Tired and hungry from the journey, he’d stopped here at The Ox and Owl to change teams and break his fast. Raising a hand now, he signaled for the serving girl, sending her off for a bottle of brandy.
Hips swaying, she soon returned, an open bottle and a snifter in hand. Setting the glass on the table, she leaned forward to pour, making sure he had a keen view of her very healthy breasts, her bodice straining wildly to contain them.
Once his beverage was poured, he handed her a coin. “Thank you, love.”
The girl giggled, then made a little cooing noise before slipping the sovereign between her breasts. “Is there anything else I can be gettin’ fer you, my lord? Anything at all?”
For a second, he debated the offer. “The brandy will do.”
Bobbing a curtsey, she sighed out her disappointment. “If you change your mind, you’ve only to say.”
Forgetting her the moment she’d gone, he removed a cheroot from his inner coat pocket and used his silver cutter to snip off the end. He was withdrawing a match when a new group of people entered the room.
By the weary look of them, he assumed they were travelers fresh off one of the mail coaches that made regular stops along this route. As he watched, three men and a woman shouldered their way forward, leaving a boy to stand alone in the doorway.
Top hat pulled low across his eyes, the youth was a curious figure. Slight as a wisp, the child’s out-of-date clothing hung a bit too large on his lean frame. Just as antiquated was the thick rope of fire-colored hair he’d gathered into a queue along the back his neck. Possessed of a soft chin and rounded jaw, his smooth cheeks were years away from whiskers.
What a babe-in-the-woods! Ethan mused. Not a day above fourteen, if I don’t miss my guess. Looking again, he noted the boy’s delicate heart-shaped face, fair skin, and pretty pink lips that formed a perfect cupid’s bow.
As he watched, the child scanned the room, clearly seeking a place to sit. After a long moment, the youth spied an empty spot along the far wall and crossed to slide onto the end of a bench seat. Ethan couldn’t help but smile at the obvious gap the boy left between himself and the burly laborer to his side.
The servant girl arrived moments later to take the youth’s order, a teasing grin on her lips that the boy was clearly too young to appreciate. With a laugh and a shimmy of her hips that drew suggestive remarks from a pair of men at another table, she soon retreated into the kitchen.
Pouring more brandy into his glass, Ethan quaffed a slow mouthful, then lighted his cigar and took a leisurely pull. As he did, his eyes went again to the child, watching as the serving girl returned to set a steaming cup of tea and a plate of biscuits and jam before him.
Laying a napkin across his lap, the boy took up a knife and cut open one of the biscuits, his movements delicate, with none of the usual ham-fisted carelessness of a child still learning to control his developing body. When the youth reached for his tea, his movements betrayed him once more, as he lifted the cup between a pair of slender, elegantly balanced fingers.
Poised fingers.
Dainty fingers.
The kind that clasped “just so,” employing a hold no male—man or boy—could ever hope to achieve.
A burst of knowledge suddenly sizzled in Ethan’s brain. Staring harder, his eyes narrowed as he more closely studied the shape of the youth’s face—the soft sensuality of his lips, the almost porcelain smoothness of his translucent skin.
That’s no boy, Ethan realized. That’s a woman!
A wide smile tilted Ethan’s lips, together with a great deal of intrigued speculation. Who in the world is she, he wondered, and what does she think she’s about, masquerading in masculine garb? Unable to look away, he watched again as she sipped her tea, her gaze finally lifting to briefly survey the room. And in that instant, he finally got a glimpse of her eyes.
Green and gorgeous, they were as intense as a cat’s and just as full of curiosity, trimmed with a fringe of long, fire-colored lashes that were as luxurious as they were feminine.
He sucked in a breath at the sight, a hard pull of desire springing to life beneath his trousers. Now that he’d deduced the truth about her gender, he couldn’t believe he’d been fooled for so much as an instant. With the possible exception of her cropped hair, there was nothing remotely masculine about her—not her features nor her figure nor the manner in which she held herself, each gesture of her hand and face announcing her innate femininity.
