Page 36 of How to Wed a Courtesan

Not understanding, Lottie gave him a quizzical look.

‘My steps,’ he whispered. ‘For the dance.’

‘Oh, come, now. You can’t be that bad.’ She held out her hand to him. ‘Practise on me.’

The offer was made in earnest, and hesitantly accepted. But it proved to be to Lottie’s detriment, in the end, for she was incorrect: Lord Rawley truly could be that bad.

They ran into several dancers, he stepped on her toes half a dozen times, and once managed to crack his forehead against hers. Whatever hopes Lady Caroline had harboured for a dance appeared to have dissolved into horror as she watched Lottie return from the dance floor with Lord Rawley.

Not that it mattered. The poor Viscount was so thoroughly humiliated by his performance that he scuttled away, dragging Lottie with him. If nothing else, he hadn’t forgotten his manners in never leaving a woman unattended after a dance.

However, a fine idea lodged in Lottie’s mind, on how to help him overcome his fear of dancing. She glanced down at her blue silk slippers. The tops were now muddied with a blend of blue, green and yellow-brown from the chalk. Though she’d squelched her discomfort at the time of impact, her toes ached from the abuse Lord Rawley had unintentionally administered.

‘Miss Rossington.’ A portly man stopped before her, his beady eyes bright as they skimmed over her dress. ‘I’d hoped our paths might cross.’

Though Lottie tried to step back, she bumped into a woman in a purple frock. She cast an annoyed look at Lottie and did not move. Nor did the women on either side of her.

Lottie was trapped.

Lord Devonington’s eyes moved over her like hands.

‘Would you care to dance?’ He held out his hand in invitation.

God, how she wished she could flee.

Lottie suppressed a shudder of revulsion. It was a trick necessary for a courtesan. And although the three protectors she’d had in her short career had been kind, the skill was one she’d had to implement on several occasions.

Only now she had a new means of employment. One in which she did not have to spend time in the company of men she did not favour. Chiefly, men like Lord Devonington.

‘Forgive me, but I’m taking a bit of a respite.’ She gave him a false smile.

‘For the entire evening?’ he queried.

Lottie maintained her pleasant expression. ‘Perhaps. It’s been some time since I’ve danced.’

He smirked. ‘Surely your other activities keep your constitution in good order.’

She gritted her teeth at the blatancy of his crass remark. ‘And what, pray tell, do you mean by that?’ she asked, determined to make him say it aloud, so that she might counter it with the truth.

‘Activities I’m inclined to discuss with you in private, activities that we might pursue and enjoy together.’ His stare oozed over her and settled on her bosom. ‘I was hoping for something lower cut. You do have such fine breasts.’

Her mouth fell open in outrage. ‘You’ve never seen... How could you possibly...?’

His mouth curved into a slow smile. ‘That gown you wore with Lord Astly. Do you not remember the masquerade?’

The masquerade?

Her stomach dropped. That gown.

Lord Astly had been her protector at the time—a wealthy earl who had never bothered with marriage. He had once been invited to a ball meant for peers and their mistresses—the sort of event where a lady would never be seen. Mistresses were put on display at parties such as these like baubles, wearing sheer fabrics and brazen gowns.

Lottie was no different. The gown was of thin white silk, opaque enough to keep the shape of her legs unseen, but cut extraordinarily low, with the pink of her nipples visible where they just peeked above the fabric of her risqué neckline.

She’d hated that dress almost as much as she had hated being paraded around like something to be owned.

What she hated even more, though, was the fact that she could not erase such memories from the minds of others. While Evander would always see her as a fresh-faced vicar’s daughter, with her country innocence, others would always remember her for the men who’d paid for her company and for what she’d done in her time of employment.

No matter how Evander tried to appease her fears, Lottie knew she would always be no better than a courtesan.