The Accidental Mistress

by Tracy Anne Warren

  He hummed low in his throat and joined their lips again. A part of her knew she should pull away—or push him away, if need be. But even as she raised her hands to his shoulders to separate them, he deepened their kiss, bombarding her senses with a pleasure so intense she forgot all about her resolve.

  Instead she found herself drawing him closer, her fingernails sinking into the fabric of his coat as if she needed to anchor him in place. But he was in no danger of ending their kiss, his tongue making passionate forays into her mouth that sent her mind spinning. A ragged shiver gripped her, tickling down her spine, and lower still, as her body turned hot, then cold, then hot again.

  Her eyelashes fluttered closed, her tongue tangling with his in a caress that was as bold as it was blatant. Her toes pressed hard against the insides of her shoes, her senses awhirl as she let him take her deeper. Drawing back enough to capture her lower lip between his teeth, he bit gently, tormenting her with a teasing nip that he was quick to soothe with a tantalizing stroke of his tongue.

  Shuddering, she met his next kiss with a breathless ardor, lost, in that moment, to everything but him. His hand moved upward then and caught hold of the ribbon beneath her chin, tugging loose the bow that held her bonnet in place. He was starting to lift her hat free when a buzzing sounded near her ear.

  For a second the noise made no sense. Then the sound grew louder, closer, until suddenly she realized she was hearing a bee—a bee that was circling around her and the marquis.

  Vessey paused and looked up, breaking their kiss long enough to wave the insect away. Turning back, he finished plucking the bonnet off her head, then resumed his embrace before she had a chance to regain more than a glimmer of her senses. His arms slid around her back and cradled her against his chest. Then he was plundering her lips once more, sweeping her under with a fresh wave of delight.

  A sigh escaped her throat, along with a hum of satisfaction she couldn’t deny. She answered his possession, following his exquisite touch everywhere he led.

  Abruptly he stiffened, releasing his hold upon her as he jackknifed into an upright position. Catching herself to keep from falling backward, she saw him slap at his neck, then tear at his cravat. Unable to free the cloth from his throat fast enough, he dug his fingers inside, reaching between the linen and his skin.

  He slapped again, then tightened his fingers as if he were crushing something. Drawing out his hand, he flung a vividly hued yellow jacket—now dead—away into the grass.

  She jumped up onto her knees, ignoring her tangled skirts. “Ethan, are you all right? How badly did that creature sting you?”

  He rolled his neck. “Not badly. I’m fine.” He rubbed a palm over his neck. “Blasted bee.”

  “Are you sure? You’re hurt. Maybe you should let me see.”

  He shook his head. “My thanks, but there is no need. After all, it is only a little bee sting. Believe me, I have suffered much worse.”

  “Perhaps so, but still…”

  “Do not worry, Lily. Five minutes from now, I’ll have forgotten all about it.” He took her hand and gently began to tug her close again. “Now,” he mused, “where were we? Come here and refresh my memory.”

  This time, however, she resisted, leaning away as he tried to resume their embrace. The bee’s attack had provided enough distraction to shake her loose from her earlier pleasure-induced haze. Since she and the marquis were inside the walls of a public park where anyone might happen by, she couldn’t risk allowing him to resume their kisses, however intoxicating they might be. Even so, Lord Vessey had a way about him, a seductive magic in which a single touch seemed more than enough to enthrall her.

  She did not dare let him touch her again.

  Shuffling sideways on her knees, she held out a hand as though to ward him off. “There will be no refreshing of anything. No more kissing, my lord. I want you to stop.”

  “You don’t mean that. After all, only a minute ago I was Ethan.”

  Gracious, did I call him Ethan? Oh dear, I believe I did.

  More determined than ever to regain the upper hand, she reached for a dish and began to repack the hamper. “Perhaps you were…are…but all my previous reasons for not becoming intimate with you still hold true.”

  “It seems to me we’ve been rather intimate as it is,” he said, his words sounding slower than usual. “If you will remember…I am not your…brother.”

