The Accidental Mistress

by Tracy Anne Warren

  The squire staggered slightly but maintained his footing. Red droplets leaked out of his nose, splattering downward to stain the white linen of his neckcloth. Swiping a hand over the top of his lip to clear away the blood, he gazed at the damage in obvious shock. Up came his head, his facial muscles tight with outrage, fury burning like coals in his gaze.

  Just then, Ethan heard rushing footsteps on the landing above and glanced up to see a welcome sight. “Lily! Thank God, are you all right?”

  “I am now,” she called down, gripping the banister. “Whatever they’ve told you about me, it’s a lie. I’m here against my will and don’t want to marry him,” she said pointing a finger at the squire. “Please, Ethan, please take me away.”

  “Gladly. It’s why I’ve come.”

  “The hell she’s going with you,” roared Faylor.

  Ethan heard Lily scream, the sound echoing around the entry hall at the same instant the squire launched himself forward. Moving fast, Ethan leapt back to elude him but was too late. Suddenly pinned inside Faylor’s bearlike grip, he wrestled with him for a long moment before they crashed together to the floor, the squire’s massive bulk landing on top. Pain ricocheted through his ribs and back, but Ethan ignored it and brought up his fists to pound them into the other man’s head. But the squire didn’t resemble an ox for nothing, easily shaking off the punishing blows.

  Dimly, Ethan heard Lily cry out his name. He wanted to respond, but found his world narrowing fast as Faylor’s heavy hand wrapped around his throat and began to squeeze. Sucking in a desperate breath, Ethan struggled, realizing that the man’s hold was cutting off his air. Curling his fingers around the brute’s grasp, he pried and pulled to break his hold. A loud humming rang out in his ears, spots dancing before his eyes, his consciousness wavering fast. Acting on instinct, he reached up and clasped the squire’s face between his palms. Without mercy, he dug his thumbs hard into his opponent’s eyes.

  Faylor screamed and let go, reeling back in agony.

  Shaking off his breathlessness and pain, Ethan rose and pushed the squire completely off him. Bringing up his fists, he landed another blow, this one connecting with a jolt that reverberated all the way up his arm. Faylor blinked and groaned, weaving where he sat. Panting, Ethan stood, waiting to see if the other man had more fight in him. But Faylor was through, his eyes rolling backward in his head seconds before he toppled over in an unconscious sprawl across the floor.

  Fists still clenched, Ethan whirled to find Lily.

  The hem of her robe billowed around her ankles as she raced down the stairs. As she ran full tilt toward him, neither of them noticed Chaulk. Quick as a cobra, her stepfather reached forward and grabbed her tightly around the waist. Ethan watched, fury rising as she cried out and struggled to break Chaulk’s grip without success.

  “Let her go, Chaulk,” he demanded. “Or would you prefer to end up like your friend?”

  Chaulk cast a quick glance at Faylor’s prostrate form, then back up to meet Ethan’s gaze. “You’re not taking her. She is my ticket to a tidy sum of money, and I don’t intend to be cheated out of it.”

  “Don’t give him a thing,” Lily said, continuing to fight against her stepfather’s hold. “He’s a bully and a cad, and deserves nothing.”

  “You’re right on both scores, my dear,” Ethan said. “But as for money, I would pay any amount to set you free. To me, you are more priceless than rubies and pearls.”

  Chaulk smiled. “A wise man, your lover. Well then, how much for her?”

  “No, Ethan. He’s a vulture. If you give him a pence, he’ll be back for a pound.”

  Chaulk gave her a shake. “Shut up, or have you no sense at all? And how in the blazes did you get free of your room? I thought we had you locked up tight.”

  Her lips curled back in a fearless smile. “I found a hairpin on the floor and worked the lock. You think yourself smart, but you’re nothing but a cowardly, dull-witted conniver.”

  Chaulk’s lips thinned at the insult, his arms tightening enough to make her whimper in pain.

