ONCE UPON A COURTESAN

  THE COMERFORD COURTESANS

  BOOK ONE

  JESS MICHAELS

  Copyright © 2025 by Jess Michaels

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  CONTENTS

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Epilogue

  Excerpt of When the Earl Was Wicked

  Also by Jess Michaels

  About the Author

  For Michael. Even after so many years and so many book dedications, I’ll never run out of ways to say how much I love and appreciate you and your support.

  PROLOGUE

  1807

  Arabella Comerford didn’t know everything at seventeen, but she knew one thing: she didn’t want to marry.

  Well, that wasn’t entirely true. She didn’t hate the idea of marriage. She understood there were benefits, such as a sense of security and getting to participate in the very naughty things she’d found out about in book stolen from her father’s private library. The ones that made her achy and hot.

  But she didn’t want to marry the way her father wished her to do. He’d been on the hunt for her husband since she was sixteen, parading her in front of old men of a certain rank and monetary situation, talking about her like she was a horse at market. Once, when she’d left the room for a moment, she’d overheard one of the men having a conversation with him about her maidenhead being intact. How much the potential suitor looked forward to having it.

  And her father had encouraged such talk, so long as it got him what he wanted: increased position and access.

  He hadn’t forced her hand yet. To marry her off at sixteen would be looked upon with arched brows and whispers. No, he had to bide his time, and so she did so, as well. What she’d do, she had no idea, but the desperation to save herself and her two younger sisters was only just beginning to burn the edges. Ever more so since her seventeenth birthday when her father had packed her up and hauled her off to London.

  Arabella loved London with all its loudness and boldness and brightness. She loved catching glimpses of things she wasn’t allowed to see as a gentleman’s daughter, real slices of the lives being led behind closed doors. She wanted to throw those doors open and look inside. She wanted to spin and dance and laugh too loudly and truly experience the world around her.

  Her father would never allow it, of course. She was honestly surprised that he had agreed to the trip they were currently on to Vauxhall Garden with her aunt, Caroline Ashfield. Her aunt was her father’s younger sister, who had also been married off many years ago. Luckily for her, her husband was now dead and she was free.

  “You are distracted,” Aunt Caroline said as she leaned over to take her arm while they filtered toward the front gate of the garden, metal tickets in hand. “I thought you’d been waiting for ages to finally see the garden.”

  Arabella jolted from her worries. “I have been. And oh, I can hear the music and I am excited. I just…”

  “Can’t stop thinking about this afternoon?”

  Arabella nodded. “How can he be serious about lining up gentlemen for me to pick from already? About buying wedding trousseaus? I haven’t even had a Season. I’ve never even been able to attend a dance, never been able to mingle amongst friends and young men and feel the rush of the chase. Ugh, he’ll have me in the bed of one of those ogres before the year is out and my life will be over.”

  Her aunt flinched, probably at her blunt assessment, but she didn’t correct Arabella. “I am sorry, my dear. I’ve tried to discuss this with him. I’ve tried to convince him to turn his course, but he has little respect for women as a whole and even less for me.”

  “I know.” Arabella squeezed her aunt’s arm gently. “I appreciate you trying.”

  “There is one benefit to being forced to marry an old man,” Caroline said after a pause.

  “He can barely perform his husbandly duties so you don’t have to bear his pawing for long?” Arabella asked.

  Caroline’s eyes went wide. “Goodness, you should be careful what you say.”

  Arabella shifted, heat flooding her cheeks, and looked around to see if anyone had heard her. Those in the line shuffling toward the entrance all seemed too tangled up in their own conversations and excitements to be listening to her and her father was bellowing to some person a few people farther up in line. A man his age, of course. And occasionally they looked at her like she was something on sale in a shop window.

  She supposed that was an apt comparison. Still, she lowered her voice when she spoke to her aunt again. “Then what is the benefit?”

  “They die when you’re still young enough to have a future.” Caroline stared off into the distance a moment, but there was no mistaking her sadness.

  “I’m glad you still have a future,” Arabella said softly. “I wish I could see mine, control mine on any level. Even tonight, when I should be thrilling at every bright beauty of the garden, I know my father will be watching me. Judging me. Trotting me out to any man with the right rank and pocketbook.”

  “Hmmm. Yes. Well, I am your chaperone tonight,” Caroline said. “And he can be distracted. Perhaps you’ll be separated from our party. Briefly, of course. Safely. And you’ll get a moment to truly enjoy yourself where you don’t feel him breathing down your neck.”

  Arabella’s lips parted. “You…you would allow that?”

  “I could do nothing about the crowd, Albert,” her aunt said, using Arabella’s father’s first name while she blinked in what was very believable false innocence. “The poor girl must be terrified to be lost from us. But give it a moment and I’m certain she’ll reappear. How far could she have gone?”

