And that woman was Gladys.
“Anything else, madam?” asked the porter, making no attempt to hide his interest.
“That’ll be all.” She handed him a shilling. “For now.”
After her parents disowned her, Gladys had found herself on the street. Without references, she couldn’t acquire a respectable post as a governess or a paid companion. She couldn’t even get hired as a lady’s maid. She lacked the experience.
Gladys could paint with watercolors and play the pianoforte, but possessed no practical skills for survival. Even a maid-of-all-work, the lowest paid of all the maid positions, where a single girl was in charge of an entire household, was well outside of Gladys’s capabilities. She didn’t know how to boil water, much less how to cook and clean for a family of eight.
It hadn’t taken long at all to end up in the clutches of a procuress. Forced prostitution could have gone horribly wrong, but with Gladys’s upper class accent and manners, she quickly attracted a wealthier sort of client. Nouveau riche men with money to spare, but without the connections required to rub shoulders with the actual beau monde. Screwing a fallen member of the ton puffed their pride… and filled Gladys’s pockets.
She was now a successful courtesan with a savings account so healthy, she needn’t take another client for as long as she lived. Oh, she would never live like a real princess, but she wanted for nothing. She had her own town home, staffed with a maid and a footman. Perfectly tailored gowns in the latest French fashions. A list of clients who collectively owned the biggest enterprises in all of England.
She was proud of how far she’d come. And she’d achieved it all under a pseudonym, so as not to cause pain for her family.
Not that her parents were speaking to her—or Gladys, to them. She would probably never forgive them for abandoning her at her most vulnerable. For not attempting to protect her. For always ensuring she knew she ranked last.
Her sister Kitty wrote when she could, but had to hide such correspondence from her husband, lest word get out that the esteemed Mrs. Alsop was in communication with her fallen sister—or, worse, exchanged letters with a demimondaine. When it came to reputations, Kitty now had daughters of her own to worry about.
Gladys missed her like mad, though she made a point never to be a bother. If she could make herself respectable again… But that was nothing more than a castle in the air. Given that an ordinary young woman could be ruined by a simple kiss, five years of trading sex for money was well beyond the pale.
It was not the life she would have chosen for herself. Despite the constant stream of visitors to her door, being a courtesan was as lonely as being a wallflower. The men didn’t want her. They wanted a quick release with someone who, by definition, they needn’t bother caring about.
No one knew her real name, or asked how she was doing. There was little to no conversation at all, beyond the exchange of money and jewels. A few sweaty grunts later, the door would bang shut without so much as a proper goodbye. Not that the door remained closed for long.
Gladys opened her trunk. She discarded her wrinkled traveling dress and selected a gown more suitable for a lovely spring afternoon.
She was richer than she’d dreamt of becoming, but she’d trade it all in a heartbeat if it meant her family would welcome her home. At times, she even longed to have her old life back, awkward wallflower and all. To still believe there was the possibility of love in her future. Or even just a moment of true connection.
That dream was long dead, but there was still one desire that kept her going day after endless day:
Revenge.
This was why she’d returned to Marrywell after all this time. After disappearing from the beau monde for half a decade, Reuben Medford had been sighted in Hampshire, near the matchmaking festival.
Now the ton’s most eligible bachelor was ready for a wife and a happy ever after? Not on Gladys’s watch. There would be no blissful future for Mr. Medford until he faced his past.
This time, Gladys would not settle for a kiss. She intended to make him pay. Once she held that damnable rake’s black heart in her hands… She would crush it, just as he did to her.
It didn’t take long to find him. The botanical gardens’ crowning jewel was an enormous hedgerow maze. Reuben Medford was holding court in a grotto at the heart, a preening cockerel surrounded by dozens of hapless clucking chicks.
He looked gorgeous, of course. At one-and-thirty, the years had only made him more handsome. His shoulders were wider, his jawline rugged, the edges of his warm brown eyes adorned with laugh lines.
Ha, ha, ha. Marvelous that he’d spent the interim years having a wonderful time. England’s most prodigious rake clearly hadn’t a care in the world. A self-satisfied smile and an endless buffet of tasty morsels to choose from, just like always.
From her position amongst the flowers, Gladys sensed the very moment Medford’s lascivious eyes fell upon her.
He looked, looked again, then visibly collected himself.
She glanced away as if bored. Turned her back to him, as though there had been nothing at all in that grotto to interest her.
There was no need to turn around. She could feel him threading his way toward her. Excellent. Gladys allowed her lips a quick, subtle smile.
Let the games begin.
Chapter 7
Reuben’s heart stopped.
