Chapter 9 - MARK—SOME KIND OF TROUBLE

Chapter 9

MARK—SOME KIND OF TROUBLE

Heaven.

Evergreen bushes sprouting yellow and white buds surrounded me . . . us in the garden of Eden, otherwise known as 21 James Street, the Duke of Torrance’s in-town residence.

The full lips of a woman, delicious and smooth, enticed my soul.

She was a bird, a lovely greenfinch, with a song that began to free notes in my mind.

I was lucky.

A goddess had come down to me. I had to protect her, covet her as I had Dido and all the other treasures in my life.

Miss Wilcox couldn’t be a courtesan. I couldn’t share her.

I, Mark Sebastian, had known passion. I’d been foolishly in like, not love.

This was different.

Her kiss fired my flesh to flames and burned to ashes the walls blocking my creativity. All my nerves and worries were made to hum. The composition in my head—I could feel it getting unstuck as I felt her curves molding to me, submitting. And so was the stanza.

My pulse metered the rhythm, faster and faster.

This kiss, this waist in my arms melted the impasse. The first quarter notes—I saw them and could add them to my sheet music.

I heard the next notes in my ear. Dadum. Dadee.

Miss Wilcox could be my muse.

How could I keep her from becoming a courtesan?

My jealous, zealous nature refused to think of her being anyone else’s inspiration.

Despite the noise about us, I deepened the kiss.

And she let me.

Perhaps this woman was inspired too.

One kiss wouldn’t do, not for me, not ever, not from a goddess.

Hands wrapping about her hips, drawing her closer.

“Vot eto pizdets!”

Russian? Didn’t know what the words meant, but the tone sounded of death.

Deserved, undeserved—I kissed the courtesan goodbye, savoring the softest mouth ever, trying to hear in her passion the final notes.

A scream—another woman’s.

The goddess leapt away when a cane hooked my shoulder.

Yanking hard about my arm, it drew me from paradise.

“No, don’t kill him!” she said. “My doing.”

“Sebastian!” The Duke of Torrance shook his fist. More Russian spewed and when I looked at the courtesan with her curly hair free of her turban, his courtesan . . .

Wham.The duke whacked me across my head.

He drew back for another strike. I blocked his advance. “It’s not . . . well, it’s mostly not what you think.”

“You’re seducing Lady Hampton’s sister in my garden.”

“Well, that’s right, but she kissed me first. Then I . . . kept going. But she’s become a courtesan. Livingston sent me . . .”

The duke looked to hit me again, but the goddess and the angry sister held him back.

“Can’t you be trusted in my home, Sebastian?” His Grace shook his cane at me. “Miss Wilcox is no courtesan. She’s my guest. This is her first time to Anya House and you debauched her. Lady Hampton will not let her visit again, nor any of her sisters.”

“That’s correct,” the angry one said. “Is this how all your friends act?”

Torrance wasn’t looking at me or even saying these words for my detriment. His audience was the woman beside him.

She dropped his arm, then embraced the goddess. “Did he hurt you? Georgina, are you all right?”

The goddess touched her mouth. “Yes. Fine.”

The smile those lips elicited from my soul made the duke whack me again.