  “And when I return I will be terrified,” Arabella mused. “Oh, Father, I’m so sorry. A horrid man…oh, a juggler. He hates jugglers. A horrid juggler stepped in my path and by the time I got around him you were both out of my sight. Then I’ll sniffle and you’ll comfort me…”

  Caroline nodded as their tickets were examined by brightly liveried servants and then they stepped through the gates. Arabella’s breath caught as she forgot their wicked little plan and really looked around her. She had been obsessed with Vauxhall Garden for years, reading everything ever written about it and its entertainments in any paper or book she could get her hands on.

  It had the wide, stone-lined paths and tall trees and well-manicured bushes and flower displays of a regular public park. But it was far more than that. Vauxhall Garden was a spectacle. There were lanterns strung along the path in dazzling closeness so that it was almost as bright as day even though the sun had gone down over an hour before. There was music playing from the large, open concert hall in the middle of the garden and a woman sang opera with a clear, perfect tone above the murmurs of the crowd. Everyone was in their finest, with royalty mingling with even the lowliest patron.

  There was laughter, occasional gasps of excitement at the presentation of a scantily clad tightrope walker making her way across wires that were stretched over one segment of the crowd. Later there would be fireworks, a fine display that Arabella had heard told could shake a person down to their bones. It was all a singular delight and her worries faded a fraction.

  In that moment, of course, her father reached for her, tugging her forward and away from Caroline. “Stop gaping up, you silly girl.”

  Arabella’s natural reaction was to snap back at him. She did that at home plenty, a way to draw his ire to her so it wouldn’t fall on her younger sisters, Evelina and Julia. But tonight she didn’t want him to find a way to punish her. To drag her off from all the joy and pleasure she wanted to savor in this magical fairyland that was all she had ever hoped for.

  “I apologize, Papa,” she said, all sweetness and light. “I’m simply washed away by all the magic.”

  “Magic,” he snorted. “Foolhardy waste of time and money, I say. If it weren’t one of the places for a woman of your position to be seen, I wouldn’t have bothered to make the expense.”

  “Yes, Papa,” she said, sending her aunt a small look. Caroline dashed her gaze away. It seemed that even as a widowed and self-sufficient woman, she didn’t dare go against her brother. Perhaps stand up to any man with more power. That was the way of the world, after all.

  “Now later I’ll introduce you to a few gentlemen. I saw more than one eyeing you while we were in the line. You’ll do well to impress them tonight. You’ll want to have choices, I think, or you might not like where you end up. I have other daughters, so if you fail I’ll have to put my efforts to Evelina. She may not be yet sixteen, but arrangements can still be made.”

  Arabella’s stomach turned, but she was saved from having to act sweet and obedient because her aunt
did step up then, catching her father’s arm, drawing him away to point at something in the distance. As she did so, she shot Arabella a hard look.

  It was time, it seemed, despite the fact they had barely arrived in the garden. Caroline clearly didn’t think she’d be allowed another chance to be free, to enjoy herself…perhaps ever.

  And with that thick, cold fact choking her, she turned away and slipped into the milling crowd, away from her family and her father’s cruel intentions. For a few moments as she walked, all she could do was mull his wretched plans and the destruction that would follow in their wake. All she could do was mourn what she would lose and fear for the sisters she would no longer be able to protect.

  But then she shook those thoughts away. She was not going to have much time. She wanted to use it well. So she shoved her shoulders back, drew a shaky breath and slowly picked her way through the crowd, eyes turned up to all the sights and sounds.

  The opera singer was pouring another tune into the magical air and the lanterns flickered, almost in time to the music. A peel of laughter came from a group of beautifully dressed women who were huddled together and just past them a few couples had begun to dance. Even farther away she saw tables by the pavilion and perfectly liveried servants brought out a feast to those who observed from the distance. She knew she should go back now, time was slipping by, but she continued moving instead, farther into the crowd.

  A man twirled past her, torch in hand, and then startled Arabella by leaning forward and spitting fire like a dragon across the walkway, just between the groups of people, including herself. She let out a little screech and turned away, down a narrow trail that was somewhat quieter. Her heart pounded as she made her way along the paths scented by honeysuckle and jasmine, sweetness mixed with something richer, more sensual.

  For a moment she gathered herself. There was a nagging sense that she should return to her father and aunt. That she was pressing the bounds of explaining her absence as a mere accidental separation. But the garden was so lovely, and she realized, as she stood there, that she was just on the edge of the area on the maps she’d studied that contained the alcoves in the gardens. Little places for attendees to have a moment’s peace or a refreshment, or even a romantic assignation. She crept closer and peeked into the first alcove. It was empty, though the richly painted fresco on the vine-lined wall was beautiful, indeed.

