“And to my companion, Miss Theresa Kyle, in recognition of all she has done for me and mine, I leave my house in Berkeley Square with all the furniture she wishes to keep and the sum of ten thousand pounds to be hers outright and…”

Theresa didn’t hear anything else, other than the gasp that ran around the austere study where the will of the late Sir Humphrey Goddard was being read. She slumped back in her chair—as best she could on a straight-backed Chippendale with several pairs of condemning eyes on her—and put her palm over her racing heart as if to steady it. A handful of silk and lace grounded her. In her eyes, the furniture alone was priceless and more than she could have ever hoped to receive, let alone the building. As for the money?

Ten thousand pounds. That would give her an annual income of around four hundred pounds. A fortune to her. If it wouldn’t have looked so stupid, she would have used the hand over her breast to pat it rapidly, just to check she wasn’t dreaming. How silly would that appear?

“Good lord, he had lost his mind,” Mr. Abercorn, the rector, said. “Poor Lord Humphrey, bless him.” He looked to the ceiling and put the tips of his fingers together as if he were praying.

Oh my goodness, what sort of person does that in a situation like this? Talk about pontificating. The rector was one her beloved mama would say was full of words and little action. The ceiling was not at all heavenly, being as it was a dull beige and incredibly boring. Theresa was sure she could see a spider’s web in one corner, complete with occupant. It was obvious this room had not been used since Sir Humphrey passed on.

“I’m sorry to disabuse you of that idea, Reverend, but his lordship was of a very sound mind and gave me his instructions with precise clarity,” the solicitor said with definite annoyance in his tone. “It does you no credit to say such things. After all, he also left money to the church. Some might say that was a sign of a mind lost.”

The cleric flushed with anger. “The Lord’s house is grateful,” he said in a stiff manner “I meant no offense.”

“Good,” George, Sir Humphrey’s heir, interjected, his tone grim “Remember, it was his money to do with as he wished.”

The rector reddened. “I stand corrected,” he said. His reluctance to admit his mistake was obvious by his inflexible attitude. “My apologies.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Theresa watched both Lord George and the solicitor nod. However, it seemed the rector was not the only person to be resentful.

“Never mind that, what’s she done to deserve such largesse, then?” a disgruntled Lady Paulina, Sir Humphrey’s daughter, asked with a snap Her customary petulant expression was even more pronounced than usual. “I always thought her too forward and encroaching.”

George, the elder by several years, frowned at Paulina. “Enough, sister mine, you sound spiteful and grasping. Put your claws away.”

Paulina also reddened. Her sharp features stood out prominently and she looked like a weasel about to pounce on some poor unexpected prey. Theresa hoped that she wasn’t the target. She wasn’t in the mood to retaliate, and if attacked she’d have to. With most daughters you could be charitable and say grief had unsettled them. Not, she thought, in Paulina’s case. Her unpleasantness was habitual so this was no departure from normal.

George, a portly man who would no doubt become stout before middle age, stared at his sister until she turned away with a toss of her head. He nodded then smiled at Theresa. “Miss Kyle did more than any of us could do—make our father happy and whole again for a start. Miss Kyle, you deserve every penny, and I’ll be happy to be your mentor and guide in any way possible.”

Theresa smiled back somewhat tremulously as Paulina snorted. The woman would never be content, Theresa decided as she looked at the disconsolate long face. Even if everything had been left to Paulina, Theresa imagined she’d still have something to complain about.

Not like dear Humphrey, whose contentment had shone out of him and encompassed Theresa. And now this gift. Was this what Humphrey had meant when she’d lain in his arms and he’d told her she had made him very happy and he’d make sure she never regretted it?

“Theresa, not only did you bring back my ability to be a man again, you taught me much more than how to enjoy making love,” he had said. “You showed me how to pleasure a woman in ways that satisfied and gratified us both. Not an easy task, but you succeeded in such a way that I became more of a man.”

Theresa smiled at the memory. Dear Humphrey, I miss you. Chance in the form of a snowstorm had brought them together. Loneliness had kept them there. And bedroom antics.

She had to be honest. Sex had held them together. Humphrey had evidently been uninterested in sex for many years, until he’d shown her how much enjoyment there could be in the act of copulation. Of foreplay and stimulation, arousal and sensations. He’d taught her how to enjoy everything, how to pleasure him and how to be pleasured in return.

