The Accidental Mistress

by Tracy Anne Warren

  After helping himself to eggs, three slices of bacon, and a single kipper, Ethan added a delicious-scented blueberry muffin, then dug into the food with enjoyment. Rafe and Julianna made their own selections, then did the same.

  Over the meal, the three of them talked, sharing stories and opinions on a variety of topics. Ethan waited until the plates were cleared and fresh cups of coffee and tea had been poured before he launched into the subject foremost on his mind.

  “I understand you have a new neighbor here on the square,” he remarked, stirring a teaspoonful of sugar into his tea, faint tendrils of steam rising from the beverage’s surface. “A young widow, is she not?”

  Julianna set her own cup onto its saucer. “Oh, you must mean Mrs. Smythe. Yes, she is new to the neighborhood. I had occasion to meet her when I took Cam out for a walk last week. She seemed very pleasant and sweet.”

  Ethan wasn’t sure he would apply the term “sweet” to Lily given her spirited ways and behavior that would shock a great many in Society if they knew, including, he suspected, Julianna. Then again, perhaps describing Lily as sweet was exactly right—she’d certainly turned sweet in his arms.

  “Why do you ask? Are you acquainted with her?” Julianna inquired, arching a dark brow.

  Glancing down, he rubbed a thumbnail over the starched white tablecloth. “Only slightly. We were introduced at a dinner party a couple of weeks ago. I merely found it interesting to discover she purchased a townhouse on the opposite side of the square from you.”

  Julianna’s mouth curled upward at one corner. “Ah, is that the only thing about her you found interesting?”

  “I am afraid I do not know what you mean.”

  She laughed this time, Rafe joining her from across the table.

  “You’ve been fairly caught, good fellow,” Rafe said. “Julianna can sniff out romantic interest a mile away.”

  “Well, it’s not terribly difficult when he gives such broad hints, now, is it?” She cast Ethan a warm smile. “Go on. What is it about her you should like to know, although I cannot say I know much, since she and I did not speak of personal matters.”

  He couldn’t say he knew much about Lily either—he wondered if anyone did. Her friend Davina, perhaps, though he wondered if Lily kept secrets from her as well. He suspected she very well might.

  “Mrs. Smythe is extremely pretty, is she not?” Julianna observed.

  Smiling, Ethan relaxed back in his chair. “She is very becoming, if you like redheads. So, is she coming to your ball next week?”

  Julianna nodded. “As it would happen, I did pen her an invitation.”

  “And?” Ethan prompted, his pulse kicking into a faster beat.

  “And she accepted. Her card arrived just yesterday, as I recall.”

  He fought the impulse to grin like a fool, contenting himself with a silent inner shout of triumph. “Good.”

  “Is that all you have to say? You remind me of a cat who just swallowed a rather delicious canary.”

  Shrugging, he made no reply.

  “Should I happen upon Mrs. Smythe again before the ball, shall I tell her of your interest?” she inquired in a teasing voice.

  “No!” He felt his eyes grow large for a second before he recovered his calm composure. “That is, I would rather you not and give me the pleasure of renewing my acquaintance with the lady on my own.”

  “Never fear,” Julianna promised, “I shan’t say a word to her.”

  “My thanks, my lady.”

  After that, the conversation moved on to less sensitive subjects.

  A short while later, Julianna made her excuses. “I really should go upstairs to the nursery. Heaven only knows what sort of mischief Cam may have gotten himself into by now.”

  Ethan and Rafe stood as she left the room.

  Knowing Rafe must have business, and having a measure of his own awaiting him at home, Ethan prepared to depart.

  “This widow,” Rafe inquired. “She wouldn’t happen to be the same woman who had you so thoroughly distracted over cards a few weeks ago, would she?”

  Having known Rafe since they were childhood friends at Harrow—the pair of them and Tony a loyal triumvirate—he knew better than to attempt a lie. “What if she is?”

  “Then I would caution you to have a care. She may be a widow but she is still a lady, and from what I am given to understand, a young and perhaps vulnerable one at that.”

