“M-may I...” he stammered.
She beamed at him, not that he was watching. “I’m here to see His Grace.”
He swallowed. “I... Do you...”
She opened a bejeweled reticule and dramatically produced the single gilded calling card she’d had printed just that morning, which read:
Miss Unity Thorne
Courtesan
The butler’swide blue eyes nearly rolled out of his pale head.
Didcourtesans carry calling cards? And if so, did they state their nocturnal profession? Who knew? Who cared? Despite the wildness of the duke’s weekly parties, Lambley was infamous for never bedding the same woman twice, and being agnostic to race or class. He had never bedded Unity—nor would he. But he was bound to want to try.
Heroically, the butler managed to drag his gaze from Unity’s over-plumped bosom up to her eyes. “Do you have an appointment with His Grace?”
“Trust me.” She winked. “He wants one.”
“One moment, please.” Clutching her card, the older man barely remembered to shut the door before dashing off to find his master.
If the butler recognized Unity—which was doubtful—he’d think her proper governess attire had been the costume. No respectable lady would show up dressed like this. Even the courtesans limited such flamboyant frippery to the dim light of starlit evenings and flickering chandeliers.
She’d considered using a false name, but the duke seemed the sort who might exhaustively investigate his guests prior to granting an invitation. He would not find a list of prior clients, but hewoulddiscover a woman who had simultaneously once been young and homeless. It would not take much imagination to presume she’d risen from poverty by selling her body, as so many had done.
Especially not with a calling card like that in his hand.
She was not one of the famous courtesans written about breathlessly in the society columns. The ones fought over by earls, dueled over by viscounts. The ones whose accessories and hair arrangements were copied by the same fine ladies who pretended not to know their aristocratic husbands spent their nights in the arms of a paid mistress.
The Duke of Lambley had no wife to lie to about his whereabouts to, and was well known for befriending fashionable demimondaines and inviting them to his masquerades. According to rumor, the more popular the courtesan, the more likely she might be chosen as one of Lambley’s infamous single-night affairs.
Unity had no intention of becoming a conquest, but she was not above offering her bosom as bait if it allowed her across the threshold. He would be more open to a working woman than to a highborn title-hunting debutante.
Presenting herself as a courtesan made Unity ineligible to be his duchess, which would also ease his mind about allowing her in. At worst, she was after a spot of fun and a bit of gold, not a trip to the altar. Exactly the sort of woman who would enjoy a hedonistic masquerade.
And she would indeed enjoy it! Every minute would bring her closer to her goals of financial security and full independence. That was, provided the duke cared to—
The door swung open wide and the butler gestured expansively. “If you’ll follow me, madam.”
Unity’s legs trembled. It was not yet checkmate, but this round had gone to her. She hoped.
Into the lair she went.
Chapter 5
Julian had been about to bite into his second tea cake when Barnaby entered the parlor in a flush.
“You have a visitor,” his butler announced.
Julian arched a brow.
“I know that you’re busy,” Barnaby said quickly. “But I did not want to send the young... er... person... away without consulting you. She... she…” The butler flushed and placed a calling card on the dining table next to Julian’s tea cup.
She, indeed.
Julian hadn’t thought it possible for his already raised brows to climb even higher, but here he was, staring at an extremely unlikely calling card.
“What does she want?”