  Ethan stalked forward, intending to put an end to the situation. At the same instant, Lily raised her foot and gave a backward kick worthy of a mule. Her stepfather bellowed and loosened his hold, enough for Lily to wrench free.

  Chaulk straightened just in time to meet the business end of Ethan’s fist, which struck him square in the jaw. Like the squire before him, Chaulk swayed for a long moment, his eyes glazing over, before he crashed to the floor in an unconscious heap.

  Lily stared at her stepfather in shock and relief, trying to take in the fact that he was truly vanquished. Turning, she launched herself into Ethan’s arms. With a reassuring murmur, he caught her close and lifted her off her feet to cradle her against his body. Burying her face against his neck, she breathed in his warmth and strength. “Ethan, you’re here, you saved me. I didn’t think you would come,” she said, tears dampening her cheeks. “I didn’t think you knew.”

  “I knew,” he murmured, stroking a hand over her back. “Though too late to stop Chaulk and Faylor, and for that I am sorry. So sorry.”

  “It doesn’t matter, not anymore. You’ve dealt with them admirably. Just take me home with you; that’s the only place I want to be.”

  “That’s where you belong. But first there is something I must do.”

  “And what is that?”

  With infinite tenderness, he touched his lips to hers and showed her exactly what he meant.

  An hour later, dressed in a gown and cloak, Lily leaned back against the worn leather squabs of the coach that was taking her and Ethan toward London. Although the hired vehicle was not nearly as fine as any of Ethan’s own coaches, she was nonetheless grateful for use of the conveyance. When one of the wheels hit a rough patch of road, though, and bounced her up—then down—hard against the seat, she wondered whether she had been too generous in her initial appreciation. Rubbing a hand against her hip, she caught Ethan’s gaze.

  “Are you all right?” he asked, concern, and some much deeper emotion, gleaming in his amber eyes.

  “It was only a rut. The roads are always muddy this time of year.”

  “That is not what I meant,” he said, his voice as rich and velvety as a dish of morning chocolate.

  The sound curled inside her, warming her from the inside out.

  “What I meant,” he continued, “is are you all right? How badly did they hurt you, Lily? Did Faylor touch you?”

  She shook her head. “No, he never came near, at least not in the way you mean. Other than some bruises, I suffered no lasting damage.”

  Tension eased visibly from his frame before he shifted closer to her on the seat. “That’s good, because otherwise I would need to go back and do more than knock him senseless.”

  She smiled inwardly, remembering the small jolt of satisfaction she’d experienced when she and Ethan had come back downstairs, after going to her room so she could change clothes and gather her meager possessions, to find Faylor and her stepfather still lying insensible on the entry-hall floor. The servants had given Ethan looks of respect as she and Ethan walked from the house.

  Gently, he laid his palm against the uninjured side of her face and slowly stroked a thumb over her cheek. “I swear that no one will ever hurt you again. In that I make you my most solemn vow.”

  She trembled, a rush of emotion welling up within her. “Oh God, Ethan, I was so scared. I thought I could handle things, but the more time that passed, the worse everything became.”

  “Shh,” he hushed, brushing his lips against hers before moving to draw her into his arms. “It’s over now,” he reassured her, “and you are to do everything in your power to put these last few days out of your mind. All will be well again, you will see.”

  Will it? she wondered. So much still lay unresolved between them, including the falsehoods she had told him about herself. Despite her reservations, she knew that matters had come too far for her to conceal the truth from him any lon
ger. After everything he had done to find her, to save her, she owed him that and more. But even as she prepared herself to confess, she hesitated, a queasy, fluttering sensation beating like a pair of tiny wings in her chest. Leaning back slightly in his arms, she finally forced herself to speak. “Ethan, there is something I have to tell you.”

  “Whatever it is, Lily, you don’t need—”

  “But I do,” she interrupted, determined to proceed now that she had begun. “There is a great deal I have to say, so much I should have said long ago. My only excuse, I suppose, is that I was afraid of what you would think, what you would do.”

  “Lily—”

  “Please, let me have my say.”

  After a small pause, he inclined his head. “As you wish.”

