Chapter 4

Afew nights after pledging to aid Miss Armstrong in salvaging her reputation, James found himself chuckling with a sense of dark amusement. He held the latest scandal sheet, which brazenly included his full name—a rare and bold move by the gossip-hungry press.

Dear Esteemed Readers,

It seems not every lady in the ton fawns over one of society's most decadent and charming dukes. This author has it on the highest authority that a young lady, newly arrived to our shores and not yet acquainted with the delicate intricacies of our society, publicly

shunned the Duke of Basil during a recent soirée/ball. The incident has set tongues wagging across the city, and many are deeply upset by this breach of decorum. Consequently, the swirling rumors now suggest that numerous drawing room doors might soon be firmly shut against Miss A.

This author, ever a supporter of the underdog and a lover of vibrant spirits, would hate to see such a promising newcomer ostracized from our illustrious gatherings. One cannot help but wonder about the nature of the disagreement that led to such a public spectacle. Was this truly a simple misunderstanding, or is there more to the story than meets the eye?

In light of these events, I extend an invitation to my well-informed readers: Should you possess any delightful details or insights into why these battle lines were drawn, please do not hesitate to send them my way. Rest assured, I will sift through the submissions with the utmost discretion and select only the most enlightening tidbits to share.

Stay tuned, dear readers, as we continue to uncover the layers of this intriguing drama. Your interest and contributions make our society pages the first stop for scintillating and essential gossip.

Yours in curiosity and ever faithful in providing the most tantalizing of gossip,

Lady C,

The Daily Gossip

James folded the sheet, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth as he considered the absurdity of the situation. The ton was evidently abuzz with speculation, and here he was, at the center of it all, thanks to a far-too-bold young woman who dared to defy convention.

"You are distracted," Lady Ellen remarked, her tone a blend of complaint and coquetry. She was supposed to be his companion for the evening, a diversion from his duties. Ellen was not a lady of the aristocracy. However, the owner of Aphrodite, Madam Rebecca, insisted all her sought-after courtesans carry the honor before their names.

Lowering the scandal sheet, which Radbourne had sent him earlier with a knowing scribble on the margins, James turned his attention to the woman before him. "What did you say?"

Ellen's pout grew more pronounced. "I do not like that you pay me no regard."

James arched a brow. "Am I to cater to what you like? Or are you to cater to me?"

Uncertainty flickered across Ellen's face before she composed herself, lowering her lashes in a practiced gesture of demure appeal. She reclined further against the chaise, her posture deliberately designed to entice. Her blonde hair cascaded over her shoulders in a deliberate disarray, her bodice barely containing her ample breasts, and her skirt artfully arranged to reveal a glimpse of her thighs. The deliberate pose was intended to captivate and command his attention fully.

James was unmoved. As he had been for the last few months. Or has it been a year?

"I can do what no other woman has done for you in ages," Ellen murmured, her voice sultry, laced with a promise meant to erase any distractions. She patted the cushion beside her on the chaise, her eyes glinting with invitation. "Come and join me, Your Grace."

James studied her for a moment, her allure undeniable yet suddenly less compelling than it might have been on any other night. Despite this, he was not one to rudely dismiss the company of a willing and beautiful woman.

"Tell me precisely how you will rid my mind of everything but you," he invited.

"Stay the full night with me. I promise I will make you forget your distractions," she whispered, "and then perhaps you will ask only for me going forward."

Ellen's intention was clear—prove her worth as an enchantress of the highest order, and she might secure the position as a duke's mistress.

James allowed a small smile, his gaze briefly meeting hers. "I am not interested in permanent attachments."

"I can do what no other woman has done for you in ages."

His belly tightened. Ah, they discussed him and his cock and his lack of attaining his pleasure. Dark humor washed through him. Rising from his seat, James closed the distance between them with measured steps and lowered himself onto his haunches. "Oh?"

Her pink tongue darted to wet her lips, and he imagined coaxing those lips to part and sliding his cock deep. Perhaps sensing victory, she shifted into a kneel on the sofa and placed a hand on his chest, her fingers trailing coyly up to his cravat. "No one has made you release in … months. I want the challenge … and I will make you break.