One day he’d turned to her, patted her cheek and told her with a quiet contentment that she knew more than he. Then he’d dropped his bombshell. Whatever she chose to do he would back her and give her an allowance, and a cottage in the village in her name for her to do with as she liked. However, he was certain her talents were needed elsewhere, and he would be grateful if she considered helping his son, who would benefit from her expertise. “As will his women,” Lord Humphrey had added with a wink. “Before you say anything, the cottage and allowance are yours outright and with no strings attached. In case you decide not to continue and use your talents as a career. You need never work at anything if you choose not to.”

George, a shy and tongue-tied man around women, had added his entreaties to his father’s. As later had his friend. And his cousin.

All under the eagle eye of Humphrey, who, although he’d decided he was no longer hungry for sex, had been her willing protector. It was, he’d said, an honor and a privilege to see how well thought of ‘Theresita’ was. Many people wouldn’t understand why she chose to do what she did, Theresa knew. She’d enjoyed it, and understood that to be a lady’s maid or a farmer’s wife was not for her.

“Miss Kyle?”

Theresa brought herself back to the present as the solicitor addressed her, and turned to the man with a smile. “My apologies, I was wool-gathering.”

The elderly man nodded. “Understandable, in the circumstances. However, I’ll need your signature and any instructions you have for me.”

“Oh…oh yes.”

“You will take advantage of the house, won’t you?” George asked. “M’father wished it, and I agree with him.” He stuck his hand out and put his palm over his sister’s mouth. “Ignore Paulina, she thinks it means less for her. It doesn’t.”

Theresa gaped at him. Did he mean it came from his portion?

“I… You…”

“Theresa, you’ve done more for this family than anyone could imagine. Papa discussed this with me and I agreed with him. I and my wife have to thank you,” George said in a soft voice. The sincerity in his words was noticeable.

Elizabeth, his wife, nodded with vigor “Much more.” She stood and squeezed Theresa’s cold fingers. “Good lord, you’re freezing. Here”—she thrust her muff over Theresa’s hands and patted it—“wear that.”

“Thank you.” Theresa had no idea why she was cold. Shock perhaps? She hadn’t expected anything like this. Or thought to be left anything, other than perhaps a few trinkets. Humphrey had given her so much anyway, and he’d owed her nothing. And now, that lovely building where she knew he had been so happy was hers.

Two homes—what more could anyone ask for?

“Are you sure?” she said in little more than a murmur, so only the solicitor and George could hear. “Really?”

“Really. Therefore go and sign your life away.” George winked. “I suspect you could do very well in London.

So did she.

* * * *

London

Fifteen years later

“I think we should start a club,” Theresa ruminated. “One for people like us who do not want to be ruled by convention.”

Her friend Maria sat back in her chair and contemplated Theresa. “There are plenty of us. What’s our name?”

“How about the Daring Ladies Club?”

Maria sniggered. “Oh, I like it. And the members?”

“Well, you and me for a start. We can begin small.”

“Excellent. When do we have our first meeting?” Maria reached for a nearby bottle of wine and poured two glasses full.

“I rather think we’re having it now,” Theresa said with a laugh. She took her glass and held it high. “To the Daring Ladies Club. Be this the only meeting or not, we can at last acknowledge who and what we are.”

“Interesting, unconventional and ready to take on the world?”

“Something like that.”

Theresa sat back in the large comfortable chair and smiled at her friend over her glass of wine. Theresa’s long black hair was half in a knot on the top of her head and the rest had left its pins and spiraled over her shoulders in a waterfall the color of midnight. She pushed it back impatiently. At times it was the bane of her life.

“So, that apart, who is your next client?”

“Who’s next?” she said in reply to Maria, her friend, confidante and seamstress to the ton. “Nobody. I’ve decided to retire.” She sipped her wine and savored the silky-smooth apricot and gooseberry-scented liquid with enjoyment. “This is good.”

Maria put her own glass down with such a thump that the fine French contents slopped dangerously near the rim. Her mouth dropped open and she gaped at Theresa as if she were hallucinating.

Theresa grinned and held the glass in the air to look at the light amber-colored liquid. “Where did you find it?”

“Never mind the wine,” Maria retorted. “Say that again, slowly.”

