The Accidental Mistress

by Tracy Anne Warren

  Taking a seat, he poured himself a cup of strong black tea, then a second for his friend. “There’s plenty, if you’d like. Cook always makes more than I can possibly eat. Shall I have another plate brought up?”

  “No, the tea will do fine, thank you.” Tony slipped into a chair on the opposite side. “So, what about the sale? Are you in or out?”

  “Out, I’m afraid.” Ethan cut a piece of ham and chewed, the smoky flavor bursting pleasantly on his tongue before he swallowed. “I am already otherwise engaged.”

  Wyvern arched a dark brow. “Really? You seem to be ‘already otherwise engaged’ a great deal lately. This assignation wouldn’t happen to involve a certain redheaded widow, would it?”

  Ethan ate a forkful of scrambled eggs, then bit off the crunchy corner of a buttered toast wedge. “Our meeting is not an assignation, it is a driving lesson.”

  “Oh, is that what they’re calling such arrangements these days?” the duke asked in a teasing voice.

  A scowl creased Ethan’s forehead. “She is not my mistress, if that is what you are insinuating.” At least she isn’t my mistress yet, he mused. Of course he had plans to rectify the situation in the near future—the very near future.

  Still, for reasons even he couldn’t fully fathom, he had remained true to his word about keeping his and Lily’s driving lessons strictly platonic. He might flirt and tease her, but beyond that he’d made no further overt advances. Of course, he’d seen her at a few balls, sharing a dance or a few minutes of light conversation over glasses of wine and punch. But in spite of his continued desire for her, he’d instigated no more meetings in midnight-dark gardens, and made no further serious attempts at seduction.

  Truly, he could not account for his actions, leaving him to wonder if his reserve might stem from some strange sense of honor, a need to be finished with his promise regarding the lessons before his conscience would let him resume his quest to coax her into his bed. Whatever the cause, he wanted her with a desperation that was nothing short of painful. More than once, he’d awakened after a night of wild, concupiscent dreams about her to find his bedclothes twisted around his body, his skin damp, his male member aching and stiff as a pikestaff.

  But his self-imposed need for restraint was about to end, perhaps as soon as today, since later this morning he would be giving Lily Smythe her final lesson.

  Quick and exceptionally skilled, she had surprised him with her innate dexterity and aptitude. In tribute to her success, she would be driving them to Richmond Park, where he planned to celebrate with a picnic he was having specially prepared.

  After that, he mused, who knows what might occur.

  Nevertheless, he had no intention of sharing his expectations with Tony—longtime friend or not. He ate another bite of ham. “Tell me about this horse, then.”

  Lily held the reins steady and gave the horses their heads, letting the team increase their speed to an easy canter as they traveled along the turnpike toward Richmond. Beside her in the open curricle sat the marquis, his long, powerful body arranged in a lazy, all-male sprawl that would have drawn her full attention had she not been so solidly focused on her driving.

  Late-morning sunshine filtered down from a nearly cloudless, azure-tinted sky, balmy air rushing past to tease her skin and tug at the carefully pinned strands of hair tucked beneath her short-brimmed bonnet. Her pale lavender gown matched her mood—buoyant excitement coupled with a sense of trepidation over an unknown future.

  Today was her last official lesson in curricle driving. Or so Lord Vessey had informed her two days ago, when he’d suggested this outing as a dual final test and celebration of her success. He claimed she was as proficient as his tutelage could make her, and that she had no further need of him—only the inner confidence that continued practice would bring.

  When they returned to London, he promised to aid her in purchasing her own equipage and team so she could drive around the city whenever and wherever she wished. The idea left her jittery but energized, longing for the freedom and power such a circumstance would bring.

  To her consternation, she knew she would miss the marquis’s daily company once this last lesson ended. Over the past two weeks she had come to enjoy his conversation and companionship, had come to anticipate their morning outings with an eagerness she ought to have found disquieting. She shouldn’t wish for his company, she realized, but over the past several days she had made an alarming discovery: she liked Ethan Andarton. Yet she knew instinctively that he wasn’t the sort of man with whom she could ever be friends, at least not strictly friends. He was far too bold, too masculine, too overtly sexual to ever be seen in anything but elemental terms.

