Chapter 4
Three years later
Caroline had not had the intention of entering the haberdashery, but when she passed by the window and saw Simone Stanhope inside, she felt a remarkable draw to do so.
Perhaps remarkable wasn’t the word. It really wasn’t, because she saw Simone once or twice a year at minimum and always felt that same tug to go to her. Talk to her.
They never made an arrangement to see each other, of course.
They bumped into each other at the opera sometimes, or at a shop or Lady Lena’s.
Their conversations were brief, almost always about her nieces.
All three nieces, since her youngest, Julia, had recently joined the elder two.
She was not yet a courtesan—no, she was far too young.
But Caroline had no doubt she would eventually take that path.
Arabella and Evelina were too notorious now to offer Julia many other options.
The girls knew nothing of the…well, what would one call Caroline’s relationship to Simone?
Friendship seemed too deep a word, but they weren’t strangers, either.
Somehow Caroline never mentioned it, though, when she saw Simone.
Like she wanted to protect those brief moments when they caught each other’s eye across rooms where they weren’t meant to know each other.
Even when the girls lightly teased her about the courtesan and giggled when she blushed, they had no idea why.
“You’ve met her only one time!” they would giggle.
And she simply never corrected them. Simone was her secret. And it seemed she was Simone’s too, for it was plain she wasn’t telling the girls about their meetings either.
And now she stood outside a haberdashery, watching Simone examine the fine fabrics and feathers. She looked gorgeous, of course. She always did. Today she wore a dark green velvet dress that clung to her curves in a way only a courtesan could get away with.
Before Caroline could get up her nerve to enter the shop and dare to feign surprise at finding her there, Simone was approached by a man. He bent his head to speak close to her ear and very obviously brushed his lips to her neck as he pulled away.
Simone laughed up at him, batting her lashes, and Caroline’s stomach twisted. This must be her new protector. She’d had two in the last three years. This one was a duke. And he was far too old for Simone.
Was that jealousy that sliced through her like a rusty sword?
It certainly felt like it, but that couldn’t be right.
She had no reason for it! She blinked and turned away, stomping toward her carriage that awaited her at the end of the block.
As she hurled herself inside the vehicle, she shook her head, the heated sizzle of negative emotion still bubbling inside her in the most confusing way.
She tried to ignore it and force herself to think of something else, but her treacherous mind kept repeating the image of that old man’s mouth coming down to brush Simone’s neck.
Jealousy. What was she thinking? That was ridiculous. She wasn’t jealous that Simone had a man at her side. She never wanted another man in her life ever again, so it made no sense to feel that way.
She had to have misidentified the strong emotion she was feeling in that heated moment, that was all.
It was only those very bad memories that made her react so strongly to seeing Simone with that horrid man.
After all, she knew what it was like to endure the unwanted attentions of a man ancient enough to be her grandfather.
Not that Simone had looked like she was enduring him. She’d smiled. It hadn’t seemed false.
Caroline shut her eyes and leaned her head back against the carriage seat. Why was she thinking so hard about this? She and Simone weren’t friends. It was only that…that…
Caroline was so tired of her circle of widows.
She was tired of their hooded judgment over her nieces.
She was tired of being seen as useless because she had no children.
She was tired of talking about late husbands and the pressure to find new ones.
Why were they all so eager to go back to prison?
Certainly Caroline didn’t want that, but she seemed to be the only one.
The only one who never thought about men.
One of her widowed friends had recently whispered about dreaming of being touched by a man, about missing being held at night.
Caroline had smiled and nodded in commiseration, but in all the years since her husband’s death that thought had never entered her mind.
Nor had a sense of missing the companionship of a lover.
Was she sometimes approached at assemblies or parties? Yes. And she rebuffed all attempts at connection. She only danced when she was forced to do so by some well-meaning acquaintance.
And perhaps that was why she reacted to strongly to Simone, whether it be today or any other that she saw the courtesan.
Simone was so interesting. She led such a different life.
She had the freedom to laugh inappropriately or reject a lover or ride too fast in a park or buy herself gowns that skirted along the edge of danger in colors that drew the eye.
