His Courtesan Bride (Brides of Mayfair 3) by Michelle McMaster Page A

offer.” She paused. “From the Duke of Balfour.”
    At that, anger blazed hotly in Darius’s eyes. “ Balfour ? You cannot be serious.”
    “I am entirely serious,” she replied, haughtily. “Why shouldn’t I become his courtesan? The man is a duke.”
    “The man is an idiot,” Darius scoffed. “And I am richer than he.”
    Serena gave a regal smile. “There is power and position to consider as well. The duke is a favorite of the King. I’d have all the power and wealth of a duchess without the constricting bonds of matrimony to tie me down. I’d be insane to refuse him.”
    “You’d be insane to accept him, you mean,” Darius replied.
    “If you insist upon insulting me, I shall ask you to leave,” she said, icily.
    “The man is beneath you, Serena,” Darius spat. “I fought alongside him at Waterloo, if you could call what he did ‘fighting.’ The duke is nothing but a coward. The thought of him touching you, of…”
    “Taking me? Possessing my body, the way you never shall?” Serena twisted the words like a knife. “Like it or not, Darius, I am no longer the innocent girl you tried to seduce that night at the Telford Ball. I am a courtesan, now—mistress of my own fate. And I shall attach myself to whomever I choose.”
    Darius stared deep into her eyes for a moment. She saw a primal fierceness that must have frightened many a Frenchman on the battlefields of Waterloo. He studied her for a moment before shaking his head in frustration.
    “You’re wrong, you know,” he said. “You are the same girl that captured me in those weeks we shared together, that gave of her heart and soul so innocently, so freely that night in the Telford Gardens.”
    He stepped away from her then, and she immediately felt her anger boil over. He was wrong. She was not that same girl, and she never would be again. That naïve girl was dead…just like his wife.
    “I’ve left an envelope with the butler, outlining my offer to you. I think you’ll find it most generous.” Darius turned at the doorway. “But I hope that is not what sways your decision, Serena. I hope that what it comes down to, is the memory of your pleasure. Your passions. We both know there is much to explore between us. I bid you good evening.”
    With that, Darius Manning, the Earl of Kane, took his leave.
    Serena crossed the room to the plush velvet chesterfield, grabbed a cushion, and punched it with a tightly balled fist. Her blood burned with fury. How dare he think she would ever want him for pleasure? She hated the man.
    She punched the pillow again, then threw it across the room where it whizzed past a priceless Chinese vase and hit the wall, bouncing off an equally priceless painting.
    This meeting had not gone as she’d thought it would. Serena hated to admit that she’d been unprepared for the heat of Darius’s kiss, or the arousal his touch had stirred in her traitorous body.
    It wasn’t fair. She’d been trained for this, trained to stay in control of her emotions at all times. And tonight, she had failed miserably. Darius had stirred her passions, and her hatred, like a chef stirring a pot. What was worse, he had known just how much he could still affect her.
    That would not do at all.
    The man was insufferable. Arrogant. Offensive.
    And still, he managed to make her knees go weak with desire.
    No matter how generous his offer, Serena was bound and determined to rip it up and throw the shreds into the fireplace where they belonged.
    Of course, feminine curiosity made her wonder just how much Darius was willing to spend to secure her as his own private courtesan—a role which she would never play.
    Serena pulled the bell, cinching her robe tighter. She admonished herself inwardly—as if the butler would be shocked by a show of cleavage. He was employed by Lady Night, after all.
    In moments, Mansfield appeared. As if anticipating her thoughts, the tall grey-haired man held a silver salver in front of him. On it lay a crisp