  She covered another dish and set it alongside the others, giving an ironic laugh. “Indeed you are not. Nevertheless, I think it is best if we remain friends. Only friends.”

  Listen to me, she thought, telling him I want to be friends when that’s the last thing I wish! But what else am I to say?

  He said nothing further as she packed away the last of the dishes. Glancing up, she was startled to find him seated with his eyes closed, a strange flush of blotchy white and red creeping up his cheeks.

  “My lord? What is it?”

  His eyes came open, his gaze intensely brown. “Nothing,” he denied. “I’m fine…what did you say?”

  “I asked if you are well.” A little fist of concern formed beneath her breastbone. Gathering her skirts, she crossed to him and laid a hand against his skin, forgetting all about the promise to herself not to touch him again. “You seem warm.”

  “It’s June and the sun is shining,” he mumbled. “Of course I am warm.”

  “This has nothing to do with the temperature out-of-doors. Does your neck hurt?”

  “No more than before.”

  “Take off your cravat.”

  He forced a smile. “Why, how forward of you, Mrs. Smythe.”

  When he made no effort to obey, she tsked and leaned near to yank at the knot holding his neckcloth closed. Quick and efficient, she unwound the strip of linen. A small gasp escaped her lips when she saw the angry red patch staining his throat.

  “Oh heavens, your poor neck!”

  “Maybe you should kiss it,” he said, his words a little sluggish. “That…might help.”

  “Removing the stinger will help more, if it is still in there, as I suspect. Hold still.”

  Striving to be as gentle as possible, she drew the tips of her fingers over his abused skin, searching for the tiny, needle-like protrusion. She discovered it almost immediately, using the edges of her fingernails to catch hold of the stinger and draw it out.

  “Perhaps you ought to see a physician,” she suggested.

  His expression turned mulish. “Don’t need a physician. Had this happen to me once before as a boy…I’ll get over it soon enough. Just a stupid bee sting, that’s all.”

  His physical reaction suggested something rather more serious, yet his breathing was unlabored. What of his heart? Without giving herself time to consider, she unfastened the top few buttons on his waistcoat and slid her palm inside over his shirt.

  “What are you doing?” he drawled.

  “Just checking.” Moving her hand slowly over the taut plain of his chest, she found what she sought, his heart beating at a strong, and reassuringly even, pace.

  “Will I live?” he quipped.

  “I believe so. Still, you do not look well.”

  “I only need…a few minutes to rest,” he told her, his words continuing to sound slurred. “After that…I’ll be right…as rain.”

  While she watched, his eyelids began to droop, creases lining his brow as though he was fighting to remain lucid.

  I cannot allow him to pass out, she realized. Not in this park, anyway. If he falls into unconsciousness, I will never be able to move him.

  Knowing she dare not lose a minute more, she wrapped her arms around his wide shoulders and began to coax him to his feet. “Come on, my lord. Let us get you into the curricle so that I might drive you home.”

  He groaned. “Home? Home would be good. Or I could…sleep here instead.”

  “No, no, sleeping here is a bad idea.” She pushed at him again. “There might be more bees. Come along now.”

  “Lil
y,” he stated in a firm voice, turning his head to meet her gaze.

  “What?”

  “I am not an invalid, you know.”

  “No, of course you are not.”

  “Then release me. I can get to my feet and into the curricle without your aid.”

  She hesitated, then withdrew her arms.

  “Thank you.”

  Assuming an air of great dignity, he pushed himself into a standing position, his stamina and determination the only things keeping him erect as he walked across the field to the vehicle and climbed inside. Exhaling, he leaned his head back against the seat.

  “Lily,” he called in a low voice.

  She came forward immediately, already nearby since she had followed after him on his brief trek to the carriage. “Yes, what is it?”

  His eyes remained closed. “I only wanted to say that in the future, you may put your arms around me anytime you like.”

  She coughed to cover a laugh and shook her head at his outrageous remark. “Yes, well, I shall keep that in mind. In the meantime, why don’t you relax while I drive us home.”

