Diane Gaston - A Pregnant Courtesan For The Rake

When his father became the Marquess of Amberford and inherited the property and riches to go with the title, he’d settled the fortune he’d acquired in India on Oliver, a fortune great enough that Oliver could live more than comfortably. He could afford many pleasures. Fast carriages, matched horses, beautiful women.

Funny that Oliver used to fear he’d be poor. When he was a boy, his father’s wife often threatened to put Oliver out on the streets. Eventually he learned about his fortune and that she could not touch it. When his father was not present, she was always nasty to Oliver. He’d absolutely believed he could be tossed out onto the streets like Cecilia’s street urchins—

Cecilia.

Again she popped into his mind unbidden. For the last three months the memory of her caught him at odd moments. Why should she inhabit his thoughts so often? He’d only known her one day.

Perhaps the brevity of their time together had enhanced the experience, made it grander, magical. It had seemed as if she’d appeared out of the mist and disappeared as quickly. No liaison of his had ever begun so unexpectedly and ended so abruptly.

He reached the garden door of his town house and went inside, brushing the raindrops off his coat and hair. He greeted his cook and housekeeper as he passed the kitchen and made his way up to the hall where his butler stopped him.

‘Sir, you have a caller,’ the butler said.

‘A caller?’ Oliver rarely had callers. He was not on society’s circuit of people whose favour one must court.

His butler, only a decade older than he, leaned closer. ‘A lady. She declined to give her name.’

Oliver’s brows rose. ‘You do not know her?’

Irwin typically had an excellent eye for faces and names, especially ladies’ names.

He shook his head. ‘She has been waiting over an hour.’

‘An hour?’ What lady would wait an hour for him? ‘Why did you not simply say I was out?’

Irwin appeared affronted. ‘I did say you were out. She insisted upon waiting.’

Oliver was always very careful that the ladies with whom he associated knew precisely the nature of the relationship. He did not want any of them to consider him so important they’d waste an hour waiting for him.

Irwin inclined his head towards the drawing room. ‘She waits in there.’

Oliver shrugged. He might as well discover who it was.

He opened the door, startling the woman who sat upon the sofa facing the fireplace. She stood and turned to him.

For a moment Oliver could not breathe.

‘Cecilia.’

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