“Great God, woman,” she muttered out loud. “You cannot set her on a pedestal. She likely never thinks of you at all. Or if she does, it’s just to see you as that silly woman who troubles her twice a year.”
Her eyes stung as she said those words and she blinked at tears she refused to allow to fall. She wouldn’t think about Simone Stanhope.
And yet that night, as she drifted to sleep, she did dream of her. And when she woke, it was with the sheets twisted around her legs and with vague memories of Simone’s husky voice whispering her name in the dark.
Six months later
1811
It was incredible how often Simone thought of Caroline Banfield.
In the long stretches between times when they saw each other, when they had those brief interactions that always left Simone feeling…
unsettled, she thought of the widow far too often.
She knew why. Simone was no fool. She knew the world and all its varying colors.
She knew her own colors even better. She had long ago accepted the fact that she was attracted to Caroline.
She wanted Caroline, truth be told. The beautiful lady had a central role in many a fantasy and was occasionally the dream behind orgasms when Simone was with a less-than-talented lover.
Would anything come of it? Of course not.
Caroline Banfield would likely have an apoplexy if she knew Simone’s desire.
Not because Simone didn’t think she returned some of those feelings.
More than once she’d caught Caroline sizing her up, those dark amber eyes heated with the stirrings of desire.
It was more that she knew with almost one-hundred percent certainty that Caroline would never accept those desires.
She very likely lied to herself and called it friendship or an interest based only on Simone’s relationship to her nieces.
She would banish any unladylike thoughts.
“Miss Comerford is truly lovely.”
Simone blinked and glanced toward her current protector, a terribly boring earl named Bowerton. “Which one?” she asked. “All three Comerford sisters are at the ball.”
Of course they would be. This was a Cyprian ball, meant for gentlemen and their mistresses to dance and play and be inappropriate in a place where there would be no consequences.
“Well, any of the three would be a catch for most men,” Bowerton chuckled.
She was barely able to keep herself from rolling her eyes. She’d slept with this man a handful of times and she even couldn’t fully recall his given name, she was so bored of him. He was fifteen years her senior, had a daughter the same age as Evelina Comerford and he was terrible in bed.
“Not you, though, eh?” she drawled.
He covered his heart with his hand. “I have a mistress, my dear. I’m perfectly happy where I am.”
“Are you.” She said it with a dry flatness rather than asked. This man was performing some act, after all. What the end goal was, she didn’t know and was struggling to care.
“Their aunt is more of an interest to me,” he said.
That drew Simone’s attention to him fully. “Their aunt? She isn’t not a courtesan, Bowerton.”
“No.” He tilted his head. “A widow and one with quite a tidy fortune. Plus, she’s known for a pointed lack of interest in any man in the ton. The thrill of the chase makes her sought after.”
Simone could hardly hear anymore over the pounding of her own heart. “I see. You men and your obsession with things you cannot have.”
“I think I could have her. Land her for wife. It would win me a few wagers from the men in my circle, who are always guessing who might garner her esteemed attention and all that comes with it. And nothing else in my life will have to change.”
He smiled when he said the last. Meaning, of course, that he would still keep her on the side.
Simone gripped her glass, trying to imagine a world where she would accept fucking the man who was married to the one person she foolishly obsessed about.
Standing by while he used that person and took her for her wealth just so he could make himself look better to a bunch of spoilt Society fops.
She stepped away from Bowerton and looked him up and down. “I’ve met Mrs. Banfield, you know,” she said.
“Have you?” He chuckled. “I suppose you would with your close relationship to the Comerford Courtesans. How she has dared to keep her bond with them, I have no idea. That would stop if she were to become my wife.”
“You are not fit to shine her shoe,” Simone said evenly.
It took a moment for her words to sink in through his thick head and Bowerton blinked at her. “I-I beg your pardon?”
“You heard me perfectly clearly, but I’ll repeat it for you. Louder if you’d like the room to hear. You. Are. Not. Fit. To. Shine. Her. Shoe.”
He drew back his face falling and cheeks becoming red with humiliation and rage. Both could harm her, but she didn’t give a damn. She had power, too, after all, and fortune enough to not have to spend time with someone so low as the man before her.
“I think you’d best mind yourself.”