  “I am aware of her age and the fact she lost her husband only a year ago. I do not intend to harm her, if that is your concern.”

  “I am sure you do not plan to do so. Yet what of this understanding of yours to contract a marriage alliance with the Earl of Sutleigh’s daughter?”

  Ethan gave a nonchalant shrug. “What of it?”

  “You see nothing contradictory in the two arrangements?”

  “No, since there is no arrangement as of yet with either young woman. I am not engaged to Sutleigh’s girl and Lily Smythe is not my mistress.”

  “But you intend for her to be.”

  “If I do, that is my business,” Ethan said, his jaw tight.

  “You’re right, it is your business. I am simply pointing out, as a friend, that you may wish to consider the ramifications of your actions before you commit to them.”

  “As a friend, I appreciate the warning. But there is no need. Everything will work out to everyone’s mutual satisfaction.”

  Rafe gave him a long stare. “I hope so. Come now, let me walk you out while you tell me about that new team of grays you bought at Tattersall’s last week.”

  Relieved to be done with the uncomfortable topic of his romantic intentions, Ethan dove into a discussion of his newest acquisition. “They’re the best pair of two-year-olds I’ve seen in a decade. Livermoor’s loss and my gain, I have to say.”

  The following Tuesday, Lily entered the Pendragons’ ballroom, nervous excitement whizzing through her bloodstream like tiny effervescent bubbles of wine. Tonight would be her very first Ton ball, her prior experiences having been confined to the occasional country dance held at the assembly rooms near her home in Cornwall.

  And what a difference there was between the two locales, Baron and Lady Pendragon’s London townhouse was every inch as beautiful and refined as the company assembled. Gentlemen and ladies were bedecked in a sea of elegant finery, the corridors and drawing rooms crowded with members of some of the best families in England. Laughter and conversation hummed inside the ballroom as she walked forward on the arm of her escort. Overhead, crystal chandeliers sparkled in the reflected glow of several hundred candles, while many tall, rose-filled Meissen vases turned the air candy-sweet.

  Despite her usual confidence, Lily found herself unexpectedly grateful for Lord Ottwell’s supporting arm. To be honest, she would much have preferred attending alone, but as Davina had told her in a half-appalled whisper, such things were simply not done, as Lily knew full well. A lady must always be accompanied by friends, family, or a suitable male escort.

  Since Lord and Lady Coates were already promised elsewhere for the evening, Lily had agreed to allow Lord Ottwell to take her to the ball. Although she had been introduced to him only last week at a small evening musicale, he seemed a pleasant fellow, ever eager to please, though perhaps a bit too eager, as she was coming to realize.

  Having already been warmly welcomed by Rafe and Julianna upon their arrival, the two of them strolled deeper into the room to stop along its periphery. As soon as they drew to a halt, Lily withdrew her gloved hand from her escort’s arm.

  “The dancing has yet to begin,” Lord Ottwell remarked, smiling just enough to display his set of crooked incisors. “May I be the first to request a dance?”

  “Oh well, of course,” Lily replied, manners requiring nothing less.

  “I thought we might partake of a waltz,” he suggested, gazing at her out of a pair of earnest gray eyes. “Unless you would rather not,” he rushed on. “I know some ladies find the dance far too indecent an
d scandalous, preferring to sit out those particular sets. Not to say that you would, or wouldn’t, it’s just that I do not wish to offend. We shall do as you like, Mrs. Smythe.” He cleared his throat. “So what do you like…that is, when it comes to dancing?”

  She waited a moment to make sure he had finished his long trail of words, then replied. “A waltz sounds delightful. I should very much like to try it.”

  “Have you never waltzed before?”

  “No,” she answered honestly. When he looked as if he expected some further explanation, she decided she would have to improvise. “Prior to my…um…marriage I did not have the occasion, and then, well, my…husband died and I…I just could not.”