Theresa opened her eyes as wide as possible and waved her glass from side to side as a toast. It wasn’t often possible to shock or surprise Maria, and therefore every time it happened was immensely satisfying. “Theresita is no more. From now on I’m plain Theresa Kyle, spinster of the parish.”

“Why?” Maria sounded bewildered, as well she might, Theresa thought. She hadn’t mentioned her intentions to Maria until she’d firmed up her decisions and set certain plans in motion. “You’ll never be plain anything,” Maria continued. “Black hair and blue eyes combined with a stunning figure will ensure that.” She tugged a strand of her own soft brown tresses. “Not forgettable like mine.”

“Exactly.” Theresa chose to misunderstand her. “You are not forgettable, and you know it. Your hair is glossy and your figure…”

“Is voluptuous. Top-heavy. Why do you think I became a seamstress?” Maria asked, then chuckled. “I know what suits me.”

“You know what suits others as well,” Theresa replied. “That is why you are successful.”

“Just as well, because now I can afford to dress in the style I enjoy,” Maria said. “Something that pleases me. However, stop changing the subject. Why are you retiring?”

“Why?” Theresa said. “Because I’ve had enough.” She shrugged and raised her eyebrows as she tried to put into words just how she felt. “Of men and my life as it has been. Oh, don’t get me wrong, I’ve enjoyed every minute of it, I’d be a liar if I said otherwise. But think about it, Maria. I’ve spent the last fifteen years earning my living on my back.” She snorted then took a mouthful of wine. “Well, not necessarily on my back, but you know what I mean.”

Theresa winked and Maria choked. “Water,” Maria spluttered. “No, wine will do.” She took a large swig and wiped her streaming eyes. “How can you say something so audacious with such a straight face?” she asked when she could speak in a coherent manner once more.

“Practice,” Theresa responded without any embellishment to her reply. “Back, front or sideways on, it all has the same end. To instruct certain gentlemen of the ton that there are two people in each coupling and both have desires and needs that must be addressed.”

“So? You’re successful, well liked and a definite asset to lots of relationships, even if that is not admitted to. You can’t tell me there are no more men who need help, because after listening to the women in my salon whinge I won’t believe it.” Maria rolled her eyes. “Some of the things I hear would make the most confident of men blanch. I hear about sizes of appendages, how long a man can last, the best position to ensure you do not get with child… You name it and I probably can give you five different opinions. I’m sure you are needed.”

“More than likely, but no more help from me.” Theresa sat forward and began to count on her fingers. “First, I’m one and thirty, and would have what, three, four more years before all the bits that are now firm and attractive to gentlemen begin to wobble more than is seemly. Second, I’m not as agile as I was.”

She hiccupped as Maria began to laugh uncontrollably. “Not… Oh my, the picture that conjures up,” Maria tilted her head to one side. “Just how agile do you need to be?”

“As a…and oh, do stop it…” Theresa shook her head and sniggered. “You’d be surprised. Well, no, on reflection, maybe you wouldn’t, but believe me it isn’t as easy to twist and turn as it was five years ago.” She stood and began to pace Maria’s snug sitting room. One long stride and her swirling skirts set a side table rocking. She stooped to steady it. If the dainty china figures on it smashed, Maria would not be best pleased. “It’s not just that. I think I need to remove from town for a while, and get out of a certain honorable’s orbit.” She turned in a flurry of elegant skirts and faced Maria. “One who doesn’t understand the words ‘it is over’.”

“Ah, now I begin to see. The Honorable Percival Prendergast?” Maria asked. “Does he think to make you his mistress?”

“Sadly, no. He says he intends to make me his wife.”

This time Maria’s wine did slop over the rim of the glass. She blotted it with her finger absent-mindedly. “Ah.”

“Ah indeed,” Theresa replied. “He seems to think I jested when I told him never.”

Maria grimaced. “Then you do have a problem.”

Theresa returned to her previous position and curled her feet up under her. When the two friends got together for a cozy evening, neither stood on ceremony. The order of the night was that shoes were kicked off, stays were loosened or not even worn, food chosen that could be eaten off a plate with their fingers and fine wine drunk as if it were water.

“It troubles me. There is something not quite right there, but I cannot put my finger on it.” She sighed. “He is so damned insistent and does not listen to a word I say. Mind you, I’m not sure he ever did.”

