One Night As a Courtesan

By Ann Lethbridge

Widow Julia Partridge is desperate. To repay a debt, she's forced to sell herself in an auction at the most exclusive bawdy house in London. Julia only has to get through one night with one man--though she never imagined that man would be Alistair Crawford, the dissolute Duke of Dunstan! Alistair has the face of a fallen angel...and a reputation for vice to match. Yet when he turns his attentions to Julia, he unexpectedly arouses more passion in a few moments than she'd felt in her entire marriage....

• Language: English
• Publisher: Open Road Integrated Media
• Release date: Oct 1, 2010
• ISBN: 9781426852947

Ann Lethbridge

Ann Lethbridge majored in history and business. She always loved the glamorous, if rather risky, Georgians and in particular the Regency era as drawn by Georgette Heyer. It was that love that prompted her to write her first Regency novel in 2000. She found she enjoyed it so much she just couldn’t stop! Ann gave up a career in university administration to focus on her first love, writing novels and lives in Canada with her family. Visit her website at: www.annlethbridge.com

Book preview

Chapter One

Tossed out on his ear, by Jove. Alistair Crawford, Duke of Dunstan, glowered at the Marquess of Beauworth’s front door as it closed. Not only had Beauworth’s Scottish cousin Godridge interrupted the game of cards Alistair had been sure of winning, Beauworth had actually welcomed his relative and shown Alistair the door

His lip curled in derision. No doubt about it, families were an utter bore.

He took the three steps down to the pavement with a leisurely stride. His coachman drove around the corner to retrieve him like some lost puppy. Farkey had an odd sixth sense around Alistair’s comings and goings.

Very much aware of the velvet pouch in his pocket and the fortune in jewels it contained, he started for his coach. His stepmother’s furious words still rang satisfyingly in his ears. If it wasn’t for Godridge, he and Beauworth would be celebrating their recovery.

Damn it all, the night was young. Why should he head home? There was nothing there for him. Nor did he need Farkey to ferry him around. The poor old fellow would be better tucked up in his nice warm bed. Alistair signaled the coachman to return home.

Past midnight, his evening barely started, and here he was at a loose end. White’s? Too stuffy. Or Brooks’s? The stakes were high enough. The members, on the other hand, were far too predictable. Dull. Something earthier appealed. Something of a darker nature to beat back the ennui. He turned his steps east. A gambling den where men killed at a sideways glance might suit his mood. He might even wager the cursed family jewels and send his stepmother into a nervous decline.

In the end, the jewels had done his father no favors, disproving the legend. But Alistair had no interest in marriage. He had no desire to shackle himself to a grasping female anytime soon.

Dunstan! a panting voice called.

Alistair groaned and walked faster.

I say, coz, the voice persisted.

Bloody families. Couldn’t they take a hint? With a sigh. he turned to meet his cousin, the Honorable Percy Hepple.

Percy, he said when the young man stood puffing in front of him. The boy could use a bit more exercise. Not that Alistair cared a jot. The lad could also use a bit of advice on his dress. With his nipped-in waist, or nipped in as far as it would nip, his towering shirt points and strangely wilted cravat, he looked every bit the bumptious dandy newly on the town. Not the kind of man with whom Alistair kept company.

This is fortunate, Percy said, grinning, his moonish face shifting until his cheeks resembled apples. Very fortunate.

For whom? Alistair looked around.

The irony flew over the lad’s head and on down the street.

For us. Percy beamed. You will never guess where I am going?

No, Dunstan said. Why bother when no matter what I say, you intend to tell me.

Going to Mrs. B.’s.

Thank you. I shall be sure to avoid that particular brothel this evening. He eyed the fair young man’s paunch. The slightest thought of it has me revolted. He took a step in his original direction.

Percy caught hold of his sleeve.

Jackass. Dunstan eyed the hand clutching his black superfine coat through his quizzing glass and Percy recoiled, snatching his hand back as if it had been burned.

Tonight is her annual auction, Percy said, his voice pitched an octave too high.

And? Dunstan let his quizzing glass fall. He’d seen the invitation. Discussed the possibility of attending with Beauworth, but they’d both agreed they’d seen nothing of interest there in years to make the effort worthwhile. Alistair couldn’t remember the last time a bawdy-house trull had truly aroused his interest, no matter how often he gave it his best effort.

Blast it, coz, Percy said. You know I’ll never get in without an introduction. You told my father you would do everything in your power to assist with my entry into society.

I doubt your esteemed pater wants me to sponsor you at the most expensive and ruinous brothel in town barring that of the Wilson sisters.

Percy pouted. I just want to see the best ladybirds in all of London. All my friends are going.

Mrs. B.’s auctions were certainly no place for a green’un like Percy. His father would be furious. Might never speak to Alistair again. Might even stop trying to borrow money. He allowed the flicker of a smile to pull at his lips. All right. Why not?

Percy bounced on his toes.

Waiting to go onstage, freezing cold in the skimpy tunic, Julia repeated the same words over and over again