  His sandy brows gathered in concern. “Pray do not upset yourself, ma’am, by mentioning things that are of a far too painful nature. Tonight is meant for frivolity, and that is what you shall have. In that vein, it shall give me great happiness to introduce you to the joys of the waltz.”

  “Thank you, my lord.”

  A short pause descended, each of them gazing out upon their fellow guests.

  “Lady Coates tells me you have not resided in London above a few weeks,” he remarked, rocking up and down on his heels. “Have you had an opportunity yet to visit the sights?”

  “Only a few. Davina…Lady Coates and I went to Astley’s Amphitheater, and although the acts were quite exciting, I found myself feeling rather sorry for the animals.”

  “They seem well cared for. I am sure they must enjoy the audiences for whom they perform.”

  And do they enjoy their cages afterward? she thought. I know a bit about how it feels to live in a cage and long to be on the other side.

  “You know what I would really like to do,” she declared abruptly, throwing caution to the wind and speaking her thoughts aloud. “I would like to learn to drive a team.”

  “Of horses, do you mean?”

  Turning her head, she met her escort’s startled gaze. “Yes, of course, horses.”

  For although there was nothing strictly forbidden about a lady driving her own equipage, Lily realized that most women preferred to let men, quite literally, take the reins. She was not one of those women. A frown settled over Lord Ottwell’s brow as he fought for a suitable reply.

  Just then, she sensed someone approach from behind her. The delicate hairs on the base of her neck came to attention, heightened awareness prickling through her only seconds before a familiar velvety voice slid past her ears like a caress.

  “Good evening, Mrs. Smythe. What a pleasure to find you here tonight.”

  A shiver that began at the base of her spine rippled outward, spreading all the way to the ends of her fingers and the tips of her toes. Slowly, she turned and gazed upward into Ethan Andarton’s penetrating amber eyes.

  Her breath caught at the sight of him, looking resplendent in a traditional black tailcoat and breeches, white shirt and waistcoat, his attire as impeccable as that of Beau Brummell in his prime. His starched linen cravat rivaled Beau’s as well, the knot—tied in a precise Trône d’Amour—emphasizing the strong, square line of his jaw and setting off the golden brilliance of his neatly trimmed hair.

  So, he has found me, she sighed, unable to decide whether to be vexed or glad.

  “My lord,” she replied with a curtsey. “How do you do this evening?”

  “Very well, thank you.” He paused, then tossed the other man a nod as if he had only just noticed him. “Ottwell.”

  “Vessey.”

  “What is this about horses, then?” the marquis asked, obviously having overheard the thread of their earlier conversation.

  Lily straightened her shoulders. “I was just telling Lord Ottwell that I wish to learn to drive, and he was about to tell me whether or not he would consent to give me lessons.”

  Beside her, Ottwell made an odd humming noise in the base of his throat as though he were preparing to issue a refusal, but a moment later he surprised her. “Why, it would be my great honor to instruct you on how to manage the ribbons, ma’am. We must be sure to set a date.”

  “Splendid, my lord,” she said, bestowing a smile upon him that left the man blinking as if he’d stared directly into a noonday sun.

  Vessey arched a brow, one corner of his mouth turning upward in a knowing way.

  Lily ignored the look. “Lord Ottwell has also agreed to teach me to waltz this evening. I am quite looking forward to our dance.”

  She didn’t know what prompted her to make such a bold declaration, other than the fact that Lord Vessey seemed to bring out the imp in her. Instead, she knew she ought to be looking for ways to extract herself from his presence. Yet like all forbidden fruit, he was a temptation not easily denied.

  “In that case, you must allow me the pleasure of claiming the second waltz of the night,” he said.

  Knowing herself caught in a trap of her own design, she inclined her head. “As you will, my lord. The second waltz is yours.”

  “We shall wait until later to see what else may yet become mine.”

  She quivered, readily sensing the underlying sensual implications of his remark. She only hoped Lord Ottwell didn’t realize them as well.

  Moments later, a quartet of musicians assembled on one side of the room and played a few notes to signal to the guests that they should take their places for the opening dance. To Lily’s relief, she realized it was the waltz.