“How long has he been bothering you, Tess?” Maria got up, refilled their glasses and sat down in the same position as her friend. “Is it at the harassment stage?”

“No, not yet. But he does really worry me, and there are not many people I can say that about. He’s”—she paused to formulate her words—“fixated. Our liaison, teaching, call it what you will, ran its course around two months ago, but he seems to think we just move on together. That marriage is the next step. No, no and no. It was over.”

“When you dragged me to the cottage for a few days? Respite from our busy lives, you said.”

“Just before then. He wouldn’t agree. Said we could stay together and be a couple.” Theresa rolled her eyes. “It didn’t matter how much I told him no, he kept appearing like a jack-in-the-box wherever I went. Then he came up with the idiotic idea that a marriage between us was what he wanted, and I, would you believe, according to him, should benefit. For goodness’ sake, apart from anything else, I can give him ten years. And to be honest, I might have taught him, but I have little hope he’ll remember anything, and if he does he won’t choose to use it. His prick is like a pencil, with a very tiny and soft lead, and not of the highest quality.”

Maria sniggered. “The pictures that conjures up.”

“Yes, well, ’tis true, I am afraid.” Theresa shrugged then grimaced as she remembered the problems she’d encountered in that area. “He neither grows nor shows. Sawdust packs for the pantaloons are his friend. Plus, I am worried he is one of those men who think a woman should be grateful for any attention and he insists he knows what they want. He slurped or bit and it did not matter how many times I told him that although a woman’s body could be something to feast on, it was neither soup nor steak, he still carried on. I got that out of him by sheer continual nagging and on one occasion a thump to the head.”

Maria laughed out loud and tears rolled down her cheeks. “Only to his head?”

Theresa scowled then giggled. “I did contemplate a thump to his prick—if I could find it—but that would no doubt have given him encouragement. He was and is too arrogant for his own good. I pity his poor wife, if he ever does get someone to accept his proposal. Unless she is prepared to do as I did and stand up to him. Even if it takes a big stick and a locked door to bring him to his senses.” She sobered suddenly. “I’m not sure he really put his heart into it. I often got the impression he wished himself elsewhere, and then his attitude changed and I was the person for him. Or so he tried to insist. I almost took another client just to act as a deterrent but decided it would not be fair to the unknown other, or indeed to me. The next man in my hole will be there for love or something similar—so to speak—not money.” Crude, but then if she couldn’t speak openly and honestly to Maria, to whom could she do so?

“Ah. So do you have anyone in mind?” Maria asked with interest as she wiped her eyes on a lace-edged handkerchief. “Is that why you’ve retired?”

Theresa shook her head and her black curls danced around her like a dark halo. “No one and not really.” She paused and mulled over what she wanted to say. Was there anyone? Not one who would even consider her as a partner, or, sadly, anyone she would want to. “No. Everything I’ve said so far adds up to the fact that I’ve had enough of this life. I have sufficient money not to work at any occupation. Two homes, and a nice collection of jewelry. I play the stocks and seem to have a knack for it. I rely on no one and no one relies on me. Staff excepted. I had thought my life would be sweet and simple. I intend to write my memoirs.” She giggled like a young girl at the thought of some of those memories. “Suitably discreet and no names mentioned, of course.”

“Now those I would definitely give a pretty penny to read,” Maria said with a hint of amusement in her voice. “With the Earl of D. M. B. or Lord of the Tiny Penis, and Mole on his Arse sort of names? Have you started yet?”

Theresa laughed. “Definitely the latter sort of names. After all, how many Earls of D. M. B. are there? I’m not that cruel. A Penis, Prick or Uneven Bollocks is so much better. If nothing else, it will prove I do know the men I write about.” She sighed. It sounded deep and loud in the quiet room. “Sadly I haven’t started yet, and if things go on the way they are I might never do. Unless it is the account of a murder or unmanning. Bloody Lord Percy is proving to be very difficult. His last words to me, as he waylaid me outside my house on my way here, were that if I wouldn’t come by my own free will and see reason, he’d use other means.” She was silent for a moment as she watched the reflection of the flames in the grate as they danced over her half-full glass. “I am wondering what they are and how I should proceed. Apart from the murder or unmanning solutions.” She rolled her eyes. “I fear I would never be able to lie when asked if it was me, and I’m not sure a plea of self-defense would work.”