  Not that I want him as a lover, she hastened to assure herself, because I do not. I don’t want any lover. Still, when it came to Lord Vessey, a woman would have to be made of granite to be immune to his appeal. Lily doubted any woman under the age of eighty could withstand the lure of his charm. He was practically a walking aphrodisiac!

  Considering his behavior toward her of late, though, she wondered if his interest in her had waned. After that very first lesson, when he’d had her in his arms under the guise of teaching her, he’d made no further amorous attempts. He hadn’t even tried to kiss her, behaving instead like a perfect gentleman—like a platonic cousin, exactly as he had promised.

  Had his desire for her faded? she wondered. Did he no longer want to be anything more to her than a friend? Her shoulders dipped at the idea. Foolish, she knew, since she ought to be relieved by the possibility rather than disappointed. From the corner of her eye, she noticed the leisurely smile that curved his attractive lips, and the twinkle in his golden-brown eyes—so compelling he set her skin atingle. Returning her eyes to the road, she continued to drive.

  Coming upon a slow-moving farmer’s wagon, topped tall and wide with a greenish-gold mound of hay, she signaled the team to go around. A pair of stalks sailed into the air, whirling briefly before landing—one on her skirt and the second on the small area of exposed flesh revealed just above her bodice. With her hands quite literally occupied managing the horses, she couldn’t reach up to brush off the scratchy reeds. She wiggled slightly in hopes that one or both of them might fall off.

  “Allow me,” Vessey murmured. Leaning forward, he brushed the stalk off her skirt with a casual hand before reaching upward for the next. Her breath grew shallow, her heart bumping hard beneath her ribs as his fingers hovered just above her breasts. The warm backs of his knuckles brushed against her quivering flesh as he plucked away the slender reed. Shivers traveled through her body, rippling outward in gradually widening circles. Mercy, she thought, praying he would assume her trembling flesh was the result of the curricle’s sway instead of her reaction to him.

  “We’re not far from Richmond,” she stated in a sudden, desperate need for distraction.

  “Assuming the last mile marker we passed is correct, we have less than two miles to go.” Twirling the hay stalk between his fingertips, he leaned back again in the seat. “I thought we might stop in the park and enjoy nuncheon. I didn’t mention it earlier, but I had Cook pack us a hamper. There is sure to be something inside to tempt your palate.”

  A picnic? She had assumed they would stop at an inn in Richmond where she and the marquis could enjoy a meal while the horses were watered and rested for the return journey to London. But a visit to the park sounded lovely, especially on such a fine, clement day. And surely there was a lake where Thunder and Lightning could partake of a drink.

  “That sounds delightful,” she answered with unfettered candor. “What a wonderful surprise!”

  A grin creased his face. “I am relieved to know you approve.” He twirled the hay again between his fingers. “With your last lesson all but officially over, I thought a special treat was in order.”

  “It does not have to be over—the lessons, I mean,” she said before she had time to censor her words. “I’ve mastered the curricle, but you have yet to let me take a
try at your phaeton. Or do you not think I am ready?”

  An intense look came into his eyes. “Oh, you are ready, and I’ll let you take a try at the rig one of these days. As for lessons, I believe we are done with those. Time both of us moved on to something new, do you not agree?”

  She studied him for a long moment, wondering exactly what he meant by the statement. Shifting in the seat, his leg lolled daringly close to her own. Tossing her a rather wicked smile, he once again twirled the stalk of hay.

  Is he flirting with me? She shot him a speculative glance, but by the time she looked again, his expression had cleared, leaving her to assume she was only imagining things.

  An hour and a half later, as Lily sat on the lawn blanket Lord Vessey had gallantly spread over the grass beneath the shelter of several lavish old oak trees, she decided she wasn’t imagining things, after all.