"Is that so?"

"I'll allow you to tie me … I will be at your mercy. Whatever you like I am willing to do without hesitation."

Nothing stirred inside of James, and to his annoyance, dark blue eyes set in a stunningly pretty face rose in his thoughts.

Why the hell am I still thinking about her?

Miss Armstrong's fresh, artless loveliness would tempt any man, but James was not led around by his damn cock. Perhaps she intruded on his thoughts because he had not yet made any amends. James frowned and stood. "I am leaving, Ellen."

"Your Grace—"

"My man will deliver a diamond necklace for you tomorrow."

Her eyes widened, and she gasped. "Thank you!"

"There is no need. I will take my leave."

"Will you ask for me tomorrow?"

What would be the point? James had not been tempted to take a lover in weeks. He'd never even kept a mistress like most men, and given that Ellen was vying for that position, he would not see her again. Such arrangements and entanglement seemed far too much trouble. "No."

Ellen masked her disappointment well. "We have a new girl," she said. "She is a beauty, and … she is untouched."

He lifted a brow. "An untouched woman in a pleasure palace? How did she come to be here?"

Her laugh tinkled, and her eyes gleamed with sensual wickedness. Ellen clearly thought offering him a virgin would tempt him to stay and indulge in sensual debauchery. Or perhaps gain more favor from him.

"Would you like for her to join us, Your Grace?"

At his silence, Ellen said, "Agatha's father owes Madam, and he offered his daughter a night to pay off his debt. The girl agreed. No one has had her yet. Madam was planning an auction."

"An auction?" Trust Madam Rebecca to come up with something that would titillate even her most jaded customers.

" If madam knows you are interested, Agatha will no longer be auctioned to the highest bidder."

James walked over to the armchair, where he sprawled indolently. "Inform Rebecca I wish to see her and the girl."

Ellen flashed him a smile, hopped from the sofa and slipped on a silk peignoir before sauntering from the room. Several minutes passed before Rebecca entered with Ellen and the girl. He stood and went over to where they halted in the center of the room. James maintained a respectable distance as he assessed her. She looked more like a young lady. She appeared to be around twenty years of age and was incredibly beautiful. In truth, more lovely than any lady he had ever seen.

"What is that discoloration on your face?"

The girl's eyes widened, and she touched her cheeks. "I—"

"Just a small bruise, Your Grace, from her father earlier," Madam Rebecca rushed to assure him. "I had a physician over to examine her. The girl is indeed untouched and healthy."

There was nothing more despicable, more cowardly, than a man who'd hit a woman, even if he was her father. A cold feeling moved through James's heart. "How much does her father owe?"

"Eighty pounds, Your Grace. One hundred and twenty pounds was added as interest, to which he agreed. Hence, the full amount owed is two hundred pounds."

Merciless, but it was what could be expected of a woman as shrewd and cunning as Madam Rebecca.

"You expect this girl to earn that sum for you in a single night?"

"Given the prize that she comes with and her beauty," Madam murmured, peeking up at him coyly, "Many men would willingly pay double for the chance to deflower her. Would you not agree? I can arrange the auction now if it pleases you, or you can make an offer and enjoy her for the night."

An odd sort of detachment went through James, and not for the first time, he wondered why he was here. Perhaps Ambrose's disenchantment was affecting him.

He considered the young lady. She was a ravishing beauty indeed, with rich black hair that hung in a waterfall of silk to her hips and large green eyes set in an arresting face. "How old are you?"

"She is—"

"I am asking the lady, Madam."

She lowered her head in a bow. "Of course, my apologies, Your Grace."

"I am one and twenty," Agatha said, lifting her chin.

James saw no fear in her eyes, only the fires of defiance. It almost pulled a smile to his mouth. "Did you agree to this?"

She fisted her hands at her side so tightly he knew her nails must be hurting her palm.

"Two hundred pounds is a sum I would need a few years of working to pay off. Madam Rebecca is unwilling to wait. I agreed not only to one night … but to one man. The highest bidder."