  She scooted back, putting another inch between them before she continued. “I have not always been completely truthful with you about myself. My name is…my real name is Lily Bainbridge, not Smythe.”

  “I know.”

  Her lashes lifted, her gaze flashing upward. Oh, well, of course he knew that, she supposed, given that he’d tracked her home to Cornwall. But as for the rest…

  “No,” she went on. “You do not understand. When I say my name is not Smythe, I mean it was never Smythe. Ethan…I…” She drew an unsteady breath, then pushed out the words. “I was never married.”

  She braced herself, waiting for an explosion, an exclamation of shock and confusion, even anger. Instead he gazed at her out of calm, steady, completely unsurprised eyes.

  “Yes, I know,” he said again.

  The jolt she’d thought he would feel went through her. “What do you mean, you know!”

  “Exactly that. Although I didn’t piece together your deception until quite recently, I did figure it out.”

  “But how?” she sputtered.

  “Because the military keeps records, my love. No officer by the name of John Smythe fought at Vittoria, let alone died.”

  She swallowed, incapable of forming a coherent response while she digested the unexpected turn of events. Of all the possibilities, she had never once considered that he might check on the military service of her make-believe husband. And here I always considered myself so careful and so clever. Not so clever lately. Then a new thought occurred.

  “And you aren’t angry?” she asked, studying his face for signs of his true feelings.

  He raised a golden eyebrow, remonstrating her with its curve. “I was initially. In fact, I was furious when I first realized that you had lied to me, particularly given you had just accused me of having done the same. But…,” he said with a significant pause.

  “Yes?”

  “Finding out that you were gone, and that I might lose you, well, the reality of that put everything in a different perspective. I admit that I have not completely forgiven you yet for your elaborate fiction and the ease with which you perpetrated it upon me—”

  “Deceiving you was never easy,” she interjected.

  “—But I know you had reasons for doing what you did, reasons I have recently come to understand more and more. My word, Lily, did you really stage your own death? The story in Penzance is that you swam out to sea and drowned. How much of that is true?”

  “A great deal of it—actually, everything except the dying part. When Chaulk demanded that I marry Faylor, I refused, but he would have seen me wed despite my refusal. I knew I could never submit to such degradation, such utter misery, and that I would rather risk my life than spend it tied to a brute like the squire. So I swam out during a storm and let everyone assume I had perished.”

  “You played a dangerous game that could really have cost you your life. How exactly did you survive?”

  Taking a breath, she told him her story—how she had run away to London and met him en route, about claiming her inheritance and her decision to turn herself into a widow. Wanting no secrets between them, she was careful to leave nothing out.

  When she finished, he leaned back against the seat. “You went to such extremes, then, so you would never have to marry?” he remarked in a contemplative tone. “So you could remain free and independent of men?”

  She rubbed a palm over her skirt. “Yes, that is what I intended.”

  He remained silent for a long moment. “And do you still hold those same opinions now?”

  No, she thought, the answer rushing upon her. Once she had viewed marriage as a trap, a miserable prison into which women were tricked, then left to suffer. But her days living with Ethan had proven her wrong on that score, and despite her earlier hurt feelings and sense of betrayal, she knew she wanted nothing more than the chance to share her life with him. So long as it was Ethan who asked her to marry him, then her answer would be an unequivocal “yes.”

  But he hadn’t asked her, she realized, crumbling a little inside as she remembered his fiancée in London. Still, she was made of sterner stuff, was she not? If she truly loved Ethan—and she did—then she owed it to herself to fight for him.

  “No,” she said aloud, pressing herself against his chest. “I do not feel the same. I know that girl…Lady Amelia, stands between us, but I do not want her to. I love you, Ethan, and whatever you decide, whatever you tell me, I will believe you this time. I only want us to be together.”

  He reached up a hand and stroked her hair. “Do you? And if I tell you I want you as my mistress again?”

  Disappointment washed through her, but she ruthlessly pushed it aside. “Then that is what I will be.”