“Are you scared?” Maria asked. “I worry about you. Reassure me. Do you carry your gun?”

“What?” Theresa asked in surprise. “I have a muff pistol in”—she laughed—“in my muff, or course.” She nodded toward the swansdown frippery, which Maria had designed a few months earlier. “That muff, not the one on my body. As for scared? Well,” she temporized, “not really, but I feel I can’t move on until he moves away.”

“Shall I arrange for someone I know to press him? There’s a ship due to set sail for the Indies within days,” Maria said. “I’m sure my friend would take him on without a second thought. The press gangs are very useful for securing extra crew.”

Theresa stared at the nearest person to a sister she had. By the look on her face Maria was serious. “I think that’s going a bit too far, but I’ll keep it in mind.” Theresa surveyed the plate of pastries on the table between them and picked up a sausage roll, only to ignore it. “I do think I need to do something, though, but perhaps not quite so drastic.” She began to tear tiny bits of pastry off the roll and drop them onto the plate it came from. “Maybe a word in his godfather’s ear? The trouble is I like Lord Luscott, and I don’t want to upset him if there is no need. He’s not in the best of health.” She didn’t say how she knew his lordship and accepted that Maria knew better than to ask.

As Theresa had once said, “I learn things on my back, with my legs in the air and my cunt full of cock. You learn things on your feet, with your hands full of material and your mouth full of pins,” and Maria had nodded. They both were well aware of the need to be discreet.

“Hmm, then we have a problem,” Maria said, deep in thought.

“We?”

“Oh yes, we. You don’t think I’d let you cope with this alone, do you?” Maria leaned forward and took the mangled sausage roll out of Theresa’s hands and put it back on the plate. “What a mess. Let me ponder for a while. I might have an idea how to solve the persistent Percy problem. It may mean pretending you haven’t retired, or perhaps that you’ve gone off in a slightly different direction, but… Look, can you be available tomorrow night if I bring someone to see you?”

“Of course, but who and why?” It wasn’t like Maria to be so secretive over something that could involve Theresa. Unless it was a client, of course.

Maria bit her lip. “I think I’d best not say in case the person in question doesn’t agree. Not that I think it likely. The person I have in mind also needs help.”

“Of what kind?” Theresa asked with suspicion “I told you, no more cocks, unless of the trussed-up-for-the-table kind.”

Maria chuckled. “I now have that image firmly entrenched in my mind. But no cocks directly involved.” She waggled her finger. “Tut-tut, trust you to think I mean sexual help. I did not. I spoke of the removal of an irritating, interfering mama kind.”

Interfering mama? Theresa’s stomach suddenly filled with dancing spiders. “Good lord, it’s not a woman, is it? I’m not going down that route, pretend or not. It would ruin any credibility I have.” She tilted her head to one side. “Not that I reckon I have much anyway, but…ombttp.” Maria shut her up by putting her hand over Theresa’s mouth. Theresa grabbed it and flapped her fingers. Breathing was a necessity and she wasn’t achieving it very well.

“No more spouting rubbish?” Maria asked. She sounded quite menacing.

Theresa shook her head and gasped for breath as Maria removed her fingers. Fresh air never seemed so good.

“Good. Stop worrying.” Maria picked her glass up and waved it at Theresa. “No, it’s not a woman and that’s all I’m prepared to say. I’ll speak to the person concerned as soon as I can. In fact, I might catch…them…tonight if I send a message. Your house tomorrow?”

Theresa nodded. “For dinner or after?”

“Probably after. Best to learn your fate on a full stomach.”

* * * *

“You what?”

Maria looked up at James Howard Edward Weston, Earl of Rushton, and sighed. He narrowed his eyes. That patient ‘oh dear, he is but a mere male’ expression never boded well for the person on the receiving end. To whit, this time, him.

“Jamie.” The familiar tone she used showed how well they knew each other. Ever since, in fact, he had been a toddler tied to leading reins and she a youngster a few years older than him. Maria had seemed to spend a lot of time waiting for her rector father and her mother to leave whoever they had been visiting and retrieve her from whichever willing adult would take her for those thirty minutes or so. It had been, she had said to Jamie many times, one of the trials of being an only child of conscientious parents. If they had happened to be at the castle when her parents had been required elsewhere, she had often told Jamie stories as they had played together under the watchful eye of his nursemaid. His elder brother had ostensibly scorned the stories, but as he had confided years later, he would listen from outside the room. Maria had provided them with entertainment for many a long hour.