  Their arrival at the park had begun harmlessly enough. Although in hindsight she realized the marquis had been the one to suggest she drive them to a lovely yet secluded area at the far edge of a glassy blue-green pond.

  King Henry’s Mound and the Queen’s Ride were beautiful spots, he’d agreed, but they were also filled with clusters of noisy tourists. He would take her to see the views from those locations later, he promised, once they had enjoyed their nuncheon in privacy and in peace.

  After arranging the lawn blanket, Vessey had seen to watering and feeding the horses while she unpacked the food and dishes from the hamper. He returned brief minutes later and dropped down onto the blanket, arranging his long, rugged form at an angle not far from her side.

  He reached for a bottle of wine. With a few deft twists, he pulled the cork free, then located a pair of glasses and poured the Champagne.

  “Congratulations on a most successful venture,” he toasted. “Here’s to you, Lily! The best driving student I have ever had.”

  “The only driving student you have ever had, I suspect,” she said with a laugh. “But I thank you for the compliment nonetheless.”

  She drank, bubbles tickling the inside of her nose, the wine’s cool, crisp flavor reminding her of the last time she’d drunk Champagne with Ethan Andarton. A frisson of sense-memory shimmered over her skin, a peculiar feeling of sameness despite the fact that this open, sun-filled venue was nothing like the darkened garden where they’d shared ice cream and Champagne weeks ago.

  Such musings drifted away, however, when he passed her a china plate laden with a delectable array of foodstuffs—roast chicken with crisp, salty skin, fresh green pea and potato salad, pickled purple beets, and crusty slices of bread slathered with butter so fresh she suspected it had been churned that very morning.

  One of the park’s many deer—a red stag—wandered past, pausing to eye her and Vessey and the horses before meandering away, his great rack of antlers set at a regal tilt that clearly established they were on his territory.

  “You’ve never told me where you grew up,” the marquis murmured after the deer had gone.

  “Have I not?” she replied, eating a forkful of salad. “I do not believe you’ve mentioned your childhood home either.”

  “Hmm, perhaps you are right. Most people don’t have occasion to ask, since they are already acquainted with my family estate. Andarley, my home, lies on a beautiful stretch of land in Suffolk. Most of the estate is tillable farmland, but there are also woodlands, ponds, and a river that runs not far from the house. My steward and I are trying two new varieties of corn this year and we’ve reclaimed an old orchard that had fallen fallow, planting the property with a couple hundred apple, pear, and cherry trees.”

  “It sounds quite beautiful.”

  “It is.” He chewed a bite of bread, then washed it down with wine. “So, what of you? I’ve shared all manner of details. Seems you are now honor-bound to do the same.”

  Am I indeed? In that moment, though, keeping all her secrets to herself didn’t seem nearly as important as it might once have been. What can it hurt if he knows a few particulars, she mused, so long as they are a very few? After all, forever guarding her past did grow a bit wearisome at times.

  “I’m from Cornwall,” she divulged before she could think better of the impulse. “I grew up near the sea. Have you ever been there?”

  Her stomach suddenly clenched, her nuncheon churning a little. Heavens, what if he has visited there? What if he knows my home? But Cornwall was a large place, she reminded herself, and she didn’t have to reveal anything too specific.

  A moment later, she discovered she need not have worried.

  He shook his head. “No, I’ve always wanted to travel west, but the opportunity has never presented itself. I have heard it’s a picturesque land, but rather harsh and unforgiving as well.”

  “The west country can be all those things,” she agreed, “for there is no disputing that the land is both rugged and untamed. Most folk there eke out their livings in mining, fishing, and dairying, but the land has a special beauty that is quite unlike any other I have known.” Relaxing, she let her thoughts drift. “On a clear afternoon, if you stand on top of the cliffs along the shoreline, you can see for miles. The wind whips off the ocean, the salt air as rich and sweet as the finest perfume. But when the storms come in, the world turns black, the water churns, and it seems as if hell itself has been unleashed.

  “My mother used to be afraid of the storms, but I never was. I guess I took after my father in that regard. The wilder the better, he used to say. I loved those storms, the lightning and the thunder, the sound of the rain drumming in sheets against the roof. Storms can be a godsend sometimes. Storms can set you free.”