“Should I?” Simone said with a laugh. “No, I don’t think so. You have chosen to fuck a woman who is ungovernable, Bowerton. You liked it when it suited you, but you do not get to change it when it doesn’t. You are a foolish little man and I am finished with you.”
She wasn’t shouting. In fact she had only slightly raised her voice, but others in the room were staring now. Bowerton could scarcely contain himself as he shifted his weight. It was really very entertaining to see him so upset. He deserved that.
“I think I ought to go,” he blustered. “And with that attitude, you should not expect to be settled in any way by me.”
“I expect nothing from you.” She motioned toward the door. “Except for you to slink away like the garden snake you so resemble.”
He turned on his heel and huffed away. Simone folded her arms, wishing she weren’t trembling as she tried to regain some control over herself. That had been a very foolish way to manage him and yet she hadn’t seemed to be able to stop herself. Not when he was speaking so flippantly about Caroline.
“Dearest Simone, are you well?”
She sucked in a breath before she turned to face Arabella, who had left behind her protector and come across the room to her. “I-I’m fine,” Simone said. “Just couldn’t stand one more moment with that little toad. Disgusting man.”
Arabella shook her head as she grasped Simone’s hand and guided her out of the close ballroom and onto the quieter terrace.
“Simone, what in the world happened? I know you were growing tired of Bowerton, but you are more upset than I’ve ever seen you.
And you made…I cannot soften it, you made a scene. ”
Simone paced away, reality coming to settle heavily on her shoulders. “I know. I know I did. He was—he was speaking very rudely of someone. Of…”
Oh, what to do now? She could brush this off and turn Arabella’s attention.
Then she could march to see Caroline herself and caution her about the odious man’s interest. But at present, that seemed a very dangerous plan.
She had protected Caroline too loudly and firmly and it revealed something to herself that she feared she might show Caroline if she spoke to her.
Still, she needed to be warned.
She cleared her throat. “Bowerton was making plans to woo your aunt.”
Arabella’s mouth dropped open. “Aunt Caroline?”
“Do you have another aunt?” Simone said dryly.
“Of course, your Aunt Caroline. But he had no true interest in her wit or her spark, or even her beauty. He wanted to win some prize the men of Society feel is unattainable. And he wanted access to her money. Of course he would tell me, he hardly saw me as anything but a body to warm his cock.”
“You got so angry on behalf of my aunt, who you hardly know?” Arabella asked blankly. Then she nodded as if understanding had dawned. “Oh, because of…because of us. You care because you know how deeply we three girls love Caroline.”
“Yes,” Simone said. “That’s exactly it.”
“He truly is a bastard,” Arabella muttered. “Certainly, my aunt would never fall for such a scheme.”
“No, she’s far too intelligent,” Simone agreed. “But she should still be told. You should tell her.”
Arabella nodded. “I should. Yes, I will. She will be shocked at who her champion was, but—”
“No!” Simone interrupted swiftly. “No, Mrs. Banfield mustn’t know my role, only to be aware of Bowerton and his machinations.”
“But…but why?” Arabella asked.
“Because I’m certain she is so proper that knowing my role in the entire mess would only make it worse,” Simone said. “No, I think it’s best if Mrs. Banfield and I are kept wholly separate from each other. No good could come of letting her know I was involved.”
Arabella stared at her a long moment and then nodded. “Very well. If you think it’s best. I’ll tell her I heard gossip. I’ll warn her off, not that Caroline is ever interested in any man, not the wicked nor the good.” Arabella caught her hand. “You are so kind, Simone.”
Simone forced a laugh. “Gracious, don’t start that rumor, I’ll be ruined.”
Arabella joined in her laughter as she linked her arm through hers and they started back into the ballroom where the crowd seemed to have forgotten any drama and were focusing on their own interests and pleasures.
“I suppose you’ll need a new protector then,” Arabella said with a sigh. “Someone far more interesting this time, yes?”
Simone nodded and pretended to listen as Arabella began to list eligible men of title and good fortune who could be a good fit.
But she was only thinking of one person.
And how she truly did have to stay far away from Caroline now that this exchange with her protector had shown her she’d already come too close to someone who could never and would never be hers.
To wish for something else was folly.