  She moved along, finding quietly talking groups or couples until she reached the last alcove, farthest down the line and barely touched by the light. As she neared it, she heard the most curious sound.

  Moaning. Her heart leapt, for she wondered if someone was ill or hurt. But as she peeked into the protected area, she stopped, blood rushing away from her face. There was a couple in the alcove and they were not sharing what she’d have pictured as a romantic interlude. No, it was far too animal to be considered that. The woman was perched on the edge of the wall, skirt tugged up around her waist, one leg wrapped around the thickly muscled thigh of a man. He was arched up against her, rotating his hips, his partially uncovered and shockingly toned backside moving as he thrust into her.

  Arabella covered her mouth with one hand. Everything that had been trained into her over her entire life about propriety and sin rushed up and told her to run away from such a lewd display.

  But the parts of her that felt the tingle of desire in the night, the parts that had stolen her father’s naughty books and sometimes peered over them as she touched herself beneath the covers…

  Well, those parts kept her firmly in place, watching the couple, her body becoming hot and wet as she stared.

  The woman against the wall was shaking now, her hands digging against the jacketed shoulders of the man as she whimpered, “Yes, Silas. Oh fuck, yes.”

  He leaned away, watching his partner. The moonlight and lamplight hit his face just so when he did and Arabella couldn’t breathe anymore. He was beautiful. With thick, finger tousled hair and bright green eyes that held on his lover, with full lips that he licked as she arched beneath him and her cries became louder still as her body jerked out of control.

  He chuckled, a low sound almost lost in the cacophony of her pleasure, and then he reared back to thrust again. As he did so, he glanced over and before Arabella could react, he speared her with those stunning eyes. They stared at each other, gazes locked, and then his grew hotter. He thrust harder, never parting his stare from hers, and somehow she couldn’t run away. Time stood still, no longer had meaning, as she became part of the scene before her.

  It was only when he dipped his head back with a grunt that the spell was broken and she pivoted to race back toward the crowd, away from the magic of that moment in the alcove.

  Her hands shook as she careened up the walkway. She should have been shocked, horrified, afraid even. She was none of those things. She was entranced. She’d been aware of her own physical needs for years and explored the ways she could touch herself that made her feel good. But this…this was a culmination of every ill-informed fantasy and breathless reading of forbidden books. This was passion and pleasure and surrender to everything a person truly was, without apology, without censure.

  She came out into the area near the concert hall once more and immediately she found her aunt and father. Caroline was lifting up on her tiptoes, searching the crowd while her purple-faced father looked the other way. When her aunt met her eyes, there was no mistaking the relief on her expression.

  “There she is, Albert,” she said as Arabella rushed to them, hoping the truth of what she’d seen wasn’t clear on her face. Hoping they wouldn’t see that watching that man, that amazing man with his lover had changed her. Cracked open a part of her she’d been trying to pretend didn’t exist. Now that part was alive. She couldn’t be ignored anymore.

  “I’m so sorry,” she managed to croak out. “This horrible juggler pushed into my path, Papa, and the next thing I knew I couldn’t find you.”

  “Hmmph,” her father said with a glare. “You were gone long enough. Wait here with your aunt, I see one of the men who wishes to meet you. I’ll have to convince him to join us for the first round of fireworks.”

  Arabella should have been troubled by those words, but she was too wrapped up in what she’d just seen to truly register her father’s continuing drive.

  When he had left them, Caroline took her arm. “You were gone too long, dearest. I was truly worried.”

  “I’m sorry,” Arabella gasped out. “I was lost in the moment, I fear.”

  She looked toward the alcoves and saw, to her shock, the very woman she’d watched being taken a moment ago. Arabella recognized the mauve silk of her beautiful gown. The lady was lovely, probably somewhere between Arabella’s age and her aunt’s, with dark hair. Her lover was nowhere to found, much to Arabella’s disappointment.

  “Who is that woman?” Arabella asked, motioning.

  Her aunt followed her gesture and caught her breath as she turned Arabella away. “That is Simone Stanhope and you should steer clear of her.”

  “Why?” Arabella asked, glancing over her shoulder toward the woman again. “What’s wrong with her?”

  She had already guessed some of the answer. After all, ladies didn’t go around having passionate encounters in the middle of public gardens, did they? Did they?

  “She’s a courtesan,” her aunt whispered. “An infamous one. Ladies like you shouldn’t involve yourself in such things. Shouldn’t ask about women like that. Your father would be enraged.”

  Arabella nodded slowly. She’d heard vaguely of courtesans and lightskirts. Almost always in negative and desperate terms. Their lives were used as threats. If she didn’t come to heel she’d end up making her living on her back like a whore. The very man who threatened her with that end was the same one who would sell her to further himself.