“You’ve got me out of a card game at Radnor’s and dragged me here at two a.m. to ask what?” Jamie said. His impatience was obvious “Are you bosky?” He ran his hands through his chestnut hair and swore as he no doubt spoiled his immaculate Brutus cut. Luckily he did his own hair and refused to let his valet fuss. “Lord, Ria, I was winning.”

“Good, you usually do, do you not? Let him keep some of his guineas for once. He needs them. Lady Bourne is a greedy mistress, or so I am told.” Maria looked at Jamie in speculation.

He laughed and shook his head. “Never been there so I have no idea. The thought of someone wailing, ‘oh yes, oh more’, in her corncrake voice as I was in the throes of passion shrivels my cock faster than being naked in a snowstorm. You must be tight.”

“I am not drunk. I’ve had precisely three glasses of wine,” Maria told him in a testy voice. “Small ones, which, considering my companion, is a miracle. Now, listen to me. Did you or did you not tell me this situation with your mama, Lady Strawbridge and her daughter was getting worrying? That both you and Marion Strawbridge had no thoughts of each other except friendship? Indeed neither of you are emotionally engaged, and Marion actually has her sights set elsewhere?”

Jamie nodded, his mind awhirl as he pondered her words. What was she thinking? “Well, yes, but I fail to see what that has to do with me helping your friend out of a fix. Who is she anyway?” Jamie asked in a rapid manner “And why do you think if I pay attention to her it will dissuade my mama? And what is the fix? You, my dear, are being much too vague.” As Maria was usually one of the most transparent people he knew—except with regards to her clients and her crazier ideas—Jamie felt he had every right to be suspicious. “I can’t agree to anything without more information.” He had a nasty suspicion this suggestion involved both one of her clients and a crazy idea.

“Not even if it will help you?” Maria asked him with a quizzical expression. “That’s a poor showing.”

“Ah but, Ria, there’s the rub. How do I know it will without the full facts?” he asked. He had to hope she understood how serious he was It was not a subject to laugh about. “All you have imparted is that someone you know needs to get rid of an admirer and if someone else, name unspecified but of the aristocracy, showed an interest in her it might work.”

Maria bit her lip, a sign she secretly agreed with him. Jamie folded his arms and leaned against the window ledge. He knew better than to push her—it was best to let her cogitate over his words.

“I do not want to tell you who this person is if you think it unlikely you’ll be interested,” she said at last. “It would be betraying a confidence.”

Good lord, they could go round the houses forever like this. “Theoretically?” Jamie said He chose his words with care. “I am interested. But, Ria, think about it carefully. If she’s an antidote, no one will believe I have any interest in her.” His escorting—or bedding—of beauties was well documented.

Maria shook her head and tiny tendrils of conker-colored hair slid over her shoulders. “Nothing like that, I promise you. She isn’t of your class and I’m not saying you need to look as if you’re about to marry her… Just be besotted. Set her up as your next mistress or something.” She blinked in quick succession and looked aghast. “Oh lord, you aren’t still involved with Lady Smithers, are you? That would blow it.”

“Lady Smithers and I are no longer involved,” Jamie said. To his dismay he sounded wooden and stilted; annoyed she’d put her finger on the one thing that irritated him. “It was a momentary aberration.” And one he rued. “I, as you so elegantly put it on one occasion, do not have my pudding in anyone’s honey pot. Plus, I’ve never been besotted in my life,” Jamie added with perfect truth. “No one will believe it for a second. Nor will they accept I’m chasing a woman not of my class. I’ve never needed to chase anyone and I have no intention of starting now.”

“Goodness, so inflexible.” Maria pointed her finger at him. “You, my lord, have been spoiled.”

“You think so? With my mama?” he asked in a way most people on the receiving would wince, and stammer apologies. “Hardly.”

“Ah, you have a point,” Maria said. “However, all the more reason this will work. The lady in question will appear to want you as much as you want her. I hope.”

All of a sudden Jamie began to enjoy himself. “Oh there will be no appearing to do so. Come on, Ria, do you want to wager I can’t make her want me?” He raised one eyebrow in query. “Really?”

