a man who lived a debauched lifestyle. She had watched her papa drink and whore until he met his end in an ugly death. ‘In fact, I might ask whether you had some hand in this devilish strategy,’ she snapped out. ‘Is your indignation real or subterfuge?’ Sarah barely paused for breath before adding in a hiss, ‘I cannot believe that Eddie would have done this without much persuading.’

Gavin took a pace towards her. Just one. But something in that slow determined movement made Sarah shrink back. ‘You think I need to plot or use coercion to get a paramour?’ he enquired softly.

A frisson of fear raced through Sarah. Far from his previous expression of faint amusement, he now looked perilously enraged. She regretted having spoken so impetuously, but found it impossible to either retract the accusation or apologise for it. ‘I know you are a reprobate. Eddie told me,’ she said in a wobbly voice. ‘Will you deny it?’

‘Would that he had mentioned you, madam,’ Gavin drawled, ignoring the reference to his riotous reputation. ‘Had he done so, I might have come and given my opinion of you whilst he was still alive. Then he would have known better than to attempt to foist you on to me.’

Joseph sank back in his chair and compressed his lips to stop a smile. Oh, entertainment, indeed! This was exceeding every expectation he’d had of a diverting scene taking place here today. Things were so fraught between them that he quite expected Miss Marchant might slap the insolent rogue’s face. Her small hands were squeezed into fists at her side, and so tensely did she hold herself it seemed she might topple forwards.

Of course, Joseph had known for some while that Miss Marchant was Eddie Stone’s mistress, as did most people hereabouts. But it was a discreet liaison and, after the first months of scandalous chatter, interest about them had died away. Little was known of Miss Marchant for she kept herself to herself and lived on the very outskirts of town. She did not seek approval from the town’s grandes dames, thus they could not withhold it. She did not attempt to socialise with them, thus they could not shun her.

As for Eddie, he had been thought an upstanding and popular fellow who was known to live apart from his crippled wife. He cared for Janet Stone, which was all people expected he might do in the circumstances, and if he sought comfort elsewhere…who could blame him? The mystery was, of course, why a genteel beauty such as Sarah Marchant would abase herself to become a gentleman’s paramour when, clearly, she could have attracted offers of marriage before her reputation was irreparably sullied.

‘You may have no fear of having me foisted upon you, sir. I refuse the terms.’ That crisp statement was directed at the lawyer, jerking him from his musing. Sarah did not deign to give Gavin even a cursory glance. ‘I have no desire to benefit from Edward’s will and agree to sign whatever I must to make that final.’

‘Umm…I’m afraid that makes no difference to—’