Chapter 3

CHAPTER 3

T he first time Fleur had met Harriette Wilson it was purely by chance. She had come to London to take care of an unrelated matter concerning Flavian and had bumped into the courtesan quite literally in the middle of the street. Fleur had not known the sort of power that the lady had wielded but she must have made an impression in spite of her prolific apologies because Harriette had invited her to tea at her residence in Chelsea.

It was there that Harriette had confided to a complete stranger her intention to publish a series of memoirs about her life and name the men responsible for her current predicament. She did not seem pleased that she was not gaining the proper support in her advanced years as she'd hoped.

"Wellington dared to tell me to publish and be damned," she'd said nonchalantly. "I decided to take that as a personal challenge."

Fleur had been awestruck by the lady and the whirlwind life she had lived continuously at the mercy of men and their pleasure. Until her circumstances had become dire, she had managed to make a name for herself and gain the benefit of a wealthy benefactor. However, not everything lasted forever and the sacrifices due to her occupation had come with a price.

It was Fleur's intention to appeal to the lady and attempt to find one gentleman who might ease her current situation—discreetly, of course—so that she might retain some semblance of a reputation and put her and Flavian back on the right track to respectability. No doubt she would have to leave London and never return if she went to such drastic lengths, but Fleur told herself that it would be worth it. There was no point holding on to her virginity any longer if it could be sold to the highest bidder and save her and Flavian from poverty, or worse yet, Newgate. She might be furious with her brother because of his shortcomings but she couldn't stay angry at him. It was impossible because she'd told her parents that she would look after him when they were gone and she intended to fulfill that promise to the best of her ability.

It was nearly two in the morning by the time they arrived at the familiar residence in Chelsea. Fleur prayed that Harriette would remember her and offer her a place to stay for the night. It had been a gamble to rely on the charity of a woman she'd spent an afternoon with some time ago but Fleur had always kept her in the back of her mind if she'd needed someplace to go to for help. She felt that the woman would take pity on the woes of another trying to make her way with little else to recommend her but her sex.

"Stay here," she ordered Flavian as she dismounted and tied the mare to the fence surrounding the neat townhouse. It might not be in the most affluent area of Mayfair, but the whitewashed buildings in their tidy rows was a far cry from anywhere that Fleur and her brother had ever called home. Although Harriette might have believed herself to be near destitution, Fleur doubted that she ever had to worry about her next meal.

Or if some intimidating man might come to collect his due like the grim reaper himself.

It was the image of Mr. Porter's sleek smirk that had her climbing the front steps and grasping the door knocker and setting it firmly against the wood. It took another try before she could hear footsteps coming from within. A tired butler answered the door with a particularly cross look on his face. He took one look at Fleur's faded gown and snapped, "We don't take vagrants here." He would have shut the door in her face if Fleur hadn't slapped her hand resolutely against it.

"Miss Wilson is known to me. Tell her that Miss Fleur Davies is here to speak with her with the utmost urgency." When he didn't seem fazed, she added in a softer tone, "Please."

He grumbled something beneath his breath but turned and headed for the stairs without asking her if she would like to wait in the foyer. Since he left the door open in his wake, Fleur took that as her own personal invitation so she stood inside and waited. She was already attempting to think where she might go next if the lady turned her away when she spied movement on the upper landing.

The butler did not reappear as Harriette descended the stairs in a flowing gown of white. She looked like an angel descending from the heavens but as she drew closer it was the hard lines around her mouth and the cynical tilt to her dark head that proved she was anything but celestial.

"When I was awakened from my slumber and told that you were here I daresay you could have knocked me over with a feather from surprise." She smiled in a charming manner that Fleur was sure had caused the downfall of all those mentioned in her memoirs.

"I apologize for the late hour?—"

Harriette waved a delicate hand. "Not to worry, my dear. I have grown accustomed to being disturbed at all hours of the night. Many of which I accepted graciously."

She smiled in a seductive manner, and heat bloomed in Fleur's cheeks. Nevertheless, she attempted to explain her reasons for showing up unannounced. "I admit that I have come here hoping for assistance that you might be able to provide. My brother, Flavian and I?—"

"Your brother?" her brows lifted with interest.

"Yes," Fleur confirmed. "My twin brother. He is outside?—"

"Oh, that cannot be borne." She swept forward and opened the door. "You, on the horse. Come inside."

She waved Flavian inside and as she returned to Fleur, she knew her time was limited if she wanted to discuss her opportunity with the lady. Afraid she would be interrupted again, Fleur boldly announced, "I wish for your help in finding a wealthy benefactor."

Instantly, a carefully manicured brow lifted. "You wish to become a courtesan?" Her knowing gaze traveled down Fleur's body then back up. "You are surely an innocent."

"Currently, yes," she concurred. "But don't gentleman pay well for a… virgin?"

The lady was completely focused now. "Indeed, they can."

Fleur dared to further blurt out, "My brother got himself into trouble over a gambling debt. We were forced to flee Greenwich this very evening."