“You will not dally with her, Jamie Weston, do you hear me?” Maria snapped as she stood and poked him in the stomach. It was no more than a tickle, but the look on her face showed he’d riled her. “This will be staged to perfection, no more.”

“Then you best tell me who you think people would accept I am enamoured both with—and without any dalliance.”

“Will you do it?”

He tilted his head to one side and Maria scowled. “Oh all right, but if you say no this goes no further.”

It was a fair demand. He nodded. “You have my word.”

Maria took a deep breath. “Theresa Kyle.”

“Who?” He couldn’t fit a face or body to the name.

“Theresita.”

The expressions ‘the earth stood still’ and ‘his mind spun’ couldn’t have been coined for a better occasion. Jamie thought all his breath had been squeezed out of him and he saw stars. How the hell hadn’t he remembered her name? It was an open secret in the ton. He laughed inwardly. A curvaceous body, the smile of an houri and, if rumor proved to be true, she was proficient if not perfect in the art of lovemaking. Something surely every man dreamed of receiving. And returning the favor. If he hadn’t been leaning on the windowsill he’d have fallen over. As it was, he gripped the wooden window surround as if it were the only thing between him and a chasm so deep that once in it he would never get out.

Now a memory of a raven-haired beauty with dark-blue eyes, red lips and an elegant, shapely figure wedged firmly in his mind. To him it was a perfect body. Breasts to fit into his hands and a rear of a perfect shape and size to clutch and fondle. A waist he could almost span with his hands. A woman every man would gladly pay to be with. Except the word was that she was very selective, and only chose certain men who fit her criteria. Jamie had never paid for sex—unless, he thought uneasily, you counted keeping a mistress in style—and needed no tuition, so he had admired and forgotten about her. Almost. To put her completely out of his mind when he saw her around town just hadn’t been possible.

So, he knew her, had on more than one occasion wondered what it would be like to be buried bollocks-deep in her sweetness and had known he would never ever fill her criteria or she his.

“Jamie?”

Maria’s voice penetrated the haze and he shook his head to clear it. “Theresita? The courtesan.” He began to laugh. Even to his own ears it sounded forced and he stopped abruptly and smiled instead. “Oh that is a good one. Since when does she need a man?”

“Since one of your ilk began to think his gonads meant they could do as they like,” Maria snapped. “And he is one man she doesn’t need.”

Her eyes flashed and Jamie found he’d put his hand over his cock and balls without even noticing. His involuntary gesture seemed to calm her, and she laughed.

“Oh don’t worry, yours are safe—for now. Look, Jamie, this is serious. I would not have involved you otherwise. A certain so-called gentleman of the ton is pressing her to marry him, now their arrangement has ended. She has absolutely no interest in his diktat but as she has no client at the moment he thinks she is just being coy. Believe me, she is not.”

“Why doesn’t she just take another pupil?” Jamie asked, puzzled. “That would solve her problem, would it not?” And why did that solution not please him? Surely he wasn’t really contemplating actually taking part in this crazy plot?

Maria sighed. “She’s retired. She says enough is enough and…well, anyway, will you do it? Luckily, people don’t know of her retirement yet but if she is seen with you they will think she has changed direction. Especially if it gets leaked in the clubs, at tea parties and in my salon that you are both taken with each other, and that she has decided she has a ‘new persona’, with new ideas. That you both have,” she corrected herself. “People will think you’ve persuaded her you are the one for her, and hopefully it will deter Percy the Persistent Pest Prendergast who we all know can never stand up to any man, especially one higher up the aristocratic ladder than him. Plus, it will sort your mama out. She’d never countenance your parading a mistress in front of the ton, especially in a blatant manner.”

“Prendergast? That explains a lot. Hmm.” Jamie paced from the window to the fireplace to the tantalus and poured two glasses of port. The dowager had put up with him and his acknowledged lovers many times in the past, although he’d never blatantly flaunted them, probably because each was always someone of their social standing. Any other mistresses had been discreet arrangements and those affairs conducted as such. “I think we need this.” He passed one glass to Maria. “Remind me to replenish your cellar. I have a feeling I may be making inroads into it.” He suspected he might need to order a few more bottles for himself to get through the next few weeks. Whatever Maria thought, his mama was a force to be reckoned with.