Benedict Sterling paced the length of the dressing room, hands folded behind his back. His entire body thrummed with nervous tension, making it difficult to stand still. His patience was paper thin, but snatching his watch up and noting the time, he realized there was no reason to rush. He had over an hour before his assignation. If only that knowledge could ease his mind. As it was, he hadn’t slept the night before and couldn’t stomach a bite of food. He was a powder keg ready to explode at the slightest provocation.
He flicked his gaze at the woman preening before the cheval mirror, hands braced on her hips. Wearing a riding habit of navy blue, Lady Celeste Browning, Dowager Countess of Langford, was dressed for an afternoon of being seen in Hyde Park. Driving down Rotten Row with her at his side, the hood of his landau lowered for all the world to see, was typically one of his favorite past-times. Firstly, because he knew word of his every move always reached his father—and if there was one thing Benedict enjoyed, it was annoying the viscount. Secondly, there was the appeal of Celeste herself, who had become as close to him as his male friends over the years. Few were privy to the secrets he kept close to the chest, but he trusted the woman the entire ton thought of as his mistress.
If only they knew the truth. As a gentleman courtesan, he was in no position to keep a mistress—not that he particularly wanted to. He was the one who did the servicing, along with the dozen other men he had hired to join the agency. Only he, Celeste, and two of his closest friends knew the entire truth of their arrangement. Most had no idea what really went on when he visited the countess’s townhouse three nights a week. His role as proprietor of the agency was only one aspect of Ben’s secret profession. It wasn’t necessary for the others to know what he was up to, and Celeste offered the perfect smokescreen.
However, it had begun to wear thin. While he had never been more financially secure, and was glad to have helped his friends achieve the same success, Benedict was beginning to regret founding The Gentleman Courtesans. What had started out as a means to make money had become an enterprise fraught with dangers. The threats of exposure and scandal had always hung over their heads, but they were now exacerbated by a gossip columnist with a penchant for unearthing the most salacious stories.
How could Ben have guessed she would latch onto the notion of male courtesans in London and make it her personal mission to unmask them?
Really, it wouldn’t have bothered him so much if not for the other things he wished to keep hidden—secrets so damning that ‘ruin’ would be too mild a world to describe the consequences of their discovery. Aside from that, there were his friends to consider. Out of the original five men who had founded the agency, three were retired and settled with wives. One was even expecting his first child. They had families to protect, and Benedict would never forgive himself if his downfall led to their shame.
It was up to him to ensure the protection of not just his own secrets, but theirs, as well. His mother and brothers were dead, and he abhorred his father. For all intents and purposes, the other gentleman courtesans were all the family he had, and he would be damned if the devious London Gossip trifled with them.
Celeste turned away from the mirror, her cat-like blue eyes following his progress—back and forth, back and forth. “Ben, do relax. Have a drink.”
Benedict waved her off. “I need to be sharp when I meet her. I cannot afford to be addled with drink.”
“You mean, when we meet her,” she corrected, turning to lift two hats into the light. Celeste inspected them with a critical eye—one a sedate design matching her habit, the other a deep violet with an array of flamboyant plumes. “Which hat? I think the blue would be best, to help us avoid too much scrutiny.”
“No, wear the feathered one,” he muttered. “A little attention might not be a bad thing. The Gossip obviously wants us to be seen. She chose the fashionable hour for our meeting, and I will not have her think she has intimidated me into trying to go unnoticed. Either she plans on making a spectacle of me,