"That is if he bids high enough to release you after one night," Madam snapped. "It might take a few nights to clear the debt."

"As you said," the girl replied icily, "My prize will … will certainly fetch the owed sum."

Her voice had cracked, and he noted the fine tremor that went through her slender frame. James agreed life was all about choices and making ruthless and practical arrangements to survive and live. He'd inherited his dukedom at the age of twenty and had done many things to bring his family and estates back from the brink. Things many people would think unworthy and demeaning to a man of his rank and consequences.

"I will take her," he said. "Two and fifty hundred pounds, and there will be no auction."

Madam smiled brilliantly and bowed. "Thank you, Your Grace." She hastened from the room, grabbing Ellen's hand and tugging her along.

Tension coated the room, and her throat visibly worked on a swallow.

"What is your full name?"

"Agatha Woodville, sir." She took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and walked toward him.

"There is no need to look like a lamb going to the slaughter. I am not interested in your body."

She stopped as if she had run into a wall, her eyes widening. "I … what?"

"Do you have something more practical to wear?"

"Madam burned my gown and my boots."

A humorless smile touched his mouth. Of course, Rebecca perhaps had no intention of releasing this girl afterward. "We are leaving unless you wish to stay."

She shook her head rather vigorously. "I wish to leave, sir."

He walked past her and opened the door, making his way along the hallway. James did not look to see if she followed. The choice was hers. She hastened her steps to walk beside him, her breathing harsh and almost frightened. Descending the winding staircase, he avoided the common rooms and retrieved his cloak. He held it out to Agatha, and she took it, wrapping it snugly around her body.

"Do you wish for me to carry you to the carriage," he said, glancing at her bare feet.

Agatha peered up at him, clearly bemused and shook her head. "I can walk. It will not be unpleasant for long."

He walked toward his parked carriage, opened the door and allowed her to precede him inside. Once they were seated, he said, "Where should I have my coachman deliver you."

There was a touch of relief and uncertainty in her gaze. "Do you mean to take me elsewhere and not … with you?"

"Yes."

As if she did not understand, Agatha asked, "Am I not to stay at your home for the night?"

"No."

She stared at him, tears pooling inside her eyes. Thankfully, they did not spill over. "God does answer prayers."

"Nonsense," James said with sardonic humor. "He did not instruct me."

Her eyes widened and she smiled. "Thank you, sir. I have no money, but I vow to repay your favor one day."

"It is astonishing you think you have something I might want."

"You are a complex man," she said softly after taking his measure for a long time. "I get the sense you do not wish for me to realize your kindness."

"I am not a kind man," he said drily.

Her lips trembled before pulling into a smile. "Whatever your reason, sir, thank you. If I had encountered someone else, the night would have ended terribly for me."

"I will instruct my coachman to take you home once we arrive at my destination."

"There is a seaside cottage in Brighton," she said softly. A faraway look entered her eyes, and a single tear rolled down her cheeks. "My father has a terrible habit … and he goes to those vile gambling dens every night. He will only offer me to the highest bidder once again, and if I wish to protect my younger sisters, I will have to agree."

James reached into his pockets and took out the few banknotes he had. He held them out to her.

She jutted her chin. "I do not wish for your charity anymore, sir; I already owe you a fortune that I will repay one day."

"Do not be a fool. Take the notes."

There was desperation and hesitancy in her eyes. "Perhaps you could help me instead … with a job."

"No."

"Please, I am willing to be a servant—"

"Too beautiful," he said icily. "You would toss my household into disorder and have my footmen turn into competing fools."

"I see. Perhaps a recommendation to be a governess—"

"The master of the home you work in will have you on your back within days. Unless you choose to hide your figure as best possible, disfigure your face, or find a kind widow who has no preying sons."

"I would never consent to an affair!"

"He would not care if you were willing. You have no power or connection."

Agatha clenched her fingers tightly in her lap, and a subtle shift in her expression revealed to James that she was no stranger to being coveted for her looks.

"My beauty is a disadvantage in life," she said, her voice tinged with despair. "Perhaps I should disfigure myself."

