A Courtesan’s Guide to Getting Your Man (6 page)

“She’s a brilliant academic and a good person,” Mick replied, determined to get his point across without arguing with him.

Cullen gave Mick a sympathetic nod. “A face that could chase rats from a barn, eh?”

*   *   *

“Hear me out on this,” Brenna said, her eyes pleading with Piper. She set her cup on Piper’s coffee table and leaned forward.

“It’s ridiculous,” Piper said, shaking her head.

“No,
fate
is what it is,” Brenna said. “Would you just think about this for a second? You literally
trip
over these diaries, uncovering what is basically a two-hundred-year-old instruction manual for vixens, and then,
bam
! Out of nowhere, Mick Malloy walks back into your life, the only man you’ve ever really wanted, the man you’ve never been able to forget.”

“The man who humiliated me,” Piper said with mock enthusiasm. “The man who got one look at me naked and ran away like the place had just been gassed.”

“But—”

“Mick has nothing to do with the diaries. The two events aren’t even remotely connected.” Piper stood from the couch and reached for Brenna’s coffee cup. “Would you like—”

“No more coffee! No more pretending you don’t understand what I’m telling you!” Brenna squeezed Piper’s wrist.
“Please,”
she said, her voice softer. “I’m sorry to be obnoxious about this, but I think the universe is trying to tell you something. You need to pay attention.”

Piper froze. She stared down into her friend’s sincere expression. Maybe finding the diaries and seeing Mick again for the first time in a decade were somehow tied together, but what Brenna was proposing was absolute lunacy.

Ophelia Harrington’s journals were not a self-help workbook. They were a valuable firsthand account of a woman’s life from another time and place, one that had nothing in common with Piper’s.

Ophelia had been a glittering courtesan. Piper was a dumpy curator. Two women couldn’t
be
more different!

“Sit. Just sit down and listen. Please.” Brenna pulled on Piper’s wrist.

Piper groaned in protest as her butt hit the sofa cushions.

“Okay. Let’s look at this objectively.” Brenna flipped through the first volume again before she locked her eyes on Piper’s. “Ophelia was miserable. She was expected to marry a man she didn’t love. She was expected to dress in a certain way and think, speak, and behave in a particular manner. She felt trapped. She wanted something more for herself, something larger.”

Piper raised an eyebrow. “Are you implying that I’m like Ophelia?”

“Not really,” Brenna said, her eyes suddenly quite somber. “Ophelia had limits placed on her by society. They came from outside herself. But you—”

“Me
what
?”

“Granted, your parents have played a role, but for the most part, you limit yourself, Piper. You’ve always been the one holding yourself back.”

Piper felt her jaw unhinge. Brenna had never spoken this way to her before. Sure, she’d hinted along these lines in the many years they’d been friends, but it was as if she’d always been careful not to judge Piper’s lifestyle choices. It wouldn’t have been fair, after all. Brenna was glamorous. Men threw themselves at her. Piper was …
generic
. Men didn’t know she existed.

“That’s harsh,” Piper said, crossing her arms over her chest defensively.

“Sweetie, that’s just half of it.” Brenna’s voice was softer now. She reached out and stroked Piper’s shoulder. “I’ve known you a long time, and here’s the real shame—you have no idea what’s waiting for you, what you’ve been missing, because you’ve been too scared to find out.”

Piper felt her face go hot. “Excuse me?”

“You’re hiding, Piper. You don’t want a man to see how lovely you are. You make no effort to showcase your beauty.”

That made Piper laugh. “Showcase? What am I—an ancient Peruvian wedding vase? A Cadillac Seville?”

Brenna shook her head, looking quite serious. “You’re hiding behind your incredibly large brain, Piper. You always have. Your intellect is your armor. And frankly, your choice of clothes and shoes seal the deal. You might as well wear a sandwich board that reads,
MOVE ALONG—NOTHING TO SEE HERE.
”

Piper scowled. “There is nothing wrong with my shoes. They support my natural arch.”

Brenna didn’t take the bait. Instead, she eyed Piper up and down. “And that dress you’re wearing looks like it should have the words
YUKON GOLD
stamped on the front.”