  She stopped, abruptly aware of what she’d been saying and the rapt expression of interest on Lord Vessey’s handsome face. Silence fell, the trilling of a bird on a nearby branch unexpectedly loud.

  “Heavens,” she said, covering her discomfort with a laugh. “I do not know how we got to talking about all of that.”

  “You miss it,” the marquis said, his words a statement and not a question.

  She frowned, wishing she could take back the past five minutes. I’ve said far more than I intended. I should never have let down my guard. “Sometimes, I suppose.”

  She gave a shrug and forced herself to eat another mouthful of chicken. When she swallowed, the meat seemed to stick in her throat. Taking up her wineglass, she downed the rest of her Champagne.

  A long moment later, she set her plate aside, then glanced up, her eyes colliding with Vessey’s far-too-intelligent gaze. “London is my home now,” she stated. “I have no wish to live anywhere else.”

  “Do you not?”

  “No.” Her words were emphatic.

  “A city girl now, hmm?”

  “Quite right.”

  “For a city girl,” he mused aloud, “you seem awfully comfortable out here in the country.”

  “I am adaptable, my lord.”

  An unrestrained laugh rolled from his lips.

  “Was that marchpane I saw inside the tin over there?” she asked, desperately in need of a change of subject.

  He raised a single golden brow, then set aside his wineglass and plate in order to check. Leaning forward, he picked up the tin to which she referred. “This blue one, do you mean?” Springing open the lid, he looked inside. “Marchpane it is. Would you care for a piece?”

  “Yes, please.” Of all the sweetmeats available, she’d always had a weakness for candies fashioned from almond paste.

  But instead of offering her the tin so that she might make her own selection, he chose a piece for her. Fashioned in the shape of a perfect, plump strawberry, the confection would have looked real had it not lacked the fruit’s natural red color.

  The marquis extended the treat. “Here,” he murmured, “try a bite.”

  She stared. Does he mean to have me eat from his fingers? Glancing upward, she caught his gaze and saw that that was precisely what he intended. Her belly clenched again, but pleasurably this time as a syrupy heat sp
read through her limbs.

  That’s when she realized she hadn’t been wrong earlier when she’d wondered if he was flirting with her. He wasn’t only flirting with her, he was seducing her—and doing an excellent job of it as well.

  “Go on, Lily,” he coaxed in deep, mellifluous tones. “You know you want to.”

  Before she could stop herself, she sank her teeth into the soft, sugary confection. The intense flavor of almonds exploded in her mouth, delight flooding her senses as the sweet melted against her tongue.

  Once the bite was gone, he urged her to take another. As if caught inside a spell, she obeyed, letting her eyelids drift shut as she chewed.

  “And the last,” he murmured after a long moment.

  Her eyes popped open, her pulse hammering in a rhythm that warned her she was in danger. If she had any hope of resisting the marquis, she knew she needed to do it now, needed to put a halt to his provocative overtures while she still had the strength of will.

  With that goal in mind, she shook her head in refusal.

  What a silly goose I am to have imagined, even for an instant, that he’d given up his pursuit of me! Has he merely been biding his time these past two weeks? Has he been waiting for our lessons to be done so that he might continue his campaign to lure me into his bed?

  She had but an instant to contemplate such an idea before he leaned closer. “If you won’t have another taste,” he said, “then I suppose I shall have to indulge in one myself.”

  But instead of eating the last bite of marchpane, he bent his head and captured her mouth with his own. Breath soughed in a rush from her lungs, her senses blazing hot, as if a match had been set to tinder. Without conscious thought, her mouth opened beneath the persuasion of his touch, his tongue delving inside to stroke and caress and explore.

  “Umm, delicious,” he murmured, drawing back just enough to speak. “Almonds and sugar and Lily, what better flavors could there be?”

  Your own, she thought, loving the dark, masculine taste of him—divine as the richest chocolate, more savory than the finest, most buttery pastry ever made.