Glancing around, he checked to see if anyone else had noticed, but none of the other patrons were paying her the least heed, busy with their own conversations and concerns.
Amazing, he mused, that I am the only person in this room who has guessed that we have an imposter in our midst, and a lovely little imposter at that.
He supposed the reaction was normal enough. As a rule, people often saw what they expected to see, not pausing long enough to question, not even when the truth was literally staring them in the face.
Perhaps the success of her disguise was for the best, though, he decided. A woman without escort took great chances—especially a female daring enough to portray herself as a man. Not only did she hazard social censure, she ran the risk of inviting unwanted attention from all sorts of dangerous individuals. Some men would interpret such a provocative act as license to do as they pleased with her—anything they pleased, regardless of gaining her consent.
Whoever the minx was, she clearly had no notion of the potential jeopardy in which she’d placed herself. Continuing his contemplation of her over another swallow of brandy, he estimated her age. Twenty or twenty-one, he suspected. Young enough to make mistakes, but old enough to know better than to have made this particular one.
Filling her cup with the last of the hot tea left to her in a small teapot, the young woman took a single, restrained sip, then returned her cup to the saucer.
Scant moments later, she jumped and turned her head, clearly startled by whatever the hefty man on her other side had barked out. Leaping up with surprising speed, the young woman flattened her back against the wall to let the man pass.
As willowy as she might be, there simply wasn’t room for them both. Nonetheless, the man made an attempt to shuffle by, jarring the table and tipping over the cup of tea on his way.
Hot liquid flowed outward in a quick rush and splashed onto his trousers. Beating frantically at the spreading stain, he knocked into the table again, huffing out a bellow worthy of an enraged bull.
Ethan surged to his feet and started across the room.
The man turned on the girl. “Look what you’ve done! Ruined me duds and damn near scalded me jewels besides. You’ll have to answer for this, boy.”
“I am sorry, but I…” The girl broke off, obviously realizing her voice was high enough to give her away had anyone cared to listen.
“But I what?” the big man repeated with menacing intent.
“Was not at fault,” Ethan answered in a firm tone as he stepped forward and inserted himself into the fray. “Or at least that’s what I assume the young man planned to say. If he wasn’t, he should have done.”
Her back still pressed against the rough plastered wall, Lily looked up and into the face of an avenging angel. Breath flowed from her lungs at the sight of him—indisputably the most dynamic male she had ever glimpsed in her life.
With hair the color of sun-ripened wheat and eyes as luminous as polished amber, he exuded masculinity and an undeniable aura of easy, confident power. She allowed herself a second longer to explore, letting her gaze roam over his strong, square jaw and refined nose, across the sculpted contours of his high forehead and angular cheeks. Last, she traced the shape of his sensuous mouth, lips that promised the kind of exquisite pleasure even a girl as innocent as she could sense.
Her heart thudded faster, though not from fear this time.
Doing her utmost to shake off her instant and completely uncharacteristic attraction to the man, she shifted her gaze and tugged her hat lower on her head.
&
nbsp; So much for traveling to London without incident! she mused. Yet thank heavens this man has come to my aid.
Her savior gave the brute a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You were in the process of leaving, were you not?”
Silence descended, the burly laborer staring as if he didn’t fully understand.
“Move along, then,” the tall stranger said. In the next instant, his gaze lowered, glancing over the rather large wet patch on the other man’s trousers. “I suspect a few minutes in the sunshine will set that to rights, though you may have to field some rather uncomfortable questions in the interim.”
Ruddy color flashed in the brute’s cheeks, his embarrassment and frustration clear. Giving them both a fearsome glare, he shoved the table and sent the teacup and what remained of her biscuit toppling to the floor. On a growl, the man strode from the room.