  He nodded. “Good thing you know how to manage the team.”

  “Isn’t it, though.”

  As rapidly as she could, she loaded the picnic hamper and lawn blanket into the carriage boot, then sprang into the curricle to take up the reins.

  Well rested, Thunder and Lightning were eager to be on the road again, the horses settling into a quick but easy canter once they left the confines of the park.

  Beside her, the marquis was quiet. Too quiet, she thought. With his cravat removed, she had no difficulty seeing the still blotchy red-and-white condition of his skin, nor the unhealthy pallor on his face.

  She wondered again if he ought to see a doctor.

  London was over an hour distant. What if both of them were mistaken about the seriousness of his reaction to the bee sting? What if she ignored his symptoms and he fell gravely ill during the time it took to reach the city? Her belly squeezed, worry sinking like a lead-shot ball.

  Having already left Richmond behind, she was contemplating the prudence of turning the curricle around and going back when she spied a two-storied, ivy-covered inn a few yards ahead. As it was tidy and pleasant-looking, with a pair of busy ostlers in the yard, she had no hesitation about stopping. Of course, any inn would have done, she supposed, since Ethan’s health took precedence over all else.

  A porter came out of the hostelry only moments after she brought the curricle to a halt, the man offering a cheerful greeting.

  “Are we here?” Vessey muttered, his lids opening, then closing again. “Have we reached London already?”

  “No,” she told him. “We are at an inn. I thought you might prefer to stop and rest in greater comfort for a time.”

  He gave a soft grunt and a nod, but made no argument. In that moment, she knew her instincts had been correct.

  Without waiting for assistance from the porter, she jumped down from the curricle and hurried around the vehicle.

  A gray-haired man, who was clearly the innkeeper, bustled out the front entrance. “Good afternoon and welcome. How may I serve you?”

  “His lordship is unwell and in need of a room, the very finest you have, please. We also require the services of a physician.”

  “Told you before…don’t want a quack,” Ethan complained, apparently coherent enough to follow the conversation.

  “Hmm, so I remember. Why do we not get you to a room first; then we can discuss the matter.”

  Her words seemed to appease him. A bit wobbly, he stood and exited the carriage, stumbling only once. She feared he might insist on making his way up the staircase entirely on his own as well, but to her relief he let the innkeeper offer a steadying shoulder on which to lean. Another sign of how truly ill Vessey was feeling.

  Once inside the room, he crossed quickly to the bed and collapsed full-length across the mattress. Closing his eyes, he released a weary exhalation.

  She turned to the innkeeper, careful to lower her voice. “Call the physician, please.”

  The older man cast a concerned glance toward the marquis. “Yes, my lady.”

  She considered correcting him, since the man obviously assumed she was Ethan’s wife. But in the next instant, she decided against it. There might be unwanted comment and disapproval were it known she and his lordship were not wed. Besides, explaining the truth right now is simply too much trouble, she reasoned.

  Once the innkeeper departed, Lily hurried to Ethan’s side. Leaning over him, she reached out a hand and gently brushed back his wind-tousled hair. Laying her palm across his forehead, she checked for fever but found his skin cool, though a little clammy. Needing to comfort him as well as herself, she stroked his hair once more. “Everything will be all right, Ethan,” she whispered. “Everything will be fine.”

  The doctor arrived not many minutes later, trundling inside with a heavy, black leather case, and a pair of spectacles on his nose that made his eyes appear as round as an owl’s. After a brief greeting, he set to examining the marquis, who roused enough to mutter a few words to the other man. Lily was afraid Ethan was going to refuse treatment, but he acquiesced instead, even reaching up to open the rest of the buttons on his waistcoat, then several on his shirt.

  While the doctor listened to his heart and lungs, she tried not to look, struggling to keep her eyes off Ethan’s bare chest and the thatch of gorgeous golden curls covering its firm expanse.