  “Ma’am,” Lord Ottwell said, extending his arm.

  “If you will excuse us, Lord Vessey,” she said, “the dancing is about to begin.”

  The marquis bowed and stepped aside to let them pass.

  Strolling onto the dance floor, Lily restrained the urge to glance back to see if Vessey was still watching. But a full minute later as she waited for the first strains of music to begin, she gave in and turned her head to check—and discovered he was no longer there.

  Her shoulders drooped.

  He’s probably gone in search of a dance partner of his own, she mused. Just as he should. Well, no matter, she told herself. I am far better off without the constant attentions of Lord Vessey.

  So why am I disappointed?

  Calling herself ridiculous to the utmost degree, she pasted a cheerful smile on her face and let her partner lead her into the dance.

  From a shadowed corner of the ballroom, Ethan quaffed a mouthful of Malaga and watched Lily glide around the ballroom in Lord Ottwell’s arms. The excellent flavor and body of the wine barely registered on his tongue, however, his thoughts focused almost completely upon her.

  If he suspected even for an instant that she might seriously be interested in Ottwell, he would have separated him from her the way a lion drove a rival from his pride. But Ethan could tell she was merely here to enjoy herself, Ottwell being nothing more than a convenient male escort and dancing partner. Still, he was sure Ottwell did not feel the same; his usually calm expression all but enraptured as he gazed upon Lily.

  And why should it not be? Ethan thought, considering just how lovely she was—radiant as a perfect summer day, her deep blue skirts billowing around her trim ankles, her upswept Titian locks as vibrantly, vividly alive as she herself. Simply being in the same room with her set his senses afire, reconfirming the instinctive depth of his attraction for her.

  But his desire could wait for now. First he needed to exercise patience and bide his time as the two of them played their mating game to its inevitable conclusion. In his mind he thought again of their brief but invigorating verbal sparring from moments ago, cognizant of the fact that he was eagerly anticipating the next round.

  Until their waltz, he supposed he ought to dance with a few other ladies instead of skulking in corners. Julianna would be demanding answers if he wasn’t careful. Her interest in Lily was piqued enough already without him drawing more attention Lily’s way. Neither did he wish to earn the notice of the Ton itself.

  Besides, if he took to the dance floor, he would have little trouble keeping her in his sights. Who kno
ws, perhaps we might accidentally brush up against each other as we pass, he thought with anticipation. Tossing back the last of his wine, he set down his glass and strode forward.

  Lily discovered she had been right about Ethan seeking out other dance partners. With the exception of her first dance with Lord Ottwell, the marquis hadn’t taken a pause, standing up for every set with one beautiful woman after another.

  If she had cared about such matters—which of course she did not—she might have found her nose quite out of joint by the time the second waltz arrived. Not that she had lacked for partners in the interim, barely having had time to catch her breath from one set before being led out by a new man to enjoy the next. All the while, she had been aware of Lord Vessey, catching a glimpse of his tall form moving in graceful accompaniment to the music, or else hearing his deep-throated laughter ring out over some apparently amusing remark made by his latest partner.

  Now her turn had arrived—or his, depending upon how one wished to view the matter. Sipping a glass of cool lemonade to relieve the dryness in her throat, she waited for him to appear.

  And appear he did, slipping up behind her just as she was swallowing a last mouthful.

  “Lemonade, hmm?” he observed. “I would have assumed a more daring beverage would be to your liking.”

  Startled, she swallowed wrong, a cough erupting from her throat. As she continued coughing, his broad palm settled against her back and began to rub in wide, comforting circles.

  A quiver trailed down her spine.

  “Are you all right?” he queried in a low, almost intimate tone.

  She nodded her head and coughed again. “You really must stop sneaking up on me,” she said the moment she could draw enough breath to form the words. “Can you not find a way to approach from the front?”

  Apparently reassured she was in no real danger, his lips turned upward into an easy smile. “I could, but I find I rather enjoy a back view, at least your back view.”