Lily looked at her ruined meal and the broken crockery, wondering how she was going to pay for the damage if they insisted she do so. Despite starting the journey with what had seemed an adequate sum of money, she’d soon discovered her error. Due to inflation from the war, everything cost more—coach fare, food, and especially lodgings. Of course, once she reached London and claimed her grandfather’s bequest, her financial worries would cease, but until then, every shilling counted.
Her stomach grumbled with hunger, making her wish she’d been a lot faster when it came to finishing her repast.
Noticing the commotion, the innkeeper hurried toward them. “My lord, what has happened? Is this boy bothering you?”
The golden-haired gentleman shook his head. “Not at all. It was the other fellow, the one who just departed, who caused all the difficulty.”
Peering downward, the stranger met her gaze, a curious twinkle in his amber eyes, as if he held some secret. “Are you all right, lad?”
Lily started to answer, remembering only at the last second to lower her voice to its deepest baritone. As a result, her words cracked, high to low, as if she were indeed a boy going through puberty. “Fine. I’m fine. Thank you, my lord. It was most kind of you to intercede.”
An amused expression crossed his face before he waved off her gratitude with a hand. “It was my pleasure, lad. And where are you headed, if I might inquire? I could not help but notice that you are here alone.”
She opened her mouth to say London, then realized that perhaps she oughtn’t. True, she would never see this man again, but she would be wise not to underestimate the resourcefulness of her stepfather. Chances were slim, but if someone did come snooping, she wanted no potential trail left to follow.
“Bristol,” she improvised. “I…um…have cousins there who are expecting me.”
“I am relieved to hear you will soon be in the care of family.” The nobleman cast his gaze over the ruined remnants of her snack. “Your meal has met a sad fate. Shall we see it replaced?”
She shook her head, thinking again of the meager contents of her coin purse. “Oh no, I’ve had all I want.”
He arched a brow. “Half a biscuit hardly seems sufficient fare.”
Her stomach chose that moment to prove him right by emitting a mortifying rumble that left no one in doubt as to the emptiness of her belly.
The man smiled again and turned to the innkeeper. “Is the private parlor still occupied?”
“No, my lord, the gentlemen departed only a few minutes ago.”
“Good. Then I shall take it for the young man so he might enjoy a hearty repast—at my expense, of course.”
Lily moved to object. “It is most kind of you to offer, my lord, but I cannot allow you to buy nuncheon for me.” She straightened her shoulders with pride. “I do quite well on my own.”
“Oh, I’m sure you do, but a good meal never comes amiss.” The nobleman met her gaze, his expression reassuringly honest as he bent closer to her. “You have naught to fear, you know,” he promised in a hushed tone meant only for her. “I expect nothing in return save your company and a bit of conversation.”
So he means to join me? she thought. Allowing him to purchase a meal for her was unseemly enough, but to actually dine with him…well, no proper young lady would dare. Then again, what proper young lady would fake her own death, run away from home, and journey to London disguised as a boy? When she considered the situation from that perspective, sharing a meal with a stranger didn’t seem so dreadful.
And what a gorgeous stranger he is! She sighed inwardly, peering up at him from beneath her lashes. A veritable blond Adonis. What harm could come from spending an hour in his company while she waited for the coach to resume its journey? After all, it was only nuncheon and a bit of talk, as he suggested. Once she’d eaten, she would thank him and be on her way, the two of them destined to never meet again.
Hunger pangs jabbed like a sharpened pick inside her belly, urging her to accept. Since her mad flight from home three days ago, she hadn’t eaten a single satisfying meal. Between the less-than-stellar fare to be found at some of the coaching inns and her need for frugality, she’d mostly made due with biscuits, tea, and soup, grateful if the broth contained a few small chunks of meat or vegetables. How wonderful it would be to eat a decent meal. And all she had to do was agree to converse for a brief time with an attractive lord, who didn’t even know she was a young lady.
“Very well, you have convinced me,” she said, ignoring the little voice that reminded her that she had just agreed to be alone in a private parlor with a man. “Thank you, my lord.”
My lord what? she wondered, suddenly realizing she didn’t even know his name.