  Continuing his examination, the older man inspected the marquis’s ears and eyes before peering into his mouth. Finally, just as she was starting to grow a bit impatient, he turned his attentions to the wounds on Ethan’s neck. Clucking his tongue a few times, he stepped back and began to rummage inside his bag.

  She walked a few steps forward, hands linked at her waist. “Well, Doctor, how is he?”

  “Oh, he’s fine, my lady, or he will be with some rest.”

  “Is that not what I said?” Ethan murmured, not bothering to open his eyes.

  She ignored the remark. “But his neck—”

  “Aye, it looks bad now, but it’ll heal soon enough. Bees are capable of inflicting great pain and sickness with their venom, and sometimes the results can be grave. You were right to consult with me.”

  “Thank you, Doctor,” she replied, feeling vindicated for her caution and concern.

  Ethan said nothing, lying as though he were slumbering.

  “Yes, yes,” the physician continued as he pulled out a variety of small vials and packets, along with a mortar and pestle that he set up on a nearby table. “I watched a woman die once of bee stings—”

  A quiet gasp escaped her lips.

  “But she was a tiny female,” the older man hastened to assure, “not a strapping fellow like your man here.”

  “He isn’t my…” she began, only to break off.

  The doctor crushed a thimbleful of seeds beneath his pestle, his concentration on his apothecary duties. “What’s that?”

  “He…um…I am relieved he will recover.”

  “Oh, he will.” Pouring the pulverized seeds into a glass of water, he added a few drops of a clear liquid she suspected to be laudanum, then extracted a long-handled pewter spoon that he used to stir the mixture.

  “Here, your lordship, drink this,” he ordered softly.

  Refusing the other man’s offer of assistance, Ethan leaned up onto one elbow. His hand shook faintly as he accepted the glass. “What is it?” he questioned, eyeing the contents with a suspicious glare.

  “It’s medicine. Now, drink up.”

  Ethan hesitated another moment, then tossed down the concoction with a quick swallow. He grimaced, then thrust the glass back for the doctor to take before flopping unceremoniously back against the bed.

  “That should help him rest, which is the best thing for him right now,” the physician said, turning back to Lily. “I’ll put a poultice on the stings to take down the inflammation. Remove the remedy after an
hour.”

  “Of course.”

  Lily crossed to the room’s only chair and sank down upon it while the doctor completed his ministrations. By the time he was ready to depart, Ethan had fallen into a heavy slumber. The older man remained long enough to help her remove the marquis’s boots and maneuver his large body under the blanket, and then he was gone.

  Pulling the chair forward, Lily resumed her seat at Ethan’s bedside. Visually, she traced the contours of his face, finding him even more handsome, boyish almost, with his features relaxed and utterly unguarded.

  Curling her hand into a fist, she resisted the urge to touch him, to thread her fingers into his silky hair and stroke the length of his refined cheeks.

  Once an hour had passed, she removed the poultice, grateful to see that the remedy had eased the worst of the discoloration and reduced the size of the welt so that it was hardly noticeable.

  When darkness began to fall and Ethan slept on, she realized there would be no returning to London that evening.

  Even as a “widow” propriety demanded she seek her own room, but she wasn’t about to leave his side. He might need her in the night. Besides, the staff would most definitely question her and the marquis’s relationship if she suddenly requested a separate accommodation.

  Not long after, a gentle tap came at the door, a maidservant come to light candles in the room and ask if she would care for a bite of dinner. Until that moment, she hadn’t realized she might be hungry, but at the mention of food, her stomach decided to convince her otherwise.

  Clearly, Ethan would not be joining her, but he might wake and crave something to fill his belly. She chose a bowl of hearty beef-and-vegetable soup for herself, plus enough bread, fruit, and cheese to satisfy them both should he wish to eat later.

  Once the meal arrived, she ate. Later, after using the commode she discovered behind a privacy screen, she washed her face and hands, then brushed her teeth with a toothbrush and tooth powder the maid had procured for her use. Her ablutions done, she returned to Ethan’s bedside to resume her vigil. Laying a palm against his forehead, she smiled to find his skin flushed with normal, healthy warmth.