The Courtesan's Daughter by Claudia Dain Page A

not as clear was her temperament.
    Was Sophia as fiery? Certainly not in public.
    Had Dalby been as stubborn? Perhaps, though rather more elegantly.
    Caroline, all proclamations to the contrary, certainly had a lot to learn about being a courtesan if tonight’s example was to be her calling card. Courtesans did not provoke, unless the provocation be erotic. Courtesans did not argue. Courtesans did not insult. Courtesans did not back into furniture. Courtesans did not knock over vases. Courtesans did not repair upstairs for a change of clothes without inviting a man along to help loosen water-drenched stays. An extra pair of strong hands would surely be needed to pry her out of her gown.
    Ashdon shifted his weight against the growing bulge in his breeches. The salon of Sophia Dalby was no place to lose control.
    “I thought I was good, but I hadn’t heard even the first rumor of a marriage arrangement between you and Lady Caroline,” Calbourne said.
    “But you’ve heard now,” Ashdon said, turning to face the fourth Duke of Calbourne.
    He and Cal had met at Eton on their first day, at a fight actually in which they’d both found themselves, along with five other boys. What the fight had been about was inconsequential now. What they had found was that the field had cleared and they’d been back to back, fists raised. They were still in that position, and Ashdon got great pleasure from it. If there were anyone to have at one’s back, it was the Duke of Calbourne. Cal stood a full head taller than any man he’d yet to meet, raised his fist, but not his voice, at a moment’s notice, and was the most cheerfully irritating person in the whole of England.
    “Only enough to whet my appetite,” Cal said, staring across the room at Sophia Dalby. Half the men in the room were staring at Sophia Dalby. It appeared to be some sort of rule. “Care to expound?”
    “I do not, but that won’t end it, will it?” Ashdon said.
    “Of course not. You can either relinquish all the details gracefully or be hounded until you bleed from a thousand cuts. I would choose the graceful option, were I you,” Cal said, grinning.
    “I agreed to marry the girl, she declined, that’s the short of it,” Ashdon said.
    “No, it won’t do,” Cal said crisply. “Lady Caroline must be of fresh dress before dinner is served. You have at least fifteen minutes to tell me the long of it. Proceed.”
    Ashdon scowled and motioned for Cal to walk with him to a relatively secluded alcove at the least populated end of the room. Given what had occurred with the vase and his stalking of Lady Caroline, the other guests seemed well content to have him move off.
    “I have had some debts pile up and the Countess Dalby made good use of them. She sought to buy a husband for her girl.”
    “You?”
    Ashdon bowed in acknowledgment.
    “What sort of debts?” Calbourne asked.
    “The usual sort. Gaming debts.”
    Cal raised his eyebrows and made a rolling motion with his hand. Ashdon continued.
    “Thin on options, I agreed to marry Lady Caroline. The lady refused. It seems she would prefer another sort of life entirely than that of being the Countess of Westlin.”
    “She would prefer to be a duchess?”
    “She would prefer to be a whore,” Ashdon said grittily.
    “Well, there’s a step in an odd direction,” Cal said softly.
    “Blood tells. Here’s the proof of it,” Ashdon said.
    Calbourne looked at him carefully. “How much of your father is in this, Ash? This has the feel of him, from start to end.”
    Ashdon met Calbourne’s pale hazel gaze. “You know the bonds of family, Cal, you have a son and heir of your own. What more is there to life than honoring those bonds?”
    “Honor has limits, Ash,” Cal said. “If Westlin has not taught you that, let life be your teacher.”
    “This? From you?” Ashdon smiled and shook his head. “You, who have ever been constant, even vigilant, in honoring your duty to your family name and legacy? Why