“Oh, really?” Piper tightened her crossed arms. “Well, at least I can sleep at night knowing it wasn’t manufactured in some Bangladeshi sweatshop by a starving grandmother earning slave wages.”

Brenna glared at her. “It’s possible to be globally aware and dress well at the same time.”

Piper didn’t reply. This argument was pointless.

Brenna sighed. “So here’s the deal, Piper. From what I can tell from this first volume, it looks like Ophelia had a mentor, a woman she trusted to help her get where she wanted to go.”

“The Swan.”

“Yes. She was a successful courtesan living the life Ophelia wanted. The Swan was elegant, independent, beautiful, and, from what I’ve seen of her, damn smart.” Brenna patted the stack of copied pages in her lap.

“What are you proposing?”

Brenna tipped her head and smiled softly. “I don’t want to be unkind.”

“Too late,” Piper snapped.

“I just want you to be happy, sweetie,” Brenna said. “And you’re not.”

That was it. Piper had had enough. “Let yourself out,” she said, jumping from the sofa. She bolted toward her bedroom and slammed the door behind her.

Four

Piper hurled herself face-first onto the bedspread and growled her rage into the mattress. Who the hell did Brenna think she was? She’d
thought
Brenna was her friend! But what kind of friend intentionally hurts you like that? Brenna had no right to force her to confront the truth about her life. It was
her
life! She could live it however she wished—in denial, in fear, in hiding—or in a potato sack!

Or not at all!

There was a knock at the door.

“Go away!” Piper moaned into the bedspread.

“I just want to read you something.”

“No.” Piper raised her head. “Leave me alone! I don’t want to be some kind of science experiment!”

“It’s from Volume Two,” Brenna said.

“Whatever it is, I’ve read it a million times. Now go!”

“But have you ever really listened to it? Do you get what Ophelia is telling you?”

“She’s not telling me anything!” Piper yelled. “She’s dead!”

“Fine. But when this girl was alive, she was
alive.
”

Piper grabbed a tissue from her nightstand and blew her nose. Brenna must have misinterpreted this act of personal hygiene for her cue, because she began to read.

I walked boldly in the new flesh born from Sir’s wicked lessons, and my every motion captivated the men around me. I felt sensually naked in my revealing gown, yet the power of my laugh, of my smile, of the way I stroked my fingers artfully down my neck intoxicated me!

Piper shut her eyes. “Oh, for the love of God,” she mumbled.

Brenna continued.

I had expanded into every inch of my flesh, inhabiting my entire body, mind and soul. I was now deliciously familiar with every inch of my skin. The walls around my most secret thoughts had been stormed and I knew my own darkness and felt no shame. I answered to no one and nothing but my own dreams and desires and wildest fantasies.

Piper stood up. She sniffed. She took a few steps toward her closed bedroom door.

I could scarcely remember the girl who had locked herself away in fear. I was now the artist of my own fate and I would paint it in blinding colors. The Blackbird had wings. Poor naïve, powerless Ophelia Harrington was no more.

I did not miss her.

Piper flung open the door. When she spoke, she heard her voice shake with anger. “You want me to enroll in the Ophelia Harrington School for Sluts, where you’ll be the Swan to my Blackbird? Is Mick going to be my Sir?”

Brenna pursed her lips. “The advice in these journals is timeless, Piper. The human spirit—not to mention the human sexual response—hasn’t changed much in two hundred years. What worked for Ophelia in 1813 will work for you today.”

“What are you suggesting?”

“I’m suggesting that you use this volume as a guide to self-discovery, and if you manage to learn a little something about how to seduce Mick Malloy along the way, then hey—great. Though I have no idea where a girl can get a peacock feather in this town.” Brenna smiled.

Piper didn’t find it amusing.

“We’ll take a two-pronged approach,” Brenna said, grasping Piper’s hand and dragging her back to the sofa. She patted the cushion and got them settled. “The Seven Sins of the Courtesan will become the guidebook for exploring your inner sexuality. I’ll handle your outer metamorphosis. You’ll find that one will facilitate the other.”

Piper laughed bitterly. “What, you’re going to give me pop quizzes in the morning and let me borrow your slinky dresses at night? How about your high-heeled boots that do nothing but cut off the blood to your toes?”

Brenna shook her head soberly. “Your feet are too small for my boots and your ta-tas would pop the seams on my dresses.”