  Sliding a finger beneath her chin, he urged her face upward so that she was looking into his eyes. “That is a very generous offer, but entirely unnecessary.”

  “What?”

  “I didn’t ask you my question about marriage so you could become my mistress. I asked you so you could become my wife. Marry me, Lily. And this time, I will accept nothing other than a ‘yes.’”

  “But what about Lady Amelia?”

  “Mrs. Hocksby by now, I would expect,” he corrected. “About the same time you left London, Amelia eloped to Gretna Green with a young man she loves. I assume the pair are now husband and wife, leaving me free to plight my troth where I will. So, tell me you will be my wife.”

  For a moment she couldn’t breathe, joy bursting like fireworks through her veins. “Oh, yes, yes, my love.”

  Mouth curved in a wide smile, she tossed her arms around his neck and drew his head down to hers. Humming low in her throat as he responded, she took the lead, plundering his mouth with a thoroughness that made her burn from head to toe. Wishing they were closer, she murmured her delight when he lifted her off the seat and onto his lap, settling her where both of them could claim an even deeper level of intimacy.

  As their kisses continued, she lost awareness of her surroundings, threading her fingers into his hair while he played upon her desires with a series of long, heated kisses, interspersed by quicker, shorter nips and licks. Her lips were swollen, her body aching, by the time they broke apart to take a full breath of air.

  “Good Lord,” he exclaimed. “I don’t know how I’ve done without that for all these many days.”

  “I’ve missed you too.” She smiled.

  “Don’t look at me like that or I may decide to take you here and now, after all.”

  “Then why do you not?” she encouraged, brushing her fingers against his cheeks and temple.

  “Mostly because of the condition of these coach springs. I fear if we try anything, we might both emerge as cripples.”

  A laugh escaped her at the image.

  He bounced her playfully atop his thighs. “But that does not mean I plan to wait long.”

  “You do not have to wait at all. It isn’t as if we have not been intimate already.”

  “True, but as much as I am dying to return to your bed—and believe me, I am—I was thinking we might have a traditional wedding with a reading of the banns and all the requisite trappings. I am proud to make you my bride and I want everyone to know it. By the time we wed, n
o one will doubt we are marrying for anything other than love.”

  A tremulous smile spread over her lips, warmth glowing inside her like a summer sun.

  “What would you think of being wed at Andarley?” he continued. “The family chapel is small and would not hold above twenty guests, but it is a pretty enough little building. I believe you would like it.”

  “The chapel sounds divine. Though I would marry you anywhere, even if it were in a hut.”

  Pleasure burnished his gaze, followed by a humorous twinkle. “A hut, hmm? Well, I can do a bit better than that for the ceremony, though we might be able to locate a hut for the honeymoon, if you are set on such an accommodation.”

  She laughed. “Wherever you like, my lord, so long as we are together,” she pledged. “I love you, Ethan.”

  His face turned serious. Bending his head, he brushed his lips over hers. “I love you too. Now and forever.”

  Chapter Twenty-three

  “OH, YOU LOOK absolutely beautiful!” Davina declared five weeks later as she stood back to survey the final touches made to Lily’s wedding ensemble. Gowned in winter-white velvet with elbow-length sleeves and a square-cut bodice, Lily had to confess that she did feel a little like a princess. Only minutes before, her maid had finished arranging her hair into a fashionable riot of curls before pinning an ankle-length veil of the finest Brussels lace onto her head. Her hands tingled, her heart beating at a wildly erratic pace. In all her life she had never felt so nervous, yet so ebullient. There were moments when she wondered if her white, pearl-encrusted slippers were still touching the floor.

  “Davina is right,” Julianna agreed from where she stood with them in one of the guest bedrooms at Andarley. “I cannot recall ever seeing a more radiant bride.”

  Lily gazed at her two friends, wanting to hug them both, but afraid she might ruin everyone’s hard work of the past two hours if she did so. “If I do look as well as you both say,” she replied, “it is only because I am so happy. Thank you for being here with me today and standing as my matrons of honor.”