The Courtesan's Daughter by Claudia Dain Read Free Book Online

pearl-encrusted cross at her throat and a diamond pin in her dark upswept hair. She looked spectacular.
    Anne Warren, at her side for comfort, support, and true friendship, was wearing a bodice of tucked ivory poplin with matching skirt covered in ecru lace, the colors a perfect compliment to her dark red hair and ivory skin. Anne’s fair skin shone and her greenish eyes glistened. She looked wonderful, but Caro, a mother’s prejudice notwithstanding, looked spectacular. Sophia only hoped Ashdon had the wit to see what it was she had tossed into his lap.
    At times, she doubted it.
    In that, he might, unfortunately, take after his father. Westlin had been rather a dolt in regard to her, a point that still rankled. She’d told Ashdon that she never thought of Westlin. A small, inconsequential lie. She thought of Westlin often, especially since Dalby’s death in 1795. That Westlin was still alive, well, that just gave her more time to get her due revenge upon him, didn’t it?
    Ashdon was dressed smartly and looked every inch the pampered aristocrat. He was, she was pleased to say, a very well-featured man. He had good height and was broad through the shoulder; his coat fit him to perfection, his cravat and cuffs sparkling. He had that rumpled hair that was so popular now and that it was dark and softly wavy seemed to favor the look. His eyes were the clear and vivid blue of his deceased mother’s. His nose, long and a bit wide, was his father’s. Pity, that. His mouth was good, perhaps a shade too wide, but his bones were fine and chiseled and his teeth were good.
    If she thought of him as something like a stallion she had purchased to stud, she supposed she should be forgiven for that.
    All in all, he was a likely looking man of approximately thirty years, and aside from a gambling habit, which was hardly unusual, Caro could do a lot worse. But in point of fact, she hardly intended for Caro to do any worse at all.
    Ashdon should be just the thing.
    Sophia smiled as she greeted her guests, making it a point not to encourage a meeting between Ashdon and Caro. Things of that nature proceeded best when a bit ignored.
    On the other hand, there was nothing like a good, solid dam to make the waters surge and the pressure build.
    “Caro, darling,” she said, taking both her daughter and Anne by the arm and casually but very purposefully leading them to a quiet corner of the yellow salon, the bigger of the two salons. “I’m so sorry. Naturally, I felt I had to invite him, what with the marriage arrangement and all. Even if it did fall out today, I didn’t feel it quite right to refuse him admittance. Are you terribly put out? Shall I send him off or can you bear up under the strain of seeing the man who might have been yours?”
    Caro looked across the room to where Lord Ashdon stood talking to Viscount Staverton, an old acquaintance of her mother’s. How old and in what way they were acquaintances Caro had never had the cheek to ask. Though now that she was supposed to be launching a life as a courtesan, a very well-paid courtesan, she should probably ask those exact sort of questions.
    She didn’t. It didn’t seem the time, what with Lord Ashdon, her almost husband, standing just across the room.
    He certainly dominated a room.
    He was very tall and very handsome and very romantic looking. His hair was tossed forward so that it brushed in dark curls against his brows. With his dark hair and black jacket, his eyes appeared that much more blue. He hadn’t looked at her yet, they hadn’t even been introduced, but she could just imagine how those blue eyes would pierce her.
    If she were to become a courtesan, it was clear that something would pierce her, and very soon.
    Oh dear, where had that thought come from?
    “Caro?” her mother said, taking her hand and rubbing it. “Are you quite all right? You look jumbled all of a sudden. A broken engagement can do that, I suppose, though I hardly speak from firsthand