"How much does he owe?"

Fleur hated to repeat the sum. It caused a sick feeling in her stomach each time she did so. "Six hundred pounds."

The second brow joined the first. "My. A hefty sum. No wonder you are willing to barter your innocence."

"I find no other option," Fleur said firmly.

"No," Harriette returned with a solemness she'd never seen from the woman before, and likely would not see after. "Most of us usually don't."

As Flavian entered the foyer, the conversation halted. Although Harriette leaned over to speak softly, "I will see what I can do to ease your circumstances." Fleur was filled with a mixture of relief and abhorrence. She was grateful for Harriette's assistance but she was not looking forward to the distasteful task ahead of her.

But unfortunately, it must be done.

As Harriette walked over and cooed over Flavian, Fleur forced a smile to her face as she watched her brother absorb the attention.

And prayed for her fate.

* * *

Drake lit a cheroot and exhaled a long cloud of white smoke as he leaned against the lamp post that afternoon, patiently waiting for his quarry to appear.

He'd arrived in London in the early hours of the morning and went to one of his many residences throughout the city. Considering the sort of illustrious life he'd led, he had felt it necessary to acquire several secret locations. Luckily for him, one of those was a townhouse in Chelsea, not far from where he hoped to come across Miss Davies.

After a few queries in some of the servant's ears who loved to gossip, he'd quickly learned that Harriette Wilson had received a couple of late-night visitors just a few hours earlier. Curious as to why Miss Davies and her brother might choose to turn to a notorious courtesan for assistance, Drake figured that she had her reasons and that they would be revealed in due time.

All he had to do was wait.

After exhaling another long drag from his cheroot, Drake was pleased to find that he didn't have long to cool his heels before a carriage stopped in the street. Harriette was the first to disembark and as she turned to smile at someone behind her, Drake narrowed his eyes when he recognized the familiar figure of Miss Davies.

As the coach was unloaded with several boxes, he realized that they had spent the day shopping. A rather curious way for a courtesan and a poor woman to spend the day—unless it was for a purpose. One that might gain back the blunt that had been spent.

Drake considered the prospect as they disappeared into the house and the door shut behind them.

If Flavian was any sort of man, he wouldn't allow his sister to barter her body for coin but considering he was the reason she might have been forced to sell her personal wares, Drake wasn't hopeful that he would put a stop to anything.

Grinding the last of the cheroot beneath his heel, Drake headed for Harriette's residence but instead of walking up the steps to the front entrance, he walked around back to the servant's entrance. He rapped lightly on the door that opened into the kitchens. A young woman was standing there expectantly. One of the maids he would imagine.

Adopting his most charismatic demeanor, Drake removed his cap and offered a slight bow. Her cheeks immediately turned a delicate shade of pink. "Good day, miss," he said in a caressing tone. "I was hoping that you might help me locate a friend. I was told she was staying here."

She smiled broadly from the attention. "Who migh' that be, guvn'r?"

"Miss Fleur Davies."

Recognition instantly lit her eyes. "Oh, yes. She's 'ere. Shall I grab 'er for you?"

He shook his head. "That won't be necessary." He leaned forward as if imparting a secret. "You see, we didn't part on the best of terms." He shrugged. "But I'm a helpless suitor who refuses to give up when I've found a true prize."

"Aww. That's awful sweet o' you." She leaned forward in return, lowering her voice slightly. "But you migh' be too late to win 'er hand. She's goin' on auction this very evening."

He lifted a brow as if he didn't know to what she referred. "Auction?"

She nodded in confirmation. "Miss Wilson is taking 'er to a secret gentleman's club so that 'er… wares migh' be sold to the 'ighest bidder. If you know wha' I mean."

He sighed heavily, as if terribly disappointed. "I fear I might have lost my chance to win her hand then."

"Not if you 'ave the blunt."

He inclined his head and donned his cap once more. He handed her a coin which caused her eyes to light up even further. "Thank you. You have been most helpful. For your discretion. I wouldn't want to upset Miss Davies when she is about to embark on an enchanting evening."

As Drake walked away, he had the strangest feeling in his gut. Normally that would be instinct warning him that danger was ahead. At the moment, it was just… unsettling. He wanted to tell himself to forget about Miss Davies and her errant brother. It wasn't as though he needed the money that was due to him from Flavian. If he followed through with trying to collect the debt, it would be more about teaching the young pup a lesson in responsibility and not letting his sister fight his battles for him all the time.

He returned to his townhouse and headed for the modest study. He employed no servants because there was no need. He had a scarce amount of furniture and he had known how to use a stove since he was in short pants. He had always wanted to make sure that he wasn't tied down to anywhere particular, which is why he had lodgings scattered all over the city and as far away as Scotland.

The same had always held true for the women he'd bedded. Temporary. No entanglements. Mutual gratification.