"Such actions would be a double-edged sword," James responded, his voice even. "No one would want to marry you, nor would they likely offer you employment. Your days would become even harsher. Instead, you should consider ways to turn your beauty to your advantage."

"How?" Her voice was a blend of frustration and curiosity.

"Do I need to spell it out?" he replied with chilling softness. "How have you managed to survive this long?"

She flushed, her cheeks reddening as she looked away. "I am learning each day, sir, that the world only respects those with wealth and power."

"Beauty is a power. A man would willingly pay two hundred pounds to spend a night with you," James stated bluntly.

"I am not a common tart!" she cried.

Her response was fierce; her pride clearly stung.

"Then don't be one," James continued, unfazed. "Entice and allure. Craft a reputation as a woman who is both unattainable and unavailable. Tease and tempt, and let men be willing to pay just to behold your beauty … to hear you play the pianoforte. Declare to the world that you are a virgin, and they will clamor at your door for the mere chance to be the one to seduce you."

She stared at him, her eyes wide in shock, before looking away and biting her lower lip in contemplation.

James had nothing more to add. Silence filled the space between them until she spoke again, her voice hesitant.

"Who would help me with this? You."

"No. The very madam who took your father's deal," he suggested coolly.

"Would she agree to such a plan?"

"Madam Rebecca is a shrewd businesswoman. Promise her a percentage of your nightly earnings for a private room and board and a stage to showcase your talents. Rumors suggest she knows a sensual dance taught by a pasha. Ask her to teach you. Then, when you allow people into your boudoir, refuse any private audiences and be selective with your clientele. Only five each night—the five highest bidders will get to lounge on chairs, eat grapes, drink the finest whisky and watch you dance … or play the pianoforte or sing."

"And they will pay for this?" Agatha asked, skepticism lacing her tone.

"Yes, they will," James assured her.

"And who are you to suggest such things?" she inquired, a hint of awe and fear in her voice. "Madam Rebecca called you ‘Your Grace'. Are you … are you a nobleman or is it a moniker?"

"I am no one of consequence," he replied, his gaze steady and revealing nothing.

She fell silent, pondering his words as the carriage rolled to a stop. James held her gaze for a moment longer, imparting a final piece of unsolicited advice. "Whatever choice you make, it no longer has anything to do with me."

He exited the carriage and instructed his driver to take the lady wherever she wished. James entered Lady Weatherby's townhouse and handed over his invitation card. "There is no need to announce me."

The butler bowed deferentially. "Yes, Your Grace."

As James moved along the hallway, the sounds of laughter and music from the ballroom pulsed through the air. His unexpected appearance caused a ripple of surprise among the guests; their expressions shifted from shock to deferential politeness as they bowed and curtsied upon recognizing him. A few curious onlookers, likely sensing a story worth sharing, discreetly trailed behind him.

He entered the crowded ballroom, scanning the assembly until he saw her. Miss Armstrong stood somewhat apart from the main throng of revelers, dressed in a striking, dark golden gown that clung to her curves in a manner both elegant and provocative. Her dark hair was styled in elaborate curls, soft wisps playfully framing her face, enhancing her natural beauty and thoughtful expression.

Her chin was held high, her posture exuding confidence. She met the gaze of the onlookers with the poise of a lady seemingly unaffected by the whispers that fluttered behind their fans.

How unflappable you are, Miss Armstrong.

James lifted a brow when he noted a slight flush on her cheeks, which betrayed a hint of awareness, suggesting that she was not entirely indifferent to their stares and murmuring. He smiled, impressed by the strength she displayed. Many ladies of the ton tended to shrink under the weight of societal disapproval, but not Miss Armstrong. There was a distinct fierceness in her expression and a resolute tilt to her head that informed one of her refusal to be cowed or intimidated by anyone's judgment.

How interesting.

James was acutely aware that there was no rational explanation for why Miss Armstrong had occupied his thoughts so persistently since their last meeting. No justification whatsoever for the intrigue she stirred within him.

It is ridiculous.

He resolved that this dance would be atonement for his mother's thoughtlessness, and then he would firmly remove her from his thoughts.