“I am Vessey, by the way,” he stated in answer to her unspoken question. “The Marquis of Vessey. And you are?”
A marquis! Good gracious! But more to the point, he has asked who I am. Well, I can’t very well tell him Lily Bainbridge, now can I?
She cudgeled her brain. “Uh…I’m Jack. Jack Bain.”
Another slow, half-amused smile crossed his face as if he were enjoying a private joke. “Well, Jack, Jack Bain, I am pleased to make your acquaintance. Now, if you are ready, shall we adjourn upstairs?”
She gulped down a breath, nerves crashing like cymbals inside her chest. Meeting the marquis’s leonine gaze, she paused for one long, last moment, then sealed her fate with a nod.
Chapter Two
“ARE YOU NOT having anything?” asked the young woman known to Ethan only as “Jack Bain,” her knife and fork poised over a plate of roast chicken and vegetables.
Seated across from her at the private parlor’s round oak table, he shook his head. “I find I am not terribly hungry. This brandy will do quite well.” Raising the snifter, he took a swallow. “Go ahead, eat. No need to stand on ceremony.”
After a momentary pause she dug in, not at all missish about enjoying her food. Despite her enthusiasm, and obvious hunger, there was nothing lacking in her table manners. They were excellent, as were her manners in general—all testament to her having been raised a member of the Quality. Her diction was exceptional as well, in spite of the amusing baritone voice she struggled to maintain. He’d forced down a laugh on more than one occasion during the past twenty minutes, enjoying her act far more than he knew he ought.
Who is she? he wondered, not for the first time. And why is she perpetrating this charade?
Rather than simply demand the truth from her, he’d decided it would be more fun to play along for a while and see just how far she was willing to take her deception.
He poured another inch of brandy into his snifter, sunlight from the room’s trio of windows refracting through the glass to turn the alcohol a shade reminiscent of warm honey. Swirling the liquor, he watched the rivulets pool at the bottom before taking another drink.
When she’d eaten nearly every bite on her plate and was about to lay down her utensils, he gave in to the impulse to tease her a bit.
“More chicken?” he asked, reaching for the knife to cut a large slice of breast meat. Considering the substantial helping she had
already consumed, it was doubtful she would be in want of seconds. “When I was your age,” he continued, “I could never seem to eat enough. I am sure it must be the same for you, a growing young man and all.”
Her brows knitted into a V on her forehead, her gaze focused in obvious consternation on the thick slice of chicken he was cutting.
After a long hesitation, she showed her mettle by extending her plate.
“How about potatoes?” he dared, scooping a pair of tender, golden halves onto a pewter serving spoon. “I hate to see good food go to waste, don’t you?”
With determination, she accepted the offering.
“Creamed onions?” he suggested next. “You commented you thought them particularly delicious.”
Her nostrils flared around the edges.
He waited for her to refuse. Instead she held steady despite a faint quiver of her hand.
Disguising a smile, he relented, setting down the serving utensil, then leaning back in his chair.
With a deep breath, she began eating what he’d heaped onto her plate.
She has pluck, he mused as he observed her effort to maintain her guise as a boy and do justice to the food.
“So Bristol, is it?” he commented, drinking another mouthful of spirits.
She paused in her eating. “What?”
“Bristol. That is where you are headed, are you not? To your cousins?”
Her jewel-toned eyes grew round for a faint instant before relaxing again. “Yes, that’s right.”
He wondered if she’d ever even been to Bristol.
“Tell me of these cousins, then.”
He watched as she lay down her knife and fork and used the delay to concoct an answer, leaving several uneaten bites of food on her plate—much to her relief, he was sure.
“There is little to tell,” she replied. “They own a house and some land.”
“They’ve tenants, do they?”
She lifted her fork again to slide an onion to a new location on her plate. “Yes.”
“And will you be staying with them long?”
She paused, then shook her head. “No, not long.”
The Accidental Mistress Page 2