As he sat down behind his desk, he took a key from the inside of his jacket pocket and unlocked the top drawer. That wasn't where he kept his special ledger. It was in a false bottom beneath the desk, which he opened using a special combination. The compartment fell open and he retrieved the documentation that kept track of all of his monetary investments. From various business investments to every single ha'penny that he held, it was all written down here.

He opened it and wrote down a few more expenditures that had transpired since his last visit to London. It was a small pittance compared to the overall value of his properties.

However, if he intended to purchase Miss Davies, it would put a slight dent in his coffers but nothing he was concerned with. No doubt he would be going up against noblemen who had no qualms about spending their inheritance on such a prize but he had amassed a fortune over the years. Money was no longer an object for him.

He sat back in his chair and lit another cheroot. He glanced at the pristine white ceiling that had likely belonged to one duke or another at one time, but which now belonged to him—a bastard son of a whore.

The irony almost made him smile.

He might actually accomplish the act when he left the club that evening with Miss Davies on his arm.

And in his bed.

* * *

The nerves fluttering inside of Fleur's stomach were almost painful. Butterflies? They were more like chisels eager to slowly grind at her midsection.

She was not looking forward to this evening's festivities. She thought she might have had more time to prepare herself for the loss of her virtue but Harriette had assured her that word would spread like wildfire that afternoon. There was no need to wait.

She did look through the few gowns that Fleur had brought with her and shook her head disparagingly. "These will never catch any man's eye." After threading her arm through hers, Harriette said, "We are going shopping."

Fleur never dreamed that Harriette would take her to the modiste, the perfumery and the market where they gained several items that Harriette claimed to enhance the "complexion." She purchased new silk undergarments to go with a brand-new gown that she believed might attract the highest bid from a prospective "buyer." Fleur had cringed at the image of being auctioned off to a licentious man of indeterminate age but she reminded herself it was part of the show and she had no choice but to trust Harriette's judgment.

That night, as the lady was helping to apply the rouge and various accoutrements to Fleur's face to "enhance the beauty of her natural features," Flavian walked into the room. At first, Fleur thought he might be horrified by the picture she presented but he only observed the handiwork by the courtesan until she finally stood back and said, "That should do it." She waved a hand toward the full-length mirror. "Take a look."

Fleur glanced in the mirror and her breath caught in shock.

Under different circumstances she might have been convinced that she looked presentable in the full black skirts and the lace trimmed chemise beneath. The silver and black corset was something she wouldn't have chosen for herself but it complimented her dark hair that was left to flow in loose waves about her shoulders.

But it was her face that broke any illusion that she was headed to a ball or some other society event that would be appropriate.

She brought her hand up to touch her lips that had false color applied to them, the same for her cheeks. Her eyes were rimmed with dark enhancements. She could feel the butterflies return with a vengeance and for a moment, she prayed that there was a miracle that would keep this evening from transpiring.

With a deep breath, she turned and waited for her brother's reaction. There was a pause and then the only thing he said was, "You look… different."

"She looks like a remarkable achievement for any lucky man," Harriette interjected.

Flavian was still wearing his simple garments. There had been no excursion to enhance his appearance. But there had been no need. He wasn't about to lose all of his respectability in one night.

"Might I have a word with my brother in private?"

Harriette glanced between the siblings and some of her joviality slipped. She had been enthusiastic about Fleur's "come out," but when she felt the somber atmosphere that had taken over the room, she quietly excused herself.

When she was gone, Fleur crossed her arms and looked at her twin. "I never thought I would be giving up this much when I promised our parents I would look after you."

Rather than appear chagrined, Flavian frowned. "What do you want me to say, Fleur? Shall I congratulate you for becoming a martyr on my behalf?" He walked to the window, turning his back to her. "Do you think I enjoy being a failure in every aspect of my life?"

As always, the anger left Fleur in the face of his upset. "You aren't a failure?—"

"Aren't I?" He spun back around with his fists clenched. "I feel the condemnation in your eyes every time I do something wrong. Like I'm a child that must be chided. I am four and twenty, the same as you, but you don't treat me as an equal."

She didn't care for his tone. It made her retaliate with an argument of her own. "Perhaps I might do so if you would bother to stop all of the gambling and drinking and carousing and do something productive with your time. Find a respectable occupation?—"

"Like what? Toiling in a mine where I might not live to see daylight? Wishing I was dead rather than buried in some horrid profession that will slowly snuff the very life from me?" He shook his head. "You might be stronger than me, willing to give up your existence to survive but I would rather not."

He started to head for the door but Fleur stopped him with a hand on his arm. His entire stance was stiff but he hesitated. "I didn't know you felt this strongly—" She swallowed hard. "But sometimes we have to do the things we must to live to face a new day."

His dark eyes were sharp, cutting as his words when he said, "What if I don't care to see tomorrow?"

Her eyes instantly welled with tears. "Please don't say that. You can't leave me alone. I am doing all of this for us. For you ."

He jerked his arm away from her. "Then you are doing it for the wrong reasons. Some people just aren't worth redemption."

He slammed the door on his departure.