Piper blinked in surprise. Her feet were daintier than Brenna’s? Her body was more voluptuous? But how could that be?

“I can help you if you’ll let me. Hair, makeup, fashion—
attitude
!” Brenna smiled. “God, Piper! For ten years now I’ve been dying to do this, but I never thought the time was right or that you’d be even slightly open to the idea. Until right this second.”

Piper sat frozen on the sofa, her chest flooding with heat and her limbs tingling with life. Everything Brenna had said was true. Piper had been in hiding. She’d been afraid of what she might find, how she might be forced to face who she was deep down—a sexual being, a woman who really, really wanted a man. But not just any man. She wanted Mick Malloy. She always had.

And now she was turning thirty.

Fine. Fine.
Fine!
She was open to the idea. She admitted it. Ophelia Harrington’s diaries had kicked down the padlocked door to that part of her, and when the door opened, Mick stood waiting. Brenna was merely offering to drag her over the threshold.

“We’ll take it slow,” her best friend said, smiling. “If anything makes you uncomfortable, we’ll adjust the plan.”

Piper squinted at her. “You already have a plan? It’s barely been an hour.”

Brenna laughed. “I’ve had a plan from the first day I met you.”

“I feel cheap.”

Both of them burst out laughing, and Brenna brought her forehead to Piper’s. They smiled at each other.

“We’ll start tomorrow.”

“I have to work tomorrow.”

“Maybe you’ve got a horrible case of salmonella.”

“Maybe botulism.”

“No! Ink poisoning. We don’t even have to lie!”

They laughed louder, then Piper felt herself collapse into Brenna’s arms, where she began to sniffle.

“It’s going to be okay, Pipes,” Brenna whispered.

Piper nodded through her tear-damp hiccups.

“But here’s the thing.” Brenna gently pushed Piper away to gaze seriously into her face. “Once you know what’s possible for you, you can never go into hiding again. So you have to be sure.”

Piper’s spine straightened. Those were the exact words Sir had spoken to the Blackbird, just before he patted her bottom and sent her out into the world.

She took a huge breath and pointed her chin high. She hiccupped just once more. It was the strangest thing, but it felt as if Ophelia herself were whispering the words needed directly into her ear.

“I know what I want,” Piper said. “I want to start living.”

It took another couple hours to get Brenna out of her apartment, but the two of them had accomplished quite a bit in that time. First, Piper e-mailed in sick for the rest of the week. Then Brenna began calling in favors from adoring men in a variety of disciplines—hair stylists, dermatologists, personal shoppers, dentists, and ophthalmologists. Before she knew it, Piper had her whole week of vixenification mapped out for her. If what Brenna said were true, she would emerge from her cocoon next week, not a Blackbird, but a butterfly.

Eventually, Piper found herself tucked in between her sheets, Miss Meade curled into a ball at her ankles. As exhausted as she was, she was aware of something tugging at her mind. It was the memory of something Ophelia had written. Piper knew she had to read it once more before she fell asleep.

She wouldn’t lie to herself. This had nothing to do with scholarship and everything to do with preparing herself for what lay ahead.

Piper found the passage almost immediately.

I felt the bindings of my life slip away. My body grew light and my pulse quickened. I breathed as if I had never breathed before.

The dizzying expanse of a limitless future stretched before me. The possibilities, the pitfalls, the delights and the dangers. I cannot do it, I thought. I am afraid. I am weak. I will not survive fluttering on the tip of a limb in the midst of a storm.

Then it struck me that although it was possible that I might perish in the wild ride upon the winds of change, it was a dead surety that I would expire sooner in my sheltered cage.

Without having had nearly as much fun.

Five

London, 1813
In the odiously decorated dining room of my odious relations

I, Ophelia Harrington, am not usually an impulsive person. In fact, I pride myself on my logic and forethought.

All of which made it very difficult to understand why I’d just thrown a platter of beef across the dining room.

Every person present, both those at the table and those serving them, stood frozen in shock at my actions. Every eye followed the brown, oily juices as they dripped down over the patterned wallpaper. One last slice of beef, more stubborn than the rest, finally gave up its grip. It slithered down the wall to join the others now jumbled on the floor amid the shards of blue-patterned china.